Karen Ranney

by The Devil of Clan Sinclair

  He only smiled at her mistake, led her to a stall and introduced her to a pretty little mare named Empress.

  When she once confided she’d never been a great horsewoman, he hadn’t tried to convince her to try riding again. He had never tried to change her, a fact she appreciated.

  They visited the barn and enclosures, where she admired one of the black-faced ewes heavy with lamb.

  “Most lambs are born in the spring,” he explained. “She found herself in this predicament, no doubt from too much frolicking.”

  The remark was meant to be joking, but it cut too close to their own situation. Frolicking, indeed.

  Was that why he hadn’t visited her room, because he was cautious about frolicking?

  The question never left her lips.

  The sun appeared through a rip in the clouds, promising a bright and sparkling afternoon. But when she begged off from any more exploration, he didn’t object, merely nodded.

  “I need to return to the nursery,” she said.

  He only smiled, an expression that had her wanting to reach up and place her fingers over his lips. He mustn’t try to charm her as he’d done all morning. He really shouldn’t smile at her in such a way.

  She took her book of poetry and returned to the house, feeling more than a little cowardly for escaping.

  Macrath fascinated her too much.

  She had to remember why she was here, and why she needed to leave. Daily, however, he was making it more difficult, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d planned it that way.

  Paul smiled and plunked down the coins for the drinks on the table. With a bit more ale, maybe he’d be able to understand his companions better.

  He’d never held an antipathy for the Scots, at least until meeting Macrath Sinclair. Now every single Scot he met reminded him of the man.

  Money, a perennial lubricant, aided him in his quest for information. By the second day in Kinloch Village, spent in one of the wharf-side taverns, he’d loosened enough tongues to get directions to Sinclair’s house.

  He’d even had the good fortune of talking to several lads employed at Drumvagen. Now he had enough information to draw a map of the place.

  The harbor town proved beneficial in another way. Two ships were leaving soon, one of them the Oregon, bound for America. He hadn’t hesitated in booking passage for two.

  He shook his head when William would have downed the contents of his tankard. The man looked disappointed but put the tankard down. William needed to pace himself or he’d be a liability.

  A beggar worked harder than a man used to eating. Before he left London, he’d hired William, who willingly confessed to being a snakesman when Paul had asked. A past they’d shared, although he hadn’t confided in the man that he, too, had been a burglar before he got too large to crawl into some of the windows.

  William was tall and gaunt, like he’d never eaten his fill. His hair, black and stringy, was queued at the back of his neck, revealing features that could do with a bit of a wash.

  Paul was careful never to remain downwind of William for long. His hints about the man’s aversion to bathing had fallen on deaf ears, as did his caution about drink. William liked his ale and whiskey almost as much as he disliked soap and water.

  One thing he did do about the man’s appearance, and marginally his odor, was to send William off to a used clothing mart to replace his stained shirt and trousers. William had returned looking much the same but smelling better.

  Amazing what a decade could do. Ten years ago he’d been just like William, a sour stench clinging to him, his clothes as dirty and soiled. He’d wanted better and had set about changing. He’d learned to speak like the toffs, to bathe and smell good, to eat with the right utensils, to rid himself of the habits clearly labeling him as lower class.

  In the task he’d hired William for, appearance didn’t matter. Still, he didn’t want him to attract undo attention. Luckily, the smell of fish was so strong that it easily overcame William’s body odor.

  He’d told William a tale, one of a woman who needed to be rescued. William was just young enough to believe it, and old enough to cast himself in the role of good Samaritan or a prince rescuing a princess.

  He took a sip from his tankard and nodded when William glanced at him. William drank deep, settled back in the chair with a satisfied sigh and belched loud and long.

  The other men laughed. Paul smiled and ordered another round. Leaning forward, he said, “Now, tell me more about this grotto.”

  Virginia sat in Macrath’s library, a room so like him she could almost feel him there with her.

  The fireplace on the far wall was surrounded by white marble. In the winter it would burn brightly, warming a room now pleasantly cool.

  The large desk stretched nearly the length of the room, a leather chair sitting behind it. Lining the walls were shelves of books, most of them having to do with electricity or inventions of sorts.

  She’d brought the book of poetry he’d given her, picked one of the leather wing chairs, and propped her feet on a footstool. For the last hour she’d been half involved with the book, and the other half engaged in thoughts of Macrath.

  She’d been his guest, if she could call herself that, for a week now. Each day, he’d been charming and polite. Every night as she retired, she expected a knock on her door.

  They should be lovers, he’d say. After all, they’d already been lovers. Why were they trying to deny themselves the pleasure each felt?

  Except he’d never come.

  In all these nights, he’d not once kissed her or teased her into passion. He’d not seduced her or driven her mad with his touch.

  Instead, he’d done things that surprised her.

  A rocking chair had recently been brought to the nursery, followed by another delivery the following day. A larger cradle was carried in by two burly men. To her horror, a live hen was tied inside it. She’d been told by Brianag, who seemed to have endless knowledge of such things, that it was unlucky otherwise. Nor could the cradle touch the ground before it was put in its permanent place.

  Brianag also cautioned her that she shouldn’t talk to Elliot.

