Chapter Seven

“You summoned us here?” Juliana asked as she and Lorelei joined Emily in her bedchamber late that afternoon.

“I do not know why you insist on staying in here.” Lorelei sank down on the bed. “It’s drafty and those twisty stairs aren’t safe. Why do you not pick a room near us?”

Emily shook her head. “I like having this part of the castle to myself. Its creaks and groans at night let me imagine the ghosts of old lairds are walking about.”

Lorelei shuddered. “Do not even jest about things like that.”

Juliana rolled her eyes. “Stop being superstitious.”

“I heard all old castles are supposed to be haunted,” Lorelei retorted. “Another reason I am glad we are in the newer part.”

Emily smiled at her. “You do not think a spirit could wander there?” The remark brought a look of consternation to her sister’s face. “Never mind. I am sure Fiona would have said something if Strae Castle has a resident ghost.”

Lorelei’s eyes rounded. “She has. Said something, that is.”

“About a ghost?” Juliana laughed. “Let me guess. Somebody was murdered—actually, a lot of somebodies, considering this place was used for battle—and some old warrior cannot rest.”

“No. Fiona told me it was a woman who was murdered.” Lorelei gave her sister a reproachful look. “Her stepmother.”

“What?” That Ian had a stepmother was news to Emily, but then it wouldn’t have been in any financial reports sent and she was hardly on personal terms with Ian or his family.

Lorelei nodded and sat up straighter now that she had their attention. Emily suspected she was about to launch theatrically into a lengthy telling of the story and that wasn’t why she’d asked them to come up here. “Just tell us what Fiona said. No embellishment please.”

Lorelei frowned. “Fiona said her own mother caught a fever shortly after she was born and that her father was miserable—at least that is what he told his children—and that—”

“Please,” Juliana said. “Fiona’s version?”

“I am getting to it. Fiona was four when her father remarried. She remembers that the lady was blond and English—”

“English?” Emily asked in surprise.

“Yes. Her name was Isobel. She was the daughter of a dragoon officer. It is all rather romantic,” Lorelei said with a sigh. “They eloped to Gretna Green because her father did not want her marrying a Scot, especially a MacGregor, since they were—”

“How was she murdered?” Juliana interrupted.

Lorelei stuck out her bottom lip. “You are ruining my story.”

“One that we really do not have time for right now,” Emily said gently. “I have matters to discuss with you, so just tell us what happened.”

“Oh, all right. She was murdered in her bed.” Lorelei paused for effect. “Stabbed. Blood everywhere.”

In spite of trying not to look interested, Juliana finally gave in to the silence following that remark. “Who did it?”

Her sister gave her a triumphant look. “Nobody knows.”

“Was Ian’s—Fiona’s—father not here?”

Lorelei shook her head. “He had gone to Dalmally and did not return until the next morning. He is the one who found her.”

“There were no suspects?”

“Oh, yes. There were lots of suspects.” Lorelei started warming to her subject again. “Isobel was much younger than her husband and very pretty. And very friendly. Fiona remembers whenever her father was away, gentlemen would call—”

“I think that is enough,” Emily cut in. “We do not need to gossip about the dead.”

“But—”

“No more.”

“So how does it end?” Juliana asked. “Does Isobel wander the halls crying or something?”

“No. It is Fiona’s father that is said to wander, searching for whoever murdered his bride.” Lorelei glanced from one sister to the other. “He opens and closes doors. Sometimes the door to her bedchamber is left open.”

Emily pursed her lips. “Are you going to tell me that I am sleeping in the murdered lady’s bedchamber?”

“No,” Lorelei answered. “It is the one next door.”

Emily released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. How silly to get absorbed in such a tale! “Well, that is a relief then,” she said briskly. “And now I would like to tell you about the uncles I met today, since they will be arriving at the castle later and Mr. MacGregor has invited us all to dine in a smaller room.” She looked at both her sisters. “I want each of you to be on your best behavior.”

“Did they act like eejits, too?” Juliana asked.

“Eejits?” Emily replied. “Are you taking to the Scots language?”

Her sister shrugged. “I like the way the word sounds.”

“So were they?” Lorelei added. “Eejits?”

“No, and we do not need to refer to Ian—Mr. MacGregor’s—brothers in that way.” Emily went on. “Donovan Murray is older and rather aloof. The younger one, Broderick, was reserved, although he did answer questions I had about the distilling process.”

