The Laird Who Loved Me (26 page)

Mrs. Pruitt turned pink. “I dinna know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Oh? What about the footman when ye were an undermaid fer the Duke of Carlyle?”

“That wasn’t a—”

“And Lord Coldburg’s valet? And the groomsman from the—”

“Alyce Fia Sterling! That is quite enou’, thank you!” Her face red, Mrs. Pruitt turned back to Caitlyn. “As I was sayin’ before all this silliness, we want t’ send ye into battle fully girded.”

Muiren nodded. “Ye need weapons if ye wish to slay the dragon Dingwall.”

Caitlyn had to smile at that. “From what I’ve heard of him, he would like that name.”

“He deserves it, fer he breathes fire at the world, he does,” Muiren said.

Mrs. Pruitt reached into her pocket and pulled out the note Caitlyn had seen earlier. “Here ye go, missus—the map t’ reach the house.”

“That’s a great help. I couldn’t see the house from the lawn so I wasn’t even sure which direction to go.”

“You’ll find it right enou’ now. But there’s bad news to go wit’ the good: Lord Dingwall owns a mass o’ brutal dogs that’ll chase whoever he points his bony finger at.”

“I’ve heard of his dogs.”

“Och, they’re a legend in these parts.”

Mrs. Sterling cleared her throat. “But ’tis no’ the dogs as are the worst o’ it. ’Tis the biting horse.”

Caitlyn blinked. “The … did you say the ‘biting’ horse?”

“Aye. Dingwall put a fence about the field in front of his property, then he placed a monstrous mean mare in it. She’ll take a morsel as big as yer hand out o’ ye. She’s an old horse, and mean as they come.”

Caitlyn’s shoulders slumped. “I thought the most difficult part of this task would be convincing Lord Dingwall to visit the duchess’s house. Now I think that might be the easiest part! There’s a biting horse,
attack dogs, a man who won’t allow anyone inside the door—and heaven knows what’s after that!”

Mrs. Sterling grinned. “ ’Twill be an adventure, it will. But ye’ll have weapons, a map, and me as yer guide. All ye need is a stout heart.”

Warmed by the woman’s encouraging smile, Caitlyn felt a surge of hope. “I’m ready when you are!”

Wish ye, will ye, it’s all up to ye.

O
LD
W
OMAN
N
ORA FROM
L
OCH
L
OMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

Caitlyn tucked her hair into her plain bonnet and tied the ribbons under her chin. “So Mrs. Sterling is waitin’ for me by the stables?” she asked Muiren.

“Aye, miss.”

“Excellent. I’ll fetch the basket from the kitchen and we’ll be off to Lord Dingwall’s. Wish me luck.”

“Och, I’ll wish ye more than luck miss! Ye’re fightin’ this war fer the honor o’ every woman in the castle.”

Caitlyn laughed. “And I’ll win it for us, too. This is a surprise attack in every way: Dingwall doesn’t know he’s about to be invaded, and MacLean thinks I’m stumped.” Nothing would delight her more than to shake Lord Imperturbable’s façade. She was certain that beneath that controlled exterior beat a heat of—well, not gold, but perhaps an acceptable one of solid iron or brass. Something one could use for a doorstop if one were so inclined.

Muiren eyed Caitlyn up and down. “Miss, do ye think ’tis a good idea to visit his lordship dressed as a commoner? He might mistake ye fer a milkmaid or such.”

Caitlyn looked down at the plain gray gown and old brown boots she’d worn to travel to Balloch Castle. “Yes. From what I’ve heard, Lord Dingwall has a distaste for the duchess and her guests, so I want to look as different from a guest as possible.”

Muiren smiled admiringly. “Very clever, miss. I’ll come wi’ ye to the kitchens to fetch the basket. What an exciting adventure! I wish ye well!”

This would be an adventure all right. Caitlyn only hoped she didn’t return home horse-bitten and dog-chased for nothing.

“So this is where you wandered off to.”

