The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae (43 page)

His head started to spin.

She finally pulled back, broke the kiss—then pushed out of his arms, drew back her small fist, and thumped him in the center of his chest. “What
is
this fascination you have with falling off cliffs?”

Puzzled, he rubbed at the spot. “I don't have any fascination—”

“Was that”—flinging out an arm, eyes blazing, she pointed at the sheer drop past the edge of the ledge—“or was that not the second . . . no, wait! What did Baine say—he pushed you off a cliff years ago, didn't he?”

“That was a ravine.”

“Don't
quibble
. It was a cliff—another cliff. Which makes this the
third
cliff you've fallen off!”

Her voice was rising. Conscious of their audience, he tried to calm her. “This is Scotland. There are a lot of cliffs.”

“But you don't have to make a habit of falling off them!” She pointed at the edge again. “That was the second time in as many months!”

Her voice quavered. If he suggested she was getting hysterical . . . she might cry. And that would be worse. Infinitely worse. So he nodded. “All right. I'll stay away from cliffs for the foreseeable future.” He heard a muffled guffaw from further along the ledge, but he kept his gaze on her over-bright eyes. Arched his brows. “All right?”

She glared at him, but then lifted her chin and nodded. “Yes. Good. See that you do.”

With that, she stepped closer. He put an arm around her and she leaned against him, resting her head on his chest.

Over her head, he looked steadily at the eight large men filling the other end of the ledge.

They looked back at him, then Devil Cynster turned away and stepped off the ledge onto the path leading down. One by one the others followed, some—most—with smiles he wasn't sure he understood curving their lips, until there were only her brothers left.

The black-haired one, Lucifer Cynster, continued to measure him for a moment more, but then Angelica shifted and looked at the pair; after a second of studying her, Lucifer's lips kicked up and he, too, turned away.

Leaving Gabriel staring, face impassive, at his youngest sister.

Angelica narrowed her eyes at her most protective brother in clear and unequivocal warning.

After a moment, Gabriel shifted. He lifted his gaze to Dominic's face, then shook his head. “She's all yours. Enjoy in good health.”

As Gabriel turned away, Dominic murmured for her ears alone, “I intend to do just that.”

Angelica looked up at him and smiled. Brilliantly. What had happened—
all
they'd won—was only just sinking in . . . she remembered and looked round. “Where's the goblet?”

They both looked toward the cairn. “There it is.” She walked over and picked up the golden cup from where she'd dropped it when she'd rushed to help Dominic. Dusting it off, she carried it back to him. Halting beside him, she examined the round jewels set circling the bowl, the swirl of the stem, the finely etched interior, then she presented it to him.

He smiled, lifted it from her hands, then, one arm sliding around her, ushered her along the ledge, and they set off in her brothers' wake.

Lucifer glanced back, then predictably halted and waited until they reached him. He nodded at the goblet. “What's that?”

Dominic hesitated, but he knew of Lucifer Cynster's reputation. He handed the goblet over. “It's the Coronation Cup of the Scottish Regalia. It's what this saga has been all about.”

“It is?” Walking beside them, Lucifer examined the cup. “How so?”

Dominic waved at the others walking ahead. “Let's get back to the castle, and we can tell you all there.”

Handing back the goblet, Lucifer shivered. “I won't say no to a hot bath and dry clothes.” He grinned at Dominic. “At least when we borrow your clothes, they won't be too small.”

Dominic smiled.

Devil, Vane, and Richard were standing in a group a little way along. Devil pointed off the track as they reached them. “I assume that's the murderer you went after?”

Through a veil of roiling spume, they could just make out the body of Langdon Baine, sprawled face up on the jagged black rocks at the base of the falls. Dominic nodded. “That's him.”

“He got to the goblet first—it was hidden in the cairn—and when I grabbed it he tried to throw me off the edge.” Angelica glanced up at Dominic. “Dominic got there just in time.”

Devil nodded. “We saw that part, but we got lost finding our way up.” He looked at Dominic. “Who was he?”

