The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  “Then settle their peace.”

  “Ye ken fine that that triple-turned slut Catriona has a duty first tae the Chisholms tae restore their lost lad tae his proper place, settled and happy. After she does that, I can easily create a permanent truce.”

  “Then ye’d best help your wee slut do her business, Mag.”

  His voice was smooth, almost oily. She could read nothing in his expression.

  “Ye’d best leave her be, Jonah, if ye want tae reclaim your seat.”

  He was about to depart, for his shape was losing definition as he said, “Ye’re no fooling me, lass. Ye’d never give up your place in the Circle, even for our Claud. Take care o’ yourself, though, until we speak again.”

  With that, he was gone, taking with him the energy from her little fire. Only a few glowing embers remained until she flicked a finger to restore it.

  Dunsithe had barely passed from view when Willie said, “We’ll speak tae me cousin Sammy, Kit. He’ll ken where the lads be and what mischief be afoot.”

  “I’m not looking for mischief,” Kit said, but Willie only laughed.

  An hour later, they were in a tidy cottage beside a swiftly flowing stream, being sized up by a truculent fellow whose name, despite his obviously normal eyesight, appeared to be Blind Sammy Crosier. Since Blind Sammy’s response to Willie’s introduction had been a gruff, “We’ll be naming nae names if ye please,” Kit had not asked for an explanation of the nickname.

  Willie quickly put Sammy in possession of their need for information, whereupon the older man grunted again and favored Kit with a long look.

  Kit met that look silently.

  At last, Sammy said, “There’ll be moonlight tonight.”

  Kit glanced at Willie and saw twinkling astonishment in the lad’s expression.

  “But… but…” Willie’s sputters halted when Sammy shot him a fierce scowl, but a moment later he found his tongue again, saying, “Ye canna do it, Sam. Kit’s nae reiver but a gentleman born, as ye can see for yourself.”

  Sammy snorted. “Bless ye, lad. Full three-quarters o’ the gentlemen in these parts rides wi’ the reivers whenever they’ve a mind to. Think o’ Buccleuch!”

  “Aye, but Kit’s nae like Buccleuch or us. He weren’t born tae the reiving.”

  Kit realized that Sammy was watching him narrowly, so he said, “I’m interested in information about Hawks Rig and Eustace Chisholm, nothing more.”

  “Aye, perhaps, but ye want tae glean your information from our lads, and some willna want tae talk tae a man who could bear witness against them did some’un bring a grievance for the reiving. So if ye’d speak wi’ us, ye’ll first ride wi’ us, and like I said afore, there’ll be moonlight tonight.”

  Again Kit glanced at Willie, but this time the lad’s eyes were full of mischief, and Kit felt his sense of humor stir. Something else stirred, too, something he had not felt in years—his boyhood sense of adventure.

  Turning back to Sammy, he said, “So you want me to incriminate myself before you will trust me to speak with your men.”

  “Faith, sir, reiving’s nae crime,” Sammy said. “The plain truth be that it’s nobbut our ordinary way o’ life, so we’ll say rather that if ye ride with us, ye’ll be less likely tae bear witness against us if any mean-spirited folks should lay a grievance, come next Truce Day.”

  “Do you intend to cross the line?”

  Sammy shrugged. “That’s as may be, but there be cattle aplenty nearer than that, because more than one master fell tae the recent fever, leaving none but his land steward and a few lads tae guard his herds. Since they ha’ more cattle than they need, whilst we ha’ too few, the solution tae such an imbalance be plain tae see.”

  “It does seem obvious, put like that,” Kit said, amused despite himself. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me exactly where you intend to seek this overabundance.”

  “Not just yet. Are ye with us then?”

  “I am.”

  “Ye ken fine that do we find them cattle unfairly well guarded, we’ll be looking elsewhere. Our need be sharp set just now wi’ winter coming on.”

  “I do understand,” Kit said, smiling. “I’m astonished to admit that I’m looking forward to this foray with some eagerness.”

  “Ah,” Willie said, grinning. “We’ll do now. Just see if we don’t!”

