Amanda Scott (20 page)

A manservant approached with a silver salver and hesitated expectantly. At Olivia’s nod, he moved forward, saying, “Pray,
forgive the intrusion, my lady, but a letter has arrived for Lady Anne.”

“Mercy,” Olivia said, taking the missive from the salver. “Who can be writing to you on Fiona’s wedding day, my dear?”

“I am sure I do not know, madam.”

Glancing at the wax seal, Olivia exclaimed, “Why, that is Armadale’s seal! I’d know it anywhere. But who can have had the
effrontery … Mercy on us!”

Anne, realizing then who must have sent the letter, said, “I believe Mr. Scott, my father’s man of affairs, sent the earl’s
personal seal to Cousin Thomas, madam.” To Kit, she added, “Thomas Ellyson of Dumfries and Stirling is my father’s heir—to
the earldom of Armadale, that is.”

“I understood that,” he said, smiling at her so warmly that she looked quickly back at her aunt and tried to ignore responsive
warmth spreading deep inside her.

Breaking the seal and unfolding the letter, Olivia muttered, “But why should he write to you and not to me? He has always
been the most inconsiderate person, and elevation to the earldom clearly has done nothing to alter that. Naturally, I sent
him an invitation to Fiona’s wedding, but he did not even deign to reply. Although I suppose I should be grateful now that
he did not attend it.”

“I barely remember him,” Anne admitted. “Is he truly so horrid?”

Scanning what was apparently a brief message, Olivia shrugged. A moment later, she looked up and handed the letter to Anne.
“You may read for yourself what he has written,” she said.

The letter consisted of only a few lines, so Anne read swiftly.

Olivia said, “As you see, he merely apologizes for not having written when he received word of your father’s death, and says
he will come to see you as soon as he attends to some few, lingering matters of business pertaining to the estates.”

“Yes,” Anne said, feeling a surge of resentment as she read the last line, “and he also writes that until such time as he
is able to discuss my future with me, I am to consider myself under his guardianship and to make no decisions regarding the
disposal of Ellyson Towers or myself without first acquiring his permission.”

“Well, I am sure I do not know why that should surprise you,” Olivia said. “You are underage, after all, and so Cousin Thomas—mercy,
I must remember to call him Armadale now, mustn’t I? Well, it is Armadale’s business to look after you until you marry.”

“I would be more willing to accept his authority if he had had the courtesy to write when he first learned of my father’s
death,” Anne said. “Whatever else he may be, he is clearly not a man who attends promptly to his duties.”

“Aye, he was ever a heedless man,” Olivia said, yawning behind a hand. “Mind, I haven’t seen him since I was a girl, and he
is much older than I am.”

Sir Christopher bowed, saying, “Doubtless you would prefer to abuse your relative in privacy, madam. Mayhap Parson Allardice
will have a suggestion as to what we should do next.”

Olivia shrugged. “You must do as you please, of course, but I do not see how this business can be settled in an afternoon,
sir. We do not know yet that you are who you say you are, after all, and Sir Eustace insists that even if you should prove
to be his dead nephew come back to life, it will not alter his betrothal to Fiona.’

“I wish you will believe that I have no desire to run counter to your daughter’s wishes or yours, my lady. Surely you can
understand, however, that I could not allow him to marry her whilst she believed him to be Laird of Ashkirk.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose you had no choice, and I am glad to know that you did not die, of course. But pray, do go away now, sir,
for I must rest. I do not want to think about this dreadful business any more today.”

Sir Christopher walked away, and the din of laughter and conversation in the hall, augmented by music from the minstrel’s
gallery above them, suddenly became more than Anne could bear. She felt as if her world had been turned on its ear, and the
thought that the new Earl of Armadale might arrive at any moment to tell her how she should go on in a life she had hitherto
lived very successfully without his guidance only made it worse.

Deciding that she would soon do something to destroy her long-established reputation for serenity in the face of calamity
if she did not find a private place to collect her thoughts, she took an orange from a fruit basket on the high table and
slipped out of the hall before it occurred to anyone to stop her.