  “He’ll learn to talk before he walks,” she warned. “He’ll be a liar for sure.”

  Being unfamiliar with Scottish customs, Virginia would have liked to ask Macrath about some of them, but he’d disappeared. He not only avoided coming to her room, but rarely made a visit to the nursery in the last week. At least, he’d not come when she was there.

  If she hadn’t been afraid the answer was yes, she might have found the courage to ask him if he was avoiding her. Was it because of Paul? Was he adverse to touching her because of what she’d told him?

  Suddenly, like she’d conjured him up from a wish, Macrath was there, standing in the doorway. He entered the room like a gust of fresh wind. As she did every time she saw him after an absence of a few moments or hours, she marveled at her reaction. Her pulse raced and her chest tightened.

  “I went looking for you,” he said. “I couldn’t find you, and for a moment I felt almost as panicked as a grandmother.”

  She closed the book slowly.

  “A panicked grandmother? The only grandmother at Drumvagen is Brianag, and I can’t imagine her in a panic. Ever.”

  He grinned. “She likes you, you know,” he said, coming to sit beside her on the companion chair. He reached over and held her hand loosely, the first time they’d touched in days.

  “Does she? I like her as well. Once,” she added, “I realized she wasn’t nearly as frightening as she first appeared.”

  His laugh brightened the room. “She struck me that way, too. I wondered why she had such high recommendations. All she did was scowl at me, demand to know what I was going to do with Drumvagen, and then dictate terms of her hire.”

  “She’s very intimidating, but no more so than you.” She moved her feet over so he could put his foot up on the stool. He nudged her foot playfully, then rested h
is shoe next to hers.

  He raised one eyebrow.

  “You’re very forbidding when you wish to be, Macrath Sinclair. You stand just so with your legs braced apart, and when you look at someone, it’s like you’re trying to see all the way inside them.”

  He grinned at her. “I had no idea you noted my appearance with such interest, your ladyship.”

  She glanced away.

  Macrath stood and pulled her to her feet. He walked to the bookcase and pulled on the sconce, pulling the bookcase away from the wall.

  “I’ve a yen to see the grotto,” he said, his smile boyish and without shame. “Can I lure you to my lair?”

  Holding out his hand, he smiled at her.

  The last thing she needed to do was go to the grotto with Macrath. He’d be able to easily seduce her then. She’d might even seduce him first. No, the very idea was foolish.

  She took a step back, shaking her head.

  “Come with me,” he said, his voice low.

  She was prevented from answering by Hannah’s appearance.

  The maid halted at the doorway. “A secret passage, sir?”

  Macrath glanced from her to Hannah, evidently understanding the moment had passed. Or perhaps it had never truly come.

  “Yes,” he said, closing the bookcase door. Giving Virginia a rueful smile, he bent and kissed her on the cheek.

  “I’m to tell you the package has arrived, sir,” Hannah said, placing the tray on the table between the two chairs with great concentration. She gave the task more attention than it required, meaning she felt as embarrassed at interrupting them as Virginia.

  She’d almost gone to the grotto with Macrath. Surely she shouldn’t be feeling so excited.

  Without another word, Macrath left the room.

  She and Hannah looked at each other.

  “A package?”

  The maid nodded. “Brianag was most determined I should say package. Not crate or present.”

  The mystery deepened when Macrath and Jack reappeared a few moments later, the two of them carrying a large wooden crate. She smiled at the young man, but his attention was on Hannah. Macrath called him back to the task, and Jack helped set the box down on one side of the library.

  When they were done, he stood there smiling at Hannah, who smiled back.

  Virginia bit back her sigh.

  “I have a present for you,” Macrath said after Hannah and Jack left the room. “I remembered how much you like to read broadsides.”

  “I could tell you it was to educate my mind,” she said. “But you and I know such is not always the case.”

  “You were interested in the Atlantic cable.”

  She nodded. “I’m afraid that was the exception to the rule. I was fascinated with the most gruesome stories.”

  “Then you will love these,” he said, using a small iron bar to open the top of the crate. “I had my sister send the last few months of broadsides.”

  She went to the corner, peering inside the crate. There, stacked in neat little bundles, were all sorts of broadsides and what her father would’ve called scandal sheets.

  Macrath had done this for her.

  “I always wondered,” she said, picking up one of the stacks, “if the reason my father refused to consider you as a suitor was because you owned a newspaper.”

  “I take it he was not in favor of them.”

  “He was excoriated by reporters. When he became interested in politics, they held him to account more strictly than he’d expected. They were always asking questions, and he was always trying to avoid them.”

  “He was the only man I was willing to beg.”

  She glanced at him, feeling her chest tighten.

  “I never got the chance,” he said.

  She looked away, occupying herself by trying to untie the rope binding one bundle. She didn’t want to weep today. She didn’t want to think of the girl she’d been a few years ago. Had it only been a few years? Why, then, did it feel like a lifetime?

  “Perhaps if he’d agreed and you and I had married,” she said, “we would have become disinterested with each other.”

  “I can’t imagine that happening, can you?”

  “It isn’t wise to want to change the past.”

