The Marquess's Scottish Bride

by Lauren Royal

  “I knew as much. And my love for you is the same.” She sighed. “I never expected to wed at all, much less for romantic love.” She felt a lump rise in her throat as her excitement gave way to defeat. “It’s hopeless.”

  Her fingers went absently to play with her laces as she wandered back to MacLeod, tears swimming in her eyes.

  “Is there no other way? Must I wed or see it all go to Adam?”

  “Well…” The family lawyer met her gaze, then looked away.

  “Aye? What are you thinking?” Slapping her palms onto the desk, she leaned toward him. “You’ve an idea, don’t you?”

  MacLeod glanced heavenward. “May your father forgive me for circumventing his plans.” He smoothed his fine wool doublet. “If you could persuade your brother to sign over his rights—”

  Caithren’s heart galloped in her chest. “That would work? Such a paper would be legally binding?”

  “I cannot see why not. It wouldn’t be signed under duress, and who would there be to challenge? I assume, in exchange for a generous allowance for his keeping, that Adam would jump at the chance to relinquish his responsibilities. If I know your brother at all—”

  “Aye, you do,” Cameron said in wry confirmation. He walked closer to Cait. “And he’d still have the title. Sir Adam Leslie, Baronet. Not that he deserves it.”

  “I don’t care about that, but it’s all he cares about, which is why this should work.” Caithren turned around to think. “I must go to Adam.” She spun back to her cousin. “My letters never seem to reach him, and he may be off to India soon.”

  “India?” Cameron frowned. “Do you know where he is now?”

  “A letter came just yesterday.” She hurried to the desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. “He mailed it the first of August, from Chichester.” She scanned the single page. “He said he was in the company of two friends on their way to West Riding near Pontefract, where Lord Scarborough had invited them hunting. Then to London for Lord Darnley’s wedding on the thirtieth. And he hopes to make it home for Hogmanay, but there’s talk of a voyage to India.” She looked up. “He should still be at Scarborough’s. Pontefract is about halfway to London, isn’t it? Not so far.”

  “I’ll go.”

  “Nay, Cam. I must ask this of Adam myself.”

  “You don’t trust me to ask him to sign a piece of paper?”

  Caithren winced at the hurt look on her cousin’s face. “It wouldn’t be the same request, coming from you.” Setting the letter aside, she put a hand on his arm. “I do love him, you know, but I also see him for what he is.”

  Cam’s hand covered hers and squeezed. “Then I’ll accompany you—”

  “Nay, it’s here you’re needed. The harvest approaches.” She raised a palm to stem his next protest. “You may see me to Edinburgh and put me on the public coach, but then it’s back to Leslie where you belong. I can deal with Adam.”

  “I don’t like to think of you traveling alone.”

  The thought of a solo journey did make a wee tingle of fear flutter in her stomach. But she pushed it away. “We’ll hire a chaperone in Edinburgh. You can choose her personally, if that will make you feel better.”

  When Cam’s shoulders slumped, she sensed her victory. “There’s no arguing with you,” he said, “is there, dear cousin?”

  “Nay, and there never was.” She rose to her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m thinking it’s about time you learnt it.”

  He shook his head, then flashed a speculative smile. “Do you know, I reckon you may be right.”

  “Aye?”

  “There may be no man willing to take you to bride, you stubborn lass.”

  “Crivvens! Be off with you!” She swatted him playfully. “You know what Mam used to say.”

  “I cannot wait to hear this one.”

  “Ha freens and ha life.”

  “Good friends make a full life,” Cameron murmured.

  She nodded, feeling the hot press of tears behind her eyes again. All she had left to love were Cameron and Leslie.

  She would not lose either.

  “You’re a fine friend, Cam. The best. Leslie will fare well in our hands.”

  SIX

  HURRYING INTO her room at the Edinburgh inn, Caithren found Cameron waiting with his chosen chaperone.

  The chaperone clucked her tongue. Her three chins wobbled, and one foot tapped against the bare, wood-planked floor. “What took you so long, lass?”