“Langdon Baine. He's—he was—laird of Clan Baine. They hold the lands to the south of ours.” Dominic nodded at the hills on the opposite side of the valley in which the castle stood. “Their lands are on the other side of the ridge, high and not particularly fertile.”

“What did he have against you?” Vane asked.

“I don't know, but I suspect”—Dominic raised the goblet, considered it—“that it was more in the nature of an undeclared clan feud. He apparently wanted to wipe all Guisachans from the highlands.”

Gabriel eyed the goblet. “And stealing that would have done it?”

“It would.” Dominic caught Gabriel's eye. “I'll explain later.”

He glanced back at the distant body, then they all turned and walked on.

Angelica caught his eye, arched a brow.

“I'll send a party from the castle to fetch his remains and take them to Baine Hall.”

She nodded, then thought of the other bodies that waited for them in the keep, and sobered.

Bringing up the rear of their procession, they walked home in silence.

Home.

As they rounded the ridge and the castle came into view, rising majestically above the loch, surrounded by its forests, set within its mountains, she felt her heart swell, and marveled. She'd only been there for a few days, yet it was already home in her mind. Curious . . . but perhaps not surprising. She glanced at Dominic. It was the place he called home, the one place on earth where he truly belonged. And she, and her heart, now and forever, belonged with him. With his.

Looking down at the goblet, he paused, then handed it to her. “You get to carry it in.” Putting it into her hands, he raised his gaze to her eyes. “Without you, I wouldn't have succeeded in reclaiming it.”

She smiled and they walked on, with her cradling the goblet in her hands. “You might also say that without it—without your father pledging it, without your mother stealing it, without you seeking to reclaim it—you would never have found and claimed me.”

Looking up, she met his eyes, saw the emotion she'd seen so clearly above the falls still softly shining in the cloudy green.

Reaching up, Dominic took one of her hands from the goblet and twined his fingers with hers. “Often in my life, I've seen the signs, read the trails, enough to know fate moves in mysterious ways . . . and she always has her own agenda.”

Angelica laughed, a musical sound that echoed off the hills and filled his heart.

Smiling, he drew her on. As they walked down the slope to the postern gate, he dared to believe that, at last, fate had finally finished with him.

E
xplanations had to wait. The instant they stepped into the store room, curious Cynsters at their backs, there were decisions to be made, orders to be given, arrangements, and all manner of organization to be attended to.

However, by general consensus the first matter to be dealt with was the goblet. With her male relatives looking on, Angelica found herself by Dominic's side on the porch of the keep, holding up the goblet to the cheering clan.

Dominic looked down at her, then stepped back and closed his hands about her waist. “Here.” He hoisted her up and sat her on his shoulder.

She laughed and raised the goblet even higher—and the clan roared its approval.

Later, they retreated to the great hall. Food and warming drinks were served while guest rooms were made ready and hot water was heated. Dominic sent Jessup and his grooms out through the postern gate and around the lake to collect the others' horses, then, with the Cynsters, Breckenridge, and Jeremy all trailing at his heels, went to oversee the resetting of the bridge so the horses could be brought to the castle.

Although curious herself, Angelica let them go and went instead to see Elspeth, who had recovered enough to demand to be allowed to help Brenda lay out the countess, then she checked with Mulley and John Erskine as to the likely funeral arrangements for Dominic's mother and McAdie. The old man had hung on long enough to hear the cheers from the courtyard. “After that,” Mulley said, “he just smiled and let go. Reckon he's at peace now.”

The next hours went in sorting out her relatives, each of whom, being so very male, insisted that she, courtesy of the falls every bit as damp as they were and a fragile female to boot, had the first of the hot water.

She wondered if they'd actually thought she would argue. Warm again, her hair dried, brushed, and arranged, satisfyingly garbed in one of her new teal silk gowns, she bustled about what she now thought of as her keep, and organized them.

