Some Like it Scot (Scandalous Highlanders Book 4) (18 page)

“This isnae a war,” Ranulf stated. “Stop yer growling and stomping.” With that the marquis stepped around him and into the kitchen.

Damnation.
Munro followed; he needed to keep control of the situation, keep Glengask from asking too many questions and discovering that a second, more troublesome sister lurked just outside.

The young, honey-haired lass stood halfway behind Gilling, her hazel-eyed gaze fixed on Ranulf as if she expected the man to spew fire from his fingertips. Evidently even the Sassannach feared the MacLawry now, though given the mayhem that had transpired during Ranulf and Arran's visit to London, it wasn't that surprising.

“Elizabeth,” he drawled, moving to a point where he could intercept either her or his brother, “this is the Marquis of Glengask, my oldest brother. Ranulf, Lady Elizabeth MacColl. My guest.”

He said that last bit very deliberately, and caught Ranulf's responding sideways glance. As his guest, Elizabeth was under his protection. She clearly meant a great deal to Cat, and for no other reason than that he would see that the wild lass's sister remained safe.

She curtsied prettily. “My lord. Thank you for letting … me stay here.”

Munro heard the hesitation, but hopefully Ranulf had not. With the blankets folded up and stacked in a dry corner and cups and plates scattered across the table and hearth, determining how many people were residing there wouldn't be simple, and they had to give Ranulf no reason to suspect there might be more than one lass at Haldane Abbey.

The marquis inclined his head. “Lady Elizabeth. Ye claim clan MacDonald, aye?”

“Clan … Yes. I suppose I do, anyway. My father was a MacDonald chieftain. My mother … didn't care for clan politics or the Isle of Islay. This is the first time I've seen Scotland in eleven years.”

“And why are ye here now, lass?”

Munro frowned. “I told ye why she was here. Because she didnae want to marry a man forty years—”

“I asked the lass, Bear,” Ranulf snapped, cutting him off. “I'd appreciate if she answered me, herself.”

He would have to hope that she'd heard enough to realize she should tell the truth. Munro gave her a slight smile and an encouraging nod. “Tell him aboot yer mother's plan fer ye then, lass.”

She swallowed, taking a moment to look at the group of tall, formidable men now ranged in front of her. “Of course. I assume my father always hoped I would marry a Highlander,” she said in her cultured English tones. “He died nearly two years ago before anything came of it, and that was when my mother decided we—she and I—would be better served if I married a wealthy English lord.”

As she spoke her voice flattened, as if she'd become so accustomed to feeling angry and frustrated that it infused all the parts of the tale even now that it had been more or less resolved to her satisfaction. A lass more than likely raised to disdain her Scots relations and who'd still turned to one of those relations for help. Except that Elizabeth couldn't tell that part of the story. Munro readied himself to interrupt again if need be, before she could let the actual Cat out of the proverbial bag.

“I had several proposals, but they were all younger brothers or minor titles. And then the Duke of Visford came calling, and offered to purchase my mother a new coach and a new house in London in exchange for my hand. She agreed before I'd even met him.” Elizabeth took a breath. “I don't know if you're acquainted with His Grace, but he's … not a pleasant man. And he's sixty-one years old and has had four wives already. The rumor is that the last one jumped out a window.” A tear ran down her cheek, and she frowned as she brushed it away.

“Dunnae weep, lass,” Munro said, stepping over to put a hand on her shoulder. “Ye made yer way here. And ye dunnae have to go back.”

When he glanced up, Ranulf was eyeing not Elizabeth, but him. “Aye,” the marquis said after a moment. “Ye're safe here. How did ye end up in MacLawry territory, though, instead of yer own MacDonalds?”

“I'm not certain. I took the wrong mail coach, and then I … I stole a cart, but I got turned around, and it rained, and—the—”

“Hush, lass.” Munro made a show of guiding her to the room's one chair and helping her sit. As he faced away from his brothers he flashed her an appreciative smile, which she returned. “Cat's hiding outside,” he breathed. “She's safe.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Am I?”

“Aye. Ye are. I gave ye both my word. I dunnae think Cat wants to be caught, though.”

“No, she doesn't. I only wish she would tell me why.”

“That makes two of us, then.”

