The Laird's Vow

by Heather Grothaus

“Does it not?” Tavish goaded. “Certainly, not now that you think you’ve secured what you wanted.”

  An awkward silence fell between them for a moment, and then Muir asked, “Is aught amiss, Tav? I ken we’ve had words, but—”

  “After you take the hides to market,” Tavish interrupted, “it is my wish that you turn the Stygian over to your first mate. I shall pay you your contracted wage, plus a generous separation fee. Perhaps if I had known of your plan in the beginning, I might have called it a wedding gift, I suppose.”

  Muir went still, but there was no alarm or dismay in his matter of fact demeanor. “You seem sure I will wed.”

  “I know you’ve schemed a way to lure her from Roscraig. Played on her doubts about me.”

  “I played on naught, Tav,” Muir said with a sigh, clearly not so dishonorable that he would deny it. He turned his mild gaze back to the room of swirling guests. “Any doubts she had about you are your own doing. You were clear enough that you don’t wish to marry her. What is she to do? Stay here at Roscraig forever, humiliated? You care not even for her father’s reputation.”

  “You betray me. Both of you.”

  John turned to him then, and quickly. “No one’s betrayed you. ’Tis your own disloyalty at fault here. You’ve railed against the nobility and their egos, their greed, for years. But learn you your blood is a wee bit violet, and you become Count Cockhead.”

  “You’re only jealous I’m something you’ll never be.”

  “A fool?” Muir laughed his salty laugh, hearty and genuine. “Nay.” He drained his chalice and placed it on the tray of a passing servant. “Seems I truly doona belong here. So I bid you farewell, Tav. Farewell, and good fortune.”

  “She’ll not go with you,” Tavish warned, somewhat surprised that the end of such a long friendship had come so swiftly and with so few words.

  “Send my wages to the Stygian. We’ll be casting off at first light. Laird.” John Muir walked away.

  Tavish watched him weave through the guests, nearly bowling over the thin crier who had just stepped into the doorway of the hall. The young man stumbled aright and smoothed down his tunic while clearing his throat and tossing a cross look over his shoulder at the vanished Muir before projecting over the crowd.

  “Lord Vaughn Hargrave, Baron Annesley.”

  The crier stepped aside, and a tall, thickly built older man stood in the doorway, surveying the hall with a sweeping, arrogant gaze. His hair was the color of the loch when it was whipped into a storm frenzy: dark gray with a crest of white along the beach of his forehead. His hat was wide and plush, hanging fashionably alongside his head and punctuated with a tall, white plume. His tunic was adorned with loops of hammered chains, their links glinting in the candlelight. A discernible murmur rippled through the crowd.

  Vaughn Hargrave? Tavish frowned. That was the name of the man living in the estate that was Thomas Annesley’s childhood home—but why was he using Darlyrede’s title? Had there been a judgment handed down from the English king?

  Regardless of the title he used, Tavish certainly hadn’t invited the Englishman. Alarm rose in the deep recesses of Tavish’s mind.

  Then he saw Audrey Keane approach Hargrave and give a graceful curtsey. The lord bent low over Audrey’s hand with a smile and a kiss for her knuckles, and then Audrey turned and gestured to the beautiful woman in violet at her side. Glenna did not curtsey, but did nod and offer her hand, upon which Hargrave bestowed the same affected show of homage.

  Tavish had had quite enough of being thwarted in his own home. He struck out through the crowd, pushing between those who leaned their heads together and murmured as they covertly watched the elegant Englishman interacting with the enigmatic blonde. Tavish was surprised and rather cross that his mother was not at Glenna’s side; he looked around the crowd briefly for her, but she seemed to have disappeared from the festivities.

  It was Glenna who noticed Tavish’s approach; she turned her head, and her gaze seemed to ignite at the sight of him. There was such a different guise about her tonight, not only her costume, but her demeanor. One of challenge and boldness that he had not seen before, and he wondered if thoughts of her escape heartened her.

  The very sight of her made Tavish’s knees weak. But before he could reach the group, Glenna turned away to disappear into the crowd.

