A Highland Conquest Page 10

  Rab refilled Rory’s glass, and then looked a little curiously at Lauren. “Ye’re not a Sassenach, are ye?” he observed.

  “A Sassenach?” What was that? It sounded like an Indian tribe!

  Rory grinned. “He’s asking if you’re English, Miss Maitland.”

  “Oh.” She smiled quickly at Rab. “No, sir, I’m not, I’m American.”

  His jaw dropped. “American, is it? Was that not what—” He broke off sharply as Aggie jolted his shoulder sharply with her elbow.

  Rory smiled a little. “Yes, Rab, just as my wife was,” he said, draining his glass and then getting up. “I think we should be on our way, Miss Maitland, for I have much to do before tonight’s ball.” There was a subtle but tangible change in him, a withdrawal, and she could not help but be very conscious of it.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied, and hastily finished the bannock and milk before getting up as well. She accepted the arm he offered, and they went out of the darkness of the croft into the brilliance of the mountain sunshine.

  Chapter 10

  Rab hastened to bring Rory’s horse from the outbuilding, and before assisting Lauren up onto the saddle, Rory spoke to him again. “Remember now, you old scoundrel. I have your word upon this agreement, and Miss Maitland is my witness.”

  “My word is my bond, your lordship,” Rab replied, stiffening as if a slur had been cast upon his honor.

  “See that it is. I’ll send someone up to attend to Miss Maitland’s horse, and to make all the necessary arrangements regarding your move.”

  “Just don’t let it be yon steward.”

  “I would hardly inflict him upon you, or you upon him for that matter,” Rory replied.

  “Thank ye, your lordship.”

  Rory turned to put his hands to Lauren’s waist and lift her up sideways on to the horse, and then he mounted behind, with one arm firm around her for the ride back to the castle.

  The horse was fresh and eager as it set off toward the ridge, where Rory reined in to wave to Rab and his wife. It wasn’t the wave of a master to his servants, but of a friend, as Lauren could not help but observe.

  He smiled at the comment. “Well, perhaps that’s because they are my friends. I’ve been coming up here since I was a boy.” Then he glanced down a little roguishly at her. “I’m relieved I only have the one stubborn tenant to call upon today, Miss Maitland, for I fear you might succeed in emptying my entire stables.”

  She colored a little. “Are you offended by my interference, Lord Glenvane?”

  “Offended? No. A brace of horses is a small price to pay for the satisfaction of knowing Rab and Aggie will be comfortable this winter.”

  She looked back toward the croft. “I know it’s none of my business, Lord Glenvane, but why doesn’t Rab like your steward?”

  He smiled. “Because Rab is a Macdonald.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “Nearly a hundred and thirty years ago there was a massacre of the Macdonalds at a place in Argyllshire called Glencoe. The massacre was carried out at the instigation of King William III, and the people who obeyed his orders were the Campbells of Glen Lyon. My steward is a Campbell, and bitter old memories run very deep up here.”

  So that was it. Now she understood the odd reference to the year 1692 at the dinner table the previous evening. She smiled at him. “And where were the Ardmores of Glenvane when this happened?”

  He laughed. “Minding their own business, for once. Oh, we have bloody fingers as well, Miss Maitland, but as far as Glencoe is concerned, we were as pure as the driven snow, which is why both the Macdonalds and the Campbells are happy to ally themselves with us, if not with each other. It’s a difficult situation, however, and sometimes it requires the wisdom of Solomon.”

  She searched his face. “You are a good master, Lord Glenvane, and those on your estate are much more fortunate than most.”

  “I bask in your praise, Miss Maitland,” he murmured, kicking his heel and moving the horse on over the ridge.

  Now the vista of Glenvane was once again spread before Lauren, and she feasted her eyes upon the scene, for it was something she wished to keep in her memory forever. When she was home in Boston and Rory Ardmore was part of her past, she would recall this moment, when his arm was around her waist as she gazed upon his domain.

  It seemed that he was no less affected by the view. “I never tire of this place,” he said, maneuvering his horse down the heather-clad slopes toward the woods.

