––––––––
Just as Sarah said, there were housemaid uniforms aplenty on hand but they needed alterations. The next day, in an empty room not far from the kitchen, Charlotte put the Singer Vibrating Shuttle Sewing Machine to good use and became the Mansion’s in-house seamstress. While she loved to sew, especially on such a nice new machine, she had a few complaints.
“I am so tired of sewing the same color cloth all day long. I cannot quite decide if the cloth is blue or gray,” she whined when Sarah walked into the room.
“Perhaps this will help.’ She showed Charlotte where the seam of her white apron was coming apart. “Can you fix it?”
“With pleasure, it will only take a minute.”
Sarah walked to the window and looked out at the tilled ground where Hannish hoped to plant a rose garden. Alistair was outside looking at it too, and when he spotted her, she nodded. For a butler, Alistair was a friendly sort, a little prim and proper perhaps, but not all starch and vinegar the way some butlers were. It was plain to see he had taken Sassy under his wing, and for that alone, she admired him.
“Oh, darn it, I broke the thread. That is the third time today.”
Sarah glanced back. “You seem a bit annoyed, is something the matter?”
“I could not get Sassy to stand still long enough to pin her hem straight. It took nearly an hour.”
“She is excited, it is...”
“Let her be excited somewhere else.”
Sarah stared at Charlotte for a moment, and then turned back to watch Alistair through the window.
Charlotte finally got the needle threaded and began to sew the apron seam. She dreamed of making a gown of her own someday, attending a grand ball at the Antler Hotel, and having Hannish ask her to dance. She was perhaps not the prettiest of women, she knew, with thin hair that was more brown than black, but one look in her eyes when they danced would let him know how much she adored him. It was just a dream, but sometimes dreams did come true.
When Hannish walked past the open door, she stopped to smile at him. Unfortunately, he did not notice her so she went back to her sewing. “I dread having to fit Sassy for another frock tomorrow.”
“Then I will come with her. She will stand still for me,” said Sarah.
“I doubt it.”
*
They were ill prepared to entertain guests, but when a carriage started up the drive toward the Mansion in the late afternoon, everyone hurried to get ready. Keith rushed out to open the carriage door as soon as it stopped, while Alistair stood ready at the front door. McKenna checked her hair in the only full-length mirror located in Olivia’s room and straightened her skirt, “How good of someone to come just at dinnertime,” she muttered. “Sassy, tell cook to prepare. My brother will surely invite them to stay.”
In the study, Prescot grabbed a topcoat off the back of a chair and helped Hannish put it on. Then he followed him into the parlor just as McKenna came down the stairs. At last, they were ready and the MacGreagors stepped outside to welcome their guests.
Abigail and Claymore Whitfield were the picture of Colorado’s well-dressed wealth. A slender woman, Abigail wore a well-fitting green dress, with delicate pink rosebuds on the collar, at the waist and at the bottom of the skirt. The color flattered her red hair and matched her green eyes. Her somewhat robust husband looked uncomfortable in his tall still-collar and his waistcoat was a bit too tight, but his lace up black shoes had a good shine to them, and his short, graying hair was neatly combed. Their grown son was as tall as his father, wore his reddish blond hair short to the nape of his collar and had a bit of a crooked smile.
“McKenna, allow me to introduce our nearest neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield. McKenna is my sister,” said Hannish.
Claymore tipped his hat, “A pleasure.” Then he turned back to Hannish. “I do not believe you have met my son, Charles.”
Hannish smiled. “I have not. Welcome, Charles.”
Charles nodded to Hannish and then tipped his hat to McKenna, just as his father had, only Charles’ eyes remained on her longer than was proper and his crooked smile became a sickening grin. “A pleasure, indeed.”
Full of exuberance, Abigail hugged McKenna, kissed her cheek, looped her arm through hers, and practically pulled her through the front door. “My dear, we heard you were in town and I demanded Claymore bring me straight away to welcome you. Oh my, but it is a magnificent display of marble. We’ve not yet seen it completed and I do not mind saying I watched with envy as the wagons passed our home. Are all the rooms finished now? I want very much...”
“My dear, Mrs. Whitfield,” her husband interrupted, “let the woman speak.”
