Rose In Scotland (28 page)

“Caroline!” Hugh stepped over Sir Gervase without a glance, sweeping Caroline up in his arms and crushing her to his chest. “Oh, God, my sweet, my
cridhe
, are you all right?”

“Hugh!” The tears she had been too proud to shed before now streamed down her face, and she clung to him as she at last gave in to the fear she had been holding at bay.

“I knew you would come. I knew you would come.” It was all she could say, and it was the truth, she realized. It had been her absolute faith in Hugh and his abilities that had kept her sane during the nightmare of her captivity.

Hugh did not answer but only held her closer, his face buried in the tangled curls streaming down to her neck. A low groan from Sir Gervase had him raising his head, and he accepted another pistol from the man who had entered the room with him. Before she could ask him what he intended doing with it, he gently set her to one side and trained the gun on the terrified doctor.

“Take one more step, Harrison, and you’re a dead man,” he said.

The fat doctor froze in mid-step. Clearly thinking to brazen his way out of the situation, he turned to Hugh with a show of ruffled dignity.

“Now see here,” he said, placing his hands on the lapels of his black frock coat and striking a
pose. “I have no idea what this is all about, but I must insist you leave. These are private quarters, and you have not been invited.”

“Cut line, Harrison.” Uncle Charles spoke from the doorway, holding the back of his head and eyeing Hugh with mocking resignation. “It is obvious we have been found out.”

“Found out!” The heavyset man quivered in righteous indignation. “I am sure I do not know what you mean! I am a physician here at your behest. If something is untoward, it has nothing to do with me. Call for the watch, Westhall, and throw this Scottish lout out into the street where he belongs!”

Hugh flicked the man a warning look. “Mind your tongue, you useless
mucc
, else this Scottish lout will put a ball through your throat. Provided I could find it beneath all those chins,” he added with a caustic smile.

Harrison’s face grew purple. “Insolence! Westhall, I insist that you do something about this … this ruffian!”

“Quiet, Doctor,” Westhall ordered, eyes narrowing as he assessed Hugh. “For the moment it would seem the good sergeant and my redoubtable niece have us at somewhat of a disadvantage. I suppose I ought to be grateful it is Harrison you are holding at gunpoint, and not me, eh, MacColme?” And he had the temerity to smile as if much amused with the situation.

Hugh gave him a look that could have frozen fire. “Did I have you at the end of my gun, your lordship, I would blow your brains out and be done with it. And do it yet I may, if you continue provoking me as you have.”

Her uncle merely raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. In the tense silence that followed, Caroline glanced nervously down at Milkins; terrified of what she would see. To her relief he was alive, although nursing a mangled wrist. Much as he might have deserved it, she knew she could not have borne it had she actually killed the man.

Sir Gervase also lived, and at Hugh’s clipped orders, the doctor and the other man moved them to the far side of the room. With all four men now at his mercy, Hugh gave them a chilling look.

“We go now to Loch Haven,” he said, addressing his remarks to the man he called Dunhelm, but keeping his eyes trained on her uncle. “If any man thinks to harm me or mine there, he will learn fast how hot burns the fire of the MacColme dragon. And Dunhelm,” he added, “mind you keep your gaze well away from the land of my clan. I don’t care what this piece of dung has promised you; you’ll be dead before you own so much as a stone of it.”

With that he turned to Caroline, slipping an arm about her and guiding her gently to the door. They were almost there before he turned to face her uncle.

“Listen well, Westhall. The only reason I have not killed you is because my wife had already dealt with you herself. Had she not, or had she suffered the slightest harm, you would be a dead man. As it is, you are living under a sentence of death. If ever I hear of you plotting against Caroline, if ever you dare to come near her again, I will impose that sentence. Do you hear me?”

Uncle Charles dabbed at the cut on his head
with a blood-soaked handkerchief. “I hear you, Sergeant,” he said, sardonic and bitter to the last. “You and my niece have caused me no end of difficulty, and I shall acquiesce to your demands. You need fear nothing further from me, I assure you.”

“Did he mean it, do you think?” Hugh asked Caroline several hours later as they cuddled in the warmth of their bed.

