The Laird's Forbidden Lady, page 20
It was a discussion they would have later, behind closed doors. Right now he had a more important matter on his mind. One that would set the tone with the clansmen for the future.
‘Well, lad,’ Ian said sternly, ‘what do you have to say for yourself?’
‘We are not like thieving Irish,’ the boy blurted out.
Ian focused in on the boy. ‘Say what you mean.’
The boy darted a glance at Tearny’s dark frown and shook his head.
Ian switched to Gaelic. ‘I am your Laird. You must answer the question. Be a man. If you have right on your side, no harm will come to you.’
The boy straightened his spine. ‘Everyone knows Tearny—’
‘In English, lad,’ Ian said.
The boy took a deep breath, glanced at Tearny, then started to speak. ‘Everyone knows Tearny sells grouse and snipe to a butcher in Wick and pockets the money.’
‘Is this true?’ Ian asked.
The Irishman shuffled his feet. ‘‘Tis one of the perks. Lord Albright gave me permission. As does the Carrick. It has no bearing on him stealing rabbits.’
‘I am Laird here now and I did not give you permission,’ he said quietly. ‘The estate requires the income from all the birds it raises.’
‘As you wish. But I’m not the one on trial here. The boy is.’
Ian turned his gaze back to the boy, who shrank a little.
Stone-faced, Ian leaned back and folded his arms across his chest, regarding the man and boy before him. He had to make the right decision here, prove he was the Laird in truth, not just in name.
The boy squirmed a little, but held his gaze. Tearny, on the other hand, looked anywhere but his face. For some odd reason he had the feeling the man was out to make trouble.
‘I suppose the boy should count himself fortunate you didn’t shoot him first and ask questions afterwards.’ He kept his voice neutral.
Tearny grinned. ‘Aye, but question him, Laird. You’ll find the father knew what he was up to. Encouraged him. He’s the one who should be standing before ye.’
‘No!’ the boy yelled. ‘Pa didn’t …’ He looked at Ian, then flushed bright red. He pressed his lips together.
‘But you did hit the boy?’ Ian asked mildly.
‘Gave me some lip, kicked me, then tried to run off.’
Ian nodded. ‘Mr Tearny, I do not approve of grown men striking boys.’
Tearny’s fists clenched. ‘Very well, Laird. I’ll remember that in future.’
‘In fact, I don’t approve of any of your methods. I think it is time Dunross dispensed with your services. You will attend me in my office in one hour when we will settle matters between us. You may go.’
Tearny’s face turned brick red. His jaw worked as if he would argue, but he must have thought better of it because he gave a jerk of his head. ‘As you wish.’ He glared at the boy. ‘Be assured Lord Carrick will not welcome your trespass, boy. So make sure you do not stray onto his land.’ He spun on his heel and stomped out of the hall.
The McKinly boy grinned and made a rude gesture at Tearny’s departing back.
‘Enough,’ Ian said grimly. ‘Why have you no been attending the school at the tythe barn?’
The boy shrugged. ‘I’m too old for school.’
‘No man is too old to learn something new,’ Ian said. ‘As your punishment for not asking permission to trap rabbits on my land, you will attend every afternoon after you have finished your chores for your father. Now get those rabbits home.’
The boy ducked his head, obviously relieved. ‘Yes, Laird.’ He picked up the carcases and ran for the door.
‘Oh, McKinly,’ Ian said. The boy stopped and turned, anxiety written all over his face.
‘No more than a brace every two weeks, do you ken? And that goes for everyone else or they’ll be no rabbits left this side of Edinburgh.’
His face brightened. He shot out of the door and was gone.
Ian let go a long sigh. Now he had to deal with his angry wife. It made him feel a little sick to know that she thought so badly of him that she thought he would harm the boy.
He went out into the courtyard. Rain splattered his face as he glanced around.
