The clansmen, who had no special love for the stranger in their midst, dumped Duncan unceremoniously onto the barn’s dirt floor, which immediately enveloped him in a stinking cloud of dust.
“Fuck you,” Duncan called matter-of-factly to the retreating figures. He lifted himself to his elbows and picked detritus from his mouth.
“Och,” one clansman said. “Did you hear that? I think the poor fellow said he’s in need of a pillow.”
A shovelful of warm cow dung landed next to Duncan.
The men laughed.
Duncan let out several long oaths, the last consigning Abby to a particularly warm place in Hell for leaders who abuse their power. She’d been the commander of men so long the line between leadership and manipulation had begun to blur. From the moment he’d landed in this godforsaken time, his vanity had taken a bruising. But to find out his most useful characteristic as a strong arm was the dependability of his ineffectiveness had been devastating.
He dragged himself to a sitting position, and a rag plopped beside him. He turned to find Jock standing behind him.
“’Twas a novice’s error, laddie,” the man said, gesturing toward the main castle hall.
“Ha!” Duncan wiped his face. “I’m hardly a novice. Rosston’s lucky he can still walk.”
“I didn’t mean your fighting, ye clod-heid.”
An image of a barely dressed Abby tenderly daubing Rosston’s wounds sprung to life in his head. “Oh. Right.” Duncan sighed. “I suppose that willna go down in history as the smartest move I’ve ever made.”
Jock slipped a slim glass bottle from his coat. He uncorked it and handed it to Duncan. Duncan drank freely. Now there was a taste he could live with. He wiped his mouth and returned the bottle. “Thank you.”
“You’ve taken a fancy to the chieftess?” Jock took a long draft himself.
Duncan schooled his features. He had no wish to expose the tenuous connection he and Abby shared. Scrutiny would certainly destroy it, and, worse, it would put Abby in a deeply embarrassing position. But a bullheaded crush on her would be understandable in any man between fifteen and fifty, and it would certainly explain his scrum with Rosston.
“Mm,” Duncan said obscurely.
“You wouldna be the first man to have fallen in love with her,” Jock said, “though you may be the first to press his suit with such, er…”
“Stupidity?”
“Unqualified abandon. Though there is some advantage to defying expectations, ye ken.”
Duncan climbed to his feet and dusted himself off. “From the sound of it, I’m guessing you’d recommend I give up?”
Jock gave him a sad, avuncular smile. “I am an accountant, after all. Our hearts might wish one thing, but I am unable to ignore the balance sheet. And to be fair, if the lady marries, it will have to be for money. She runs a rather large concern, as you have undoubtedly noticed. My own thoughts…” He stopped, eyeing Duncan carefully. “Well, ’tis not for me to say.”
“No, please. Say it.”
Jock lowered his voice. “Between you and me, I have encouraged her not to accept Rosston.”
Duncan brightened. “You are a romantic.”
The man laughed. “I wish it were so, lad, but, nae, I have seen what uneasy marital partnerships can do to an organization. The increase in assets may not be worth the loss of goodwill among the stockholders.”
“You’re saying the clansmen don’t like Rosston?”
“Most do. But there are enough who don’t to make the decision a risky one.”
“Her father likes him. And, by the way, I was shocked to find out he’s still alive.”
“If you call that living,” Jock said. “Aye, the chieftess has her challenges.”
“She is quite good at managing them, though, isn’t she? I mean for such a young woman. She is quite determined to be everything a male chief would be. She even handles a sword like one.” He closed his eyes and remembered the lesson. He’d liked that almost as much as what had followed. A lesson where one learned better without one’s clothes? That’s the sort of studying he liked to do. Then it struck him and his eyes flew open. “Jock, who taught her to use a sword? Her mother?”
Jock laughed. “Hardly. I believe it was Rosston. They were thick as thieves when they were young.”
Duncan gritted his teeth. That was exactly the sort of thing he could imagine Rosston doing.
Jock must have seen his face, for he shook his head. “Laddie, you’re not much of a match for a wealthy clan chief. I advise ye to give it up.” He extended his hand and Duncan took it.
Jock was probably right, and while Duncan had no intention of following the advice, there was no harm in letting the steward think he had.
“Well, I suppose there are other women in this place, aye?” Duncan said with a sheepish grin. “There’s that maid of Abby’s, and the new nurse, Molly—do you know her? Those eyes are quite fetching.”
Jock hesitated. “The maid is Nora, but I’d stay away from the nurse. She is a favorite of Lachlan’s.”
There was something in the turn of the word that made Duncan look up. “You canna be suggesting…?”
Jock made an embarrassed shrug.
“The man’s half out of his senses,” Duncan said, appalled.
“But half in—and used to living like a lord.”
“Good God! Do you think he can…? I mean, he is quite old.”
“The vanity of youth.” Jock chuckled. “I had a great uncle who spent every birthday with one of the beauties at the whorehouse in Langholm. On his sixtieth birthday, he treated himself to all six at once.”
Duncan lifted the bottle, trying hard to unsee that picture. “All right, but what is her motivation?” He hoped it was money—a lot of it.
“I think I know—and if I’m right, I fear ’tis none too good for our chieftess.”
Other than accidentally walking in on such a scene, Duncan couldn’t imagine how a dalliance conducted by Abby’s father could affect Abby.
“Molly’s motivation is power—at least by association. Lachlan wants a son to lead his clan.”
Duncan’s jaw didn’t just drop. It nearly unhinged itself and took a turn about the barn. “But Abby’s already assumed the chiefship. She is chief.”
“At the birth of a younger brother, she would revert instantly to second in line.”
Duncan turned over the scenario in his head. “But she’d at least be regent to her wee brother, would she not? Until he could serve on his own?”
“I doubt it. Lachlan would convince them to appoint a man.”
Rosston. “But Lachlan wasn’t able to sway the clansmen when he wanted Abby removed from consideration the first time. The clansmen like her, I think. It’s grudging, perhaps, but it’s there.”
“That was different,” Jock said. “Their only other choice was someone outside the family. A son fathered by Lachlan would be a different matter—very different.”
The tenure of a clan chief seemed more fraught with peril than that of a Wall Street CEO. “Of course, if the clan has no assets and, therefore, no future, all that strategic copulation would be for naught.”
Jock laughed. “I guess we’ll have to hope for both their sakes that copulation is its own reward.” He tucked the bottle back in his coat. “There are some blankets in the eaves if ye get cold tonight.”
Duncan said, “I don’t suppose I’ll be let back in the castle.”
“Not tonight. Perhaps with a night to sleep on it, Lady Kerr will soften.”
Despite his predicament, Duncan hoped nothing transpired in Lady Kerr’s bedroom that would leave her seeing the world in a different way come morning. He glanced at the towering eaves and decided his plaid would be blanket enough.
The steward made his way toward the barn door.
“Hang on,” Duncan said. “Have you seen Undine? I was hoping to talk to her.”
“Gone till the morrow,” Jock said, brows knitting. “’Tis no swipe at you, lad, when I say you may need to aim for a woman a bit less challenging—a tavern wench, a milkmaid. Nora is a good start. You never know, she may have been looking all her life for a devil-brindled lad with a head as hard as rock.”