Chapter Fifteen

“Thank you for granting my request,” Emily told Ian as they prepared to enter the Great Hall to break their fast the next morning. She’d taken a tray in her room last evening, but only as a compromise.

“I still doona think this is a good idea,” he grumbled.

Fiona gave him a poke with her elbow. “I thought ye said we needed to provide a united front.”

He moved out of range. “I ken that.” Turning to Emily, he exaggerated a bow, then offered his arm. “Allow me to escort ye, my lady.”

Behind them, Lorelei giggled. Emily could only imagine Juliana rolling her eyes at such a grand gesture. She gave both sisters a warning look over her shoulder, then smiled at Ian. “There really is no need to be so formal.”

“Aye, there is,” Fiona whispered. “Remember… It shows the clan ye are under their laird’s protection.”

In England, she’d legally been under her husband’s “protection,” too, although that really meant she was chattel…the personal property of an earl. No one had asked questions when that property had a bruise. Fiona had explained, though, that in Scotland “protection” meant something else entirely. A laird—even though the Crown had outlawed the term, Scots were defiant—didn’t inherit his title because of bloodline. He was chosen to lead his clan by his people. As their leader, he had a responsibility to protect and keep each of them safe. His word was also law, at least to his clan. A show of his support would go a long way to deter whomever—if there was someone—had tried to injure her.

“Well?” Ian tilted his head in question and she realized she’d been woolgathering again. She tucked her hand into his proffered arm, rather than laying her fingers on top as would have been proper. If this was going to be a show of solidarity, then she’d make sure everyone who watched them realized it.

Besides, she rather liked the feel of his solid muscle beneath her hand. That should shock her, but somehow it didn’t.

Conversation halted as they entered the hall, then soft murmuring began as they proceeded toward the dais where Ian’s brothers and uncles were already seated. The first thing she noticed when they got closer was that the smaller table where she and her sisters usually sat had been removed. She gave Ian a questioning look.

“Ye will sit beside me tonight.”

She widened her eyes. “Beside you?”

“Aye. ’Tis time.”

She had hoped he would finally seat her on the dais on one of the ends, but she hadn’t expected the place of honor beside him. His brothers, ranked by age, always sat to his right and his uncles to his left. She glanced at the high table. Were they willing to finally accept her? Carr’s and Alasdair’s expressions were neutral, Rory was staring pointedly, although she realized he was looking past her, probably at Juliana, and wondered what her sister had possibly done to irritate him this time. Devon looked sulky, but that wasn’t unusual. She slipped her gaze to the uncles, but they were conversing and not paying attention to them. His ward Glenda was at her usual place below the dais, watching with the same wooden expression she usually wore.

The crowd went silent once more as Ian pulled the chair out beside him and seated her. For a brief moment, she almost wished he’d let her sit with her sisters and Fiona near the end of the table. Having nearly one hundred pairs of eyes trained on her was disconcerting, especially when one or more of those sets might truly resent her. She folded her hands in her lap and gave Ian an anxious, sideways glance.

“Are you sure this is a good idea? Perhaps I should sit—”

“Exactly where ye are.” His hand slipped under the table and on top of hers. He gave it a gentle squeeze. The gesture was probably meant to be reassuring, but she was instantly aware of how close his fingers were to the very intimate part of her. An odd, thrumming sensation began at that juncture, and the room suddenly felt very warm. Almost as if he read her thoughts—Dear Lord! She hoped not!—he released her hand quickly. His eyes darkened for a brief moment.

He started to speak but was interrupted as a clansman burst through the door at the far end and ran down the length of the room toward the dais, out of breath when he got there.

“Dragoons!” he managed to wheeze, although as deadly quiet as the room had gotten, the word carried. “They are coming!”

…

“What the bloody hell are the damn dragoons doing on our land?” An hour later, Devon paced back and forth in front of the library’s hearth—at a rate that was making everyone slightly dizzy.

None of the brothers had asked him to stop, and Emily realized movement was probably the way he let out his anger. She remembered that dragoons had captured Devon years before and made a mental note to ask Ian about that later.

“We canna be sure they are coming for us,” Carr said. “Our kinsman said they were marching south from Fort William.”

“And that message was relayed several times,” Alasdair said. “Ye ken how easy it is for one of the riders to put his opinion on it.”

Emily knew well how gossip could start and grow into devastating rumors that had only an element of truth in them. The MacGregors—as well as most of the other clans, from what she’d been told—used a system of relay riders that they kept posted at strategic locations. Fiona had said originally it was to spy on the other clans, but after Culloden, Scots wanted to keep an eye on whatever the English were doing at Forts William, Augustus, and George, since those were the three that controlled Scotland.

“’Tis possible they are replacements for ones on patrol,” Ian said.

Devon snorted. “The last company was replaced just this summer. I tell ye, they are coming for MacGregor lands!”

“Legally, there are no MacGregor lands,” Carr reminded him. “Our kinsmen who hold lands have different surnames—approved by the king—so the Crown canna just take them.”