  Chapter 3

  Elsewhere

  Having kept a close eye on Kit throughout his journey from the Highlands to the Borders, Catriona took advantage of his stay at Dunsithe to scan the area for potential trouble, and then to fly off in search of the papers the late laird had sent to him at Torness. Finding them proved easy, and studying them, she concluded that her problem was well on its way to being solved.

  All she had to do was arrange for him to fall in love with his betrothed.

  She was sure it was what Claud would have done in the same situation, and Claud’s plans, while never appearing to be brilliant, always worked out in the end. Before being ordered to look after Kit Chisholm, she had not taken her duties to any mortal seriously, so she was sadly inexperienced at this guardianship business. But if her success could help rescue Claud, she was determined to succeed. Kit Chisholm would marry Mistress Fiona Carmichael, and that was that. So, before returning to Kit, she made a quick visit to Mute Hill House.

  The discovery that Mistress Carmichael was well on the way to marrying someone else was a setback, but Catriona knew that Kit felt no more loyalty to his uncle than the uncle apparently felt toward him. Therefore, one had only to determine the best way to overset Eustace’s wedding plans.

  Kit’s lack of interest in his betrothal created a greater obstacle, especially since he clearly did not intend to visit his betrothed and was unlikely, in any event, to do so before her marriage took place.

  When Catriona returned just in time to hear Kit agree to ride with Willie’s reivers, she considered that plan for possibilities, but the only one that occurred to her was that she might somehow redirect them toward Mute Hill House. The certain chaos that would result if a band of reivers rode into the yard there dissuaded her, however, and she was at a loss as to how to proceed.

  Perhaps, she decided, the answer still lay at Mute Hill House. While she waited for her charge and his new companions to get organized, she could at least have another look at the place.

  The midday meal proved to be even more of a trial than Anne had feared. Fiona seemed no more rested after her brief nap, and despite Anne’s attentions and those of Fiona’s own devoted maidservant, she looked wan and far from her best.

  Olivia was quick to notice her daughter’s lack of color when Anne and Fiona made their curtsies to her.

  “Pinch your cheeks, girl, or by heaven I’ll pinch them for you,” she hissed as Fiona stepped forward to kiss her cheek.

  Hastily, Fiona obeyed, managing to produce more color by the time she turned to greet her intended with a tremulous smile.

  Eustace Chisholm was a tall, boney man with a nose too large for his face and eyes that bore such an intensity of expression that Anne felt as though they looked through people. He always dressed fashionably, and had chosen to wear a pale green satin doublet and trunk hose slashed with darker green-and-gold striped silk. A heavy medallion embossed with the Chisholm crest hung round his neck, making him look wealthy and important, if not particularly warm or friendly.

  Responding to Fiona’s murmured greeting, he chucked her under the chin, saying in a jovial way, “How now, puss, no need for pinching those pretty cheeks of yours, for I’ll gladly put color in them for you. Not that they require more color, for I’m partial to ivory skin, and yours is perfection, as I’ve told you many times. Now you may thank me for my pretty compliments with a kiss, for I swear I’ve thought only about the touch of your soft lips all the way from Hawks Rig.”

  Seeing flames of embarrassment leap to Fiona’s cheeks, Anne thought cynically that even Olivia could not complain of a lack of color now, but she took no satisfa
ction in the sight.

  Fiona stiffened as he pulled her into his arms, and Anne saw her eyes widen with dismay, even fear, when he held her chin and kissed her hard upon the lips.

  Eustace could not have failed to notice her reaction. Indeed, Anne was as certain as she could be that he had noticed and that Fiona’s reluctance only added to his pleasure, because he held her even closer and gave her another great, smacking kiss on the lips.

  When he released her, Fiona stepped back so quickly that she nearly tripped over her skirt. She raised a hand as if she would wipe away the kisses, but catching her mother’s stern eye, she clearly thought better of it, and quickly let the hand fall to her side again.

  Olivia said with a faint laugh and a twitch of her purple-net fan, “You anticipate your husbandly rights, Sir Eustace. I pray you, sir, restrain your passions until the child is yours, lest you frighten her witless before then.”