  Hargrave be damned—Tavish would deal with him later.

  “Laird Cameron,” Audrey called out with a smile and forcefully grabbed Tavish’s arm to draw him into the group with a laugh. She snaked her arm fully through his. “You’ll not escape before greeting Lord Hargrave—he’s only just arrived. I must tell you how wonderful it is to encounter an old friend of my father’s here at Roscraig.”

  So the man’s presence was Audrey’s doing.

  “Old?” Hargrave mimicked, a palm to his chest and his eyes wide. “Miss Keane, you dash all hope.”

  Audrey’s laughter tinkled. “Perhaps I should have said longtime friend and business partner. No one could possibly deny your youthful vigor, my lord.”

  “You are too kind, my dear,” Hargrave said with a grotesque moue of sincerity.

  “My lord, this is Laird Tavish Cameron of Roscraig,” Audrey continued. “Of course, you are already well familiar.”

  Tavish frowned but said nothing, but he’d no need, for the older man spoke right away with a bow.

  “I thank you for your gracious hospitality, Laird Cameron,” Hargrave said, and Tavish wondered that Audrey could not see through the man’s blatant dramatics. “It is no small feat for a lesser lord to engage the interest of a monarch. Especially a lord whose lineage is perhaps in question. Quite an honor, indeed, for the king of Scotland to deign to visit your wee demesne on the firth. You must have God’s own ear. I should do well to watch the laird of Roscraig closely.”

  It was all said with a broad smile and even a chuckle, but Tavish felt as though the man had spat on him with the veiled insults.

  “Lord Hargrave, I was not aware of your intent to attend our hosting of the king. It’s no matter, though—many elderly lords and ladies were invited to Roscraig by Miss Keane as a courtesy. There was little necessity in me learning all their names.”

  Tavish actually felt Audrey’s surprise ripple up his arm. “I didn’t—I beg your pardon, laird. I thought it was you who had invited Lord Hargrave. That is why I was so surprised at his arrival, and pleased that you and my father share such an esteemed friend.”

  Tavish held the man’s glittering gray gaze, and in that moment, a battle line was formed.

  “I must apologize to you both,” Hargrave said with an exaggerated hangdog expression. “I was invited by neither of you; I’m here at the behest of King James himself.”

  The awkward silence exploded as the musicians again picked up their instruments and a lively dance began. Audrey was pressed to join by one of the young lords mooning over her the past week, and so she whirled away with a somewhat relieved smile for Tavish, leaving him alone in the crowded hall with Vaughn Hargrave.

  Tavish wasted no time and trifled with no false courtesy—at heart, he was still an Edinburgh merchant, and he knew when he was being sold a load of ballast.

  “Why are you really here, Hargrave?” he challenged. “We both know James didn’t invite you—you’re not important enough to Scotland.”

  “No?” the man dared with a superficially surprised expression. He helped himself to a chalice from a passing tray. “I dare say I am. For not only am I the man whose daughter was killed by your murdering, bastard father, I’m also the man who’s been paying Roscraig’s taxes for thirty years.” He gestured toward Tavish with the cup in a mock salute and then drank.

  Tavish felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “It was you? Why?”

  Hargrave chuckled. “Ah. For a supposed man of business, you have little head for protecting your future interest
s, do you, boy? Ah, well—as the father is, so the son.”

  “You have no claim to Roscraig,” Tavish argued. “It was left to Thomas Annesley when he was yet a boy.”

  “Think you that will matter now that he is hanged as a murderer?” Hargrave asked in mock curiosity. “I have filled the Scottish kings’ coffers with Roscraig’s worth many times over. That is not something James is likely to overlook. Especially as my power grows in the south.”

  “Roscraig isn’t for sale,” Tavish said. “And I’ll not allow you to remain in my hold so that you might petition against me.”

  “Nay?” Hargrave repeated and then nodded with a sigh. “Very well. I shall depart with the dawn and leave you to your rightful home.”

  Tavish’s eyes narrowed.

