School For Heiresses 3- Beware A Scot's Revenge (30 page)

He let that pass, but the conversation cheered him enormously. Mayhap she wouldn’t be so hard to court after all. Especially when his mother’s beaming face showed she was more than willing to help. He finished eating, then pushed his plate away. “Well, then, let’s take that tour now. I’ve a fierce hankering to see what you ladies have been doing.”

“And what of the muslin?” Venetia asked. “Can you get it for me…us?”

With a lazy smile, he rose. “Write down everything you’re wanting, and I’ll send Jamie over to Dingwall for it.” If the way to her heart was with curtains and lime, then he’d find a way to get them for her, even if he had to buy on credit.

Rounding the table, he offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”

An uncertain look crossed her face, but she stood and took his arm. He suppressed a grin as they left the dining room, with his mother walking behind, her delight obvious.
Let the courtship begin.

It was the third morning after she’d lost her innocence to Lachlan, and Venetia was even more rattled now than she’d been then. She’d expected him to remain absent from the manor. Indeed, she’d hoped for it, so she could avoid the temptations he presented.

But no. He’d not only spent every waking hour here, he’d behaved as courteously as any London gentleman. He’d climbed ladders on her behalf, despite his stiff leg. Ignoring his mother’s sly smiles, he’d fetched cushions and, yes, even held curtains.

So she was disappointed to discover that today he’d left after breakfast, with no word as to where or why he was going and how long he’d be gone. All she could learn was that he’d taken the coach, which was unusual, according to Lady Ross.

At first Venetia simply missed his hanging about. But by late afternoon, she started to worry about him. So when the butler said the laird had returned and was wanting her in the dining room, she practically flew there, not bothering to find out if his mother was there, too, to chaperone. When she entered, Lachlan rose from the table, which held a steaming pot, two cups, and some fresh scones. It was the first time she’d ever seen him in anything but rough attire or regimentals, and she had to admit he looked quite fine. His waistcoat was embroidered silk, and his coat of fine, dark green merino made her think of shaded glens and sheltering oaks. His buff trousers fit his muscular build to
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perfection, reminding her just how fine his thighs were.

Her cheeks heated. “The butler said you asked for me?” she said formally, trying to keep her emotions in check.

“Aye. I brought you something.” He pulled out a chair for her next to his, and that’s when she saw the sheaf of broadsides stacked up on the table.

Her gaze flew to his. “Where did you…how did you…”

“I rode over this morning to Inverness. I’m not known there, you see. We do most of our business in Dingwall.”

That was because Dingwall was a few miles away, while Inverness—a town eight times larger, with libraries and an academy and lots of shops—was a good two hours’ ride each way. She walked to the table in a daze, then stood leafing through the pages, acutely aware of Lachlan watching her.

“Will they do?” he asked.

“They’re lovely,” she said in a choked whisper, then sat down to examine them further. No one had ever given her such a thoughtful gift. Not only were there unusual versions of ballads she already owned, but three of the broadsides contained lyrics to ballads she’d never encountered, and one was even in Gaelic. She couldn’t believe he’d ridden four hours to obtain these. The very thought of it brought tears to her eyes. She brushed them away quickly, before they could fall and ruin the ink of her precious copies. He poured her a cup of what was in the pot. “Can you read Gaelic, lass?”

That’s when she realized she was staring at the one in Gaelic. “Not as well as I’d like,” she said evasively.

Shortly after her arrival, she’d determined that the Ross clan held in contempt any Highlander who didn’t speak Gaelic. She wasn’t about to call attention to her lack, especially in front of Lachlan. She darted a quick glance at him as he handed her the cup and sat down beside her. “You must have had a difficult time locating such a wide variety,” she murmured.

“It took a bit of doing, but I managed.” With a smile, he pushed the cup at her. “See how this tastes. Cook wasn’t sure she made it properly.”

Blinking, she stared down into the cup and caught her breath. Chocolate. He’d got her chocolate, too. She sipped some, then promptly burst into tears.

“Here now, lass, don’t be doing that!” he cried, laying his arm about her shoulders. “Surely it can’t taste that bad.”