  “I’ll wager five to one she got lost on her way back. Did I not warn you so, Mrs. Dochart?” Cam grinned, turning to Cait. “What happened? Did you go to Whiteford House instead of White Horse Close?”

  “Worse,” she muttered. She tied two black ribbons on the ends of her plaits, then moved to slip the rest of her purchases into her satchel. “I was wandering around Brown’s Close. I remembered it was a color, but forgot which one.” She fished out her money pouch and added the coins she’d received as change. “And I set down my hat, then couldn’t find it.”

  Cam laughed. “How is it that anyone as efficient as you can be constantly misplacing her hat?”

  She sent him a scathing look. “They’re just hats, not all that important. I usually have much more pressing matters to worry about. The Widow MacKenzie’s health, or the proper time to shear the sheep.”

  “We shall have to advance our schedule by half an hour from here on out.” Mrs. Dochart brushed at the mustard-colored cloth that was laced over her pillowish bosom. “One cannot be late when the public coach is running.” Her beady black eyes honed in on Caithren’s open satchel. “What have we here, lass? Men’s clothing?”

  When Cait went to shut the bag, Cameron nudged her hands aside and pulled out a couple of garments. “Breeches? A shirt?”

  “I may ride a horse at Scarborough’s. Adam went there for hunting, aye?” She pushed him away and stuffed the clothes back inside. “I’m not used to riding in skirts.”

  The chaperone pursed her lips. “You’re off to England, lass. Not the wilds of Scotland.” She bundled up in an ugly mud-colored cloak that reached to the floor, covering her uglier calico skirt. Caithren thought she looked like a lumpy brown mountain. “Women in England ride sidesaddle, garbed in riding habits.”

  Cam snatched his woolen plaid off a hook on the plastered wall, wrapped himself in it, and jammed his hat on his head. “Mrs. Dochart’s right, Cait. You won’t be on your own land where you may act as you choose and none will say nay. Those Sassenachs are civilized.” He pronounced the word with more than a modicum of distaste. “I’ll tote the breeches back home for you.”

  “I want to bring them.” Cait took tiny framed paintings of Da and Adam off the table and snuggled them on top of the clothing. She shrugged as she fastened the closure. “Whether I’ll wear them or not remains to be seen.”

  While she donned her own tartan wrap, Cam hefted the satchel. “Bring what you wish. You’re the one who has to carry it all.” He handed her the bag, laughing when she strained under its weight.

  Squaring her shoulders, Caithren followed Mrs. Dochart from the room and down two of the five narrow flights of stairs before Cameron caught up and took the satchel from her. “I’ll miss you, Cait.”

  She managed a brave smile. No matter what she’d said in Da’s study, it was a scary thing to be going to England alone. “I’ll miss you, too. But I won’t be staying in Pontefract long, not with Adam off to London for that wedding. I cannot believe I had to wait a whole day just to leave here.”

  Cameron laughed. “My impatient cousin. The coach runs naught but once a fortnight.” He pushed open the inn’s door. “You were lucky.”

  Caithren touched the old emerald amulet she wore on a chain about her neck—her good-luck charm. She sighed as she stepped into the gray Edinburgh day. A persistent drizzle kept the cobblestones wet and shining. Canongate teemed with coaches, horses, and humanity, and Holyroodhouse loomed in the background, tall and imposing.

  It was as different
from peaceful Leslie as she could possibly imagine.

  She drew her blue and green plaid tighter around her shoulders. “I can only hope there are no more delays, or I’ll miss Adam for certain. Then I’ll have to go all the way to London.” She paused for a breath. “I’d prefer not to even consider that possibility.”

  “Me, neither.” Cam chuckled as he handed her satchel to an outrider and watched him heave it onto the coach’s roof. “I cannot imagine you making it all that way without getting lost.”

  Mrs. Dochart paused on the coach steps. “Worry not on that account, lad. I’m goin’ all the way to London, and if need be I’ll make it my business to see she gets there on time and in one piece. That’s what you hired me for, after all.”

  Cait watched the woman’s ample behind disappear into the coach. “Heaven alone knows how I’ll survive the eight days to Pontefract with that old bawface, let alone nine more to London if need be. Already I cannot abide her, and I met her only this morning.”