“Were they friendly, though?” Lorelei asked.

“Well…”

“That means no,” Juliana said. “Are they like that annoying Rory?”

“Or worse, Devon?”

“Neither. Just…quiet.” Emily couldn’t quite explain the unsettled feeling she’d had, and she didn’t want to alarm her sisters. “Our arrival has been a shock. They will all need time to accept us.”

“Which is why you want us to behave properly,” Lorelei said.

“Yes.” She looked askance at Juliana who grudgingly nodded and gave them both a smile.

She hoped she was right. All they needed was time.

…

Ian rose from his chair as Emily and her sisters entered the smaller dining room that evening. He’d purposely invited them to arrive a few minutes earlier than his brothers and uncles so they would already be seated. He knew he could count on Carr and Alasdair to act like gentlemen and rise—and even Rory, for all his blustering, but Devon was another story. He’d been sullen when told they would all be eating dinner together. The last thing his uncles needed to see was one of his brothers being deliberately disrespectful.

“You have a round table in here,” Emily said, looking surprised.

Lorelei giggled. “Just like King Arthur’s.”

Juliana started to mutter something under her breath but stopped after a sharp look from Emily. Ian suspected it was a remark about no gallant knights being present. Before he could respond to Lorelei, his brothers and uncles entered the room. With small nods of acknowledgment, save for Devon, they took their places.

“Ye are nae far from the truth about the intent of the table,” Ian told Lorelei when all were seated. “This is actually our council room used, in better days, for the lairds of neighboring clans to meet twice a year.”

“Would you have a banquet and a ball?” she asked.

“A banquet. ’Twas a time for each laird—Campbell, Cameron, Buchanan, Graham, Murray, Grant—to air grievances and settle accounts, instead of declaring war on one another.”

“That sounds like a smart thing to do,” Emily said.

“Aye. Some of the clans may be rivals, and feuds do endure, but we had a greater common enemy to face.”

Juliana raised a brow. “Us?”

Rory snorted, but Ian ignored him. “The English soldiers. There’s nae a Scottish lad who doesna ken what King William did at Glencoe in 1692.”

“That was a long time ago.” Emily frowned. “Did the Campbells not direct the slaughter of the MacDonalds?”

Ian blinked. That Emily knew anything about Scottish history was interesting. Most Sassenachs didn’t bother.

“’Tis true Archibald Campbell was nae happy King James would nae restore his father’s lands, so he turned his support to King William and Queen Mary. As colonel to Argyll’s Foot Regiment, he sent the order William had signed.”

Emily glanced around at the men. “Forgive me if I stir bad memories, but were the Campbells not responsible for the MacGregors’ original plight as well?”

Again, Ian was taken by the fact that the dowager Countess of Woodhaven had obviously done some research. Looking at his brothers, he saw looks of astonishment—in varying degrees—on their faces, although Devon scowled. His uncles were studying Emily as though she were some sort of new species.

“I suppose ye could say that. Queen Mary gave John Campbell of Glenorchy the authority to pursue MacGregors with fire and sword—”

“And your clan had done nothing to deserve this?” Juliana asked.

“We didna.” Devon glared at her. “Robert the Bruce shouldna have given MacGregor lands to Campbells.”

“But if it was done legally—”

“Ye are in the Highlands, lass,” Rory said. “The lands we lost had been ours for centuries.”

“And England was once under Roman rule,” Juliana retorted. “Thank goodness we do not speak Latin!”

Rory leaned back and crossed his arms. “’Twould be better for me if ye did, so I would nae understand it.”

Juliana narrowed her eyes. “Are you telling me to be quiet?”

“I think that would be an excellent idea.” Emily gave her sister a warning look. “We are guests here.”

“Guests?” Juliana gave her sister an irritated look. “Everyone at this table knows that you hold the deed to this property. Why not just be honest about it?”

The remark was met with total silence…the kind of silence that preceded a battle charge. Before a verbal attack could ensue, servants came to the rescue, albeit unknowingly, by bringing in platters of food. Fiona followed them in.

Ian hoped no one would start throwing the victuals, for there certainly wasn’t peace at this round table.

…

Emily could have throttled her sister. And she might try if they survived the frigid blast of coldness that suddenly surrounded them. Every man sat motionless, as though they were ice carvings.

Fiona looked around as she took her seat. “What is going on?” When no one answered, she gave each of her brothers a thoughtful look, but waited for the servants to leave. “What did I miss?”