At one point, she met Gabriel, Lucifer, Devil, and Vane in the upstairs gallery outside the rooms they'd been given; they'd been talking, but fell silent as she swept up to them. Halting before them, she studied each of their faces, then drew breath and simply said, “Thank you. If you hadn't been bull-headed enough to come racing up here . . .” Just thinking about what she'd nearly lost had emotion clogging her throat. Blinking, she waved a hand.

They all looked faintly horrified.

Gabriel reached out and hauled her into a hug. “If you want to thank us, for God's sake don't cry. Save that for him.”

She sniffed. “All right.” She jabbed his arm and he released her. “Just don't think I approve of
why
you came, but I am very grateful that you did.”

She kissed each lean cheek, then left them shaking their heads, bemused and confused as ever.

Then dinner was upon them. The boys and the dogs had returned from their day's outing with Scanlon and his crew, with a buck for the kitchens and the story of the hunt on their lips. Discovering a host of men all very like their cousin suddenly in residence, and swiftly ascertaining that all those men—just like their cousin—were willing to engage with and humor young boys, Gavin and Bryce didn't know to whom to appeal first for information, and stories, and tales of life.

The dogs circled, then collapsed around Dominic's and Angelica's chairs. On walking up to the dais, Angelica hesitated, then looked at Dominic, waiting by his carver; realizing he wasn't going to push her either way, she thought, then moved to the chair on his right—the one his countess should take. He smiled and seated her, then waved Devil to the chair on his left. Gavin and Bryce, immensely proud, were invited to chairs at the high table, Gavin, as master, seated on Devil's left, with Lucifer taking the next chair along, while Bryce shyly slipped into the chair alongside Angelica. Gabriel smiled at him as he took the next chair along. The other Cynsters, with Breckenridge and Jeremy, were accommodated at tables in the body of the hall.

The meal passed in near-riotous good humor.

Looking out over the hall, Dominic registered how long it had been since his people had been not just this relieved, this free of care, but this free to be unrestrainedly happy. It was as if sunshine had suddenly slashed through clouds and bathed Clan Guisachan in warmth and light, and in all the emotions—joy, peace, and hope—that lifted hearts and set them winging.

He glanced at the woman beside him—his twenty-one-year-old angel who had stood by his side and met every challenge fate had thrown their way. He'd thought of her as his savior-cum-bride-to-be, and she had been, still was, and surely would be.

She was speaking with Bryce and Gabriel. Reaching out, Dominic closed his hand over hers, gently squeezed. Without turning to him, she shifted her fingers and squeezed back, then left her hand in his. He smiled, sat back, looked out over his clan, and quietly gloried.

At the end of the meal, they retreated to the library—Dominic, Angelica, her relatives, plus the boys and the dogs—and they finally embarked on the necessary explanations. The first revelation, however, had nothing to do with them or their adventure; when Dominic handed around cut-crystal glasses of the clan's whisky, an appreciative silence rolled over the room.

The other men sipped, paused, then slowly, reverently, sipped again.

Eventually, holding his glass to the light, examining the richly honey-hued liquid, Devil quietly asked, “Where does this come from?”

Glass in hand, Dominic dropped into an armchair flanking the huge fireplace. “The clan's distillery near the head of the loch.”

The other men exchanged glances, then Devil clarified, “You own the distillery that makes this?”

“Me—the clan.”

“Hmm.” Devil sipped again, then murmured, “I have to admit that there's a great deal the males of the family, at least, would forgive for such a drop.” Of course, he and the others had already seen enough of Dominic Lachlan Guisachan to know they'd be welcoming him into the fold with open arms and a certain relief. They'd been stuck on the track, helpless to do anything but watch as Angelica—having with her usual stubborn deliberation rushed directly into the jaws of danger—had come within a whisker of being flung to her death off the cliff. Dominic had raced far ahead, but to reach her in time he had to have made a superhuman effort—but he had, and he'd saved her. And her attitude toward him later had, for Devil and all the rest, set the seal on their approval. Henceforth, the bossiest, most stubborn, far-too-intelligent-for-her-own-good firebrand of the family was
his
responsibility. “Very well.” Reluctantly drawing his senses from their preoccupation, Devil looked at their host. “So where does this tale begin?”