A Highland Folly

by Jo Ann Ferguson

  The dog pushed his nose under Lucais’s hand again.

  “Pippy, I am fine,” Lady Kinloch said in a voice that suggested she was being optimistic. When she muttered something else under her breath as he finished tying the linen in place, he had no idea what she was saying.

  “My lady?” he asked.

  “’Tis nothing. I have found that Spanish is a very good language to curse in.”

  “You speak Spanish?”

  “Of course.” She leaned her head against her hands that rested on her drawn-up knees. “I had to be able to speak it when we were living in South America, just as I learned Arabic when we lived in Egypt and German when we spent a summer in Vienna and—”

  “You are well traveled, my lady.” He wondered if she could be content living in this valley because she had seen the world beyond or if she had been looking for a way to escape the constraints of this closed society by walking up the brae in men’s clothing. Brae! He had thought he had put this heathen Highland cant out of his head when he forced it off his lips.

  Some hint of his thoughts must have slipped through his words, because she raised her head and met his gaze evenly. “I am most grateful that I had the opportunity, Lucais, but I have learned to make myself at home wherever the whims of fortune take me.”

  “And fortune has deposited you here?” He could not keep a wry smile from his lips. “Do you call that good fortune or ill?”

  “At the moment, ill. This ache in my head is very bothersome.”

  “I would offer you something cool to drink, but I do not know if there is a burn along this hillside.”

  “There is a spring on the lower side of this house. The farmwife who lived in this cottage did not have to carry water far.” Anice closed her eyes as another wave of pain swept over her. “There’s a bucket outside by the door.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She was tempted to tell him not to hurry, that she wanted just to sit and wait for the brae to stop spinning. She simply listened to his footfalls leaving the cottage.

  When a cool nose pushed under her arm, she opened her eyes to smile down at Pippy. “I shall be fine,” she reassured him and herself at the same time. She wished she could figure out a way to skulk back into Ardkinloch without anyone seeing her sorry state.

  There would be questions. Endless questions. The very thought of all the questions made her head ache even more.

  A shout came from beyond the cottage. That was Lucais! What was wrong now?

  Anice jumped to her feet, then wished she had not. She was glad her gun was leaning against the wall, because she doubted if she could have bent over to pick it up and stand again without falling to her knees. It was not loaded, but if the shooter had returned, he—or she—would not know that. Lurching to the door, she pushed through the briars. She came around the side of the cottage.

  She ignored her aching head as she began to laugh. She knew she should not, but the sight of a strong man like Lucais MacFarlane backed up against the cottage and staring at Bonito as if the gentle-hearted llama were a beast from the gates of hell was just too funny. The slight motion of her laughter dropped her to sit on the ground, the gun resting across her knees.

  Lucais glanced swiftly over his shoulder. “Stay away, my lady. Although it has a bizarre mien, this creature appears to be at home on this hillside.”

  “It rather appears, sir, that you could use some help.”

  “The creature may charge at any moment.”

  “True.”

  “You should stay away, my lady.” He stretched out his hand. “Give me my gun, which I left over there by the corner of the cottage. I shall deal with this.”

  “I think not.” The bright sunshine was piercing her eyes, adding to the throbbing in her head. Every muscle recalled the hard ground as she had ducked the shots fired at her. Across her palm, the cut pulsated with fire. It was time to put an end to this amusement. She winced as she raised her voice and called, “Bonito, come here.” When the llama did not move, she repeated the words in Spanish.

  Like a well-trained pup, the llama obeyed, nuzzling her where she was sitting.

  “My lady!” shouted Lucais. “Be wary. If—”

  “If you don’t lower your voice, I fear my head will explode.” She set her gun on the ground next to where he must have left his when he started to fill the bucket. Putting her arm around Bonito’s leg and then over his back, she hauled herself to her feet. “Sir, you are mistaking the curiosity of my pet for aggression.”

  “Your pet? That is a pet?”

  “That is Bonito, my llama. He hails from South America.” She was not about to give him a full explanation of the oddities of Patagonian fauna. Keeping her arm balanced around Bonito’s neck, she added, “I believe it is now quite safe for me to return to Ardkinloch. Other than your shout, which was sure to raise the very dead from the kirkyard, I have not heard anything amiss.”

  “Let me retrieve my coat and gun, and we shall be on our way.”

  “I can manage to get home from here, sir. This is not London, where a woman must fear that her purse might be stolen.”

  “Your purse?” He took a step toward her, hesitated as he glanced at Bonito, who regarded him calmly beneath his long lashes, then stepped around the llama to stand beside her. “My lady, your purloined purse would be of little consequence to you if you were slain on this hill.”

  “The gunman is gone.”

  “I would like to be as certain of that as you are.”

  Lucais resisted the yearning to smile when Lady Kinloch glanced about in sudden dismay. That urge to grin vanished when her knees nearly folded beneath her. If she had not been clutching that beast, she would have fallen.

  Before she could protest, he gathered her in his arms. He expected some sharp comment, but she again leaned her head against his chest, as trusting as a child. Or as hurt, he amended to himself.