Making her way outside and around to the yard, she decided to order a horse and go for a long, solitary ride, telling herself
that anyone who thought she ought not to go alone could just keep his opinion to himself. However, the bustle in the yard
and stables, where servants tended guests’ horses as well as those belonging to Mute Hill House, dissuaded her, and she turned
with a sigh toward the gardens.

Following the path from the stables away from the house and across the plank bridge, she saw no one else. The gardeners had
moved to other duties, and all the guests were inside. In some undefined distance, she heard birds chirping and the cheerful,
tumbling rush of the rain-swollen brook. Nearer at hand, she heard only the crunch of the pebbled path under her feet.

That path meandered away from the brook, past flowerbeds quickly passing their prime, and through the shady copse of tall
beech trees. From there, the path skirted the knot gardens that Sir Stephen had laid out with his own hands after drawing
their patterns on sheets of foolscap that he had afterward framed and hung in the garden hall. Tall boxwood hedges screened
that part of the garden from all but the uppermost windows of the house, protecting plants from the ever-present Border winds
and creating an illusion of privacy for anyone who walked there.

Coming to a wooden bench where one could sit and contemplate the central and largest knot garden, Anne sat down and peeled
the orange she had brought with her. The garden was at peace, presently occupied only by myriad wild creatures and a tawny
stable cat that stalked a magpie while she ate her orange. When she had finished, she wiped her fingers with her handkerchief,
carefully wrapped her orange peels in it, and carried it with her to discard at the house.

The sound of the brook grew louder as she neared the narrow bridge. Soon after she crossed it, her peaceful idyll would end,
so to prolong her sense of freedom, she kept her gaze on the pebbled path, knowing when she left the shelter of the hedges
only when a line of sparkling sunshine met the deep shadow they cast.

A few steps further, and the stones of the arched bridge lay before her. As she stepped onto it, a singular large shadow shifted
in front of her. Startled, she looked up at last and saw Sir Christopher standing at the crest of the arch, barring her way,
his hat tilted rakishly over one eye now and his hands on his hips.

His obvious delight as he took a step toward her put the polite words that had sprung to her tongue out of her head. An unfamiliar
but pleasant sensation stirred in her midsection, her mouth felt dry, and she could not think of a thing to say.

“I couldn’t find you, and so I wondered if you had come outside,” he said.

His deep, vibrant voice reached out to her, stirring chords within her in a way that kept her silent and made her wish her
heart were not pounding so hard in her chest. She resisted the temptation to look down and see if one could see it pounding.
Surely, it must be evident to anyone who looked.

The thought of him looking at her breasts sent flaming heat to her cheeks. He was too close, but she would not step back,
certain he expected her to do just that and not wanting him to think she was so predictable or so easily intimidated.

“Have you decided never to speak to me again, lass?”

“No,” she said. Pleased that the word had come out calmly, she darted a glance at his face.

He raised his eyebrows. ” ‘No,’ as in you will never speak to me again, or ‘no’ as in you have
not
decided to take such a cruel course of action?”

She licked her lips, wondering how it was that the man could so easily disconcert her. The brook gurgled and splashed below,
its water level-—thanks to a sennight’s worth of rain—nearly even with its banks.

Behind her, the cat must have flushed its magpie at last, for the bird or another like it emitted a clamor of shrieking protests
as it flapped wildly into flight.

“Well?”

She drew a breath and let it out before she said, “I think you understood me plainly, sir. Perhaps you do not realize that
you are barring my path.”

“Am I?” The teasing look in his eyes told her he knew exactly what he was doing and that his behavior disturbed her.

“Are you flirting with me?” she demanded.

“What if I am?” A smile tugged the corners of his mouth, but he suppressed it. The twinkle in his eyes remained undiminished,
making her wish briefly that her conscience would allow her to respond in kind.

“You should not flirt,” she said, her tone sharper than she had intended. “Such behavior is inappropriate when you are betrothed
to my cousin.”

“But I am not betrothed to her,” he said. “My uncle insists that naught has changed. Moreover, even if he is wrong about his
own position, her subsequent betrothal to him must release me from any contract my father made.”

“That has not yet been determined,” Anne said. “It seems clear to me that Sir Eustace’s contract cannot be binding, since
its foundation—which is to say, his assurance that you were dead—is patently false.”

