School For Heiresses 3- Beware A Scot's Revenge (31 page)

Noting how his face paled at the mention of her father’s supposed profession, she went on babbling.

“Indeed, he wanted to stay and observe the same Highland customs that have so captivated me, but after he delivered me here last week, he was forced to return to London—some emergency at Parliament, I believe. The Duke of Foxmoor is one of his close friends, you see.” Louisa and the duke would surely forgive her that little white lie.

Mr. McKinley began to look decidedly ill. “Yes, I see.”

“But I’m sorry,” Venetia went on, struggling to hide her enjoyment at unsettling the unctuous Mr. McKinley, “I believe I interrupted some business you were conducting with Lady Ross?”

“No, no, a slight misunderstanding is all,” he said with a quelling glance at the two men who looked as if they might gainsay him. “We’ll be going now.”

Lady Ross approached him wearing an expression of sheer glee. “But yer fleece, sir—aren’t you wanting yer fleece? As you say, the earl doesn’t approve of thievery. Though if you go to the authorities, I’m sure Miss Ross’s father—”

“My men undoubtedly miscounted,” he said hastily, dragging out a handkerchief to mop his forehead.

“Nothing to worry about. It will turn up.” He nodded to Venetia, twin lines of panic deepening his brow.

“Do give my regards to your father, miss.”

She gave him a regal nod. With any luck, her tale would get the man dismissed. Waving amiably, she stood on the steps while Mr. McKinley and his men rode off between two glowering lines of Rosses. As soon as they were gone she was besieged by Lachlan’s clansmen, who surged up the steps, carrying her before them into the house while Lady Ross practically danced along behind them.

Inside, Lachlan awaited them, watching with gleaming eyes as at least twenty men and women crowded into the entrance hall around him.

“Did you hear yer cousin rout McKinley, sir?” one of the clansmen cried. “Oh, what a lass, what a lass!”

“Aye,” Lachlan answered, the glittering promise in his gaze making her breath catch in her throat. “She
is
quite a lass.”

“I thought McKinley would melt into a puddle, I did,” Lady Ross chimed in. “He was that nervous at the thought of having a barrister breathing down his neck.”

“Does yer father really know the Duke of Foxmoor?” asked one voice from among the crowd.
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“Is he even really a barrister?” asked another.

As she was wondering how to answer that, another voice spoke from behind the others. “No, he’s not a barrister.”

She turned to see Jamie staring at her, his eyes resentful as he pronounced the words that would make them all hate her now.

“Her father is the Earl of Duncannon himself.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Dear Cousin,

I fret because I lack your talent for uncovering the truth. Certain things a woman cannot
discover, no matter how many female confidantes she possesses. You men tend to be a
closemouthed sort, you must admit.

Your fretting relation,

Charlotte

L
achlan groaned as a stunned silence descended. Damn the jealous lad! Angry about that kiss he’d seen, Jamie apparently now meant to take it out on Venetia.

Judging from the look of betrayal etching her face, he’d chosen the best way to do it, too. “You don’t know what you’re saying, lad,” Lachlan began.

“Don’t lie to them, sir.” Jamie’s voice held a challenge. “They’ll find out the truth when Duncannon comes for her. I say we might as well tell them now.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” Lachlan growled. “I don’t recall asking for yer advice in the matter, and I sure as the devil don’t remember giving you permission to—”

“It’s all right, Lachlan,” Venetia said, her voice low. “Jamie has a point. It’s not as if we can keep it secret much longer.”

Roarke, Lachlan’s right arm on the estate, stepped in front of her, his ruddy face wary. “So it’s true then? You’re the earl’s daughter?”

“Yes.” Venetia tried for a smile and failed.

Jamie pushed in amidst the crowd. “Me and Lachlan took her from Edinburgh for the ransom and brought her here. When Duncannon arrives, she’ll be going back with him to London, assuming he pays the money.”

“Took her!” Roarke said. “You mean, you kidnapped her?”

When all eyes turned to Lachlan, he swore under his breath. Once he got Jamie alone, he would wring the scrawny lad’s neck. “Yes, we kidnapped her. After the man tried to have me killed, we figured it was the only way to get the money he owes my mother.” The men knew about the money—he’d told them
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after he’d confessed to being the Scourge.

