by Amanda Scott
Eustace launched into another lecture, but as Anne adjusted the candles near Olivia, replacing one and trimming two wicks, she paid him little heed other than occasionally to glance his way so he would not realize she was ignoring him. One such glance produced a sudden, startling awareness that his gaze was far too intense for a gentleman merely scolding one whom he regarded, however inaccurately, as in his charge. Although he clearly sought to dominate her, his expression was strangely possessive, even flirtatious, and it made her uncomfortable.
Moira entered then with linen for Olivia’s tambour frame, and Anne had no more time for private thought. In the hour that followed, she learned that Eustace had decided to remain at Mute Hill House until the wedding, having sent his servant to Hawks Rig to collect what he required for the ceremony.
It was Olivia, of course, who had persuaded him to stay. “For it will give me such assurance to have a strong-minded gentleman to support me,” she explained, gazing limpidly at him in a way that made Anne want to shake her.
He said, “ ’Tis my pleasure, madam, but surely your uncle is an excellent man and one upon whom you must place great reliance.”
Olivia sighed. “Would that it were so, sir, but you must see that Uncle Toby has been a sad disappointment. He spends much of his time in alehouses with men of low repute, several of whom he has actually invited to Mute Hill House.”
“God’s wounds, to what purpose?”
To Anne’s astonishment, Olivia lowered her eyes and blushed. “Why, sir,” she said coyly, “I fear he quite fails to comprehend the depth of my bereavement and hopes to provide me with an eligible suitor.”
“Poor lady,” Eustace said, patting her hand. “You must suffer grievously.”
Anne suspected him of mockery, but Olivia smiled warmly and said, “You are so kind, sir. My dearest Fiona—our dearest Fiona, as I should say—is much luckier than she knows.”
“ ’Tis I who am the fortunate one,” he said.
Anne stood up more abruptly than she had intended but said with carefully controlled calm, “Pray excuse me, madam. There will be much to do tomorrow, so I should sleep whilst I can. Good night, Sir Eustace.”
Scarcely awaiting permission and ignoring his look of irritation at being addressed as Sir Eustace instead of Ashkirk, she left them and hurried upstairs, where she found Peg Elliot in possession of her bedchamber.
“At last!” Peg exclaimed. “Like a cat on hot bricks Mistress Fiona is and will not rest until she speaks with ye. Pray, go tae her at once.”
“I thought her asleep this past hour and more,” Anne said.
“Not her. Fretting, she is, over what’s tae become o’ her. If she were a pony, mistress, I’d say she were ripe for bolting.”
“I am sure she never had such a wicked notion in all her life,” Anne said. “She is the least likely person I know to go against her mother’s wishes, let alone dare to snap her fingers at a man as domineering as Eustace Chisholm.”
“Aye, but she’s so frightened o’ him there be nae saying what she’ll do.”
Anne sighed. “I know she is frightened, and they are cruel to force her into this marriage, but we may yet find a way out, Peg, if only the Lord proves willing.”
“I canna think how,” Peg said.
“Nor may I tell you,” Anne said. “The possibility involves others for whom I must not speak, but if all goes as I hope… Well, just pray that it does, that’s all.”
“Aye,” Peg said, eyeing her skeptically. “Likely, ye’re up tae some mischief, and we’ll all of us land in the suds.”
“When have I ever landed anyone in the suds but myself?”
Peg grinned. “Aye, butter wouldna melt in your mouth, would it? But I could tell a tale or two, were I of a mind tae do so.”
“But you won’t,” Anne said confidently. “I shall go to Mistress Fiona, so if you have laid out my things, you may go to bed.”
“Oh, aye, I’ll go,” Peg said with another chuckle, “but if Mistress Fiona disappears afore she walks tae her doom at that wee chapel, I willna ha’ far tae look for the one who stirred the notion in her head.”
Anne considered Peg’s words as she hurried to her cousin’s bedchamber but dismissed them before she reached it. Even if by some miracle she could persuade the timid Fiona to defy both Olivia and Eustace, she had not the slightest idea how she could remove her cousin beyond their reach. Surely, they would find her and force the marriage anyway, and then Anne would face punishment herself for encouraging such rebellion.
