Enraptured (10 page)

As Coll had said, it was not far across the loch, and they soon docked the boat and walked up the path to Baillannan, a far less steep and taxing climb than the sheer cliff of Duncally. The house before them had none of the whimsical towers and crenellations of Duncally. It was a simple, massive gray-stone block. Violet suspected it would be termed bleak by many who saw it, but its solidity had a certain sturdy appeal, heightened by the warm glow of its lit windows.

A number of buildings made of the same gray stone were grouped around the house, and Coll made his way to the largest of these. The wide double doors stood open, light and noise spilling out. Inside, lanterns hung from the rafters, casting a warm glow over the crowd. Wooden trestle tables had been placed against one wall of the vast room, and across from them stood another table topped with a large keg, around which a number of men had gathered. At the far end was a raised platform where some musicians were tuning their instruments.

How different it was from the ornate ballrooms where she had attended dances before. Violet had little time to take it all in before Coll guided her toward a group of people. One was a striking dark-haired man, elegant in formal black and white, and beside him stood a tall, willowy woman, equally fashionably dressed in a sky-blue gown. Pearls gleamed at her neck and throat. She glanced up and broke into a wide smile.

“Coll!” She held out both her hands to him, and Coll went to her, beaming.

Coll loved this woman; it was clear to see. Jealousy shot through Violet, startling in its intensity.

“Isobel.” Coll took the woman's hands and placed a chaste kiss on the cheek she offered. This, then, was the woman Coll had mentioned, the descendant of the lairds of Baillannan. The man beside her, presumably, was her husband, Jack Kensington.

“We have not seen you since Meg's wedding,” Isobel scolded playfully. “I think you have forgotten us.”

“Nae. How could I do that?” Coll squeezed her hands and released them, turning to extend his hand to the man beside her. “Jack.”

“Coll.” The other man shook Coll's hand, seemingly unperturbed by the woman's fond greeting. Jack's gaze slid over to Violet, standing a few feet away. She had the sense that little escaped this man's attention.

“I'm sorry. I've forgotten my manners.” Coll turned and came back to Violet. “Come meet Jack and Isobel. You needn't be shy. They are easy to talk to.”

“I'm not shy,” Violet said repressively. “I did not wish to intrude.”

“Intrude?” He gave her an odd look. “ 'Tis why we came here, is it not?”

Coll introduced her to the couple, explaining, “Lady Violet is here to study the ruins.”

“Oh! Indeed?” Isobel looked surprised. “How wonderful! We are so interested in finding out about that place. Auntie . . .” She tugged at the elbow of a gray-haired woman. “Did you hear? Lady Violet is here to excavate the ruins.
Lady Violet, allow me to introduce you to my aunt, Lady Elizabeth Rose.”

To Violet's astonishment, the older woman's eyes lit up. “My dear . . .” She reached out to take Violet's hand. “This is wonderful! I am so eager to hear about the ruins. I was quite astonished when Meg and that nice young man—what was his name?” She glanced toward her niece.

“Lord Mardoun?”

“Yes. Mardoun.” Her eyes crinkled. “Such a handsome young man. Well, when he and Meg stumbled across the place, we were all amazed. No one had any idea there had ever been a building there.”

“That is what Mr. Munro told me.”

“Was it a house, you think? Or just a wall? Isobel and I looked at the stones, but we could not tell much.”

“I have only started, so I do not know how extensive it is or from what time it dates. But I think it is possible it may have been more than one dwelling.”

“How exciting! That was once part of the Baillannan lands, but even the oldest of our records have no mention of any dwellings there.”

“You have records?”

“Yes, hundreds of years of records. Not continuously, of course. There have been fires and sieges and such. And many a Rose was not as careful as they should have been.” Elizabeth compressed her mouth in disapproval. “You know how men were in the Middle Ages—uninterested in knowledge or history, spending all their time drinking and fighting.” She paused, reflecting. “Many still are, I suppose.”

“You have record books from the medieval period?” Violet's voice was awed.

“Yes, perhaps you would like to look them over sometime?”

“I would love to.”

