Susana and the Scot (24 page)

“Aye, I understand.” Isobel's eyes narrowed. “But I wouldna
cry
about it.”

Andrew's chest shook as he tried to hold back a chuckle. It incited one from Susana. As inappropriate and ironic as it was to laugh at that moment, she couldn't stop. Her tears turned from those of frustration and regret to those of joy.

She fell to her knees and tugged Isobel close and hugged her. “I love you so much, darling,” she whispered.

“I know.” After a moment, Isobel wiggled for release. Susana did not allow it.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I
know
. Stop squeezing me.”

“I never will. When you're an old woman I shall still squeeze you.”

Isobel broke free and fixed her mother with an appalled moue. “You'll be really old then.”

And once again, Susana barked a laugh.

Isobel peeped up at Andrew. “Can I go now?”

Susana's pulse stuttered. She didn't want her daughter out of her sight, ever again. Also, Isobel had directed the question to Andrew. Susana didn't know why that caused a ping in her chest.

He nodded. “Of course. But … Where are you going?”

Isobel tipped her head to the side. “I was thinking the kitchen.” She gusted a heavy sigh. “After what I've been through, I think I need a cake.”

“An excellent idea.” He nodded. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Isobel rolled her eyes. “So you can eat my cakes? I think not.”

“Do have fun. And give Saundra my regards.”

Susana stood as Isobel barreled out of the room and into the grand foyer. She stared after her with her heart in her throat. She was so relieved that Isobel wasn't harmed, but until they discovered the who and the why of this attack, she was still very much at risk.

Andrew seemed to sense her disquiet. He settled an arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her brow. “Susana. It will be fine.”

“Aye.” The word held no conviction.

“We will keep her safe.”

“Aye.”

“Susana.” He turned her to face him, tipped up her chin, and kissed her. “It will be fine. I promise.”

“Andrew, someone wants my daughter.”

His expression firmed. “Aye. Do you have any idea why?”

She spread her hands. “No clue.”

“I suggest we keep her under guard until we can figure this out. One of my men
and
one of yours. Watching her. At all times.”

“I agree. But she willna like that.”

“Probably not. But I think even
she
realizes what a close call she's had. If we play it right, she willna mind.” He was good at that, she realized, convincing Isobel to see reason. Much better than she'd ever been.

She frowned. “I'm a horrible mother.”

He gaped at her. “What? No, you're not.”

“You're so good with her. The way you explained things to her. Gave her a choice…”

“Manipulated her?” He grinned.

“You wrapped her around your little finger.” It occurred to her that he was very practiced at that, too. And for some reason, the realization didn't annoy her.

“I helped her see the Isobel she wants to be.”

She sighed. “I'm glad it worked.”

“I hope it worked.” He chucked her chin. “It's her safety that matters. God, Susana. Whatever works.”

“I was frightened to death.”

“As was I. We must do whatever we can to keep her safe.”

“Aye.” Susana firmed her spine. “And we must discover what those men know.” She glanced in the direction of the kitchen, torn. On the one hand, she desperately wanted to be present for the interrogations of these bastards. On the other, she really wanted nothing more than to hover at her daughter's side.

Andrew kissed her on the forehead. “Go to her,” he whispered.

When she looked up at him it was through a sheen of tears. “But…”

“Go to her. Hamish and I will see to the interrogations. We will find out what these men know. I promise.”

He kissed her again, this time on the lips, infusing the embrace with warmth and comfort and bolstering courage. She knew he would keep Isobel safe. He would do everything in his power.

It was difficult tearing herself from his arms and heading for the kitchens, because more than anything, she wanted to stay right there.

But Isobel needed her.

*   *   *

The interrogations did not go well. By the time Andrew got there, Keir had already begun, but neither of the men seemed inclined to say a word. In fact, with each query, their features closed up even more.