“And such divine window seats with a full view of town?” Abigail said, ignoring her husband. “If we had such a thing, which we do not I regret to say, I would have tea in this foyer each and every morning.”
McKenna noticed the pride in her brother’s expression and smiled. “Aye, but you have not yet seen the upstairs sitting room. The view from there is breathtaking.” McKenna led the way into the parlor and then up the stairs. “Come, I shall show you.”
Both Mr. Whitfields handed their hats to Keith, the first to be placed on the empty shelf in the coatroom.
“You’ll not likely get the two of them separated,” Claymore said, watching his wife disappear upstairs, “now that they’ve got on so famously. Did I not warn you, Hannish?”
“Aye, you did.”
“Of course, that is your sister and not your wife. A town this size has few secrets, you know. When can we expect your wife?”
“I am not certain. She stopped to shop in New York City.”
Claymore raised an eyebrow, “A great mistake on your part, my boy. I should have warned you about that. It took me a week to get Mrs. Whitfield to leave, last time we were there. Well, it is too late, I suppose and I cannot think of a thing that would tempt your wife away, now that she has seen it.”
*
Abigail ignored the mostly unfurnished room and walked to the window. “You are so right, my dear, a grand view indeed.” Colorado Springs looked small from there, but she could still see people, carriages, and carts going up and down the busy streets. The farms, divided by rows of trees, were beginning to green with the spring planting and beyond that, one could see forever across dry brush lands as flat as McKenna claimed Kansas to be. “Your brother is, of course, disappointed his wife has not yet arrived. He talked of little else when we came to call last.”
“He loves her very much.”
“I am certain he does. It is a great disappointment to a certain lady I shall not name.”
“Oh, do tell, has my brother an admirer?”
“Not just one, but several. It is best he has a wife, for the place would be crawling with unmarried women if he did not. And look at you. Are you wanting an American husband, by any chance?”
“Nay, I left my heart in Scotland.”
Abigail still had not taken her eyes off the view. “That is a pity. If you change your mind, I have a few gentlemen I can recommend, and each of them just as wealthy as my Clay.”
“I promise to alert you first, if I do.”
“I will count on that. I must say, with both you and your brother taken, the dinners will not be as lively as I had hoped, but we shall make do. Tell me, will Saturday next be too soon to come to dinner?”
“I cannae say? We must wait until his wife arrives.”
“Yes, of course you must. Another time then, but I hope we will not have to wait too long.”
*
“I am excited to hear all about the gold rush,” said McKenna as soon as she was seated at the dining room table. “We read a great deal about it in Scotland, but I would so like a first hand account to write home about.”
Charles selected the chair across from McKenna and smiled. “My father will be pleased to bore you with it.”
Claymore chuckled. “Admit it. Charles, you never tire of the story.”
Charles kept his eyes on McKenna as he answered, “I do admit it. Nothing pleases me more than glittering gold...except perhaps a beautiful woman. My, but you are splendid.”
McKenna squirmed a little and lowered her eyes. “I thank you, Sir.” She glanced at Hannish and knew he was not pleased with the way Charles was gawking at her. “Mr. Whitfield, perhaps you have not heard, I am nearly engaged.” It came as a surprise to Hannish, but he did not react, much to McKenna’s relief.
Charles grinned at her anyway. “But not yet formally engaged, Miss MacGreagor? I am encouraged.”
Claymore waited for his wife to finish, helped himself to peas from a bowl Keith held, and cleared his throat. “You asked about the gold rush, Miss MacGreagor. I dare say many a prospector walked right over the largest gold vein in the world. It is called the Mount Pisgah hoax, someone salted the rocks, you see.”
“Salted them?” McKenna asked, helping herself to potatoes from the platter Dugan held.
“It means,” Charles said, “Someone put flakes of gold in worthless rocks. Once the hoax was discovered, the prospectors ignored the area altogether.”
“But who would do such a thing?” McKenna asked.
“That,” Claymore answered, “no one has managed to find out. At any rate, once Bob Womack found the real gold, word spread quickly and the rush was on. I myself set out from Kansas City.”
