Susana and the Scot (38 page)

“Aye.”

“And where did you hear that?”

Stafford smiled slickly. “I have my sources.”

“Is that a threat against my daughter's husband?” Papa asked with matching slickness.

“Och, never say it.” Stafford's expression belied his words. But then, it often did. “I've simply heard that the duke isna pleased with him and will soon have him removed from his offices.”

Susana's blood began to boil. This was nearly identical to the load of tripe Scrabster had spewed. Oh, where was Caithness? He needed to hear this rot. She looked over her shoulder and stilled. For Caithness stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. From his position, Stafford couldn't see him.

Stafford
tsk
ed again. “Where will you be then? Who will protect Dounreay when Dunnet no longer can?”

Papa pressed his lips together and leaned forward, rolling his tumbler between his palms. “I see what you mean. That is concerning.”

Stafford sat back with a gusted sigh. “Aye, it is.”

Closing one eye, Papa studied the marquess. “So tell me, Stafford. What would you propose? To keep us safe?”

“Isn't it obvious? If we were family, if I had some claim on this land, of course I would dedicate my forces to keeping you all safe. The solution is as simple as an alliance between your daughter and my son.

“An alliance?” Heat prickled Susana's neck. Acid churned in her belly.

Stafford offered her an avuncular smile. “A marriage.”

“But Hannah is already married,” Papa said.

“Aye.” His lip curled. Probably at the thought of his failure to win her for his son. “But you have two other daughters, both unwed. Give one to Scrabster in marriage, and the other to me. Between the two of us, we will assure the safety of your lands and peoples from the east and the west.”

“Give my daughter to Scrabster?” Papa barked a laugh and Susana smiled as well. Stafford was clearly behind on recent events.

The marquess frowned. “Why do you scoff? Scrabster is a baron. Hardly a title to turn up your nose at. And if we're being honest here…” Were they? Were they being honest? “Your daughters have a reputation of being…”

“Being what?” Susana couldn't hold her tongue. Not if her life depended on it.

Stafford pressed his lips together. “Being … difficult.”

The man had no idea. Susana cast about for her bow before she remembered she'd left it in the foyer.
Blast.

“Title or not,” Papa said, “Scrabster is the man who kidnapped Isobel. And…” He flicked a look at Susana. “I doona think he's in any condition to take a wife.”

The marquess stilled. He glanced at Susana as well. She offered him a wide grin. One with teeth. “What can I say?” she gritted. “He was being …
difficult
.”

“I … ah…” Stafford paled slightly and ripped his gaze back to Papa. “It hardly signifies. I will still honor my promise to protect you from the west. If, of course, your daughter marries my son.”

“Which daughter?”

“It doesna matter.” He smiled, and behind his eyes Susana saw a flicker of avarice.

The whole plot turned her stomach. The land was Hannah's. And Dunnet's. The only way Stafford would have any claim on it was if something should happen to them. And Papa. And possibly herself or Lana.

How far would he go to claim this strip of land?

But she didn't interrupt, because clearly Papa was fishing for information. If this conversation went the way she thought it might go—and considering the fact that Caithness was listening to every word—a splendid confrontation was in the offing. Anticipation bubbled.

“And if I refuse to give you my daughter?
Any
daughter since it appears you doona have a preference?”

Stafford shrugged. “There's no telling what could happen to Dounreay. A land with no overlord—”

“We have an overlord. Caithness—”

“Caithness doesna care what happens to you,” Stafford said. “He's left you unprotected for decades.”

“But he
is
our overlord.” Papa smiled. “Technically, all the land in Caithness County is his. We are his stewards.”

“Ah, but you see … It doesna have to be that way.” Stafford shifted forward to the edge of his chair and focused on Papa as though there were no one else in the room. As though the woman sitting across from him didn't signify in the slightest. Then again, to a man like him, women did not. They were merely chattel, chess pieces to be moved about on a whim. Her stomach roiled. She deplored men like this.

“What do you mean?” Papa leaned forward as well.