It truly was a pity there were no torture devices in the moldy old cellar. Not even a one. But there were cells with creaky hinges and rusted bars. Maybe after a night on a stone ledge with a diet of bread and water, the bastards would be more disposed to share who sent them.

Andrew's frustration increased when Hamish and the men they'd sent to scour the woods returned, empty-handed.

Hamish came down the stairs holding Isobel's bow. It was incongruously tiny in his hands. “Anything?” he asked in an undertone as Keir berated one of the men across the room.

“Nothing.” Andrew frowned. “They're certainly tight-lipped.”

Hamish nibbled his lip. “What are you thinking?”

“Could be a number of scenarios.”

“Such as?”

Andrew blew out a breath and muttered the name that had been humming in his brain for hours. “Stafford.”

“Aye.” Hamish scrubbed his face with a palm. “The most likely suspect.” It was no secret that the marquess lusted after Reay lands. No secret that some of the recent attacks had been perpetrated by his men. “But the lands belong to Alexander now. How would kidnapping Isobel benefit him?”

“It wouldna. Unless he has some other kind of plan in place.” A certain suspicion bubbled through him; acid churned.

“What kind of plan?” Hamish stilled. His expression darkened. “What happens to the land if something untoward were to befall your brother?”

Andrew shot a dark look at his friend. It was frightening how much they thought alike. “Nothing. Because they are Hannah's lands. But if something happened to the two of them…” The churning acid spat.

“Then what?”

“The lands revert to Magnus.”

“And if something happened to him?”

Aye. The crux of the matter. “To Susana.”

“We should notify Alexander immediately.”

Andrew nodded. “My thought exactly. And with something of this import, we should send the messenger via the sea.” A ship was much quicker than an overland route.

“I suggest we send more than one messenger,” Hamish said, watching Keir in action. He truly was fierce in his interrogation, but nothing he said made the man he was questioning bat so much as a lash.

“Aye. We may be wrong in this, but it doesna hurt to err on the side of caution. Alexander needs to be prepared for the worst.”

“As does Susana.”

His gut clenched. Aye. Both Susana and Magnus needed to be told of their suspicions at once. “Regardless of whether or not we're right, I think we need to launch into our battle plan. At once.”

Hamish's frown was grim. “Agreed.”

It made sense to ratchet up their fortifications. This incident made one thing crystal clear. Though the perpetrators were too cowardly to come at them straight-on, preferring to skulk and strike from the shadows, Dounreay was under attack.

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Dinner that night was a subdued event. While Isobel seemed to have weathered her ordeal with striking aplomb, even she was not her usual garrulous self. Magnus, with whom Hamish and Andrew had spoken earlier in the day, was dour at best, although he did eschew his whisky and that might have been the cause. Keir was moody as he picked at his dinner, and Susana was somber.

Their gazes met often, but the playfulness of the evening before was missing.

Then again, it didn't belong here.

Shortly after the meal ended, Susana and Isobel went up to bed. Susana made it a point to mention that Isobel would be sleeping in her room tonight.

It was said for all to hear, but Andrew knew the message was for him, and for all that he desperately needed to hold her again, and ached to spend the night with her, Isobel needed the comfort her mother could offer. So when she met his eye, he sent her a knowing glance and nodded. The relief and gratitude on her face was palpable.

With the frustrations of the day, Andrew had no expectation of falling asleep, but he did.

He wasn't surprised to wake in the morning with a weight on his chest. His first thought, folly though it was, was that it was Susana, come to wake him. But once he gathered his wayward thoughts, he realized the weight was far too light. And Susana would probably not be exploring his nostril with a plump finger.

Isobel.

Thank God he'd slept in his tunic.

He cracked open an eye and surveyed her.

She grinned.

“How did you know where my room is?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I know everything.”

“Everything?” Now, there was a truly terrifying thought.

“Everything that I want to know.”

No doubt she did.

“You really shouldna be here.”

She tipped her head to the side. “You say that to me a lot.”