Abigail shook her head at the platter of potatoes, but graciously smiled at Dugan. “In less than three years, we were surrounded by thousands of men, and some even brought whole families. They were certain they would easily strike it rich and hoped to start a new life. Oh, but the sad tales I could tell,” Abigail said, putting a hand on her chest. “The camps were miserable and many of the children died of disease. One woman, as I recall, refused to leave her three dead children in this ‘God forsaken land,’ and made her husband take the whole family, including the bodies, all the way back to Iowa. I think of that poor woman often.”
McKenna bowed her head and except for the clinking of spoons on platters, and then on dishes, the room fell silent. At last, Claymore spoke, “There is trouble in the mines again, Hannish. You are fortunate to have got out of the business. I see bad workings on the horizon and I might just sell out myself. I would...”
“Have you heard, Mr. MacGreagor?” Charles interrupted, “Mr. Grantham, the man you sold your mine to, sold it himself not two months ago, and the new owner claims the mine is all played out. He claims Grantham knew it all along and swindled him.”
“Good heavens,” said Hannish.
Charles continued, “Did you know, Mr. MacGreagor? Did you know the mine was nearly played out when you sold it?”
“Charles, what a thing to ask,” Claymore scolded. “Count the man fortunate to have gotten out when he did.”
Hannish was not pleased; not with the question or with the insulting way he kept looking at McKenna. “I dinna know. We were turning out several tons of silver ore a day when I sold the mine.”
“Of course, you did not know,” Claymore said. “Forgive the boy his manners, Hannish.”
Hannish gave Charles ample time to apologize, but Charles was distracted by the platter of potatoes. “I prefer my potatoes mashed,” said Charles.
Dugan pulled the platter back, took the serving fork, and smashed three of the potatoes. “Will this do, Sir?” he asked, offering the platter again to Charles.
Charles frowned, but picked up the serving fork anyway. “I suppose it will have to.” He failed to notice a slight smile on the face of his host.
“You spoke of trouble in the gold mines, Claymore,” said Hannish, taking a roll out of the napkin-lined basket Keith held. “What sort of trouble?”
“The same as always – the union demands more and more for their workers. You were not here when The Western Federation of Miners came into being. I do not blame the union completely, you understand.”
“Who do you blame?” McKenna asked. She watched Keith set the breadbasket on the sideboard, pick up a platter, and offer a pork chop to Abigail.
“I blame the greed of certain owners. How did they think they could ask the hard rock miners to work ten hours instead of eight for the same pay? Of course, the minors went on strike, why wouldn’t they? We had no choice but to bring in the strikebreakers. That didn’t work, so the sheriff deputized and armed 1,200 men. Governor Waite had to settle that one and the mine owners finally relented.”
Claymore took a moment to add two pork chops to his plate before he continued, “In the end, eight hours of work per day was agreed upon, just as I said it should be. The owners were the ones who paid the deputies and it was an awful thing that happened after. The twelve hundred ruffians began terrorizing Cripple Creek.”
“Terrorizing it how?” McKenna asked.
“My dear, people who did nothing wrong were put upon quite harshly. Some were clubbed and kicked,” he explained.
“Claymore, please, we are eating,” Abigail muttered.
“Forgive me, my dear, you are right of course.”
McKenna was fascinated. “But how were these ruffians, as you call them, stopped?”
Claymore barely took the time to chew and swallow before he answered, “The owners finally cut their pay. Governor Waite sent in the militia and we saw no more of them. Nevertheless, the miners had clearly won and the Unions took the credit.”
“Someone on the train said a whole town burned,” McKenna mentioned.
“You mean Colorado City? Indeed it did,” Abigail answered. “But everyone got out in time.”
“Oh, good,” McKenna breathed.
Claymore nodded his agreement. “Still, that brought builders, and naturally, another union to organize them. I tell you, we shall never see the end of it. Now the unions think they can do no wrong. Last year, the Daily press, owned by the union I might add, got the miners to vote union members into public office. Then, they decided Cripple Creek needed a county of its own, thus we live in El Paso County, and our mines are in Teller County. Very clever of them, for we would never vote their members into office here.”
Abigail leaned closer to McKenna. “The miners steal the gold,”
McKenna gasped. “Do they now?”
“Yes, well we put an end to that,” Charles said. “We hired Pinkerton guards.”