“I have received official word from the Prince Regent himself that he is verra pleased with my Improvements to the land.”

“I see.” It was impressive the way Papa hid his sneer. Susana knew full well how he felt about the Improvements that had ravaged Stafford's land. Refugees from his crofts had flooded into Dounreay as he cleared the farmers from his holdings.

“There is word he may be considering making me a duke myself.” This Stafford said with a jut of his chest. “No doubt he could be convinced to give me these lands once Caithness is … gone.”

“Gone?”

Stafford snorted. “Trust me. He willna be around for long.”

Susana stiffened. Was that what she thought it was? A threat against the duke's life?

The gall of the man, to admit it so brashly. It was a challenge to hold her tongue, but she didn't want to interrupt these revelations. They were far too interesting.

“What do you mean?” Papa asked, thumbing his beard.

“Doona fash yerself, Magnus.” Stafford patted his hand and Papa nearly cringed. “You willna be suspected. No one will.”

“Suspected? Of what?”

Stafford's only response was an oily smile.

“I thought the duke was a friend of the prince.”

“Bah.” Stafford waved away this triviality. “Prinny is easy to manipulate. Aside from that, everyone knows none of the Caithness dukes reach their thirtieth birthday. It will be no surprise when Lachlan Sinclair expires before his time.”

Papa had had enough. “I canna be a party to murder.”

“Ah, but that's the beauty of it. It isna murder … it's a curse.” Stafford grinned as though mightily pleased with himself. “And what do you stand to lose?”

“A daughter?”

Stafford ignored him. “You will gain my support as your patron … and lose a laird who doesna care about you or your lands.”

“I do care, actually,” A deep, ducal voice rumbled from the door.

Stafford whipped around. His jaw went slack. He bounded to his feet. “Lachlan … I … We … We were just talking about you.”

“Yes,” the duke said in a crisp tone. “I heard.”

Stafford's lips wobbled. He sent a reproachful frown at Papa, who shrugged and rubbed his lips to hide his grin, but it was visible in his eyes.

“This is not what it seems,” Stafford protested.

“Isn't it? Because it sounded an awful lot like a plot to do me in.”

“Nonsense!” The beads of sweat on Stafford's brow belied his calm tone.

“I think it's time for you to leave,” Caithness said coldly. “And believe you me, Prinny will hear of this. This and the treason you were planning with Scrabster.” His eyes glittered as he stared down the marquess. He was bluffing, but Stafford didn't know that. “Aye,” he said when Stafford broke first, glancing around the room with a panicked gaze, searching for escape, perhaps. “We found some very interesting letters in Scrabster's strongbox. Before we blew up his castle, of course.”

“You … you … blew up his castle?”

“Your informants dinna tell you that?” Susana couldn't keep from saying.

Caithness tipped his head to the side and shrugged. “
Someone
blew up his castle. I couldn't say who. I cannot help wondering whose castle might be next.” He smiled slowly. “If indeed you have one after the prince hears of what the two of you had planned.”

“Lies. It's all lies. Scrabster was a liar!” Stafford bellowed.

“And what I just heard? Your threats on my life? Were those lies, too?”

“I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about,” he sputtered with an innocence Susana might have believed if she hadn't been sitting right here throughout a very damning conversation.

The man was unconscionable.

“I suggest you see to your accounts, Stafford. Good day.” The duke's tone was beyond dismissive. As the marquess rushed past him, in something of a dither, Caithness murmured, under his breath, “And good luck.”

*   *   *

Andrew and his brother met in the library before dinner. With the kerfuffle of Stafford's visit, and the revelations of Scrabster's purloined letters, they hadn't yet had a moment alone, so sitting before the fire with a tumbler of whiskey together was wonderful. So much like old times, it made his chest hurt. Still, unease skirled in Andrew's gut; he knew there were unaddressed issues between them, and this seemed as good a time as any to tackle them.

He cleared his throat and Alexander glanced at him, but Andrew was unsure where to begin.