  Hargrave let a sly smile slip at the corner of his mouth. “After you have reimbursed me the taxes I’ve paid on Roscraig, of course.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right,” Hargrave said quietly. “Thirty years of taxes. In silver and gold. Every penny accounted for by morning. After all, it is I who’s kept your hold from reverting to the Crown.” Then he looked across the room and gestured with his chin. When Tavish turned to where he indicated, there was Glenna.

  “Of course,” he went on, sadly, “perhaps I was only paying the taxes to protect poor Iain Douglas, who was taken for everything he had by your father in exchange for this falling-down pile of rocks. Perhaps…I am the only one who knows that Thomas Annesley made an earlier transfer of the property to a man called Douglas, who aided his escape from the soldiers who would have dragged him back to England to meet the judgment due him.”

  Tavish’s blood ran cold. Whether it was true or not, Hargrave’s word that Iain Douglas was rightful laird of Roscraig could hold weight with the king—especially if Hargrave had been paying Roscraig’s debts all these years. His story was plausible.

  “Is it truly Roscraig you want?” Tavish asked.

  “Me, want this gull shit–covered rock? Oh, please Lord, nay.” Hargrave clapped Tavish’s upper arm with a hearty laugh that drew indulgent smiles from those closest to them. The man was still chuckling as he leaned closer to speak in a low voice, his eyes still squinted with false mirth.

  “I want revenge. Revenge for so many wrongs done to me. I want to destroy every hint that Thomas Annesley ever lived on this earth. I have waited a very long time, and spent large sums of money preparing for the time that I could bring down his filthy legacy, and I shall begin my recompense now with you—his mongrel pup. You will never speak his name aloud again, unless it is in a curse.”

  Tavish’s jaw clenched. “I don’t have the fortune you require for repayment,” he said, nearly choking on the words. “A debt of that amount would destroy me—and well you know it.”

  “What I well know is that you do indeed have quite a tidy sum tucked away in private. Don’t you? Your own worth and a large portion generously given you by Master Keane.” Hargrave winked and nodded.

  The trunk in the cave.

  Muir.

  Muir had to have told Audrey’s father on his last trip to Edinburgh, who had likely relayed the information to his old colleague. Perhaps Muir had known all along Hargrave’s plan.

  “It’s not enough,” Tavish repeated. “Thirty years’…”

  “You’re likely right,” Hargrave admitted. “And so, because I am a reasonable man who understands that your father’s sins are not of your doing, instead of the whole of such an admittedly outrageous sum, what coin you have hidden away along with the surrender of your whore to me shall satisfy the debt in full.”

  Now Tavish’s heart ceased beating in his chest for a moment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t feign innocence with me, boy. Everyone in Edinburgh is aware of the painful situation in which you’ve placed the lovely Miss Keane—especially her father. I know Glenna Douglas warms your bed. I even know that just last night you ripped off her clothes before savaging her. Not that I blame you one whit—she is exquisite, and I want her for myself. Already, I imagine what I will do to—”

  Tavish’s anger was white-hot. “How did you get into the Tower last night?”

  “Why, I only just arrived here an hour ago. I’m offended you would think me worthy of such a petty crime. But it should teach you that I know absolutely everything that has gone on at Roscraig since your arrival, and even everything that’s happened before. I’m quite good at finding things out. You have no secrets from me.”

  Hargrave leaned in even closer. “For instance, I know that you beat your own stepfather to death with a poker. Eh?” Hargrave leaned away with a nod and a chuckle. “No secrets. No shame. I’m certain he deserved it. It felt good, didn’t it, lad? Beating that old bastard like he’d beat your poor, peasant mother. Beating him until his brai—”

  Tavish lunged forward and seized Hargrave by his gilded tunic. But the man unexpectedly moved toward him and threw his arm around Tavish in a hearty embrace with a roar of laughter and lifted his chalice high even as Tavish struggled away.

  “To Tavish Cameron, laird of Roscraig!” Hargrave announced, and the hall answered him with a chorus of “Huzzah!”

  Tavish stood in the center of the floor as the guests drank to his name, his chest heaving, his mind whirling. Hargrave winked at him and then raised his cup again.