“We’ve just been put in our place by the very privileged Lady Caldwell,” Rory said.

“Which one—”

“Need ye ask?” Rory reached for his ale. “The one with the viper tongue.”

Juliana narrowed her eyes. “Now you are calling me a snake?”

“Enough.” Ian spoke the same time as Emily did, his baritone harmonizing with her alto to blend into one sound. She gave herself an inward shake. This was not the time to be thinking of making music.

“I know that our arriving as we did has been dismaying,” Emily said. “I apologize for my sister—”

“You do not have to apologize for me,” Juliana interrupted. For a moment, Emily was afraid she was going to launch another tirade, but instead, she took a deep breath. “I spoke hastily when I should not have.”

Rory raised a brow. “Is that an apology, lass?”

“It is enough of one.” Ian looked expectantly at his brother. “Do ye think another might be in order?”

Rory held his gaze, then finally turned toward Juliana. “I should nae have compared ye to a snake.”

“And is that an—”

“Yes, it is, Juliana,” Emily finished for her. “And I really think we are not doing justice to the food if we let it get cold.”

“I agree,” Ian said. “We can discuss what measures will be taken regarding the deed tomorrow.”

Carr nodded. “’Tis nae like the ladies are going anywhere.”

Emily noticed Donovan and Broderick exchange a look. Hoping to mollify them and offer words of encouragement, she spoke. “I saw so many possibilities this afternoon at the distillery. I am quite sure, with your help, we can turn a very nice profit.”

“We shall see,” Donovan said.

“’Tis a lot ye doona ken about the process, though,” Broderick added.

“Sassenachs.” Devon stabbed a piece of meat. “Bloody English—”

“Gabh air do shocair!” Ian glared at his brother.

“Aye, do shut your gab,” Alasdair said. “Nae need to be insulting the ladies.” He smiled at Lorelei. “’Tis nae the lasses’ fault we are in this predicament.”

Devon glowered at him and stabbed another piece of meat.

Lorelei smiled back at Alasdair. “I do appreciate a gentleman with manners.”

His smile widened. “Some of us do have them.”

Emily sighed inwardly. As much as she wanted to find a way to establish an agreeable settlement to the issue of the deed, she didn’t need Lorelei to practice her charms on one of the MacGregors. This was not London where flirtation was a fine art and every male understood the rules. She would need to talk with both of her sisters.

But not tonight. It had been a tiring day. She couldn’t really tell if she’d made headway with the uncles. They both remained stoic, giving nothing away. Of course, she hadn’t expected to be welcomed with open arms, but still…

At least she’d won a small battle with her choice of horse. On the way back to the castle, Ian had grudgingly admitted she’d handled the filly well. And she—although she didn’t voice it—had noticed just how well he sat his own stallion, strong muscular thighs guiding the animal. And his hands had been light on the reins. She wouldn’t have expected such a gentle touch… Emily blinked and refocused. Good lord! Why was she thinking about Ian’s hands? Or how his touch would feel? She must be more exhausted than she thought because, for her own sanity, she needed to curb any personal reactions to him.

Thankfully, the meal was short, since all the courses were brought in at once. She made her excuses to retire. It didn’t take her long to perform her ablutions in her bedchamber and don a serviceable, warm night rail. Banking the fire, she turned back the thick wool blanket and sank gratefully into the feather mattress that she’d brought with her. Closing her eyes, she burrowed into the pillow. Tomorrow, she would start assuming duties. But for tonight…umm, sleep…

Some hours later, Emily bolted upright in bed, aware that her heart was pounding and her breathing was shallow. She looked around the room quickly, the embers from the fire casting long shadows, but all was still.

She shook her head to clear it. She’d been dreaming of a man standing by her bed, watching her. She hadn’t been able to see his face in the near darkness, and he said nothing. Then, there’d been a small movement of his hand and she’d glimpsed the steel of a blade…

This was ridiculous. There was no one here. To reassure herself, she slid her legs over the side of the bed and padded to the door to look into the hall. Nothing stirred. She closed the door and slid the bolt, feeling rather foolish at taking such a precaution.

Fatigue is affecting me, she thought as she returned to bed. That, and Lorelei’s story about how Fiona’s stepmother had died. Her weary mind had entangled bits and pieces, causing her to have a nightmare.

There had not been anyone in the room.