Alexander took the lead from him. “So…” he said. “Isobel.”

Andrew tried not to flinch. There was no reason to flinch, surely. “Aye.”

“Is she your daughter?”

“Aye. She is.”

“But you've never been to Dounreay. Why did you not tell me you knew Hannah's sister?”

Andrew gazed down at the swirling whisky. “When I was in Perth, I met a girl named Mairi. I fell in love with her. She … died.”

Alexander's lips tightened. “I'm so sorry. I dinna know that. You never mentioned her—”

“Nae. I couldna bear to.”

“I wondered why…”

“Why, what?”

“You were … different when you returned.”

“I was mourning. I never forgot her. Never stopped … loving her. I kissed a hundred women searching for … that.”

Alexander snorted a laugh. “You kissed Lana.”

“I have wondered…”

His brother glanced up at his dark tone. Frowned. “Wondered what?”

“If you sent me away because of that.”

Alexander gaped at him. “I chose you for this mission because you were the best. And frankly, the man I trusted most. And as I suspected, you handled things beautifully. Not only did you protect my wife's land and her family, you uncovered a plot that could reach to the highest levels of the land.”

Andrew turned back to the fire. “I only wanted to make you proud.”

Alexander shook his head. “Make me proud?”

“Aye. To pay you back, if only in some small way, for all you've sacrificed, all you've given to me.”

Without a word, Alexander stood and came to his chair, yanked him up, and folded him into a huge hug. Then he set his palms on either side of Andrew's face and stared him in the eye. “Andrew, you've always made me proud. Prouder than you can ever know. You never had to prove yourself to me. Not ever. And as far as paying me back? What nonsense.”

Andrew frowned. It wasn't nonsense. It was—

“You're my brother. My family. My heart. I would have done anything and everything to keep you safe. Because I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He hated that his voice caught on the words. Or maybe not.

Alexander clapped him on the back and then retook his seat. “With that out of the way—” He shot a quizzical look at Andrew. “It is out of the way, isn't it?”

“Aye.” Finally. Thank God. It was like a weight off his soul.

“I'm dying to hear the rest of this story.”

“This story?”

“Isobel,” Alexander reminded him. “You met a girl in Perth who died … I fail to see how the two connect.”

“Ah. But they do. When I arrived here, I discovered she hadn't died. Mairi and Susana are the same girl. She left Perth carrying my child.”

“Holy fook.”

“She wasna happy to see me.” He cringed. “Especially when she thought I dinna remember her.”

Surely there was no call for Alexander to throw back his head and laugh as he did. When he finally reclaimed control of his errant humor, he asked, wiping the tears from his eyes, “So what are your plans now? I assume you intend to stay?”

“Aye. I do. I love Susana. I love Isobel. I canna envision my life without them.”

“And this wooing?”

“Shall take place with all haste.”

“A good plan. I have met Susana Dounreay. When she wants something, it is a good idea to give it to her without delay.”

They both chuckled, and then Alexander sobered. “I shall miss you.”

“And I you.”

“Dounreay is not so verra far.”

“Less than a day by sea.”

Andrew swiped at the tears pricking his eyes. He loved his brother very much. He would hate being so far apart. But there were others he loved as well, and he felt torn. It was a decidedly maudlin moment.

It was interrupted when an arrow whizzed past his head and landed in the spine of a tome in the mathematics section. He whirled around to see his daughter standing in the doorway, tidied up and looking practically domesticated in a frilly blue dress. Her hair was braided into an intricate coif, which was topped with a lace bow. The effect was ruined by the bow in her hand.

“
Isobel Mairi MacBean!
” he bellowed. “What on God's green earth are you thinking?”

She grinned and sauntered into the room. “I was thinking I should probably do something drastic to stop you from crying.”

“I wasn't crying.” A warbled assertion.

“You were, too.”

“How, exactly, would being shot with an arrow stop him from crying?” Alexander asked, clearly bemused.

Isobel lifted a shoulder and blew out a breath. “I dinna hit him, did I?”