“You must come for tea one day.” Elizabeth tucked her hand in Violet's arm and steered her away. “Now tell me, what do you think happened there . . .”

“Well, that's the last we'll see of them,” Coll said, and laughed.

Violet ignored him, engrossed in conversation. Elizabeth led her to a bench tucked away in a quiet corner of the room, and they settled down happily for a lengthy discussion of the ruins. Elizabeth, Violet discovered, was much more informative and dramatic regarding the discovery than either Coll or Lord Mardoun's letter had been.

“It happened after that storm, you see,” Elizabeth said, settling into the cadence of a born storyteller. “The storm of the century, people are calling it—though I would not think that would be so great a distinction, as this century is only seven years old. Oh, but the wind howled around Baillannan that night! I can only imagine what it must have been like for poor Meg and her sweetheart, trapped in the caves.”

Violet smiled at the description of the supremely sophisticated Earl of Mardoun as “Meg's sweetheart,” but said only, “Mr. Munro showed me the cliff.”

“Yes, they are riddled with caves. Meg knows her way about in them, but she had not expected to get caught by the storm. Their boat was destroyed, so they had to climb out over the cliff. When they got to safe ground, they found that the winds had blown away so much sand that the tops of the rocks were exposed. So their ordeal was worth it. They found the treasure, too—not the whole treasure, of course, but at least the evidence.”

“The treasure!”

“Yes. The gold that my father brought back from France for the Prince.”

“The Prince?” Violet eyed Isobel's aunt uncertainly.

Elizabeth caught her glance and chuckled. “I have not lost all my wits, I promise you. There really was a treasure, no matter how much skeptics like my cousin like to scoff. It was during the Uprising, and my father, Malcolm Rose, brought back money from the French king to aid Bonnie Prince Charlie.”

“Oh.” Violet nodded, relieved. “I see.”

“Most people believed Papa never came home. There were other tales that he had returned and that he had brought gold from the French king and hidden it. But no one ever found it.”

“But Lord Mardoun and Coll's sister came upon it in the caves?”

“Not the entire treasure. They found only a few coins and the remains of a money bag with the Rose insignia on it. Still, it proved that the treasure was real and not just another of the old legends.”

“Mr. Munro said that you are the expert on the old legends.”

“I'm hardly an expert,” Elizabeth said self-deprecatingly. “But I do know a great many of them. Are you interested in the old stories?”

“Indeed I am. In all the traditions and customs of the area. I hope you will tell me about them.”

“I would be delighted.” The older woman's cheeks pinked with pleasure, and she began to talk.

They were soon so lost in the tales that neither of
them noticed Coll's approach until he cleared his throat. “Ladies?”

“Oh!” Violet's head flew up. “Mr. Munro. I did not realize—” She glanced around vaguely.

“I noticed.” He smiled.

“Oh, dear.” Elizabeth looked contrite. “I have been monopolizing our guest, haven't I? I am sorry.”

“It has been delightful talking to you,” Violet assured her. “I would love to chat with you again.”

“So would I. But now . . .” Elizabeth's eyes twinkled up at Coll. “I believe that Coll wants to sweep you off to the dance floor.” She rose, patting the man's arm.

“The dance floor?” Violet's eyes widened in alarm. “No, indeed, I don't know how—” She turned toward Elizabeth, but the older woman was already walking away.

“Dinna worry. I'm not here to force you to dance. I brought you a taste of the local nectar.” He held out a glass.

“Whiskey?” Violet eyed the golden-brown liquid with interest. No one, not even her uncle, had ever offered her whiskey. It was considered scandalous for a lady to drink anything stronger than a glass of sherry.

“You canna know the Highlands if you dinna have a wee dram. Think of it as a remedy to make meeting the natives more pleasant.” A challenge was in his smile.

Violet smiled back in much the same way, taking the glass and sampling the golden-brown liquid. It hit her tongue like liquid fire. “That is—that is—”

“Nae, lass, you must not sip at it like a bird. You have to embrace the whiskey. Toss it down.” He demonstrated with his own drink. “That's the way.”

Violet gulped the rest of it down in one swallow. For an
instant, she thought she had lost her breath entirely. Her insides joined in the conflagration of her mouth.