  “Faith, madam,” he said with a loud chortle, “since it was not the lass’s wits that attracted me to her, she may lose them with my goodwill. ’Tis her soft skin and bright eyes—aye, and other attributes, as well,” he added, looking Fiona up and down with a leer that fairly turned Anne’s stomach.

  Sir Toby Bell entered just then, and for once she was glad to see him. In general, she found him too loud and merry for her taste, but his pleasure at seeing Eustace, and his instantly expressed desire to tell him all about the fox that had cut up everyone’s peace, came as a welcome interruption.

  “Blasted creature must still be somewhere in the house, too,” he added after describing the uproar the fox had caused by its precipitous entrance into Olivia’s bower. “I’ve had lads searching the place, but no one has seen hide or hair of the beast. The dogs won’t go outside without being dragged, either, so they believe it’s still in the house. Don’t worry, my dear,” he added when Olivia put a hand to her forehead. “I’ve shoved the whole lot of them outside.”

  “But the fox!”

  “Oh, aye, but he’s most likely gone to earth somewhere or other, and if you leave him be, he’ll leave you be. I say, Ashkirk,” he added, “what do you say to a few games of Cent after we dine—penny a game?”

  “I had it in mind to spend some private time with my lass,” the other man said, throwing Fiona a look that cast her into visible tremors.

  Anne wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled in his head. It seemed to her then that he delighted in terrifying the poor girl.

  Rescue came from an unexpected source when Toby said firmly, “Can’t allow that, my dear fellow. Time enough for all the privacy ye want wi’ the lass after Parson Allardice has said the proper words over ye. Time is short, so ye’ll not expire in the meantime from unrequited lust.”

  “I believe Malcolm wants to announce dinner,” Anne said hastily, having noted the entrance of her aunt’s house steward, Malcolm Vole.

  A slight man with a habit of lacing his fingers at his waist and otherwise carrying himself as if he were lord of Mute Hill House, he made the announcement, whereupon they adjourned to the high table in the hall to eat their noonday dinner.

  Anne sat at the opposite end of the table from Fiona, making it impossible for them to talk, let alone for Anne to offer her any comfort, so it was fortunate that Olivia maintained a stream of languid conversation about the wedding plans.

  Calling Eustace “Ashkirk,” she submitted each detail for his approval, and when he said testily that he was sure she had everything in excellent order, she replied with a beseeching smile, “But I want everything to be perfect for you, sir.”

  “For Fiona, too, I imagine,” Anne said blandly.

  “Yes, yes, of course. How absurd you are, my dear, when you know how I have fretted myself to flinders to ensure that my darling’s wedding is just as it should be. But gentlemen always know exactly how everything should be.”

  It was tempting to suggest that the groom was scarcely what he should be, let alone anyone who should be advising her about wedding details. Anne only wished she had the courage to point out that Eustace was not only old enough to be Fiona’s father and far more interested in her fortune and beauty than he was in her heart or mind, but that he was also a man who enjoyed frightening her. But Olivia had long desired alliance with the Chisholms, and sacrificing her daughter to Eustace clearly was not—in her mind, at all events—too high a price to pay for the connection.

  By the time the meal ended, Anne was itching to escape. She was extremely fond of her cousin and grateful for her aunt’s hospitality, but the longer she stayed at the huge, fortified manor house, the more she longed to murder someone.

  Not that anyone would have guessed it, for since childhood she had cultivated a serenity of manner that had long since become habit. Nevertheless, the moment Olivia arose from her chair, Anne did likewise, saying quietly, “Come, Fiona. You know we promised your Molly that we would allow her to practice the new arrangement Aunt Olivia suggested for your hair.”

  Fiona turned to her with a startled look, but although she was not quick-witted, neither was she simple.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” she said. “Pray excuse us, everyone.”

  Eustace scrambled to his feet, and the expression on his face told Anne as plainly as words that he meant to object.

  Hastily, she said, “Malcolm, Sir Eustace’s goblet is nearly empty. Please have one of your lads refill it.”

  “At once, my lady,” the steward said smoothly, but she did not miss the look of resentment he shot her.