  “No,” he said, “but perhaps wishes can change the future.”

  She looked over at him. He was smiling at her, his gaze intent.

  Their time was coming to an end. Surely he knew it as well.

  Her absence from London could be explained by the fact she was recuperating from smallpox. But if she were gone too many more weeks, people would start to wonder, to speculate among themselves. Even as reclusive as she’d been, she was still the Countess of Barrett and people talked.

  She wasn’t concerned as much about society as she was Lawrence’s cousin. He would not hesitate to question her remaining in Scotland. Perhaps he’d even demand to see Elliot.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For the broadsides.”

  He nodded, placing his hand atop hers.

  “Virginia—” he began.

  She shook her head, so close to tears at the moment that she wouldn’t be able to remain composed, regardless of what he said.

  She stood on her tiptoes, kissed him softly on the cheek, then turned and left the room before he could stop her.

  Chapter 29

  Virginia returned from the nursery to find another gift in her sitting room.

  Not content with giving her a crate of broadsides, Macrath had sent her a shawl yesterday, along with a note saying he’d purchased it from a woman in Kinloch Village renowned for her skill with the soft wool from Drumvagen sheep. The day before that it was a bouquet of heather and other late summer flowers, bunched together with pine sprigs and oak leaves. To remind you of Drumvagen Woods, he’d written.

  This gift, however, was a rolled paper, tied with a simple string.

  “Was there a note?” she asked.

  Hannah sat in the chair beside the window, intent on adding white cuffs and collars to all Virginia’s mourning dresses. She bit off the thread with her teeth and shook her head.

  Slowly, Virginia unrolled the paper to find it was a design. She traced the lines, realizing it was a plan for something at Drumvagen, to be built directly behind the house.

  “It’s for the rose garden,” Hannah said, startling her. The maid had come to stand beside her and was peering at the plans.

  “How do you know that?” she asked.

  Hannah’s cheeks grew pink. “Someone told me,” she said.

  “A rose garden?”

  “Macrath knows you like roses,” Hannah said.

  They were standing in a room specifically decorated with her in mind. Roses were prolific in the upholstery fabric, not to mention the potpourri scenting the air.

  He’d gone too far. Entirely too far. He couldn’t keep doing such things, reducing her almost to tears with a simple gesture.

  She rolled up the plans and tied them with the string, leaving them on the round table in the middle of the room.

  Instead of returning to the nursery, she headed for the stairs.

  The last two nights had been fitful ones, with Elliot waking every hour. She’d been desperate to calm him but nothing had worked. Not a warm bath or walking him, or even singing to him.

  Brianag had been summoned by either Mary or Agatha, she wasn’t sure which. The housekeeper had taken one look at her son, nodded with a jerk of her chin and pronounced the child needing a teethin’ bannock. An hour later Brianag returned, producing a biscuit in the shape of a ring. When Virginia started to ask about it, Brianag placed her finger on her lips and shook her head.

  The four of them watched as Elliot reached out, grabbed the ring and started to gnaw on it. When it was broken, Brianag gave her a piece, then shared the other pieces with Mary and Agatha. They all ate their pieces under Brianag’s watchful eye. The taste reminded Virginia of oatmeal cooked too long.

  “He’ll sleep now,” Bri
anag said, watching as Elliot gummed the last of the treat. “The bannock takes away the pain of teething.”

  To Virginia’s surprise, Elliot did sleep, which was why, rather than returning to the nursery, she escaped outside for a little fresh air and solitude.

  Drumvagen was unique, being sandwiched between the coast, a river, and woodland. She’d made it as far as the river, but this time she climbed to the top of the hill, standing on its crest and surveying the view framed by tall sycamores.

  From there she could see Kinloch Village and its houses clinging like baby possums to the hills overlooking the harbor.

  Below was the river, stretching wide and blue, undulating through the glen. At the base of the hill was a gate leading to an arched stone bridge weathered green and gray.

  The storm of the night before had washed the world clean. Sunlight shone like lace through the emerald leaves, danced along the river, and glimmered on the ocean waves.

  For years she’d lived in a city, missing the land and forest around Cliff House. As a child she heard the sigh of the wind through the branches at night. During the day she went into the woods and sat silent, listening to the life around her. At times she’d even escaped from her governesses, pretending not to hear their annoyed calling.

  How had she tolerated London all this time?

  The bridge appeared to have been carved from one large piece of stone. She strolled across, hesitating at the arched top, staring down into the rushing waters below. What an enchanting place this was. What a glorious kingdom Macrath was creating.

  Elliot was part of his family, and yet he was—as far as the world was concerned—the eleventh Earl of Barrett, with all its rights and privileges.

  He’d be schooled in how to behave, how to act in every situation. He’d memorize ranks, learn Lawrence’s family history, become the head of the family. One day he’d be compelled to marry, just as Lawrence had, to protect a title.

  Elliot was only an infant, but she could almost see him in the various stages of his life. A boy, educated by a tutor who was a great deal kinder than any of her governesses had been. Later, he’d go away to school, to Lawrence’s alma mater. How would she bear the separation? He’d be tall, with black hair and blue eyes, and all the girls would look at him when he entered a room.