  “I can well understand how you feel.”

  “Would that my wife had felt like that, Miss Maitland, but I fear she came here with the full intention of despising it. I was used quite cynically.”

  Lauren said nothing, but she couldn’t help thinking that the cynicism with which he credited his late wife, could equally be credited to the way he and his brother were engaged upon the securing of the Ashworth fortune. She was regarded as a way of acquiring funds, which was precisely how Fleur had regarded her marriage.

  He was conscious of having once again brought up the subject of his marriage. “It seems that once more I must crave your pardon, Miss Maitland.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am continually harping on about my disastrous venture into holy wedlock. I’m afraid the whole business still rankles a great deal. Maybe that is the lot of the deceived husband. He is the last to know, and the last to recover.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, thinking about Jamie’s affair with Emma. Rory disapproved of any marital infidelity, and had made that clear, but how much greater would his fury be if he knew that his brother’s mistress was Fitz’s wife? No doubt he would be outraged. Perhaps as outraged as she herself felt about his willingness to assist Jamie in his despicable pursuit of her fortune. Rory Ardmore, Earl of Glenvane, was guilty of double standards.

  He glanced at her. “Is something wrong, Miss Maitland?”

  “Wrong?”

  “You seem suddenly preoccupied.”

  “I was thinking about what you said.”

  “Which thing in particular?”

  “About your wife marrying you as a means to acquire funds. I think I know how you felt. The Ashworth fortune has proved a magnet for adventurers and the more disreputable gentlemen in society.” She glanced briefly at him, and then away again.

  He didn’t respond and so she looked at him again. “I am not sought after for myself, but for my inheritance. It’s a quite shameful fact, is it not?”

  “Yes, Miss Maitland, quite shameful,” he replied, meeting her gaze.

  She marveled at his coolness. He was actively assisting his brother to do the very thing she was condemning, but he didn’t flinch, or even seem vaguely uncomfortable. Lord Glenvane’s conscience was quite clearly capable of astonishing selectivity. He was hurt and resentful about what had been done to him, but he did not think twice about trying to foist his feckless, unpleasant brother upon her.

  But a moment later she was proved wrong about his apparent lack of discomfort. The horse stumbled a little, and his arm tightened around her waist as the animal regained its balance. “Are you all right?” he asked quickly, reining in.

  “Yes.” Thank you.”

  He hesitated. “Miss Maitland, I have the oddest feeling that an atmosphere has suddenly sprung up between us,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes.” He gave a slightly embarrassed laugh. “I trust you do not imagine that I am intent upon your fortune?”

  “You, sir? Why would I think that?”

  “I don’t know, but after pointing out that you understood how I felt about Fleur’s actions, your manner seemed to change a little.”

  “Lord Glenvane, I do not for a moment imagine you are interested in either me or my fortune, so please put such a thought from your mind,” she replied. No, she thought, you’re interested in using me to settle your brother’s debts, and I should loathe you for it, but here I am, still beguiled by your smiles. I must be moonstruck.

>   He moved the horse on again, and they left the open mountainside to enter the woods, where the air was cool, and the smell of oak leaves and ferns filled the air. They had proceeded some way into the trees when they heard the sound of voices ahead, and gradually made out two riders, a lady and a gentleman. It was Mary and Fitz, and their laughter was easy and natural as they raced each other up the hillside. On suddenly seeing Lauren and Rory, they reined in in surprise.

  Rory smiled at them both. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” they replied in unison, exchanging brief glances between returning their curious gaze to the two mounted on the single horse.

  Lauren could imagine their thoughts, and she endeavored to sound natural as she greeted them as well. “Good morning, oh, and happy birthday, Lady Mary.”

  “Thank you, Miss Maitland.”

  Rory looked at Fitz and raised an eyebrow. “Such energy and high spirits before midday? At your advanced age? I’m overcome with admiration.”

  Fitz grinned broadly. ‘The birthday child is fair wearing me out. You’re right about the advanced age. I’m an old married man now and well past all this youthful exuberance, especially after one of your gargantuan Glenvane breakfasts!”

