Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (5 page)

“Yes, she often said it was like having two mothers and four
fathers.”

“Aye, and Maggie had need of every one of them. A handful,
she was.”

Fletcher was amused at that. “She chose not to tell me about
that either,” he said.

“Well, remind me to speak at length about it sometime.”

Fletcher nodded. “I will, and I will also do everything in
my power to be an earl you will be proud of.”

“Somehow I knew you would. Caithness is not a wealthy
earldom, but it is rich in more important ways. The people here are good and
will serve you properly if you do well by them.”

“And I shall endeavor to do so, if you will agree to be my
tutor. Mother said you knew more about Caithness than anyone.”

“Aye, I’ve lived here long enough…since the death of my
husband, some forty years ago. My father was old and almost blind and I was his
eyes and ears. Once Ian inherited the title, I continued to run things.” As if
she saw his surprise, she added, “Ian preferred the social life of the country
earl, which he found in Edinburgh, to what he called the solitary confinement
of these cold, stone walls.”

Fletcher studied her for a moment. “So, in essence, you’ve
been the Earl of Caithness for quite some time.”

“Aye, and it pains me to think upon it. I could never
understand why a woman couldna inherit a title. She can inherit the lairdship
of a clan, but not a title. It doesna make any sense to me.”

“Perhaps things will change.”

“Not in my lifetime,” she said, “or in yours either.”

Mrs. MacCauley entered the room and stopped, looking from
one to the other.

“Are you going to talk yer aunt to death?”

“We have reached a stopping point.” Doroty came to her feet.
“Well, I ken you could go on with this for another hour or two, but these old
bones dinna have the stamina they once had. It is time for me to rest. I ken
your journey was long and hard, in spite of your youth. A little rest willna be
a bad idea for you as well.”

“Of course,” he said, rising to his feet. “I apologize for
keeping you awake at such a late hour.”

“I ken I enjoyed our talk more than an hour of sleep.”

“I would like to talk again tomorrow…if it’s all right with
you.”

“Ah, the young are ever restless,” she said, smiling.

Fletcher sat at one end of the massive dining table, his
aunt, Doroty, at the other. If he had learned anything in the many weeks he had
been at Caithness Castle, it was that she was both formidable and striking.

At sixty-eight, she was tall and as regal as Queen Victoria,
with white hair and that aloof confidence that he had already learned to
associate with Scots. Her clothes were always black or gray, or a combination
of the two, and as elegant as they were out of style. She was opinionated,
prejudiced, dour, and steeped in tradition and the past. Upon their first
meeting, he had thought her quite inhospitable—after all, he had been left
standing outside in the rain for a full ten minutes before being shown inside.

But now that he had gotten to know her, he saw her as the
wisest, strongest, most loving woman in the world, and he adored her. There was
much about her that reminded him of his mother, and like his mother, she taught
him much. It was his aunt who spent her days telling him the history of his
mother’s family; his aunt who advised him not to be so eager, but to proceed
slowly and with great caution if he was determined to prove Adair Ramsay an
impostor.

Fletcher learned much about his mother’s family from Doroty.
But he also learned a great deal about it from Caithness Castle itself.
Although he was living in the earl’s chamber, he spent a great deal of time in
his mother’s old room, a room filled with things from her life with Bruce
Ramsay, things she had brought with her from Glengarry Castle after his death.
Everything in her room was just as she had left it, and every time Fletcher
went there, he felt as if he were stepping back in time.

Sorting through her belongings, Fletcher could not help
smiling. His mother was shrewd enough to know that she should not take the
reminders of one marriage into another, yet she was woman enough to want to
keep the mementos of a past love, and Scot enough not to throw anything away.

Of all Maggie’s belongings, the one thing that interested
him most was a large, humpbacked trunk. It was quite old, much older than most
of the possessions it contained. Inside the trunk, Fletcher found some of his
father’s clothes and personal property, like his watch and his brush and comb,
but deeper down, toward the bottom of the trunk, lay many documents and ledgers
that belonged to Bruce Ramsay as well. And there, below the documents, Fletcher
found a false bottom concealing a very old book. He realized at once that it
was a Bible, but it was written in French. The moment he touched it, his hands
began to tremble. About him, the room seemed to grow brighter, and he had the
strangest feeling that someone else was with him. There was an inscription on
the inside cover, but it too was in French, and the brown ink had faded. He was
barely able to make out
Brigitte de Compiegne, Honfleur, France, 1740.

There was something special about this Bible. He knew that
instinctively, but he did not know exactly what made it so.