  “Welcome to the nobility, Tavish Cameron.” He drank, and his smile was still visible in his flat, gray eyes over the rim of his cup.

  Chapter 15

  Glenna was surprised when her next revolution in the dance brought her around face-to-face with the imposing Lord Vaughn Hargrave. He took her outstretched hand without hesitation, pulling Glenna along in the steps so that they missed not even a quarter beat. They stepped toward each other, twisting their torsos in opposing directions for a count of three.

  “We meet again, Lady Glenna,” Lord Hargrave said with a confident smile.

  “Lord Hargrave, you surprise me,” she said.

  They stepped away from each other, bowed, and then turned to the partner behind. The steps were repeated before Glenna was in his grasp again, this time for a slow, skipping circuit around a new set of paired dancers. His ability exceeded that of a man half his age.

  “I am surprised at your surprise,” he said, continuing their conversation. “Of course I would seek to gobble up any crumbs of time with the lady of Roscraig. Your beauty and grace restore my weary soul.”

  Glenna felt her cheeks heat at the flattery, but there was an uneasy sensation in her stomach. “You are too kind.”

  “Not kind at all, my dear. Only selfish. You would be a sensation at the balls in Northumberland. Have you ever been to England?” They filed into the center of the circuit as the other dancers began to skip about the perimeter. Hargrave bowed.

  Glenna curtsied. “I have not.”

  They stepped toward each other and joined right hands again before turning away from each other and walking as if around a maypole.

  “You absolutely must come to Darlyrede. As my very special guest.”

  Glenna had to force herself to swallow as they changed both hands and directions. It didn’t matter what she told him—she still had the option of escape on the Stygian with the dawn—and yet his boldness made her uncomfortable. “I am an unmarried woman, Lord Hargrave, and my father is quite ill. It would be unseemly of me to depart Roscraig without his permission.”

  “Unattached, are you?” Hargrave pressed, the words spoken in such a way that Glenna looked into his eyes. “I am loath to admit that there have been rumors about your…arrangement with the Laird Cameron. I would not mention it, save that I am concerned for your future, my dear.”

  “My future is none of your affair,” Glenna said stiffly, her face flaming once more. “We are strangers.”

  “Be not shamed in my presence,” Har
grave insisted in a low, earnest voice as they came together once more. “My own daughter would be only a handful of years older than you had she lived, so you must understand my motive at seeing so fine and beautiful a young noblewoman so sorely used. None in Northumberland know of this tempest brought on by Tavish Cameron’s arrival. My wife and I would be pleased to host you in the search for a suitable match should King James’s decision not favor you.”

  Glenna looked up again. “Your wife?”

  Hargrave’s eyes widened, and then he threw his head back and laughed his hearty, amused laugh. “Oh, my dear, you are precious. Forgive me for not being more clear. I knew your father very briefly when he was a young man. I have kept Roscraig—and you—in my thoughts these thirty years. And it seems I have arrived in just the nick of time. Lady Caris would be so relieved at your arrival.”

  “I don’t understand,” Glenna said warily.

  They began their skipping circuit again. “My wife has suffered much loss during the course of our marriage. Our daughter—our only child—was killed on the eve of her wedding. Lady Caris never recovered from the blow, but her broken heart was pieced into use when we took in our orphaned niece to raise as our own. The girl disappeared in the night some years ago. We’ve never stopped searching for her.”

  “Disappeared? She ran away or was abducted, you mean?” Glenna couldn’t help asking.

  Lord Hargrave wore a pained expression. “God knows.” He paused while they circled each other, and Glenna thought she saw him catch his lower lip between his teeth, as if bracing himself against an onslaught of emotion. They met again.

  “Any matter, my wife has suffered the loss of essentially two daughters. Lady Caris would welcome the opportunity to nurture a beautiful and deserving young woman such as yourself into a profitable match. That is, unless you have determined to remain at Roscraig and fight for your father’s legacy, of course.”

  “I really don’t see the wisdom in that,” Glenna admitted stiffly. “I seem to be without claim, or funds to support the towers.”