  Mary could no longer contain her curiosity about finding her brother riding double with Lauren. She looked enquiringly at him. “I trust there hasn’t been an accident? I mean, Miss Maitland’s horse—?”

  “It cast a shoe up on the ridge, and as luck would have it I was close at hand to rescue her,” Rory replied. “We’ve left the horse at Rab Macdonald’s until someone can attend to it.” He smiled at his sister. “By the way, happy birthday, sweet eighteen.”

  “Thank you. I vow I expected to wake up this morning and feel entirely different, but I don’t. Being eighteen is no more exciting than being seventeen.”

  “Don’t complain, for when you are a Methuselah like me, you’ll yearn to be eighteen again,” he replied.

  “You’re not that old!”

  “Old enough. I can give your antediluvian riding companion a year, anyway.” Rory glanced at Fitz. “I trust you’ve left some breakfast for us weary travelers?”

  “I believe there was a finnan haddie you might be able to salvage. No, I lie, we were actually the first to gorge; no one else was even up when we set off.”

  “What of Emma?”

  “She’s the original lazybones, I fear, especially when faced with the prospect of a ball which will go on until dawn. When I tried to interest her in getting up to accompany Mary and me, her response was to turn over and pull the bedclothes over her head, which action I took for a polite but firm no.”

  Rory gathered the reins. “Well, we’ll leave you to your exercise, mes enfants. Don’t wear my horses out, will you?”

  “We won’t.” Kicking their heels, they rode on up through the woods.

  Lauren turned to watch them. “They get on very well, don’t they?” she observed, wondering if Rory had perceived his sister’s feelings for Fitz.

  “Yes, I suppose they do, but then they’ve known each other for a very long time—in fact, I think Fitz and I were here on vacation from Eton when Mary was born, so he’s known her all her life. They are the best of friends.”

  Lauren said nothing more, for mere friendship was the last thing Lady Mary Ardmore desired from Lord Fitzsimmons. She continued to gaze after the now-vanished riders, and something occurred to her. “Lord Glenvane, what is a ‘finnan haddie’?” she asked.

  He threw his head back and laughed. “A Scottish delicacy of rare tastiness, Miss Maitland.”

  “Is it like haggis?”

  “No, not at all like haggis.” He smiled at her. “Finnan haddie is smoked haddock from the village of Findon, near Aberdeen, and it is the finest smoked haddock in the world, as I think you’ll find if you trouble to sample it. I urge you to do so, for I am sure you will enjoy it.”

  “You wouldn’t fib to me, would you, sir?”

  “Me? Miss Maitland, I am the most truthful and trustworthy soul in the whole of Scotland.”

  Which didn’t say much for the rest of his nation, she thought as he moved the horse on once more.

  Soon they emerged at the foot of the valley and rode around the shore of the loch toward the castle. Lauren gazed at the castle windows, wondering if anyone was observing their return. Lord Glenvane and the Ashworth fortune riding double after setting off separately before breakfast! She hoped both Jamie and Isabel happened to glance out and see.

  They rode across the neck of land to the castle, and then around the outer wall to the stableyard, where a groom hastened to take the reins, and Rory dismounted. “See that someone is sent up to the Macdonald croft to attend to Miss Maitland’s horse. It’s lame and has cast a shoe.”

  “Your lordship.”

  Rory turned to reach up to Lauren, and she slid down from the saddle into his arms. For the briefest and most breathless of moments she was in his embrace, and in the space of that heartbeat she was sure that he was as conscious of her as she was of him, but then slowly he released her. “Shall we go in, Miss Maitland?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  They went through the little door into the courtyard. A cart had been sent out earlier to the icehouse deep in the woods on the far side of the loch, and now its load of ice blocks was being carefully lowered through a trapdoor into the cellars, where they would remain in the coldest place possible until required to chill the air at the ball that night. Summer balls were usually hot and uncomfortable, this was especially so in one of the hottest summers in memory. The ice placed strategically around the floor brought a much needed coolness to the proceedings.