One of the clanswomen looked confused. “But Miss Ross…I mean, Duncannon’s daughter…just talked to McKinley. If she’s being held against her will, why didn’t she—”

“Lady Venetia is not being held against her will,” Lachlan’s mother snapped. “Aye, my son took her—without my knowledge, I might add—but she’s been a guest in my home ever since, and she’ll remain one until the earl comes to fetch her. So that’s enough talk of kidnapping. She can leave anytime she wishes, and she knows it, don’t you, lass?”

“Of course.” Venetia ventured a smile. “I went over to Braidmuir, after all; I could have stayed there. But I only wanted to see what has been done to the land.” Her voice broke a little. “It’s a terrible shame. I remember when I was a girl and so many people made their living there.”

“Aye,” agreed his clansmen, shaking their heads.

“And I mean to see that something is done about it,” Venetia persisted. “I can’t believe Papa knows what that awful factor of his has been doing. When he realizes what his land has become, I’m sure he’ll change his ways.”

Lachlan snorted, but no one paid him any mind.

“Well, I for one don’t care if the lass
is
Duncannon’s daughter,” a clanswoman said. “She could have told McKinley who she was and had the laird carted off to jail. Instead, she routed the bastard right well. I say that proves where her loyalties lie.”

The other women nodded their agreement.

“And look at the work she’s done for the manor. Made it right nice. She didn’t have to do that after what the laird done to her.” The woman planted her hands on her hips. “She’s been one of us, and I don’t see why that should change.”

“Yes, but her father is on his way, did you not hear?” Roarke put in. “What will happen to us when he arrives?”

All eyes turned to Lachlan.

“I’ll talk to him,” Lachlan said, a bit defensively. “I’ll demand my money, and if Duncannon has any sense, he’ll give it to me.”

“We’re in trouble now, we are,” muttered a woman at the back of the crowd. When others started mumbling much the same, Lachlan drew himself up. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Roarke cast him an uneasy look. “No offense, sir, but you aren’t exactly the negotiating kind.”

“He’s got a temper, he does,” one of the ladies murmured.

“Aye, especially when it comes to Duncannon,” said another.

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“We’ll be lucky if we’re not
all
carted off to prison.”

“Now see here,” Lachlan snapped, ignoring Venetia’s smug smile, “I’m perfectly capable of having a reasonable discussion with the earl.”

A sullen silence made it clear they didn’t share his opinion.

He scowled. “I’ve been your chief for five years, damn it! Haven’t I taken as good care of you as I could?”

“We know you have, sir,” a clansman said. “You’ve been a good chief, and a good laird to Rosscraig.”

Only slightly mollified, Lachlan asked, “And have I ever landed any of you in trouble with the law?”

“No.” Roarke sighed. “But you haven’t had to deal with Duncannon directly until now. You’re a reasonable fellow most of the time, but you have to admit that the very mention of his name turns you into a raving madman.”

“A madman, aye,” murmured other voices.

Holy Christ, his whole clan was against him. “So what do you lot want me to do? Lie down and let him trample us? Give up the money I know he owes us?”

“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but you could have the lass talk to him,” said one of the women helpfully.

“She’s already said she’d speak to him on our behalf, and if she goes in first to soothe his temper like she did with McKinley—”

“Aye, a good idea,” said the others among themselves. “Let the lass speak to him. Why not?”

“Mo chreach,”
he muttered. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Venetia had put them up to it. But she looked too surprised by the show of support from his clan for that to be the case.

“It’s a good idea, Lachlan,” his mother chimed in, as bad as the rest. “It will soften Duncannon’s temper to see that his daughter hasn’t been harmed.”

“And you know she’ll be on our side—look how she was with McKinley,” Roarke said. He gazed around at his clan, his gut twisting to see their anxious faces. They really didn’t believe he could confront Duncannon without losing his temper. Just like Venetia, they thought he’d make things worse and spawn a battle that would lead to bloodshed. That would deprive them of their laird, one way or the other.

They need the money, but they need
you
more.