Hannish noticed his sister was hardly touching her meal and instead kept her hands in her lap. Charles was still gawking at her, and if it hadn’t been for Abigail and Claymore, he would have thrown Charles out. He held his ire for their sakes, but it wasn’t easy.
“Yes, and the miners walked out, as you may recall, Charles,” Claymore was saying. “On this point, the unions did us a favor. The miners are now searched as they leave, by other miners, in front of a Union watchman.”
“What has upset the miners now?” Hannish asked.
“There are rumblings, there always are. I believe the unions want a wage increase, and why are we surprised about that? I tell you, Hannish, you were a wise man to get out when you did. The Unions will be the death of us, and I am not the only one who thinks so.”
Charles had a way of eating without taking his eyes off McKenna and she’d had enough of it. “Brother, I believe I feel a headache coming on. Will you be very upset if I go up to bed?”
“Of course not.” He stood, walked her out the door and then across the parlor to the bottom of the stairs. “What a dreadful man,” he whispered. “He’ll not be coming back if I have anything to say about it.”
McKenna gave him a quick hug. “But I like Abigail very much.”
Hannish sighed and watched her climb the stairs. “So do I.”
*
No one heard his horse approach or expected it when Charles Whitfield came to call the next morning. He rang the bell, did not bother to wait for the butler, walked right in and nearly ran over a surprised Alistair. “Tell Miss MacGreagor I am here.”
“Very good, Sir.” When Alistair heard footsteps behind him, he stopped and turned around. “If you would be so good as to wait here, Sir.”
“I hope to surprise her.”
“She is not fond of surprises, if you will just...”
“I will not.”
Reluctantly, Alistair led the way to the small sitting room where McKenna was sipping tea and looking through her copy of the catalog. “Miss McKenna, Mr....”
“McKenna, but you do look all aglow this morning.” Charles interrupted, walking past Alistair to the center of the room. “I trust your headache is gone and you slept well.” He finally remembered to take off his tall, round hat and hand it to the butler. “What is your name again?”
“Alistair, Sir.”
“You may go, Alistair.”
“He stays,” McKenna said, closing the catalog.
“Must he? I wished to speak to you alone.”
“About what?”
Charles glanced at the defiant looking Alistair and straightened his shoulders. “I have come to take you to the Garden of the Gods.”
“Thank you, no. I dinna wish to see them.”
“Everyone goes to see them and you will not be disappointed. They are very fine rock formations.”
“Are they marble?”
“Well, no, they are sandstone, I believe.”
“Then I dinna wish to go.”
Charles quickly sat in a chair opposite her. “Perhaps you would rather see...”
“Mr. Whitfield, I found your behavior last night unpardonable. I dinna wish to go anywhere with you, or ever see you again. Please leave.”
“You will change your mind, once you learn how much I am to inherit when my father dies.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “Poor Mr. Whitfield, does he know you wish him dead?”
“I do not wish him dead.”
“But you shall not be wealthy until he is, am I right?”
“I...suppose not,” Charles stammered.
“Perhaps you might do a little of your own prospecting. I hear there are mountains aplenty between here and California. Surely, several have gold for the takin’. Then you shan’t have to wait until he dies.”
“Ah, but I could not deprive myself of your beauty for that long.”
His grin was just as disgusting as it had been the night before, and she was tempted to throw her catalog at him. “Please leave.”
“You will change your mind about me, just you wait and see.” With that, he got up, grabbed his hat away from Alistair, and left the room.
McKenna watched Alistair hurry after Charles and shook her head. “How does a despicable child come from such very fine parents?” She jumped when she heard the front door slam.
By the time Alistair returned to the kitchen to finish his breakfast, every quizzical eye was on him and he might have made light of it, had he not been so incensed. “Charles Whitfield. When Mr. MacGreagor hears, he will...”
“Hears what?” Hannish asked, walking into the kitchen as he usually did in the mornings. “Who was at the door?”
“Mr. Charles Whitfield. I tried to prevent him, but he demanded to see Miss McKenna and followed me to the sitting room.”
Hannish narrowed his eyes. “What did he want?”
“To take her to The Garden of the Gods, but she refused him. He vowed she would soon change her mind and left.”
“‘Tis not the first time I have had to save my sister from a wretch like that. We best be more alert. If he is that brazen, she might just shoot him.”