She brushed a kiss over his chest, and curled closer. “I would like to believe so,” she said, but Hugh could hear the uncertainty in her voice. “With Uncle Charles one can never tell. I know I gave him pause when I told him Grandfather would disinherit him if anything happened to me, and you most surely put the fear of the Almighty in him when you threatened him. Perhaps he will honor his pledge.”

“And perhaps not.” Hugh drew her closer, savoring the warmth of her safe in his arms. Did he live to be one hundred, he knew he would never forget the terror he had felt when he had burst through that door. He’d wanted to kill every man there, shrieking as his ancestors shrieked when they descended like the Furies on their enemies. Indeed, leaving her uncle alive had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but in the end he’d been unable to cold-bloodedly kill a man who posed no immediate physical threat to either Caroline or himself. It would have been too much like murder, and he refused to sully his honor with so foul a crime as that. A foolish distinction, he knew, considering the number of men he had killed in battle. But that
was war, and honor was often made up of such foolish distinctions.

“Did you mean it when you said we are leaving for Loch Haven?” Caroline asked, yawning delicately. She was finally beginning to wind down from the events of the day, and Hugh prayed she would soon fall asleep.

“Aye,” he said, stroking her hair with gentle fingers. “I had meant to leave tonight, but it will be better, I think, to leave tomorrow morning when you’ve rested.”

“Mmm.” She gave another yawn, and he felt a contented sigh ease out of her. “Tell me about Loch Haven. What is it like?”

He took a few seconds to pull his lascivious thoughts away from the clamoring demands of his body, conjuring up an image of Loch Haven to describe to her.

“It’s the most beautiful place you’ll ever see,” he said, his voice soft with love and memory. “In the winter, it’s so gray and desolate it looks like the ends of the earth. But there’s a beauty to it, and a majesty that will take your breath away. And in the spring, the Highlands are alive with thousands of flowers, the smell of them sweet on air ringing with birdsong. And in the summer …” His voice trailed off when his wife gave a soft snore, and he realized she had drifted off to sleep.

Thank God for that
, he thought gratefully. He’d been terrified she would be too frightened to sleep, but she’d adamantly refused the laudanum Aunt Egidia had attempted to force on her. The memory of the way she’d stood up to his fearsome relation, going nose to nose with the
old tartar, was an image he would long hold close to his heart.

“Ah, Caroline MacColme,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “we’ll make a Highland lass of you yet.”

T
he first weeks at Loch Haven passed slowly for Caroline. The castle itself was like something out of a dream, its huge stone walls and massive rooms as intimidating as they were uncomfortable—something she would sooner die than admit. Not only did she have no desire to insult her husband’s ancestral home, but she could only imagine how such a comment would be received by the castle’s sullen staff. They were efficient enough, she supposed, but she was always aware of their disapproval; a disapproval she noted they were careful to hide whenever Hugh was about.

The villagers seemed to share the staff’s animosity. At first she put down their behavior to shyness, or a villager’s natural wariness with outsiders. But after a fortnight passed with no warming on their part, she came to realize they truly disliked her, and she could find only one explanation for such dislike. She was English, and in the Highlands the English were not wanted.

Such prejudice was becoming more blatantly obvious, and Caroline was finding it harder to
hold her tongue. And there were times, such as now, when it proved an almost impossible task.

“Are you quite certain you are out of rum balls?” she asked, struggling to keep her tone pleasant as she confronted the recalcitrant shopkeeper. “Mairi said it was your specialty.”

“Aye, and so ‘tis,” the older man returned, wiping down the gleaming counter with suspicious industry. “Which is why we no’ have it on the shelves. You’re welcome to send to London for some, if you’ve a mind. I’m sure they will be more to your liking.” And he shot her a pointed smile.

“The balls are not for me,” she said, making one final try at reasoning with the stubborn Scot. “They are for Mrs. Sinclair. When she learned I was coming to the village, she asked that I bring her some. She speaks most highly of them.”

The shopkeeper stopped in his polishing. “For Mrs. Sinclair, are they?” he said, reaching up to scratch his beard. “Well now, I suppose I might send a box of them up to the castle for her when they are made. She’s a fine lady, is Egidia Sinclair.”