As he hesitated to answer, they began to look hopeful. And the hope they embraced revolved around her, God rot them.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll consider letting the lass speak to him.
Consider
it, mind. But that’s all I’m saying for now.”

Apparently that was enough, for the traitorous wretches let up a cheer. Meanwhile, Venetia was
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beaming at him as if she’d already won what she wanted, and just the sight of her so happy roused his blood.

He’d been losing this battle since the minute he’d kidnapped her, the minute she’d started worming her way under his skin and into his heart. She’d already entranced Jamie and enlisted his mother to her side. If he weren’t careful, she’d soon be running his clan, too.

One of his rascal clansmen called out, “Admit it, sir, you know you can trust Lady Venetia to do right by us. We can tell you’re sweet on the lady.”

“Aye, and she’s sweet on you, too,” called one of the women.

At Venetia’s blush, Lachlan’s pulse thundered in his ears. “Are you sweet on me, lass?”

“I might be.” A teasing smile touched her lips. “If you weren’t such a thickheaded, stubborn lout sometimes.”

His clansmen suddenly tensed, and the women caught their breaths as they watched to see how he would react. No one had ever said such a thing to his face.

But then, no one had ever been Venetia.

He laughed. “Aye, lassie, I suppose I am.”

The tension broke, and everyone else joined his laughter.

Then the comments flew fast and furious through the hall. “I told you he was sweet on her,” said one.

“You can tell from how he looks at her,” said another. Cook even revealed, “He rode all the way to Inverness to fetch her chocolate.”

It was starting to be downright embarrassing when someone cried, “This calls for a celebration. The laird and Duncannon’s daughter are courting!”

That they could make the leap from his being “sweet on” Venetia to courtship didn’t surprise him, but the poor lass looked a little stunned by it.

“We should have a ceilidh dance!” said a woman, and the cry was echoed all around. “A ceilidh! A ceilidh!”

That was all it took to have the men pour into the drawing room to shove furniture aside and roll up rugs, while someone sent for the clan piper and fiddler, and his mother directed the action with clear delight. Some of the women headed down to his cellar to find the best whisky, while others hurried to the dining room to lay out refreshments.

Venetia stood in the midst of the flurry, looking overwhelmed. He pushed through the melee to her side.

“Have you ever been to a ceilidh, lass?”

“It’s the Scottish equivalent of a ball, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “A ceilidh is far more than a ball, I assure you, and nothing like that silly thing in Edinburgh. It’s a rowdy, thundering affair, with loud music and louder dancing. Are you sure ye’re ready for that?”

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She gazed up at him, eyes alight. “I can handle anything you give me, Lachlan Ross. Just see if I can’t.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, then slid his arm about her waist and hurried her into the room. The fiddler had already started up, and in seconds they were sucked into the maelstrom of sound that was a ceilidh in a small space. Feet were stomping, the fiddler was sawing, and the whirl of dancers was a maddening rush.

She caught on quickly to the steps, since it was mostly plain dancing of the sort she’d find at any country ball. But the Rosses performed them with greater enthusiasm than any puling English lords, so it took her a while to loosen up enough to match the other women.

By the time the piper arrived to add the drone of bagpipes to the mixture, Venetia had become downright lively. Her cheeks shone pink, her eyes sparkled, and her limbs fluidly executed the steps. With his heart lodged in his throat, Lachlan danced a couple of sets with her before his leg started to pain him too much. Then he sat on the sidelines sipping a glass of whisky while he observed her. She was a wonder to watch, a shimmering, kicking glory of a woman in paint-stained skirts and a bodice that showed too much of her bosom for his comfort. Not that any of his men ventured to stare at her ample charms. In their minds, she already belonged to the laird, and that was enough to keep them polite, even if she hadn’t been Duncannon’s daughter.

He shook his head. Duncannon’s daughter. She was no more that than she was a fairy. She was herself, and he began to fear he would do anything to have her.

The only clansman who seemed immune to her appeal just now was Jamie, who sulked in the corner, angry that his pronouncement hadn’t got the reaction he’d wanted. Apparently, she noticed him there, too, for she left the floor to approach the lad. To Lachlan’s surprise, she smiled at Jamie and offered him her hand.