“I hope she does,” Dugan muttered.
Hannish looked at Dugan and grinned. “From now on, I shall have my potatoes mashed just the way you did for Charles Whitfield.” He accepted the cup of tea from Jessie and went to find McKenna. Behind him, he could hear the servants laughing.
*
It happened on the evening of the next day, and everyone was tired. A quick evening meal was in order and then rest. McKenna and her brother had just taken their places at the dinner table and Keith was about to serve, when Charles Whitfield walked into the dining room. “Good evening.” He pulled the chair opposite McKenna away from the table and sat down. “Dinner looks divine.”
It took a moment for Hannish to grasp what had just happened, and as he slowly stood up, Prescot and Alistair rushed into the room.
“Forgive me, Mr. MacGreagor, he slipped past me,” said Prescot.
Hannish raised his hand to silence the butler and glared at Charles. “If ever you enter my house again without an invitation, my lads have permission to shoot you on sight.”
Charles stayed where he was and grinned at McKenna. “But I feel so at home here.”
Hannish gritted his teeth. “Dinna make me throw you out.”
Fearing what might happen, McKenna quickly got up and went to stand behind Alistair. She had seen her brother’s wrath before and it frightened even her. At the same time, Keith realized he best get out of the way and backed into one of the sideboards, knocking the clock over.
Still undaunted, Charles tried to look around Alistair. “McKenna, tell him I am welcome here.”
“Miss MacGreagor to you!” In one swift movement, Hannish grabbed Charles by the coat, yanked him to his feet and with a fierce glare shouted, “Get out of my house, and dinna come back!” He was tempted to toss the smaller man across the room, but thought better of it. Just as abruptly, he let go, nearly causing Charles to lose his balance and fall over the chair. “Prescot, get him out of here afore I kill him.”
Prescot hurried around the table, grabbed one arm just as Alistair took the other, and together they hauled a shocked Charles out of the dining room. “Wait until my father hears about this!” Charles shouted.
Prescot released the man once they got him out the front door, but Alistair shoved as hard as he could, making Charles stumble, fall off the steps and land face first on the grass. “I am an excellent shot and I shall not miss!” Alistair warned. He dusted off his hands, followed Prescot back inside, and intentionally slammed the door.
The ruckus caused all of the servants to rush into the dining room, just as Hannish wrapped his arms around his trembling sister. “I dinna mean to frighten you so.”
“He threw Charles Whitfield out,” Keith explained to calm the others.
“Are you hurt, Miss McKenna?” Sassy asked, walking around Hannish to see for herself.
“Nay, I am fine, Sassy.” She took a deep breath, kissed her brother’s cheek, and smiled to reassure him. “I had forgotten you’ve a temper when you feel the need to protect me.”
“I had almost forgotten myself.” He took her back to the table and seated her.
Keith turned the knocked over clock upright on the sideboard and straightened the rumpled table scarf. His nerves were not in much better shape than McKenna’s were. He had seen the MacGreagor temper once before, and wasn’t sure Charles would live through it.
“He’ll not be back,” Prescot said, walking back into the dining room.
“You are wrong,” said Hannish. “Be on your guard, for his kind does not give up easily.”
The next day, the whole household waited for an angry Claymore Whitfield to come and protest his son’s treatment. He did not come, and everyone guessed Charles wisely decided not to tell his father.
*
It was four days after the Scots arrived before a rider brought a telegram to the mansion from Duchess Olivia MacGreagor. She had not yet left New York City, but promised to arrive on the 14th. In the foyer, Hannish handed the telegram to his sister, took off his jacket, handed it to Prescot and walked out the front door.
McKenna slowly read the telegram and then sighed, “Another fortnight.”
A perplexed Prescot asked, “Where does he go?”
“Where he always goes when he is enraged,” McKenna answered, “to chop wood. No doubt he will have chopped enough to see us all through winter by the time we see the end of this.”
“Two weeks?” Alistair muttered. “What is she up to?”
“I have been thinking about that.” McKenna began to wander into the parlor and both butlers followed her. “How did she choose who to bring and who to leave behind?”
“How?” Alistair asked.