So Elizabeth didn't know, either. That was interesting. But he couldn't take the time to figure it out now. Now he had to convince Ranulf and the rest of them to ride away from Haldane Abbey because they'd seen all there was to see, and Cat could come back inside before the rain began.

“Ye and Peter have done a fair job with this door,” Arran said, tugging on one of the uprights.

“It's a beginning.” He gestured at the hole in the far corner of the roof. “That's next.”

“I'd be happy to lend ye a hand,” Lachlan took up.

“Nae.” He'd spoken too sharply and answered too quickly, but the idea of more men wandering about the estate, married and MacLawrys or not, wouldn't sit well with Catriona. And it damned well didn't sit well with him, either. Perhaps he was generally a generous fellow, but not today. He had to share knowledge of Catriona with her sister, and to a lesser degree with Peter Gilling, but no one else was invited. Or welcome. “I reckon I'll see to Haldane on my own.”

Ranulf put out a hand. “If ye want this old wreck, Bear, ye can have it. But it's nae a place fer a proper English lass to lay her head.”

“That isnae up to ye, Glengask.” Munro straightened to his full height. Apparently it was time for him to remind his brothers of his reputation. “The lot of ye are aboot to overstay yer welcome.”

“What I mean to say,
bràthair,
is that Lady Elizabeth would be welcome to stay at Glengask. Ye cannae want her to sleep on the floor when we've soft beds aplenty. And that doesnae take into account all the MacLawry men we have aboot, to keep any Sassannach dukes well away from the lass. I'm nae acquainted with this Visford, but I reckon he cannae stand against clan MacLawry.”

Munro stared at his brother. Of all the directions he'd thought the conversation might turn, Ranulf inviting Elizabeth to stay up at the castle hadn't been one of them. He'd expected anger at the idea of a MacLawry stepping into the middle of Sassannach affairs, and fury that someone might well be stirring up trouble with the MacDonalds. At the least he'd anticipated ending up bloodied and bruised for lying about the entire thing.

Before Munro could conjure a response that wouldn't undo all the lies he'd just told, Ranulf walked up to Elizabeth. “What do ye say, lass? Shall I send fer a wagon and have yer things brought up to a guest bedchamber at Glengask? Do ye reckon ye can make do with a bit of comfort?”

She looked from Munro to Ranulf. “May I have a word with Bear, first?” she finally asked, her voice a touch breathy.

“Of course, lass. I need a word or two with Peter Gilling, anyway.”

The footman cursed under his breath, but joined Ranulf and his men by the door. Hopefully Peter had figured out the game by now, and wouldn't say anything to stir suspicions about a second lass staying here. As Munro tried to glare a hole through the servant, Elizabeth wrapped her dainty fingers around his arm and tugged him toward the hearth.

“Is your brother being truthful?” she whispered. “Can he—will he—keep Visford or my mother from dragging me back to London?”

“Aye,” he returned, nodding, and attempting to remind himself that for her, this wasn't simply a distraction. “He'd nae give his word unless he means to honor it.”

“Then I think perhaps I should go.”

He blinked, more … disappointed than surprised. “What aboot yer sister?”

“Whatever she's hiding from isn't about me. And I can't help thinking she'd have an easier time of it if I wasn't here to be such a nodcock about everything. And if your brother can protect me, well, that's all I require. Cat couldn't very well complain about it, either.”

“Yer sister'll miss ye, lass.” Nor would she like it. And she'd likely blame him, damn it all.

“And I'll miss her. But since she won't trust me, I have to rely on what I think will help her—and me—the most. If I stay here now, your brother
will
send men to either watch me or look after me, and they'll find Cat. If I leave, no one has any reason to return here.” She tightened her grip on his arm. “Except for you, yes? She shouldn't be alone in the wilderness.”

He took a breath. Elizabeth made sense, and whether he wanted to admit it or not, the moment Ranulf had ridden into view the MacColl sisters' stay here had been put in jeopardy. This was merely the least objectionable of all possible outcomes. “She'll nae be alone. And neither will ye. Whether ye're here or at Glengask, ye're still under my protection.”

The wee, slender thing smiled up at him. It was odd that she was taller than Catriona, because it didn't seem like it would be that way. Catriona not only had some delightful curves to her, but in his mind the way she stood up to him, argued with him, matched him, made her seem closer to his own height. A few weeks ago, before he'd met the wildcat, aye, he might have welcomed Elizabeth in his bed. But now he'd been struck—the only question was whether it had been by Cupid's arrow, or some spoiled venison.