  Lauren paused for a moment in the courtyard, glancing through the archway into the gardens. One of the tree-covered islands on the loch had suddenly caught her eye, for it seemed particularly beautiful in the mid-morning sunshine. Its oak trees were luxuriant, overhanging the water as if they wished to conceal something hidden among them, and then she noticed what appeared to be a crumbling tower, its ivy-clad stones barely visible above the surrounding foliage. Framed as it was by the courtyard arch, the scene seemed like a work of art.

  Rory followed her gaze. “Have you just noticed Holy Island’s ruins?”

  “Holy Island?”

  “There was a monastery there—a small one, of course, since the island is hardly two hundred yards from end to end. It was razed by one of my less religious ancestors, who took exception to the constant wagging of disapproving monkish fingers. He was of a rather—er—orgiastic disposition, and the riotous goings-on here at the castle were just too much for the pious brothers to endure. They condemned him once too often, and so he put the torch to the monastery and banished them from the island.”

  “I’d love to go there.”

  “Then you shall. I will attend to it for you.”

  They left the courtyard and entered the great hall, where they were immediately greeted by the confusion of floral preparations as well as the noise of the breakfasting guests in the dining room. It seemed that nearly everyone had now risen from their beds, and were all around the breakfast table at the same time.

  But as Lauren and Rory crossed toward the staircase to go to their rooms to change, Isabel called from the entrance of the dining room, having to raise her voice to be heard above the general noise all around. A bank of delphiniums and ferns hid Lauren temporarily from her view as she addressed Rory.

  “Ah, there you are at last—” she began, but then she saw that he wasn’t alone. “Good morning, Miss Maitland,” she said coolly.

  Lauren smiled. “Good morning, Lady Maxby,” she replied.

  Isabel came toward them, her bluebell eyes guarded and cool. She wore a white lawn gown that was scattered with embroidered pink roses, and her rich red hair was pinned up on top of her head. A white shawl trailed along the floor behind her, and Lauren knew that if there hadn’t been so much clatter in the hall, the shawl would have been heard slithering lik
e a snake.

  Isabel halted before them, her gaze moving appraisingly from one to the other. “You’ve been out for a ride together?”

  Rory shook his head. “Not exactly.” He explained what had happened.

  The bluebell gaze was icy as it rested on Lauren. A chance meeting? She doubted that very much, and was determined to wrest him from her unexpectedly persistent rival. She linked his arm. “Rory, I have something to speak to you about.”

  “But I was just about to change out of these things. Can’t it wait a while?”

  “It’s important,” she insisted.

  Lauren gave a quick smile. “Er—if you’ll forgive me, I’ll go on up to my room,” she murmured, and gathered her skirts to hurry up the staircase. She was well pleased about the encounter with Isabel and didn’t need to glance back to know Rory was about to be quizzed about the ride. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for the next few minutes! He was only intent upon pairing the Ashworth fortune with his brother, but Isabel suspected him of entirely different motives.

  She hurried past the room where she’d overheard that very telling conversation the evening before, and then made her way toward the tower where her own room lay. Passing a large window set back in a deep embrasure that was flanked by dark green velvet draperies, she noticed that it looked down over the terraced gardens, and she halted for a moment to look toward Holy Island.

  She’d only been there for a moment or so when she heard a door open a little further along the passage. It was a stealthy sound, and she turned to peep around the draperies. She saw Jamie looking out of the doorway. He glanced cautiously along the passage in both directions, and then turned to nod at someone else in the room behind him. It was Emma. She wore a cherry-and-white seersucker gown, and her face was a little flushed as she paused to link her arms around his neck and kiss him briefly on the lips. Her body pressed voluptuously against his, and then she left him. As she passed Lauren’s hiding place, she reached up to push back a loose pin in her honey-colored hair.

  Lauren kept well back out of sight. So that was why Fitz’s wife had declined to join him on his ride with Mary—she preferred to steal the chance to go to her lover!