“She brought the ones who would not tell him, first because they fear her, and second because all of you love him too much to hurt him.”
Alistair nodded. “She is right on that account.”
“Aye, but Olivia dinna know I was on the ship until after it sailed, and by then it was too late to hide our dear Mr. Graham. She dinna believe she could keep me quiet, so what does she do?”
“What?” Prescot asked.
Alistair shook his head in disgust. “She waits to see if her husband has heard and will telephone to accuse her. ’Tis just the sort of thing she would do.”
“That is what I think too,” said McKenna, “but she does not know Hannish well enough. He will not telephone; he will wait until he can see the truth in her eyes.”
“He might believe her excuses,” Alistair cautioned. “She has very clever ways of getting what she wants, especially from her unsuspecting admirers.”
Prescot gasped. “She has more than one?”
Alistair glanced back to make sure Hannish was not nearby. “You dinna hear that from us.”
“Of course not,” Prescot said. “How could his wife be so heartless?”
McKenna folded the telegram back up and put it in her pocket. “I assure you, she has no heart.”
*
Everywhere Sassy was, Keith seemed to be also, but she ignored him for the most part. He was not an unpleasant looking man. In fact, if she did not find his too obvious smiles annoying, she might have fancied him a little. Happy were the days when Keith had plenty to do.
Aside from that, there was the problem of getting her hands on a catalogue. Each time she reached for one, someone else got to it first. There was the one in her employer’s study, but she was certain she was not to go in there without asking. Still, after he went to bed and McKenna was asleep, Sassy lit a candle, slipped down the back stairs, through the empty kitchen, across the dining room, the parlor and into the study. As quietly as a mouse, she closed the door, turned on the lamp and there it was, right in the middle of his roll top desk.
An hour later, her eyes and mind were filled with glorious things she never imagined existed, and she thought about it long and hard before she took his fountain pen and put a check mark beside the delicate figurine of a grand lady in a pink ball gown. She put everything back the way it was, turned out the light, picked up the candle and, as quietly as she entered, went out the door and back upstairs.
Sassy quietly closed the door to her room, changed into her nightshirt and carefully hung the frock Charlotte finally finished hemming in her small closet. Each night, she still moved her bowl and pitcher of water to a different location on her dresser, and then checked first thing in the morning to see if it pleased her. This night was no different and before she could think of sleeping, she put the bowl on one side and the pitcher on the other. At last, her day was finished and she could rest.
*
Hannish was not a stupid man and he prayed what he suspected was not true, but just in case, he did not intend to let his wife get away with much more. He spent the next morning in his study drafting a very important letter, sealed it and then called for his horse. He rode to town alone, posted the letter at the post office, and then sent two cablegrams: one to the captain of the ship his wife arrived on, and the other to an old friend - his banker in Scotland. He said not a word about his dealings to anyone when he got home, and simply went about checking lists and ordering what they needed to fill the mansion.
Two days later, McKenna asked to go to town. She hoped to find patterns, embroidery threads and a few yards of white linen to help her pass the time, especially in the evenings. Bored with his lists and invoices, Hannish decided to go with her. The sun was shining, the air smelled of lilacs, and with Shepard driving the red carriage, the leisurely ride was a pleasant one.
Hannish took her to the general store, went inside with her, introduced her to the owner, and directed him to put anything she wanted on his bill. While she shopped, Shepard drove him to the telegraph office where he sent two more inquiries to Scotland. Once that was accomplished, he went to the bank, withdrew some cash and told them to expect a very large deposit.
However, when Shepard pulled the carriage to a stop in front of the general store, McKenna was outside standing between two of his friends, Simon Merth and Gregory Goodwin. She was furious and they were trying to calm her down with little success. “What is it?” He asked as soon as he opened the carriage door.
She tossed her packages into the carriage and then let him help her climb inside. “It matters not.”
Hannish was not happy with that answer and turned a questioning eye on the two men. “Charles Whitfield accosted her,” Mr. Merth answered.
Hannish narrowed his eyes. “Accosted her how?”
Mr. Goodwin looked as angry as McKenna did. “He blocked her way and would not let her leave the store.”
“Did he touch her?” Hannish asked.
Mr. Merth nodded, “He had ahold of her arm.”