“No, no, it’s perfect,” she said, feeling like a fool as she dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. “That’s the trouble. It tastes exactly like the chocolate at home.”

He tensed. “London, you mean.”

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With a nod, she drank some more, relishing every velvety-sweet drop. Heaven. Pure heaven.

“Do you miss the city very much?” he asked in a strained voice. She glanced up to find him staring at her with an unfamiliar vulnerability. Forcing a smile, she set the cup down. “Only when I drink chocolate.”

His gaze locked with hers. “Then I’ll never buy you chocolate again.”

When he lowered his head toward hers, she didn’t stop him. How could she, when he was being so adorable? He kissed her, and it was better than before, better even than chocolate. His tongue dipped inside as if to test her resistance, then plunged more boldly.

She probably shouldn’t let him do this. She doubted that he’d changed his mind about the meeting with her father. But didn’t he deserve at least one kiss after he’d ridden all the way to Inverness for her? Just one…sweet…unending…

Someone cleared his throat nearby, and the two of them sprang apart to find Jamie watching from the doorway.

The poor lad wore a look of betrayal that cut her to the heart. She’d known he was nursing an attachment to her, but she’d thought it nothing more than a boyish crush. She’d certainly done nothing to encourage it. Still, judging from how he clenched his hat in two bony fists and glowered at her, that didn’t matter.

He thrust out his chin, then turned his scowl on Lachlan. “Yer mother sent me to tell you to stay out of sight, sir. Some of the lads saw McKinley headed this way with ten men or more.”

McKinley? Papa’s factor? That couldn’t be good.

In an instant, Lachlan turned from ardent lover to chief of his clan. He rose and strode to the doorway.

“Is Duncannon with him?”

Venetia held her breath, praying that Papa hadn’t come. She wasn’t ready.

“No sign of him yet,” Jamie said. “And McKinley is coming from the estate, not Dingwall. Probably just wants to make trouble again about the lads taking the short way through Duncannon land when they head to the main road.”

“I hope that’s all it is,” Lachlan said tersely. “Where’s Mother?”

“Out front, pretending to be gardening. She figured it was best if McKinley didn’t see what we’ve been doing inside the house. He might wonder what has got her started with fixing up the place.”

“Aye, he might. God knows she’s never done it before.” Lachlan rubbed the back of his neck. “All right. Go up to the north field and tell the lads to come down. Tell them to bring their sickles, but not to be seen unless things turn ugly.”

He strode out into the hall, still barking orders at Jamie. “Send Roarke to warn the fellows doing the mashing to stay out of McKinley’s sight. He’ll use any excuse to make trouble for us. The last time the bloody devil reported seeing an illegal still near Duncannon land, we had excisemen plaguing us for days
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after.”

Curious to see this “devil” she’d heard so much about, Venetia wandered to the front of the house to peer out the window near the front entrance.

“Venetia!” Lachlan called out. “Stay inside, ye ken?”

“Of course.”

A voice from outside arrested them all. “Good day, Lady Ross.”

“Mr. McKinley,” Lachlan’s mother answered. “And what brings you to Rosscraig this fine morning?”

“Go!” Lachlan hissed at Jamie, who disappeared through the servants’ entrance. Then he turned to Venetia and whispered, “Come away from the window.”

Mouthing the words “in a minute,” she carefully drew aside the heavy velvet drape just enough to give her a view of the front drive.

Lady Ross stood near a badly overgrown rosebush that she’d apparently been hacking to death in her zeal to look like she’d been gardening. Facing her was a burly man with a coarse reddish beard who sat atop a beautiful bay mare that would rival any costly one in London. Venetia scowled. Where did a factor get the money for such exquisite horseflesh? She couldn’t imagine that Papa paid him enough for that. The factor probably lined his pockets by throwing tenants off the land they loved, then filling it with sheep. She began to wonder if Papa actually knew. He paid so little attention to his Scottish property.

The rude Mr. McKinley didn’t even bother to climb down from his mount. “I was at Braidmuir to collect the quarterly rents, where I was informed that your people have been trespassing on the earl’s land.”

The factor’s smoothly sinuous voice was that of a man who sowed discord wherever he went. If she hadn’t already been predisposed to dislike him, she would hate him just for that.