  “She’s exactly what you need, cousin. I hired well.” Cameron carefully counted eight pounds to pay the two fares. “I can only pray Adam will do as well finding a chaperone for you on the other end.” He glanced at the slate sky, then drew off his hat and settled it over her plaits. “Here, I don’t want to see you go hatless.”

  She looked up at the plain brown rim, then grinned. “Do you think I look bonnie?”

  “Oh, aye.” His eyes lit with humor. “A man’s hat suits you.” His expression sobered as he rooted beneath his plaid, then pressed a pistol into her hands. “And I want you to take this as well.”

  “Da’s gun?” It felt heavy and vaguely menacing, the dull metal pitted, the wooden grip worn smooth from years of use. “But why?”

  “I don’t trust the English. Short of accompanying you myself, I’d at least send you with some protection.”

  “But I don’t know how to use it.”

  He handed her a heavy little pouch and a flask of gunpowder. “Pour a wee smidge of powder into the muzzle, then wrap a cloth patch around a ball, ram it—”

  “Nay, that wasn’t what I meant. I’ve seen Da load this pistol hundreds of times. But I’ve never shot at anything, Cam.”

  “Confound me, I wish I’d known that. I would’ve practiced with you.” He took back the pouch and flask, hesitated, then reached beneath her plaid and stuffed them into her skirt’s deep pocket. “Take it anyway. You’re a bright lass, Cait. If need be, you’ll figure out how to use it.”

  Slowly she slid the pistol into her other pocket. The weight of it did make her feel somewhat safer. And she’d seen Da shoot it often enough; she reckoned she could do it if she had to.

  “Take care of yourself.” Cameron leaned to kiss her cheek.

  She blinked back the tears that threatened, lest her cousin see them. Thankfully he couldn’t see her heart racing in her chest, or tell that her stomach rebelled at the mere thought of traveling so far with naught but a stranger for company.

  She forced a smile. “I’d better go before the old bawface starts shouting at me.”

  With a laugh, Cam helped her up the coach steps.

  SEVEN

  “EGAD, IT WILL take three days to cover Cainewood in this accursed creeping carriage. Pass me that journal, will you?”

  “Clever change of subject.” Kendra handed Jason the leather book and one of the pencils made from the graphite mined on their property. She hitched herself forward, frowning at him seated across from her in the carriage. “You’re not well enough to go. It’s been barely two weeks.”

  “I’m not waiting any longer.” He flipped open the estate journal and made a note to have the Johnsons’ roof rethatched. “The reward isn’t working. An innocent man is dead, and little Mary nearly so. Thanks to Gothard.”

  “Thanks to Gothard? It’s yourself you blame.” As usual, Kendra was too observant for his comfort. “Someone else is hurt, and naturally, it’s all your fault,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

  Ignoring her sarcasm, he scribbled reminders to buy another bull and see that Mistress Randall’s spinning wheel was repaired. “Not hurt, Kendra—dead. Their lives stolen from them.” He rolled the pencil between his hands. “I’d have left already if only I had some clue to the Gothards’ whereabouts. They seem to have disappeared.”

  “They’ll resurface. And the reward you’ve posted will ensure you’ll hear of it.”

  “When?” He banged the journal closed and slammed it onto the seat. “When will I find the blackguard who made me a killer? How many others will die before he’s caught?” His fists bunched between his spread knees. “And who died at my hands? The least I can do is send condolences to his family, make some reparations. Where the deuce is Ford?”

  Kendra stared at him. “He’s working on it,” she said carefully.

  Her pale green eyes looked so troubled. He consciously relaxed his jaw and, with a sigh, reached to put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.” He glanced out the window at the peaceful fields of Cainewood, struggling for the calm that usually came to him so easily. “I feel so powerless.”

  Kendra’s gaze followed his and caught what he’d missed in his blind fury. “Look, he’s back.” She leaned to watch her twin gallop up the lane.

  Jason knocked on the roof to stop the carriage and threw open the door. “News from Chichester?” he asked. “Do you know who he was?”