“You tricked me!” she accused when at last she recovered her voice. A long shudder ran through her.

“I wouldna trick you.” His dancing eyes belied his words. “ 'Tis the way to do it. And now you will understand Highlanders better.”

“I understand that you are all mad to drink such a thing.”

He laughed. “But your nerves have disappeared, have they not?”

To her surprise, Violet joined in his laughter. She did, actually, feel rather . . . pleasant.

“What do you say to meeting a few people?”

“I say yes.”

To her surprise, Violet found herself enjoying meeting the other partygoers. It was easy to start a conversation with Coll by her side. He knew everyone and, even more astonishing to Violet, could find something to say to each person. Coll introduced her to Sally McEwan, the cook at Duncally, whom Violet had not yet met. Sally's greeting was polite but guarded. However, at Violet's heartfelt praise of her meals, the woman warmed up, and when Coll mentioned Violet's interest in the “old ways,” Sally happily launched into a description of the various winter traditions around the loch.

“Now, if you want to know about the past,” Sally said, breaking off from the story she was telling and nodding toward someone behind Coll and Violet, “it's Auld Angus you should ask.”

Violet glanced over her shoulder and saw a small, wizened man approaching them. His face was lined and leathery, and his bushy, white eyebrows gave him the illusion
of scowling. Or, Violet thought, looking at the set of his mouth, perhaps it was no illusion. Coll muttered something beneath his breath.

“Weel, Munro,” the old man said with grim satisfaction, “so you've joined the tyrant.”

“Hello, Angus. Always a pleasure to see you.”

Angus snorted and turned his gaze on Violet. “Another Sassenach, I see.”

The old man's expression was so filled with gloom, his voice so ripe with resignation and disapproval, it made Violet want to laugh. She crossed her arms and raised her chin in a manner that mirrored his. “Yes, I am. And you are another Scot.”

Something twinkled in his dark eyes. “Ah, weel . . .” Angus heaved a sigh. “I knew how it would be once Red Meg bewitched that devil.”

At Violet's blank look, Coll supplied, “He means my sister and the Earl of Mardoun.”

“Ah. And why is the earl the devil, Mr. . . . um . . .”

“McKay.” Coll sighed. “This is Angus McKay. Angus, allow me to introduce you to the woman you are offending—Lady Violet Thornhill.”

“Aye, I ken who she is.” The old man cast Coll a look of contempt. “All the glen knows the mad Englishwoman whae's digging up the rocks.” Ignoring Coll's smothered groan, Angus turned back to Violet. “The English canna let anything be.”

“And you, I take it, have no curiosity?” Violet countered. “You would pass by a wall of rocks suddenly poking out of the ground and not wonder why they were there? Or when they were laid? And how they came to be covered up?”

The old man let out a strangled noise that Violet thought might be a laugh. “Aye, I micht wonder a wee bit.”

“As did I.” Violet smiled. “Perhaps you would like to take a closer look at the dig, Mr. McKay. If you want to come by some afternoon, I would be happy to show you around.”

“Hmmph.” McKay regarded her for a moment. “And sae I micht.”

Sally distracted Old Angus by asking him about the state of his ailing back. He responded with a fierce admonition that it was none of her business, followed by a lengthy description of each and every twinge of pain he had suffered.

As the others chatted around them, Coll bent his head toward Violet's. “Now you've let yourself in for it. Old Angus will be there to visit tomorrow, I'll wager.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I believe you do.” Coll grinned. “I might have known. The two of you will squabble the whole afternoon and doubtless enjoy every minute of it.”

Violet laughed. “Are you comparing me to a crotchety old man?”

“Nae, I'm not fool enough to step into that quagmire.” Coll's blue eyes danced, and Violet's heart lifted in response. It was almost impossible not to glow under the warmth of his smile. His eyes darkened, the warmth turning into another sort of heat.

Violet felt herself blushing, and she looked away, her gaze falling on a young blond woman on the other side of the room. The girl had a fresh, pretty face, but it was marred by the scowl that creased her forehead. She stared at Violet as if contemplating where to plunge the knife.