When he had replaced the Bible, restored all the contents,
and closed the trunk, he wondered if he had just imagined the intense
sensations that had coursed through him or if the belongings really could speak
to him so powerfully.

A few days later, Fletcher went to Edinburgh to hire a
solicitor, then spent the afternoon reading over the documents pertaining to
the hearing between his father and Adair Ramsay, as well as those to the
hearing after his father’s death, when the courts had stripped him of his title
and given it to Adair.

As he began to learn the ways of the Scots and the role of
the Earl of Caithness, he understood what Doroty meant when she said to him one
evening, “Power and respect will serve you well. You will need both to gain the
trust of those you will rely on to help you. Regaining your title will be
difficult, and I need not tell you, Fletcher, that it is not an easy path you
have chosen for yourself. Adair Ramsay is a very powerful man.”

“I am not afraid of Adair Ramsay,” Fletcher said, taking a
bite of salmon.

Doroty put down her wineglass. “That is foolishness talking.
The greater the power, the more dangerous the man. You would do well to
remember that.”

He did remember it, but it did not stop him from the task he
had set for himself.

“I dinna think you have heard a word I’ve said,” Aunt Doroty
said, waving the butler away when he offered her more wine.

At the sound of Doroty’s voice, Fletcher said, “What? Oh…I’m
sorry, Aunt. My thoughts have wandered.”

“In the direction of Glengarry Castle, I’ll wager.”

“I’ve decided it’s time to pay a visit to Glengarry.”

“You willna find any proof there, but I ken you are itching
to go. I’ve known for days that I will be continuing in my role as the Earless
of Caithness a bit longer.”

Fletcher grinned. “Is that Ear-less or Earl-ess?”

“It’s Earl-ess, but sometimes I would prefer the former,
especially after listening to all the bickering that comes when it’s time to
collect the rents. When do you plan to leave, lad?”

“By the end of the week.”

“I dinna need to warn you to be careful. The village of
Glengarry is small, and it has been Adair Ramsay’s home for twenty years. He
will have plenty of ears about.”

“I know.”

“Where will you stay?”

“I will find something when I get there. Don’t worry about
me.”

“Humph! I will worry regardless.”

Fletcher finished his wine. “I know you will. You are much
like my mother in that regard.”

“It was ever a woman’s way,” she said, “to worry about her
menfolk, but I ken you heard enough of that before you left California. What
are your plans?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I only know that it’s time
for me to go there, that there is something…someone in Glengarry who holds a
key to all of this.”

“Trust no one, Fletcher,” Doroty warned. “Except…”

“Except whom?”

“I was thinking you might pay a visit to that nice parson,
the one who married your mother and father. MacDonald, his name was. David
MacDonald. Of course, he would be getting on up in years by now, but still, he
might be of some help. He baptized you…and your two sisters too, if I remember
right.”

“My mother told me about him, and, like you, she advised me
to seek his counsel. She has corresponded with him over these past years.”

“I ken you plan to heed her advice?”

He smiled. “Of course. I am ever the dutiful son, am I not?”

“Aye, when it pleases you.”

“Rest easy, Aunt. I plan to make it a point to call on him,”
Fletcher said. “It couldn’t hurt to have a man of God on my side.”

“You had best be praying you have God himself on your side,”
she said.

“I have always prayed for that.”

Two days later, Fletcher received his first invitation as
the new Earl of Caithness.

He had just come in from riding a gelding he had purchased
at a fair the week before, when Mrs. MacCauley handed him a cream-colored
envelope.

His brows narrowed as he turned the envelope over, studying
it. “Who is this from?”

“You might find the answer to your question if you would
open it,” Mrs. MacCauley said.

Giving Mrs. MacCauley a teasing look, Fletcher took the
envelope to his study, where he opened it.

“Who is Annora Fraser?” he asked his aunt at dinner that
night.

Doroty paused with a bite of mutton midway to her mouth.
“Where did you hear of Annora?”

“I received an invitation from her today—for a ball she is
giving.”

“And you are thinking of accepting?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

“No matter what I said, I ken you would go anyway,” Doroty
said, “as soon as you learned that Annora Fraser’s home is quite close to
Glengarry.”

That definitely piqued Fletcher’s interest, and he leaned
back from the table, his meal forgotten. “Do tell me more.”

“You will love this next part,” Doroty said. “Annora is
young, wealthy, and very beautiful. She is also a widow.”

Fletcher grinned. “Are you proposing marriage?”

“It crosses the mind of every man who meets her.”

“And her husband? What happened to him?”

“He died of old age.” Doroty paused. “Annora married for money.
She was a poor village girl, until she caught the eye of a wealthy landowner.”

“Any children?”