  That luscious fragrance drifted over him once more. It eased the pain along his skull and pushed aside his embarrassment at being astonished by her odd pet. He wanted to bury his face in her soft hair and let it fall around him in enticing pleasure.

  Egad! He was asking for all sorts of trouble by letting his thoughts wander in that direction.

  Leaving the guns behind, because they were useless now when he carried her in his arms, he picked his way carefully down the steep hill toward the back wall of the manor house. He kept a careful eye on the pup. Because it ran about with an obvious lack of wariness, he guessed whoever had been stalking them was gone.

  He would find out who had fired upon them. That, he was certain of. It would be simpler, however, if he could be as certain whether the shooter had been after Lady Kinloch, as well, or if she had simply been in the wrong company in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  In spite of himself, he admired the sturdy walls of the manor house as he had before. They would withstand the most savage winds surging down from the mountains to bring the long winter to this river valley. The number of chimneys rising above the roof warned how difficult it was to keep this house warm on bitter days.

  As he reached the back gate, Lady Kinloch murmured, “Do not be offended when I say that it would be for the best for us to part company here.”

  He looked at the fierce walls that were softened so slightly by the vines growing along them. “Mayhap it would be for the best for me, my lady, but not for you. You still are not steady on your feet.”

  “The ground is not as steep within the walls.”

  “Allow me to judge that for myself.”

  Anice was about to argue further, then relented as she found it so much simpler to close her eyes and let her cheek remain over the beat of his heart. The rhythm had not altered even when he carried her down the brae, although hers had from the moment he touched her. She was glad he could not hear that sudden swift pulse, for it would betray what she must keep hidden. To be attracted, even for no more than a flirtation, to this road engineer was to ask for tro
uble she did not need.

  She kept her eyes closed as he carried her across the courtyard, up the quartet of stone steps, and through the door that Erskine must have opened as soon as the footman saw them approaching. Questions came from every quarter, and she wondered if every Kinloch had gathered in the foyer, alerted by some sense that she did not seem to possess that something out of the ordinary was taking place.

  “Lady Kinloch’s room,” said Lucais in lieu of a greeting. “Which way is it?”

  She held her breath. She remembered her first meeting with this large, boisterous clan, and she had been welcome. He, as part of the construction force sent up from London, was not.

  Someone must have pointed the way in silence. That the family had been struck mute was as peculiar as anything that had happened today.

  Against her, his muscles contracted as he shifted her to carry her up the stairs. She considered protesting again that she could get up them on her own, but she knew he would not heed her. She was tired of arguing, and she did like being held to his chest this way. She stiffened at her own wanton thoughts.

  “Take care,” he said quietly. “If you wiggle like your pup, I may drop you.”

  She had no chance to answer as Lucais marched into her sitting room as if he were the rightful laird of Ardkinloch. Behind him, like a herd of sheep being moved to a new field, the family followed. Not a word was spoken as he placed her gently on the white settee in the middle of the expansive room.

  Then he turned to look at the others who were clustered in the doorway and in front of the walls that were covered in pale pink. “Where is Lady Kinloch’s abigail?” When he got no answer, he added, “Where is her personal maid?”

  Anice was glad when Neilli stepped forward to order one of the younger cousins to go and find Fenella, her maid, who seemed to spend more time in the kitchens flirting with the lads than here. “Lucais, this is my cousin Neilli Kinloch. She—”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Kinloch,” he said in the terse tone he had used when they first had spoken on the hillside.

  That astounded her at first, because Neilli was a striking blonde of a rare height with voluptuous curves to match. Any lad in the valley would have been pleased to wed her, but she was interested solely in a match that would advance her prestige and mayhap gain her that London Season that her brother had no interest in.

  Anice understood Lucais’s tone when she saw the frowns on her family’s faces. “Thank you, Lucais,” she replied. “Thank you for bringing me safely home. I know you are busy.”

  “Busy ruining our valley,” came a rumble from the family by the door.

  Lucais seemed not to hear it as he bowed toward her. “My pleasure, my lady. I bid you good afternoon as well.”

  “Good afternoon.” She slowly stood, her hand on the arm on the settee as he turned to go.

  For a moment she thought her cousins would not step aside to let Lucais take his leave without creating some sort of uproar. Then, slowly, one, then another edged away from the door. Only when she saw him striding across the lawns beneath the room’s large window did she lower herself back onto the settee with a heartfelt sigh.

  “What happened, Anice?” several people asked at once.

  Her quick explanation sent her male cousins running out of the room, each determined to be the first to find the witless gunman. The heavy sounds of their footfalls and their eager shouts sent more pain through her head.

  Neilli came to kneel by the settee. “Anice, you are hurt.”

  “I bumped my head when we tried to avoid being shot.”

  “Let me have a bath brought for you, so you can get clean and rest.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

  Neilli’s dark brown eyes narrowed. “A far better idea than bringing one of those English road engineers into Ardkinloch.”

  “I could hardly stop him when he was being a gentleman, could I?”

  “Mayhap not, but you must make sure he finds no welcome here again.”

  “What makes you think he will be coming here again?”

  “He will want to be certain that you are recovering well.”

  “I can assure him of that with a message to the road camp.”