“Because it's true.” He eased her back a bit and levered up into a sitting position where he didn't feel so … vulnerable. They had a habit of making him feel vulnerable, these Dounreay women. “Did you sleep well?”

“Aye.”

“And how are you feeling? After yesterday?”

“Better.”

“I'm glad.”

“Mama's still fretting, but I'm not. I have an idea.”

She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask. Indeed, he didn't dare.

“Your mama is fretting?” His brow furrowed. The thought of Susana being upset concerned him.

“Aye. She tossed and turned and mumbled in her sleep all night.” Isobel closed one eye and peered at him, much the way Magnus often did. “Why do you suppose she said your name?”

“I … ah. I wouldna have a clue.”

“Do you think she was dreaming of you?”

Now, there was a lovely thought. “I am a rather impressive man.”

Why she broke into peals of laughter and rolled about on the bed was a mystery.

He put out a lip. “Do you no' think I'm impressive?”

“Och, aye.” She patted his shoulder, but he could tell it was a patronizing pat. She glanced at his sword, on the table beside the bed. “I thought you were verra splendid yesterday. The way you fought. Your swordplay was brilliant.”

Coming from her, that was fine praise indeed. “Thank you.”

“Mama was impressed, too.” She sat up and studied him for a moment before saying, in a low voice, “I saw you kissing her.”

He stilled. Oh, bluidy hell. What did one say to that? Sorry? He certainly wasn't sorry. “I did kiss her.”

“Do you like it?”

“Verra much.”

Isobel gusted a sigh. “Are you going to ask her to marry you?”

Andrew flinched. He didn't mean to, but her words caught him by surprise.
Marry her?
The thought flooded him with an unexpected thrill, an excitement unlike anything he'd felt in a very long time. It was a bit early for thoughts like that, but he couldn't excise the notion. Wouldn't it be wonderful having a woman like that all to himself? Wouldn't it be wonderful to sleep with her each and every night? To have the right to kiss her when and where he wanted?

Of course, she didn't want a husband. She averred she didn't need a man. In all likelihood, if he were foolish enough to ask such a question, she would, at best, laugh in his face. At worst, he'd walk away with an arrow in his arse. But Isobel was staring at him, eyes wide and expectant, awaiting his answer. He couldn't lie. “If I were going to ask any woman to marry me, it would be your mama.”

She sighed again, this time rolling her eyes.

Disappointment scalded him. “Do you no' … um … do you no' like that idea?” Why her opinion mattered to him so much was a mystery. But it did. And not just because if he ever—at some point in a very vast future—scraped together the courage and fortitude to ask Susana for her hand, and if she should accept, he would want Isobel's blessing. That she mocked the prospect bothered him more than it should.

Again she patted him in that patronizing manner. “I like it fine.” She tipped her head to the side. “But I doona want you to get shot. She does shoot them, you know. In the arse.”

He swallowed heavily. Aye. She did. “She might not shoot
me
.” Was that a forlorn hope tingeing his tone?

“She's shot all the others.”

“True.” He fell silent for a moment and then added, because he should, “Well, it hardly signifies. It was only a kiss.” A lie. “And we've only just met.”

Isobel nodded. “Aye.” She closed one eye and studied him again. “I've never seen her kiss a man before. I couldna help thinking…”

Something in her expression touched him. That frail hope, a longing perhaps. “Do you want her to marry?”

“I doona care if she does marry or not. But I would like a father. A girl should have a father.” This she said with an incongruous maturity.

“Did you hear that from your grandfather?”

“Aye. But it's true.” She bounced on the bed a little. “Not just any father, though. Some of Mama's suitors were mean to me. I wouldna want a father like that.”

“Aye. I never knew my father, but I had an uncle that was verra mean. I would rather have had no one.”

She leaned against his chest, propping her chin on her folded hands, and gazed up at him. “Did your father die? Like mine?”

“Aye. When I was too young to remember him.”