  “No.” Breathless, Ford shook his head. “His companions bore him away without so much as reporting his identity. That’s not what I rode out to tell you, though.” He swept off his hat and dragged a hand through his wavy brown hair. “There’s a stableman waiting to see you. At home. Two of your horses have been stolen.”

  A hard ball of anxiety hit Jason in the stomach. “Not Chiron?”

  “No. Pegasus and Thunder.”

  “Thank heavens for small favors.”

  Although he was relieved his favorite mount had been spared, Jason still cursed the slow carriage a hundred times before it finally rolled over the drawbridge and through the barbican into Cainewood’s grassy quadrangle. A man waited on the wide steps that led to the castle doors, cap in hand and a crude blood-stained bandage tied around his head.

  Wrenching his shoulder painfully, Jason bounded from the carriage and toward the double oak doors. “Porter, come in, will you?” He gestured the stableman into the entry.

  The man frowned and touched his fingertips to his forehead.

  “Come in,” Jason repeated. “You’re no longer bleeding. And these floors have seen their share of blood through the years, in any case.”

  With obvious reluctance the man climbed the steps after Kendra and Ford. Staring up at the slim pillars that supported the stone hall’s vaulted ceiling, he seated himself gingerly—not on one of the carved walnut chairs that Jason indicated, but on one of the iron treasure chests instead, probably figuring it would be easier to clean.

  Jason followed Porter’s awed gaze as it swept the entry, taking in the intricate stone staircase, crowned at intervals with impressive heraldic beasts. “What did you see?” he asked impatiently. “Who has stolen my horses?”

  The man dragged his gaze back to Jason’s. “Those men, my lord. The brothers. The ones on the broadsides.”

  “The Gothard brothers? In stark daylight?” Jason’s jaw dropped open in astonishment. “Right from under our noses?”

  “They knocked me out.” Slowly Porter shook his injured head. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t hear much, and I couldn’t seem to move.”

  “What did you hear?” Jason crouched at the man’s feet and peered into his apprehensive eyes. “Anything. Anything you can remember, I want to hear it.”

  The groom fiddled with the cap in his hands. “The one was saying he didn’t want to take the horses.” He set the cap in his lap. “I couldn’t hear what the other said.”

  Reeling with confusion and frustration, Jason touched the stableman on the knee. “Anything e
lse?”

  “They did mention another man’s name. They were headed to Lord Scar—” He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I cannot remember,” he said at last. “Lord Scar-something. He said his brother was entitled to whatever this other lord has. And they were going to take the horses and go get it.”

  “Gothard.” Jason stood and cursed under his breath. “Cuthbert Gothard, the Earl of Scarborough. Why didn’t I think of that connection?”

  “It’s a common name,” Ford said. “You had no reason to think the Gothard brothers were connected to Lord Scarborough.”

  But he should have. It was his job to eliminate any threat to his village. “I could have sent a letter of inquiry to Scarborough, asking if they were relations and what he knew of their whereabouts.” He paced the three-story chamber, his footsteps echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling. “Now it’s too late—the brothers are on their way already.” He paused midstep. “If I hurry, maybe I can reach Pontefract before they do and give Scarborough fair warning. Then lie in wait.”

  “Lie is right.” Kendra slanted him a look of utter disbelief. “You’ll end up lying in the road somewhere. You’ll never catch them if you’re riding in a carriage, with them on the backs of your fine horses. And you cannot ride Chiron such a distance in your condition.”

  Hadn’t Father told him to stand up for what he believed in? Even putting aside his personal responsibilities, common decency would demand he warn the earl.

  “I can ride Chiron, and I will.” Turning back to Porter, he pressed a coin into the stableman’s hand. “I am sorry for your injury. Have it seen to in the kitchen, and tell Ollerton I said you may have the day off.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” Porter stood and bowed, but Jason’s attention was already elsewhere.

  “Ford, ask Claxton to bring a portmanteau to my chamber. I’m off for West Riding.”

  “No, you’re not!” Kendra ran after him up the wide stairway and jumped ahead of him as he entered his chamber. “You were shot two weeks ago, for heaven’s sake!”