Angus, talking to one of the grooms, gestured with his chin towards the stables. With a heaviness in his chest he hated, he ducked into the barn. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom, then he saw her in the stall with her gelding, rhythmically stroking his glossy coat with a brush. What would he give for that kind of attention from his wife?
He strode towards her and she turned at the sound of his footfall. A frown appeared and she turned away to continue her brushing.
‘Planning on going somewhere?’ he asked and was aware that there was an edge of anger in his voice, despite his attempt to sound pleasant.
‘I thought I might go for a ride.’
‘And when were you intending to come and ask me to go with you?’
She kept on brushing. ‘I was going to ask Angus.’
Another nice hit to his pride. Of course she’d sooner go with his steward.
‘And where were you planning on going? McKinly’s croft, by any chance?’ This time he made no effort to keep the bitterness from his voice.
‘Perhaps.’
‘To what purpose?’
‘To tell him that his son is here. That he should come and … and … speak for him. Rescue him. Something. Couldn’t you see the boy was terrified out of his wits?’
‘You ran off before I was done with him.’ The insult to his integrity rankled.
‘I thought I should go to his father, at once.’
‘Then why are you still here?’
She swung around and glared at him. ‘Because Angus wouldn’t let me leave without your permission. It seems I’m a prisoner.’
Tears welled in her eyes, and he felt like a tyrant. ‘It is for your own safety. I told you that.’ He let out an impatient sigh. He had intended to let her believe the worst, let her think he was hard-hearted as she seemed to think, and let her find out on her own that he wasn’t. But that would put her in a very embarrassing position. And he could not do it.
‘I let the boy go with a warning,’ he said.
She flattened herself against the stall, as if she didn’t trust her legs to hold her up.
‘I turned Tearny off,’ he continued. ‘He’s too harsh. I’ve no truck with men who hit boys. You should have known that, Selina. You should have given me the benefit of the doubt. I’m not your father. These are my people.’
Her face paled. She looked down at the brush in her hand and back up at his face. ‘I … I am sorry.’
He gave her a grim smile. ‘I am sorry I could not explain my intentions, but I do expect you to support me, at least in public, if you want the clan’s acceptance.’
‘I see.’
He wished he was sure she did see. There was still a stubborn set to her jaw. ‘We can talk about this later. Right now I have Tearny waiting in my office.’
Selina stood looking after him long after the door closed. Feeling deflated. Empty. Very much in the wrong. Because he was right. She should have known he wouldn’t do anything to hurt McKinly’s boy. She’d just wanted to believe the worst because it fed into her determination not to trust him. If she trusted him, then other softer emotions would creep under her guard and take her unawares. She could not allow it. It would become too easy to give in, to easy to give him her heart and let him trample it.
She stroked Topaz’s nose. ‘I don’t think we’ll be going riding today.’ She sighed. ‘But I will swallow my pride and ask him to go with us tomorrow.’ After all, she couldn’t live in a state of war with him. He didn’t deserve it.
Chapter Nineteen
The next two weeks passed quickly. Too quickly for Selina’s peace of mind. Each morning they sat in the solar taking breakfast, reading their letters, planning the day’s activities. Like a happily married couple.
The time was coming when she would leave and she was wishing she had given him the three months he had asked for. Not because she wouldn’t leave—she would not go back on her word—but because she was learning so much about the Highlands and its people.
She and Ian rode out together on the days he wasn’t busy at the mill, riding through the village and around the estate, visiting outlying crofts. The welcomes she received were rarely effusive, but the clansmen were polite in Ian’s presence.
She couldn’t help feeling that he would have been much better off marrying one of the local women. Some of them were quite lovely. And they all spoke Gaelic. Although she had learned a few more words, she could not follow any of the rapid conversations Ian had with his tenants so she always had to ask him what was said as they rode away. She had the feeling he only told her the parts that wouldn’t upset her.
She certainly hadn’t made any friends, unless you counted Marie Flora McKinly. So without their nights of passion, she might have gone mad with no one to talk to but the cook, who came in from the village every day and with whom she decided the menus, and her occasional conversations with Angus about the supplies she needed for the household.