“No. Simon Fraser died before his wife could bear him an
heir.”

“How unfortunate.”

“For Simon, perhaps, but as for Annora, it makes her all the
more appealing.”

“Appealing enough to interest me. After what you’ve said, I
would be a fool to refuse, even if her home wasn’t close to Glengarry.”

Fletcher was silent for a moment, reflecting.

“Something is troubling you.”

“I was just wondering how she had heard of me.”

“Annora did not get where she is by oversight. You can bet
she knows all about you, just as surely as you can bet she will know even more
after she meets you. She has more than being neighborly on her mind, I am
certain. You must not forget that she is as cunning as she is beautiful.”

“You make her sound like a witch.”

“She isn’t an evil woman, just determined enough to do
whatever is necessary to accomplish what she desires.” Doroty paused. “There
must be some English blood in her somewhere.”

Fletcher laughed, then pushed his chair back and rose to his
feet. “I think you exaggerate, Aunt. I doubt that Annora Fraser will even
notice I am there.”

“Who is that?” Annora whispered, keeping her gaze fastened
upon the back of the tall, brown-haired man across the room. She had spied him
the moment he entered the room, wearing the kilt with the sporran hanging from
his waist, the silver-handled dirk in his heavy knit sock, the tartan riding
his broad shoulder, held in place with a laird’s badge.

Her gaze dropped lower.

He had long, muscular legs and looked as if he would sit a
horse well. She wondered if the same was true about women.

“That is the Earl of Caithness,” the doorman replied.

“Well, well, well,” Annora said, studying him with increased
vigor, her face alight with curiosity. She had a vision of him with his thick
brown hair rumpled from sleep, his voice low and throbbing with desire. He
looked marvelous—and why not? He was tall, and fit, and wealthy, and available.

“The Earl of Caithness,” she repeated, thinking she had been
wise to invite the new earl to her home. “How fortunate it is that I’m a woman
with an ear finely tuned for gossip. He looks even better than I was led to
believe.”

A second later, Annora turned away, adjusting the front of
her tight-fitting princesse Basque, tugging the low-cut square neck of her
dress so that it plunged just a little lower. Then she headed across the room,
the long green faille train held in place by a spray of black poppies swishing
seductively as she went.

He saw her coming and was more than interested. Hell, a man
would have to be blind to admit otherwise.

He had noticed her the moment he entered the room, for she
was all the beauty his aunt had said she was and then some. He had noticed her
even before she turned around, for from the back, her figure was long, lean,
and curvaceous, and beautifully seductive in yards of a perfectly fitted
emerald-green gown. Never had he seen hair so blue-black or skin so fair and
white, and, now that he thought about it, he had never feasted his gaze upon
such a shapely derriere. He wondered what she would do if he tried to pick one
of those black poppies.

When she turned around he could think of only one word to
describe her bosom: Magnificent.

When she started across the room, he almost laughed
outright, for she reminded him of a falcon swooping in for the kill. The urge
to laugh vanished when he realized that he was the intended prey.

Feeling the need for fortification, he took a drink from a
passing servant’s tray and tossed it down quickly, then stood with a
wide-legged stance and watched her. Although he knew she realized that he was
watching, she did not react as most women would have done. She didn’t blush,
avert her eyes, or do any of the other silly things a woman might do when a man
looked at her with thoughts he had no business thinking. He thought that her
boldness was probably due to the fact that she was no simpering virgin, that
she had been married. More than likely she hadn’t been a virgin when she took
her vows.

It was more than obvious that she was an experienced woman
and that she wasn’t too proud to reveal her interest in a man. These two things
set to work on him immediately. Before the night was out, he would do more than
look.

“Shame on you for being so late,” she said, coming up to
him. “I’ve been waiting for you all evening. I’m Annora Fraser, and you must be
the Earl of Caithness. I would have recognized you anywhere.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you are undeniably handsome, and because I was told
you were American and it shows.”

“Is it that obvious?”

She smiled, looping her arm through his. “Did I say it was
obvious? It simply shows, that’s all.”

“In what way?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t going to say it
was because of the way he looked in a kilt. It hadn’t been easy for him to put
this rigging on tonight, and he had agreed only because he knew it was expected
of him. Damn drafty, it was.

She shrugged, and he could not help noticing how the gesture
increased her cleavage.

“You Americans have a certain air of defiance, a
nonconformist demeanor about you that makes you stand out in a room,” she said.

“Then it must be acquired, for I am a Scot through and
through.”

“Oh, I know who you are. I know all about you and why you’ve
come to Scotland.”

He stiffened and came to an abrupt stop.