“I think ending up here is the best thing that could have happened to the MacColl sisters, Bear,” Elizabeth was saying, “thanks to you.”

“Dunnae thank me yet. I still have to tell yer sister ye've decided to go to Glengask. And ye still have to keep her presence here a secret.”

“I can do that.”

And with that, he dismissed her again from his thoughts. Yes, he needed to find a way to explain to Catriona what was afoot, hopefully before anyone tried to remove Elizabeth from Haldane. Even more than that, though, he wanted to know the reason Cat had looked so … lost, and even panicked, when she'd fled the kitchen earlier—an odd reaction to a conversation about which way a door should swing.

His own reaction had surprised him, as well. Rather than the usual lust that coursed through him whenever he set eyes on her, he'd fought the abrupt urge to pull her into his arms and simply comfort her. Tell her she needn't worry over anything because he would never let anything happen to her. That big as he was, the idea of making her cry, of upsetting her, scalded him.

“What have ye decided, Lady Elizabeth?” Ranulf asked, shaking Munro out of his reverie and making him wonder why his brother was being so bloody polite. The Marquis of Glengask did not treat kindly anyone who attempted to mislead or trick him.

“If you're certain my troubles won't be a burden to you, Lord Glengask,” she said prettily, “I gratefully accept your offer.”

“I'll send fer a wagon, then. Owen?”

“Oh, that's not necessary, my lord. If two of you can take the bags with my necessaries, I require nothing else.” She gestured at the tumbledown kitchen. “Most of this I … acquired along the way. I think it would be rather out of place at Glengask Castle.”

“I'll fetch Saturn and Gilroy,” Munro announced, naming Peter's mount. “Ye'll ride oot with me, lass.” And he would take those few moments outside to have a word with her wildcat of a sister.

“We brought the horses up with us,” Lachlan said, before Munro could even make it to the doorway.

Damnation.
What was he supposed to do now to gain a blasted second or two outside, claim he needed to take a piss? It would sound like the excuse it was. “Let's get yer things then, lass.”

“I havenae been here in ages,” Ranulf mused, strolling over to the fallen corner. “I think I'll take a look aboot the grounds while ye pack up.”

“And I think ye've stepped far enough into my business today, Glengask,” Munro said quickly. The last thing he wanted for either Ranulf or Catriona was for one to stumble across the other.

His brother stopped mid-step. “Are ye certain ye wouldnae care to rephrase that, Munro?”

So the marquis meant to be polite to the lass, but not to his own brother. Munro squared off. Perhaps this was where the brawling would happen. For Saint Andrew's sake, he felt frustrated enough to enjoy tossing a few lads about. That was what he did, anyway. Brawl. Everyone knew it. They likely expected it.

He hesitated for a bare moment. They
would
expect it, and that could work in his favor. “Didnae ye just give me this pile five minutes ago?” he retorted. “I've a mind to make some repairs. Ye can see the damned place when it's finished. Ye cannae see it now, when ye only rode oot here because ye dunnae trust me.”

“I didnae trust ye,” Ranulf agreed. “And dunnae expect an apology fer that when ye've been hiding a lass here. Ye certainly didnae trust
me,
now did ye?” Ranulf returned in the flat, low voice that had once caused a would-be assassin to wet himself.

“I reckon that makes us even. It doesnae make me feel inclined to lead a tour. Or to allow one.” The best thing he could hope for was to make the argument about himself and Ranulf, and not about him keeping an additional secret his brother needed to uncover.

Ranulf gazed at him for a long moment, his blue eyes cool and assessing. “I did give it to ye. And I suppose we can discuss what ye mean to do with it later. And elsewhere.”

Finally Munro let out his breath. “Aye. We can do that. Put oot the fire then, will ye, Arran? And let's head oot. I dunnae want Elizabeth caught by the rain.”

Within five minutes the men had all of Elizabeth's things—and most of Catriona's—bundled into a battered portmanteau and a pair of frayed gunny sacks. Accustomed as Munro was to action, to acting on his impulses, he knew the best way to aid Cat at this moment was to do precisely nothing. And so he clenched his jaw, offered his arm, and escorted Elizabeth outside to the waiting horses.