“My men encountered a woman leaving a cottage where we store fleece,” he continued. “When they counted the bags, they discovered one missing.”

Venetia’s gaze flew to Lachlan.

“Yer blood stained it,” he said softly. “It didn’t seem right to leave it there for anyone to find.”

Wincing, she returned her attention to the drama outside.

“And what makes you think the thief is one of
my
people?” Lady Ross asked, though her voice shook. Venetia wondered if she was remembering Lachlan’s mention of fleece.

“The woman fled here, my lady. And you know better than anyone that Lord Duncannon doesn’t tolerate thievery on his land, even by a neighbor. I heard about the punishment administered years ago to your own son after an incident of thievery. So I don’t imagine he’ll regard this with any kinder an eye.”

Her heart sinking, Venetia glanced to Lachlan again, who was glowering at the front door so blackly, she
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was surprised it didn’t erupt into flames.

Is
that
what Lachlan had meant about being humiliated? What had Papa done to him, for heaven’s sake? And why hadn’t she heard of it? It must have occurred before Lachlan joined the regiment.

“My employer is sure to demand restitution for the stolen fleece,” Mr. McKinley went on. “That’s why I’m here. We can either handle this between us, or I can go to the authorities.”

“Now, Mr. McKinley, do not be hasty—”

“I have with me the two fellows who saw the culprit. They’re sure to recognize the female. So we’d like to search the property and talk to all the women.”

“I’ll be damned if I let them!” Lachlan hissed. “He’s just looking for an excuse to find our stills so he can report them to the authorities.”

When Lachlan started for the door, Venetia made a split-second decision. She could handle Mr. McKinley’s sort. She’d seen Mrs. Harris do it often enough with bullying gentlemen who came to the school making outrageous demands. What she
couldn’t
handle was Lachlan being seen before Papa arrived.

So before Lachlan could reach the door, she stepped outside and closed it firmly behind her. “Ah, Lady Ross, there you are. I was wondering where you’d gone off to. I wanted to show you the painting I’m working on.”

Beyond Mr. McKinley, Venetia could see Ross men gathering, their faces resolute and their hands gripping scythes and sickles and poles—anything that might serve as a weapon. They weren’t about to allow their property to be searched and their women harassed by the likes of Mr. McKinley and his band of rowdy fellows.

Venetia ignored Lady Ross’s startled look, focusing instead on Mr. McKinley, whose gaze had swung instantly to her. She wished she were wearing something other than a paint-splattered gown that was too tight for her. Then again, perhaps that would work in her favor, since it displayed her bosom nicely. With a silky smile, she thrust her breasts out for the man’s perusal.

“Forgive me, sir, for being so bold, but I’m shocked to realize that we have not met. I mistakenly thought I’d already been introduced to all the gentlemen of the area.” Using a languid walk that oozed gentility, she trailed down the steps. “I’m Miss Ross of London, a cousin of Lady Ross’s late husband. And you are…”

“Mr. McKinley, miss. Factor to the Earl of Duncannon.” He tipped his hat, appreciation flickering in the eyes that followed her every step. “My employer’s estate, Braidmuir, borders Rosscraig to the east.”

“Oh, yes, that delightful place! I stumbled upon it quite by accident a couple of days ago when I took a wrong path. What beautifully rustic cottages it had. And the sheep were too adorable for words.”

“You were at the estate, were you?” Mr. McKinley asked, casting an uneasy glance at the two men she recognized as having accosted her.

“Aye, she’s the lass we saw,” one of them said. “But she had something over her head to cover her face—”

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“To cover my face!” she protested with a tinkling laugh. “I was wearing a costume, as it were. An
arisaid
.” She smiled at the factor. “I know you’re a man of fashion, sir, and probably do not bother with such things, but I confess I find the local dress quite deliciously colorful. I just had to wear the traditional tartan while I explored the countryside.”

Mindful of Lachlan’s men, who stood warily observing the interchange, she clapped her hand to her chest. “It made me feel so daringly Scottish, a veritable Highlander. I cannot wait to tell Papa of my adventures. He’s a barrister, you know, and a great lover of Walter Scott’s novels.”