The thought of her own fate was the least of her concerns, but she had taken Eustace’s measure and that of her aunt. Olivia was a woman who believed in the superiority of men over women to such an extent that she submitted to the wishes not only of her uncle and Eustace but also of her absurd house steward. And while she held Toby in mild contempt, Anne had long realized that the contempt arose from his singular lack of interest in exerting authority. Toby took no responsibility, generally behaving in the manner of a favored guest.
Because Olivia would submit to nearly any decree Eustace issued, Anne knew that both she and Fiona would have to tread carefully. He had so far behaved in a civil if lecherous manner, but Anne sensed that beneath his civility lay a more primitive, even violent nature.
These thoughts passed through her mind in the few minutes it took her to reach Fiona’s room, but their remnants evaporated when she entered to find her cousin pacing back and forth before her fireplace, wringing her hands.
“Oh, Anne, you’ve come! I’ve wanted you for hours!”
“Hush, love, I’m here now. But what are you thinking to be striding about in that thin bedgown without so much as a shawl to fend off the chill?”
“I couldn’t sleep, and I cannot sit still. Oh, Anne, I cannot marry him! All through supper he gazed at me like a wolf contemplating a lamb feast!”
“Then tell your mother you won’t marry him,” Anne said as she opened a chest and found a soft, pink wool shawl.
“I couldn’t! I should be in such disgrace, and it would be utterly dreadful. Just the thought of it curdles my stomach.”
Anne shook her head but smiled as she draped the shawl around Fiona’s slim shoulders. “I expect I could tell her for you if you like,” she said.
Fiona shook her head, making her long hair ripple and gleam in the candle- and firelight. “She would be so angry. I couldn’t bear it. You know I couldn’t!”
Anne hesitated, then said gently, “Something may yet happen to prevent it.”
Fiona brightened. “You could take my place! Oh, Anne, it is the very thing, because every woman needs to marry, and you are not afraid of him. I know you are not. And he is a very good catch, my mother says—so rich and powerful. He counts Cardinal Beaton and even the King amongst his friends, you know, and others nearly as powerful. Some of the gifts they have sent are utterly splendid, but I shouldn’t mind a bit if you have them,” she added. “They say,” she added, lowering her voice, “that Ashkirk has powerful friends even in England.”
Anne chuckled again. “My dear Fiona, surely you realize that every powerful man in the Borders has friends on both sides of the line. Why, one of my father’s best friends was the late Lord Dacre of Naworth, warden of the English western march. He—my father, that is—said the only way to hold one’s own was to know all that the other side held dear and to treat every opponent with respect.”
“See, that is just what I mean,” Fiona said, “you will understand him much better than I ever could. Oh, do say you will, Anne. No one need ever suspect.”
“Silly, they would know at once. We are much the same size, but our hair—”
“I am to be veiled, Mama says, because of your papa’s so-recent death.”
“The veil must come off at the end of the ceremony, however,” Anne reminded her. “Such talk is nonsense in any event, for I’ve no desire to wed Eustace Chisholm. Indeed, I am sure I would murder him at the first opportunity.”
“A
nne, you wouldn’t!”
“I am very sure I would,” Anne said.
“You should not call him Eustace, you know. Mama said we must always call him Ashkirk.”
“I just always think of him as Eustace Chisholm,” Anne said. “You will be Lady Chisholm, after all, not Lady Ashkirk, because your title derives from his knighthood, not from the property. But never mind that now. Just get into bed, love, and enjoy what sleep you can, for tomorrow will be a long day. And do not despair. I have a premonition that everything will turn out well.”
Fiona eyed her uncertainly but then, in her usual fashion, submitted to Anne’s stronger personality. “If you say it, it must be so,” she said, snuggling under her quilt and allowing her cousin to tuck her in.
As Anne bade her goodnight, it occurred to her that were Sir Christopher the man Fiona had begged her to marry, she might not have refused so quickly or so firmly. Her lips burned again at the thought, almost as if he had kissed her again, and chastising herself for thoughts that any right-minded person would roundly condemn, she reminded herself that he was betrothed to Fiona and would make her a much better husband than Eustace would. “And arranging that,” she told herself, “is where your duty lies, my girl.”