Caroline accepted the insult and defeat with determined calm. “Yes, she is,” she said, a tight feeling of pain in her chest. “Also, when you have made the rum balls, will you kindly send a box of them to Mrs. MacDouhal? She has been ill, and I hear she has a fondness for sweets.”

The shopkeeper seemed taken aback by her request. “That she does,” he said, regarding her curiously. “But I did not know the poor woman to be ill. How did you hear of it?”

Caroline allowed herself a tiny smile. “The
lady is one of my husband’s oldest tenants,” she told him coolly. “And as lady of the castle, it is my responsibility to see to her welfare. Good day to you, Mr. Addams.” She turned and left, her pride refusing to let him see the tears stinging her eyes.

After leaving the sweetshop she went next to the grocer’s, hoping to purchase some fruit for the table. She found several apples and baskets of sweet strawberries, but the pursed-lipped woman behind the counter was forever in writing up her order. The same thing happened when she stopped at the church to speak with the vicar, and by the time she climbed into her carriage for the ride back to the castle, she was shaking with fury and hurt.

Her feelings of ill-use increased when she arrived home and was met by the surly butler who refused her request to serve tea on the rear terrace with a cool “Mistress Mairi and Mrs. Sinclair wouldna like it.”

That’s it
, she decided furiously. Temporary mistress of Loch Haven though she might be, this was still her home. And although it was a home where it was rapidly becoming obvious she was not welcome, it was time she made a stand. She’d resisted telling Hugh of her difficulties, not wishing to upset him, but now she didn’t feel she had a choice. Ignoring the butler’s sharp admonishment that “the laird wasna to be bothered.” She brushed past him, storming into the study with her jaw set.

“Hugh, I must speak with you,” she began, breaking off at the sight of a dark-haired man in
the gray and heather plaid of the MacColme standing beside Hugh.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Raghnall,” she said, belatedly recognizing one of Hugh’s chieftains. “I didn’t know you were here. I will come back later.” She made as if to withdraw.

“ ’Tis all right, Lady Caroline,” he assured her with a low bow. “I’ve finished my meeting with the laird, and was about to take my leave.” He turned to Hugh and rattled something off in the language she now recognized as Gaelic. Hugh answered in the same tongue, although his gaze remained fixed on Caroline.

She waited patiently until the door had closed behind the man before turning to Hugh. “One of these days, sir, I shall have mastered Gaelic, and then you won’t be able to speak in front of me without my understanding every word you say.”

He shot her a piratical grin, his green eyes dancing with amusement. “The day a
Sasunnach
understands the ancient tongue,
leannan
, ‘twill be a day when pigs fly.”

She raised her chin. “Indeed?” she said coolly. “Well, as it happens, I speak it well enough to recognize that word.”

He walked over to where she was standing and gathered her in his arms.
“Leannan?”
he said, bending to brush a teasing kiss across her mouth. “And so I think you would, my sweet, for I say it often enough when we are in bed. It means
lover.”

“I know that.” She looped her arms about his neck and pressed closer. “I meant the other word.”

He paused in the act of brushing more kisses
down her neck.
“Sasunnach?”
he repeated, raising his head. “Where would you have heard that?”

“Here and there,” she said, her curiosity piqued by his reaction. “What does it mean?”

A look of hard anger settled on his face. “An Englishman or in your case, an Englishwoman, and ’Tis nae a compliment,” he said, his mouth hardening in a thin line. “Has someone called you that, Caroline? If so, you must tell me their names. I willna have my wife insulted.”

Now that the moment was here, Caroline was suddenly loath to continue. Hugh had looked so happy, so relaxed, she couldn’t bring herself to place him in a situation where he might be forced to chose between his people and her.

“Caroline?” He scowled down at her. “Answer me. Who called you a
sasunnach?
I would know so I can have words wi’ him.”

She gave herself a mental shake, and pinned a teasing smile to her lips. “Then you had best be prepared to talk to everyone in the glen,” she said, trying to inject a rueful note in her voice, “for I hear it nearly everywhere I go. It’s to be expected, I suppose. I
am
English, after all.”

His arms remained closed about her waist. “Aye,” he muttered, looking far from pleased. “But you are my wife as well, and I cannot stand by and do nothing when you are offered such blatant insult. How long has this been going on?” He added, fixing her with a stern gaze, “And why did you not tell me until this minute?”