She glanced at her husband on the other side of the breakfast table. So handsome. The longer she stayed the more affection she felt for him. He was a kind and just Laird. And she could only admire him.
Right now he was frowning at a letter he had received that morning. He’d seemed more abstracted than usual the past couple of days. More remote.
Ian looked up and caught her watching him. ‘What troubles you?’
Did he have to pretend he cared? These gentle enquiries of his always disarmed her. In one more week she would leave. She could not afford for him to see any chink in her armour. ‘Do you like this way of arranging my hair? I saw it in one of the fashion plates Chrissie left behind.’
His frown deepened. ‘You sighed. Twice in the last ten minutes.’
Had she sighed? ‘I was just tired of your head being buried in that letter. Is it bad news?’
He glanced down at the paper. ‘No.’ He shook his head as if trying to convince himself. ‘It just isn’t as good as I had hoped.’
She waited for him to say more. Not that he usually did. He told her not to worry about clan business. He had it all in hand. She was like a porcelain doll, all right to look at, but easily broken.
An expression of horror crossed his face. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot.’ He pulled a crumpled letter from his pocket. ‘Logan brought it up from the post this morning. I meant to give it to you right away.’
‘But you became engrossed in your own letter, which contains matters of little importance.’ He looked at her blankly and she wondered why she bothered.
He slid the note across the table and her heart lifted at the sight of the familiar crest on the seal.
‘It is from Alice!’ She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice, but then remembered it was probably better not mentioning Alice. Her name always made him grumpy. Probably because it brought back memories of Drew. The man’s shade seemed to hang over them enough as it was.
She broke the seal and read eagerly, filling her mind with images of Alice and Hawkhurst and the recent addition to their family. She chuckled at Alice’s description of Hawkhurst rowing his son around the lake and playing pirates. He had been a pirate once. Or at least a privateer, which was as close to a pirate as one could come these days. He had captured the ship on which she and Alice were returning to England from Lisbon. In the end, he was the one who had ended up in irons. But the war was over and all that was behind him.
When she finished, she had a smile on her lips. She looked up to find her husband watching her intently. The expression on his face was carefully blank.
‘Your friend is well?’ he asked in a non-committal voice.
‘Yes. She writes of her son. Nursery stories. She begs me to visit.’
‘I can’t take you now, or any time soon.’
In one week’s time she had the right to choose whether to leave or whether to stay. ‘I will visit them later, after we …’ She shrugged as his lips thinned to a straight line and his jaw hardened.
He glowered and picked up his letter.
‘There is nothing to keep me here, Ian,’ she said, feeling the need to explain when she saw hurt in his eyes. Deep hurt. Something she thought she had glimpsed from time to time when she spoke of leaving. This time she was sure of it. If only he would say something. Tell her what he was thinking. ‘Ian?’
He pushed to his feet. ‘Since being my wife isn’t a reason to stay, what more is to be said? Excuse me. I have a busy day ahead of me and must cancel our planned ride this afternoon.’
He strode out, leaving her staring after him. It was all in her imagination. If he wanted her to stay, if there was anything beyond their physical attraction, surely she would know by now? He would have said something. And after all, what did he have to feel hurt about? He’d got everything he wanted out of this marriage. She was the one who had been tricked. She was the one who had lost everything she valued because she’d tried to help him.
Sometimes, at night, when they were alone, when he was making love to her, she sensed he cared for her more than he would say—but if that was the case, why did he shut her out of the rest of his life?
No, it was Dunross he had wanted, not her. And now he had it.
Their marriage was purely for convenience. His. He had established the rules and she had abided by them. Now it was coming to an end. A few more days and she could head south as he had promised.
Something twisted in her chest.
‘Did you hear what I said, Ian?’ Niall’s voice was sharp with impatience.