  “When you send them on their way from Killiebige?”

  “Neilli, my head aches too much to think of anything but that bath at the moment.”

  Instantly apologetic, Neilli rushed to see what was delaying Fenella. Behind her, Anice swallowed her groan. Lucais MacFarlane was going to be even more trouble than she had guessed.

  Three

  Neilli dropped across the bed and stared at Anice, who was unwinding the bandaging from around her head. Wiggling her feet that were hanging off the side of the bed, Neilli said, “That bruise looks better, Anice.”

  “It does.” She peered into the glass, glad to see that the swelling had eased. Last night, the lump on her forehead had seemed to be the size of her fist. Now, although it was still an angry shade, the bump had almost vanished. She wished she could say the same about the searing pain in her hand. Gently, she touched her palm.

  “If you would take the potion Mam made for you,” Neilli said in the stern tone she borrowed from her mother, “you would not be hurting so badly.”

  “When there is someone firing so thoughtlessly on the hill, we all must be at our most alert.” She turned cautiously and sat on the chair beside the glass. Her knees still had an odd inclination to wobble on every motion.

  “You know you were not the target.”

  “I hope not.”

  “’Twas that road engineer. They have brought nothing but trouble here.”

  Anice folded her hands in her lap. “Mayhap, but that is no reason for anyone to shoot at me or Lucais.”

  “Lucais?” Neilli’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “Anice, you must not be so familiar with a low-class man like him when we are in London.”

  Looking away from her cousin’s eager smile, Anice sighed. She wondered how Neilli was able to turn every conversation back to London and the Season. Did Neilli think of nothing but going to Town to obtain herself a match with a titled husband who could give her the exciting life she yearned for? Anice tried to understand it, but she could not. After years of traveling around the world with her mother and whichever stepfather, she liked the idea of a quiet life here in Scotland.

  Too bad no one would allow her a moment’s peace.

  “I do not think Lucais MacFarlane is of low birth,” Anice replied, relaxing against the chair. “He speaks with an undeniable sense of education.”

  Again Neilli’s slender nose showed her contempt. “You are too generous to everyone you meet. I suppose you learned to be kind to your inferiors while you were wandering all over the world. Things are different in London.”

  When she had first arrived at Ardkinloch, Anice might have argued that she had been honored to be hosted by kings and rich families. She did not bother. Neilli would not heed her. All Neilli was interested in was that husband she was certain awaited her in London.

  “I will have to take your word for it,” Anice said softly.

  “Not mine!” Neilli erupted from the bed and paced about the room. “I have never been beyond Edinburgh. When I think of what entertainments are going on in London—”

  “You should go.”

  “But the Season comes at the same time as the lambing,” she grumbled, dropping to sit on another chair and glowering out the bay window at the soft roll of hills on the other side of the glen. “We never can go.”

  “There is,” said a deep voice from by the doorway, “always the Little Season, sister.”

  Anice wanted to groan, because she knew that now she would not have a respite for her aching head. She simply smiled at Neilli’s twin brother.

  Parlan Kinloch was as handsome as Neilli was beautiful. Broad-shouldered, he could have stepped from an illustrated book about Vikings in the manor house’s library. Anice often had wondered why Parlan was so accepting of her claim o
n these lands, but she suspected he preferred his easy life to overseeing the Kinloch estate and the extended family who lived here. Unlike his twin sister, he had no ambition to advance himself with marriage.

  That is because he knows Neilli has plans for both of them, Anice thought ruefully. Plans that Neilli expected Anice to bring to fruition.

  Her eyes widened, and she came to her feet when Parlan walked in and held out two guns. “What are you doing with those?” she asked.

  “Returning them. I found them up by the old crofter’s cottage. I recognize this one. It is yours, Anice.” He handed her one of the guns. “I do not know who owns this one.”

  “It belongs to Lucais. Lucais MacFarlane,” she hurried to add when he scowled. Setting her gun against the large armoire that claimed the wall beside the hearth, she held out her hand.

  For a moment, she thought he would not give her the gun. He snarled something under his breath and shoved it into her hand.

  She choked back a cry as it touched her lacerated palm. How could she be so unthinking? The pain burned there unceasingly. Yet, the very thought of Lucais MacFarlane unsettled her so much that she did something foolish.

  “I am fine,” Anice said when both of her cousins began flinging questions at her at the same time. That might be the largest lie she had ever spoken. Her head throbbed and her hand hurt and she was tired of Neilli’s less than subtle requests to go to London without delay.

  “She won’t take Mam’s potion,” Neilli said, looking at her brother.

  “It would help,” Parlan added. “Mam always adds a tincture of whisky to her medicines to ease the rough parts of any pain.”

  Anice hoped she would not have to explain to each family member individually why she had thanked Aunt Coira last night for her offer but had not taken the medicine. In spite of Neilli’s assumptions, Anice was not entirely certain that the shooter had been solely aiming at Lucais. The shots had been fired at her when Lucais was high on the hill, not far from Dhùin Liath. Mayhap the shooter had been confused by the shadows around the ruins of the castle, but that did not explain why he had shot at her when she and Lucais had been near the cottage.