Kit’s thoughts likewise kept returning to that kiss, but although thinking about Lady Anne Ellyson made his return journey seem swifter than expected, he told himself the impact he experienced was due to nothing more than having suffered through eighteen months without touching or kissing any woman. Still, it was pleasant to think of Lady Anne and to wonder how she had fared with her aunt.
He found Willie and the other men easily despite new clouds that kept drifting across the moon and dimming its light, but it was not easy to persuade Blind Sammy and his lads to seek their prey elsewhere. While waiting impatiently for his return, they had thought only of the cattle at Ellyson Towers. Not until one of the others remembered an estate just over the line, the owner of which nearly always penned his kine in the same place, did Sammy agree to pass up the Towers.
So agreeable did he become thereafter, however, that Kit decided to send an anonymous warning to Lady Anne’s steward to take particular care of the Ellyson herds during the next fortnight or two.
Sammy and the others seemed happy enough with the cattle they collected without incident from the English estate, and as Willie had promised, the men were talkative afterward and proved extraordinarily well versed in the news of the area.
“Och, aye,” Sammy said when pushed for information about Hawks Rig. “Sir Eustace—or Ashkirk as he’s been calling hisself these past six months or so—be a wily fellow and guards his cattle well, just as the auld laird did afore him. He be none so generous as the auld man, though.”
“The previous laird was a generous man?” Kit had never thought of his father in such terms.
“Och, aye,” Sammy said, shooting him a speculative look. “Ye’ve the look o’ him, ye ken. Ye’ll no wander these parts long afore folks take note o’ that, lad.”
“Do you know who I am, then?” Kit asked, concealing his surprise, for he had not given his name but had depended on their accepting him as Willie’s friend.
“Och, aye, ’tis plain ye be the auld laird’s son. What I dinna ken is if ye be young Kit rose from the dead or one we ha’ never heard tell of afore.”
Glancing at Willie, who shrugged, Kit smiled wryly. “I am Kit Chisholm,” he admitted, “but I’d as lief you tell no one else just yet about my being here.”
“As ye like,” Sammy said. “We’ll be mum as the fleas on me auld hound.”
“Can you tell me just when Eustace claimed the estates?”
“Straightaway, he did,” Sammy said. “Arrived less than a sennight after the auld laird’s death. Canna blame him, though, if he thought ye was dead.”
Kit nodded. “What of our people? Does he look after them well?”
“He does not, for he’s turned off most o’ them. Some went tae live wi’ family, but some ha’ disappeared. Sir Eustace ha’ brought in his own men, who dinna be from these parts, and they keep themselves tae themselves.”
Such news was unsettling. If his uncle had entrenched himself at Hawks Rig and surrounded himself with his own men-at-arms, Kit knew Fin Mackenzie was right. He would have to move cautiously until he knew what he faced.
It occurred to him that he might not enjoy the luxury of choosing his time to confront Eustace. If Lady Anne somehow managed against the odds and before the wedding to persuade her aunt and the unfortunate Fiona that he lived, Eustace would immediately learn the truth, and he should prepare himself for that.
He was wondering if he should just ride to Hawks Rig and have it out with his uncle at once when Sammy, who had turned to speak to one of his men, turned back and said, “D’ye ken that Sir Eustace be about tae wed, sir?”
“Aye, on Friday, I’m told.”
“The lad here tells me the wedding’s tae be at Mute Hill, and your uncle be there now and might stay if her ladyship invites him. Sir Eustace would liefer eat his beef from someone else’s larder any day than from his own.”
Frowning, Kit said, “So the wedding will be at Mute Hill?”
“Aye, but their chapel will hold a good many folk for the mass, and the gardens will be open, so anyone who wants a peek at the wee bride can see her.”
“I want to be there,” Kit said, wondering if he could escape Anne’s notice at such an event. “I don’t want anyone to recognize me straightaway, however.”
“Aye, sure,” Sammy said. Even in the dim moonlight, Kit saw the other man’s eyebrows rise nearly to his hairline. Clearing his throat, Sammy added, “If that be how it lies, sir, ye’d best attach yourself tae someone who were invited, I’m thinking. Them at Mute Hill be unlikely tae heed an extra gentleman after everyone crowds inside, even one as big as what ye are.”