Alexander glanced up as Dervishton walked down the path toward him. He’d escaped the confines of the house—and Georgiana’s tiresomely sharp comments—and had come outside to enjoy a che-root. He took a last draw on it, then dropped it to the stone path and ground it beneath his heel. “Hello, Dervishton. I take it that you’ve given up attempting to convince Georgiana of the merits of opera over theater?”

Dervishton chuckled and came farther into the small copse of trees. It was one of many conveniently isolated portions of the expansive gardens that had
been installed by the ever-resourceful Georgiana. She had a partiality for the gardens, and their many luxurious gazebos were furnished with benches and pillows; a few even had curtains that could be drawn. Georgiana’s garden was the epitome of lascivious convenience.

A servant left the rear of the house and walked past the garden toward the stables. Alexander idly watched as she moved down the path, her figure obscured by a vast cape, the hood pulled high. An approaching stableboy glanced in her direction, stared as his mouth fell open, then, without tearing his gaze from her face, tripped over his own feet and fell over a low hedge.

Alexander smirked. The fool. To be so obvious in his desire for notice. Alexander had no doubt the maid was laughing at him and would never look at him with respect.

“MacLean, I wish to ask you a question.”

Alexander spared Dervishton a glance.

“Georgiana has hinted that Miss Hurst is not of a good family.”

Damn Georgiana!
“She’s quite mistaken. Miss Hurst’s father is a vicar. She is also connected through marriage to Lord Galloway, who is not to be trifled with.”

“But Georgiana all but said that Miss Hurst is … available. And if I were to bid high enough—”

“No.”
The word cracked into air like a storm waiting, banked and ready. The silence afterward was ominous.

So Georgiana wasn’t content to allow him to handle his affairs, was she? He’d have words with her about that. Caitlyn Hurst was
his:
his to punish, his to tease, his to torment.

Dervishton’s smile was strained. “Look, MacLean, I—”

“Forget it. You aren’t at fault.” To keep his anger in control, Alexander focused again on the stableboy. The lad was back on his feet now, bowing as if the maid were the queen herself.

Alexander frowned. Perhaps it wasn’t a maid. The woman waved at the boy and hurried on, her drab gray skirts swaying gracefully, a strand of golden hair escaping the hood—

Alexander started. “Pardon me, Dervishton. My groom wished me to stop in the stables before lunch.”

“Yes, but about Georgiana—”

“You have my full encouragement in that quarter—but
not
in regard to Miss Hurst.” Alexander took off down the path.

“But, MacLean, that’s not—” Dervishton called after him.

But Alexander didn’t answer, the sway of those gray skirts leading him forward. He stepped around the stableboy, who was standing in the middle of the path staring after the maid. The youth sent him a hard glare, turning a bright red when he realized it was Alexander. “My lord, I’m so—”

“Go about your business.” Alexander continued on, his attention on the maid. Her bonnet was as plain as her gown, the deep brim and faded flowers reminiscent of some of the flower sellers who hawked their wares in Convent Garden.
So little Miss Hurst is trying to slip away unnoticed. What is she up to now?

Alexander reached her just as she turned down the path that led away from the garden. “Going somewhere, Hurst?”

She came to a halt, her back stiffening. She slowly turned to face him, her face framed by the wide bonnet, her brown eyes suspicious. She carried a heavy basket, a cloth tucked securely across it.

Alexander grinned. “If you wish to disguise yourself, you will have to hide your posterior. I recognized it even across the garden.”

Her lips thinned with annoyance. “I’ll remember that next time I’m in disguise.”

“May I ask where you’re going?”

“No.”

He crossed his arms.

Her gaze narrowed. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Oh, but I think it is.” He glanced at the basket in her hands. “What’s in there?”

“None of yo—”

He lifted the basket out of her hands and flipped back the linen cover. “Jellies, jams, some freshly baked bread, and—what’s in the crock?” He bent forward and sniffed. “Soup?”

She retrieved the basket and flipped the linen cover back into place. “What I am doing is none of your concern. Now, if you will excuse me, I have an errand to run.”