“I’ll not deny that it’s still the devil of a coil,” he said, smiling. “I think you and I ought to discuss it at length.”

“I have no say in the matter. You must discuss it with my aunt and with Parson Allardice.”

“But your aunt does not want to discuss it, and the parson is presently drinking more claret than is good for him whilst exchanging
amusing stories with Toby Bell,” he said. “In any event, I’d rather discuss things with you.”

“We should not even be standing here alone together,” she said. “Please stand aside and let me pass.”

“What if I were to demand a forfeit first?”

“That would be most unchivalrous of you, and impolite as well.”

“But I have not been a gentleman for a year and a half. As I mentioned the first time we met, I fell into bad company—rough
sailors and their ilk—and I am afraid I acquired some of their worst habits.”

“You are being absurd now,” she said. When he did not move, she tilted her head thoughtfully. “What sort of forfeit would
you demand?”

“A kiss, of course, what else?”

“Now you step beyond the line,” she said, ruthlessly suppressing a nearly overwhelming temptation to pay the forfeit. “Pray
stand aside at once, sir.”

“Do you never lose that devilish equanimity of yours?” he demanded.

Certain that she would be wiser not to answer such a question, particularly since she would rather die than tell him the truth,
Anne glared at him, but if she had hoped to shame him into moving, she had sadly misjudged the man.

He grinned, and after a long moment at this impasse, he hooked his thumbs in his belt, clearly challenging her. “You bring
out the worst in me, lass. You have two choices now. You can turn round and follow the path back the way you came or you can
pay my forfeit and cross this bridge.”

Anger flashed, and without thought, she snapped both hands up to his chest and gave him a mighty shove.

Although his strength far surpassed her own, she caught him by surprise. His hands flew from his belt, his boot caught a stone
at the edge of the bridge, and he staggered and fell. He was agile and managed to land on his feet, but the stones were slippery,
the swollen brook swift, and neither foot gained solid purchase.

To Anne’s dismay, his feet shot out from under him, and he sat down hard in the middle of the brook. Bits of orange peel that
had flown from her handkerchief floated past him, and as she watched, his hat slid down over both eyes.

Clapping a hand to her mouth, she hesitated between blurting out how sorry she was and offering him a hand, or pointing out
triumphantly that in the face of stupid ultimatums one frequently had other choices.

However, meeting his angry gaze as he struggled awkwardly to get to his feet only to slip again, she realized that if she
were wise, only one choice remained.

She snatched up her skirts and fled across the bridge toward the house.

“Well, this is a setback,” Catriona said in disgust.

“I warned ye,” Fergus said. “Lady Anne be worth a dozen o’ Mistress Fiona, but no tae worry, lass. As clever as ye be, ye’ll
think o’ summat.”

Having decided to keep Catriona company while she kept an eye on Kit, Maggie had hoped to find an opportunity to tell her
Jonah had said they must kill Claud’s mortal to free him. However, although she could easily have created the opportunity,
she had not done so, fearing that the news would terrify Catriona as it would Fergus to the point where they would both abandon
Claud to his fate. Thus, Maggie had fallen victim to her own thoughts and had not noticed Fergus until he spoke. Nor had she
seen what Anne had done to Kit. However, a swift glance at the man in the stream and another at the lass running up the hill
to the house with her skirts held up out of her way put her in possession of all she needed to know.

“I warned ye, Catriona,” she said. “Things never be as tidy as they seem, and nae plan goes off without a hitch.”

“We’ll think o’ sumrnat,” Fergus said, patting Catriona’s hand. “Me lass wants him tae marry her beautiful cousin, so she’ll
help all she can. Ye’ll see.”

Catriona smiled at him and reached to stroke his face. “Ye’re a kind one, Fergus Fishbait, and no mistake.”

Maggie watched them both with narrowing eyes.

His anger stirred and deepened to fury. Did that fellow Fishbait want to die? And as for Catriona … but just thinking about
her stirred him as it usually did, and those feelings combined with his anger put him in such a black mood that he decided
Fishbait was lucky that he was on the far side of whatever divided them.