Kit hoped he was right, although he could not imagine whose party he could succeed in joining without comment.
Catriona gave a crow of delight. “Thank the fates,” she exclaimed. “Now he will see Mistress Carmichael and fall in love with her.”
Maggie grimaced. “Ye’re as bad as that Fergus Fishbait.”
“I’m no such thing!”
“Well, dinna be so sure o’ yourself. What makes ye think he’ll love her?”
“You’ve seen her, Maggie, and you said yourself that all men fall flat for beauty. Fiona is an heiress besides. No mortal man could fail to love her.”
“We’ll see,” Maggie said. “Until then, we must watch them all carefully and try tae determine which is Claud’s mortal.”
“What be the pair o’ ye up tae now?” Fergus demanded, popping into view.
“Ye should be watching your lass,” Maggie said.
“I was, but she’s sleeping, and ye two be up tae summat, Maggie. I ken ye well, and I could see at once that this lass here wants summat o’ young Chisholm.”
“I just want him to marry Mistress Carmichael,” Catriona said. “That is what Lady Anne wants of him, too, and now he’s going to see how beautiful her cousin is, because he means to attend the wedding.”
“What good will that do? Mistress Carmichael be marrying his uncle.”
“Nay, for when Kit Chisholm sees how beautiful she is, he will tell them he’s alive and still betrothed to her.”
Fergus looked skeptical. “That be all ye want?”
Catriona glanced at Maggie, who said, “That’s only part of it, but I’m no so sure I should tell ye the rest.”
When Fergus bristled, Catriona said, “You said yourself that we must tell him, Maggie. We need his help, and as smart as he is, we’ll need his ideas, too.”
Preening now, Fergus looked expectantly at Maggie.
“Verra well,” she said. “What I didna tell ye is that Jonah Bonewits ha’ melded Claud wi’ a mortal, likely one o’ them at Mute Hill or Hawks Rig. We ha’ tae decide which one, so we can rescue him.”
“How?” Fergus asked, clearly scared
again by mention of Jonah.
“We’ll seek mortals wi’ characteristics o’ my Claud,” Maggie said.
“But I dinna ken what he’s like.”
“The first thing ye’d notice is that he falls in lust at the twitch o’ a lass’s hips,” Maggie said with a slanting look at Catriona. “He’ll be impulsive, too, and thoughtless, and he willna like following rules. It shouldna be difficult.”
“Aye, sure,” Catriona said, “but he’ll be kind, Claud will, and he’ll be frightened, too, and yearning to come home. In sooth, Fergus, we do not know how he’ll affect the mortal he’s bound to, so we must watch them all and try to learn who has changed recently—women as well as men. Isn’t that so, Maggie?”
“Aye, it is,” she agreed. “Use your brain, Fergus. Catriona seems tae think ye’ve got one.”
He shot her a resentful look but then smiled at Catriona. “We’ll find him,” he said confidently. “Ye’ll see.”
Maggie nodded, satisfied that she and Catriona might make a good team after all. At least, the lass understood how to manage the likes of Fergus Fishbait.
Chapter 7
During the night, the rain began again, pouring down in gusting sheets that slammed against the closed shutters of Anne’s windows and created such a din that it awakened her. It was not the first time she had wakened, either, for Sir Toby had come home late, as usual, and had either brought friends as he so often did, or had roused Eustace to join him in his revelry. Anne had not cared which it was. She had just pulled her pillow over her head and ignored the noise.
The rain was a different matter, however, for she could not remember if Fiona’s shutters were open or closed when she had visited her earlier. The younger girl frequently slept with her windows unshuttered, and since only the upper halves of the windows at Mute Hill House were glazed, if she had not shuttered the lower halves, rain would be blowing right into her room.
Knowing she would not go back to sleep if she did not check, Anne got up, put on her robe, and slipped her feet into fur-lined mules. Then, her way lit by low-burning night candles set inside porcelain water basins at each end of the gallery, she hurried to Fiona’s room, quietly opened the door, and stepped inside.