“An errand?” His gaze narrowed a moment before it dawned on him. “You’re off to win Lord Dingwall’s goodwill with a basket full of incitements.”

Alexander knew he’d hit the mark when her chin lifted and her expression closed tightly.

A flush of amusement rippled through him. Truly, he’d never wanted anything the way he wanted to beat this woman at her own game.

He smiled when she said in a pert tone, “I am sure that it’s of no mind to you. After all, you declared that no matter what I try, Lord Dingwall will have nothing to do with me.”

Alexander grinned down at her, his arms crossed over his chest as he rocked back on his heels. “You could simply save your pride, admit that you’ve lost, and come to my bed now.” Even in her plain clothing, there was no disguising her beauty. He was especially fond of the bonnet, which framed her face and made her brown eyes seem even larger.

She regarded him with a determined expression. “I’m going to win this, and
you,
my lord, will be on your knee. Wait and see!”

Alexander shrugged. “You won’t succeed. Dingwall hates the duchess.”

“Well, if I fail—and I don’t believe I will—it won’t be for lack of trying.”

He rather liked it when she lifted her chin like that. “A few slices of freshly baked bread and some soup won’t break a decade’s old feud.”

“How I go about this is none of your concern. I’ll see you this evening, MacLean.
With
Lord Dingwall.” She spun on one heel and left, her basket clutched against her.

Alexander waited until she disappeared around the stables before he followed. A loud chorus of female voices raised in greeting made him pause at the edge of the stables and peer around the corner.

Every maid in the house seemed to be standing there, and Caitlyn was welcomed like a hero of a classic Greek myth.
Good God, MacCready was right: she has every female firmly on her side.

Caitlyn spoke to a tall, large-boned hulk of a woman with iron-gray hair tied back in a bun. She was almost twice the size of Caitlyn, her shoulders as broad as a farmhand’s.

They said farewell to the group, then headed toward the low fence that surrounded Lord Dingwall’s land. The women watched them until a call from the kitchen door made them hurry away. Alexander followed Caitlyn toward the fence, his long strides quickly overtaking her and her companion.

Caitlyn looked over her shoulder and saw MacLean approaching, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze, his green eyes agleam, his stride purposeful. She couldn’t help a small thrill of excitement from racing down her
spine as she gestured for Mrs. Sterling to continue. With a glare at MacLean, the older woman huffed on to the fence, well within earshot.

“What do you want now?” Caitlyn asked impatiently.

“I came to give you a word of advice.”

Caitlyn hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she trusted him, yet she was determined not to miss any important information. “You’ve been anything but helpful up until now.”

“But this time I am quite certain there is no way in hell you’ll succeed, so I can afford to be generous. I’ve heard that Lord Dingwall takes a walk every afternoon around three. If you can’t get into the house, that may give you access to him.”

“Oh, we’ll get into the house. But thank you for your advice, I’ll let you know if we needed it.”

“There is also the little matter of the horse.”

“I already know that it bites.”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling in an alarmingly attractive way. “Do you know about
all
of the horses?”

She glanced back at the field, which looked empty. All she could see was a sea of grass that led to a manor house on a small rise.

“I have no desire to see that beautiful skin bruised.” He slipped his finger along her cheek, leaving shivery tingles in his wake.

She jerked away. “Thank you for that bit of knowledge. But bite or no bite, you’ll never see my bared skin.”

From by the fence, Mrs. Sterling gave a supportive, take-that “Humph!”

MacLean’s gaze narrowed. “We’ll see about that.”

Drat the man! Every time he had the chance to muddle her thinking with a kiss or a touch, he took it. Well, she’d show him!

She stalked to the fence, put the basket through the rails onto the ground, and nimbly climbed over. As she waited for Mrs. Sterling to do the same, she glanced under her lashes at MacLean. His brows were raised, a look of surprise—appreciation?—on his face. Well, he
should
be appreciative. She’d been born and raised in the country, and if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was how to scale a fence.