Ian shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, I was thinking about something else. Say it again.’
Niall huffed out an impatient breath. ‘I’ve let everyone know to bring their harvest to the mill over the next two days. The weather looks ready to hold fair for at least a week. We could take in some from farther afield if they can bring it in.’
‘They know to bring it at night?’ Ian asked, looking down at the two drawings of two stills Niall had spread out on a bench in the stables. Designed to fit one over the other, it might fool the authorities if they didn’t look too closely.
Niall nodded. ‘I gave them all the trails being watched by the gaugers. They know to avoid them.’
Logan grinned. ‘And the militia are watching the coast after my visit to the tavern at Wick.’
Ian nodded. Dunstan wasn’t a complete idiot, but since he expected them to smuggle brandy, he seemed ready to believe his eyes and ears. Still it would not do to underestimate the man. ‘Have Tammy keep an eye on Dunstan and his men over the next couple of days. Once the barley is in, things should be quiet again until it is time to distil.’
Niall glanced down at the drawings. ‘It is too bad we can’t apply for a licence and do all this legally.’
It was too bad. But five hundred gallons at a time was beyond their meagre resources.
‘We can’t. Not with the law as it stands. I heard from Carrick the other day that, even with Lord Gordon’s support, there is no hope of the English Parliament changing its mind. We proceed as planned.’
The sound he had been listening for, the reason for his abstraction, came to his ears. Coach wheels on cobbles. He straightened his shoulders. Saying goodbye to her was going to be the hardest thing he had ever done. But after careful thought, he had decided she would be safer with her friend. If she wanted to go, it was better she went now, before they ran the still, then she could claim she knew nothing if he was caught. She would be tainted enough as his wife; he would not want her to witness his disgrace.
And the clan didn’t want her here. No matter how often he defended her and no matter how often he argued, there were still some who blamed her for the last fiasco. Her presence undermined his authority.
Their marriage was doomed from the start. Their worlds were too far apart.
He glanced up to see her walking down the steps dressed for travel. Her trunks were already at the bottom of the stairs. Even though he’d steeled himself for this moment all morning, her appearance came as a shock.
What, had he thought that when it came to it, she wouldn’t go, when he wasn’t the man she wanted?
The slight hesitation in her gait as she descended caused a painful tug in the region of his chest. She looked so beautiful and calmly remote, yet he knew she was vulnerable, fragile, and the need to protect her overcame regret.
The coachman and his guard hurried over to load her luggage in the boot. He joined her at the bottom of the steps.
‘You are making an early start,’ he said, for something to fill the silence between them, when he wanted to ask her to stay. Oh, that would be a fine sight for his men, the Laird begging his wife not to leave him. Especially if she went anyway. And he had no doubt she would.
‘I don’t wish to make more stops on the road than necessary.’ Her voice was cool, emotionless, light.
As loneliness stretched before him, he gazed at her face. There was a glittering brittleness about her determination this morning. The same brittleness she’d used to keep the world at a distance at Carrick’s ball, and when she fell from her horse. It dazzled, like her beauty.
It left him in awe and feeling rough and awkward. The way he’d felt as a lad, when he’d found her stoically hopping her way back home after she had fallen in a rabbit hole and twisted her ankle.
He had never seen such a pretty girl. Or heard one talk so boldly. He’d been unable to resist her pretty full lips and had stolen a kiss. How many times had they met that long-ago summer? Four. Five. They all blurred together in one happy memory he thought he’d forgotten. They had all come crashing back the moment he got her letter about Drew. Along with the guilt. When his brothers had come across them on the beach he’d been ashamed of being caught consorting with his family’s enemy. He’d said some pretty cruel things. At least he had stopped his brothers from throwing rocks at her as she ran off.
An urge to tell her he needed her here, with him, rose in his throat. Angry at himself, angry at his inability to think logically when it came to this woman, to be the Laird he was raised to be, he cut himself off from his feelings and focused on what had to be done.