“Brother, I am quite all right. Let it pass,” McKenna pleaded.
Hannish ignored her. “Where is he?”
Mr. Goodwin answered, “Where he always is; in the hotel lounge with his friends, pestering Margaret Ann.”
“Wait here, McKenna,” said Hannish. “Shepard, stay with her.”
“Yes, Mr. MacGreagor.” Shepard tied the reins and climbed down to stand by the door of the carriage.
“Where are you going?” McKenna asked, leaning her head out of the carriage window. It was too late. All she could do was watch her brother walk down the middle of Main Street, climb the steps, and disappear under the archway entrance of the Antlers Hotel. Not wanting to miss watching Charles get what he deserved, Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Merth hurried after him.
*
Charles Whitfield never saw it coming. A doubled up fist hit him square in the eye and sent him flying across the room. Men sitting at a table managed to get out of the way just in time, before his hurled body knocked over the table, two chairs, and a bottle of whiskey.
Hannish MacGreagor’s glare was fierce when he pulled Charles to his feet, and the look in his eyes left no doubt that he was willing to make good on his next threat, “You come near my sister again and I will shoot you!” This time, he gave into his urge, shoved hard and tossed Charles backwards over a second table. On his way out, he nodded to the bartender, “Send the bill to me.”
“Yes, Mr. MacGreagor.”
With that, Hannish stomped out of the hotel.
Behind him, a thoroughly embarrassed Charles sat up and put a hand over his swelling eye. “He will regret this day. I swear he will.” He failed to notice the grins on the faces of Mr. Merth, Mr. Goodwin, and Margaret Ann.
*
They were halfway home before either of them spoke. “Did you get what you wanted from the store?” Hannish asked after he had calmed down. “We can go back...”
“I managed to buy enough for now. Did you kill him?”
“Nay, he will live to accost someone else’s sister.”
“I am relieved. What do we tell Claymore and Abigail? He will surely complain to them this time.”
“He’ll not need to complain, the whole town will hear soon and someone will tell them. Do you suppose they do not know what sort their son is?”
McKenna signed. “Most mothers think their sons can do no wrong. My mother did.”
At last, he smiled. “True, but if we ever behaved that deplorably, she would have made certain we suffered for it.”
“Right after Father punished you, you mean.” She smiled at the thought for a moment. “Perhaps the Whitfields are aware, and know not what to do about Charles.”
“Perhaps.”
“Have you broken your hand?”
“Not quite.” He looked at it, discovered his knuckles were red, and folded his arms. “I meant for you to meet Mr. Merth and Mr. Goodwin under happier circumstances. I know them well and have often been invited to dine in their homes. I intend to pay their kindness back once Olivia is settled.”
McKenna raised a suspicious eyebrow. “And whom, might I ask, is Margaret Ann?”
“Ah, now that is another story. You need not worry about her, she hits harder than I do.”
*
An upset Claymore did not come to protest his son’s black eye and Hannish had grown weary of expecting it, and of waiting for telegrams. The only letters that came were bills Olivia was running up in New York City. He was even more tired of trying not to think about his suspicions. After morning tea, he checked the soreness in his hand, left his desk, walked out of his study and shouted, “Alistair!” His shout loudly echoed through the sparsely furnished mansion.
“What...what has happened?” a startled Alistair answered, hurrying around the corner into the parlor.
Hannish put a comforting hand on his butler’s shoulder. “Forgive me, I dinna mean to alarm you. I wish to ride to Colorado City today. You have heard of the place, have you not?”
“I have.”
“Care to go with me?”
Alistair’s eyes instantly lit up. “I do indeed.”
“Good, Prescot can manage.”
“Sir, he is a good lad, that one, who treats me kindly. Might we take him with us? Keith can manage.”
“Of course we can. Find Prescot and change your clothes while I send for the horses.”
*
It wasn’t long before McKenna spotted all three men through the upstairs sitting room window. She watched them mount their horses and could not keep from giggling. Alistair wore a short, round hat that looked too small for his head, knickerbockers with leggings from his ankles to his knees, and a loose fitting white shirt. Hannish and Prescot were a bit less casually attired, wearing ordinary long pants, shirts, and vests. Nevertheless, the three normally proud gentlemen looked quite out of place.