  Suppressing a sigh, she ushered Fiona from the chamber. Malcolm Vole had been sending resentful looks her way from the moment of her arrival at Mute Hill House, and she had long since given up hope of changing his opinion of her.

  Accustomed as she was to managing the earl’s large household at Ellyson Towers, she had not hesitated to make herself useful to her aunt and Fiona at Mute Hill. However, she had soon come to realize that although Malcolm prided himself on his position as house steward, he had accepted his orders from Sir Stephen before that gentleman’s death, and afterward had simply taken it upon himself to run things according to his own notions of what Sir Stephen would have desired.

  Toby Bell was unequal to the task of supervising the steward, but Anne had quickly seen that Malcolm did a poor job of running the household. Her first, tactful attempts to instill a more orderly system had failed miserably, because Malcolm had taken umbrage, whereupon Olivia, without discussing the matter, had taken his side.

  “Because men always understand things better than women do, my dear, and Malcolm understands my needs perfectly. Although I am sure that your odd notions answered well enough at home, Ellyson Towers is much older than Mute Hill House and not nearly so modern in its ways. You must trust Malcolm, as I do, to know exactly what will suit me best.”

  After that, Anne had resorted to more subtle methods, but she did not expect Malcolm’s attitude, or Olivia’s, to change.

  Although Malcolm clearly resented her request now to attend to Eustace, the diversion served its purpose and she took Fiona from the room without opposition.

  “I loathe him,” Fiona muttered.

  “Then tell your mother you will not marry him,” Anne advised practically.

  “You know I cannot do that.” Fiona wrung her hands. “She would be so angry, Anne. You know she would.”

  “I expect she would,” Anne agreed, “but it is less than useless to complain to me if you will not take a stand against marrying him.”

  “But don’t you think he is dreadful?”

  “What I think butters no one’s bread.”

  “But, truly, Anne, don’t you?”

  “I think someone should have drowned him at birth,” Anne said.

  Fiona giggled.

  Anne added bluntly, “But it does not matter what I think, because no one did drown him, and so if you are determined to obey your mother—”

  “It is my duty, Anne. You know it is. Besides, one cannot say no to her.”

  An
ne knew that Fiona, at least, could not. “Then you must reconcile yourself to the marriage, if that is the only choice that remains for you.”

  “You know it is.” Tears spilled down Fiona’s cheeks. “What am I to do?”

  “I have already given you the only advice I have, love, but I’ll try to think of something else that may help,” Anne said. “In the meantime, I believe you are exhausted, and although you did lie down for a short time before dinner, I know you did not sleep. I mean to ride this afternoon to shake the fidgets from my mind, and as always, your mother will be occupied with her own concerns after dinner—”

  “She naps, usually,” Fiona said.

  “Exactly,” Anne said with a smile. “So you can enjoy a nice long sleep and no one will disturb you, for I mean to ask my Peg Elliot to keep watch, and you know Peg can rout anyone who may try to disturb you.”

  “Very well, I’ll try to rest, but I keep thinking about how close the wedding is. Two days from now, I shall be Lady Chisholm, and I don’t think I can bear it.”

  “Hush now, and come to bed,” Anne said soothingly.

  Fiona obeyed, but by the time she was settled, Anne’s patience had nearly expired and the hour was far more advanced than she had hoped. Taking only enough time to send a lad to the stables to order her favorite gelding saddled, she hurried to her bedchamber to tell Peg what she had promised on her behalf and to change into her riding dress. The sky was still overcast, but even if it opened up and poured forth in a flood, she was determined to have her ride.

  Before going out to the stable, she made certain that, despite Eustace’s continued presence, Olivia had taken to her bed for her usual postprandial nap. Reassured on that point, Anne was soon on her way.

  An intoxicating sense of freedom filled her as she rode down into the dale and left Mute Hill behind. It was not by any means the first time since moving that she had made the ten-mile journey between her aunt’s house and Ellyson Towers. The track was well defined, her pony was swift and sure, and she was an excellent horsewoman who had come to know the way well over the past weeks.