“Nae?” Devon stopped pacing. “Our grandfather was given ‘approval’ by the damn king to live on our own lands because we dinna fight at Prestonpans…” He leveled a look at Emily. “…and yet she comes here with the deed to our property—”

“This is nae her fault,” Ian said sharply.

Devon glowered at him. “Damn King George went back on his word.”

Carr sighed. “’Twas his grandfather who granted our grandfather the right—”

“What difference does that make?”

Rory nodded. “Devon is right. It shouldna make a difference.”

Juliana narrowed her eyes and Emily shook her head subtly, hoping her sister would understand and not blurt out something that was going to make this situation even worse. Thankfully, Lorelei noticed and gave her sister a poke.

“If the dragoons carry orders from the Crown, taking away our rights, I will fight it.” Devon looked at each of his brothers. “Even if it means killing.”

“Think, brother,” Carr said “That would mean an end to our hopes of restoring our name when Parliament meets next month.”

“And we doona ken why they are marching,” Alasdair added. “It may have nothing to do with us.”

“Why else would the dragoons be coming?” Devon demanded.

Emily took a deep breath. “I understand how you feel—”

“Do ye?” Devon asked. “Ye are English, a—”

“Enough,” Ian warned.

Devon clenched his fists as he stared at his brother, his anger nearly palpable. Ian stared back. She saw his brothers start to tense, and even his uncles straightened. She hoped the argument wouldn’t lead to a full-out brawl. Evidently, Fiona sensed the tension, too, because she rose swiftly from her chair near the hearth and placed a hand on Devon’s arm.

“The past is over. We must wait and see what they want this time.”

He frowned but didn’t jerk away.

“Fiona is right, Devon,” Carr said. “Ye ken it, too.”

He hesitated, then unclenched his fists. “’Tis hard to—”

“We ken,” Alasdair said, “we ken.”

Emily really needed to find out what had happened to Devon. As horrid as it might have been, she wanted to understand Ian’s brother. Maybe she could offer a bit of reassurance right now.

“I would like to finish what I started to say.”

“I am nae sure that is a good idea, right now,” Ian said.

Donovan shrugged. “We might as well hear what the countess has to say.”

“She has plans for the distillery,” Broderick added. “Mayhap she has a plan to waylay the dragoons, too.”

Emily wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, since his expression was neutral, but it almost always was. She decided to continue.

“First, I want to reassure you, as I did when I first arrived, that I have no intention of asking any of you to leave. I may hold the deed, but I want us to work together.” She repressed a sigh when all she got was wary looks. “And, while I do not have a reason regarding the dragoons, I find it illogical to think that King George would be sending them to take away property that—as you pointed out—either belongs to your kinsmen who took other surnames or to me. For once, my being English might be a benefit to you.”

She looked around, making a point to smile at Devon, who didn’t return the gesture. Instead, he drew his brows together. “Ye will never understand. MacGregors have been hunted by the English Crown for no greater sin than bearing our name for more than two centuries. We are nae animals, even if ye Sassenachs think so!”

“I do not think…” She sighed, not finishing the sentence, for Devon had stormed out the door.

…

Ian caught up with Emily, her sisters, and Fiona as they left the library and headed for the solar. “Might I have a word with ye, Lady Woodhaven?”

“Of course.” She turned to the others. “I will be along shortly.” As they continued on, she turned to Ian. “Why the formal address? Everyone else goes by their Christian names.”

“I was nae sure ye would take kindly to that after Devon’s behavior. I apologize for my brother.”

She tilted her head. “Perhaps we could stroll in the garden?”

He gave her a wary look. Nothing was blooming in the garden this late in the season except a few wild clumps of heather. The day was overcast and damp, so she was certainly not seeking the warmth of the sun. However, the garden was both a place where they could publicly be seen and yet have privacy from servants. Which meant that Emily wanted to talk… An event that most men looked forward to with as much enthusiasm as having a tooth pulled. Still. He owed her that much for not creating a scene in the library where a fracas had nearly broken out after Devon’s hasty departure.

He turned toward a hallway that led to a rear entrance. “This way.”

She followed him silently until they neared a folly in the middle of the garden. It wasn’t especially extravagant or fanciful, simply a small rounded structure with five steps that led to an open-arched entrance. The whole thing was no more than a story high and made of sandstone that had been brought from the Borders. On a sunny day, the little building had a golden glow.

Ian mounted the steps and gestured to a cushioned oak bench inside. Square windows placed at seated eye level every few feet gave a circular view of the garden.

“This is lovely,” Emily said as she sat down. “I have wanted to come here, but it seemed like a special place to which one needed to be invited.”

“In a way, it is.” Ian sat beside her, leaving a proper space between them, since he doubted she’d planned a tryst. His ever-lusty groin tightened at the idea and he pushed the randy thought aside. “My father built it for my mother. She liked to come here for peace and quiet when the daily clan troubles boiled over.”

Emily gave him a sideways glance. “Like today?”

He nodded. “I apologize again.”

“Thank you, but there is no need. It is just going to take longer than I expected for your family to accept the circumstances…to accept me.” She paused. “Well, except for Devon.” She turned to Ian. “I know he was captured by dragoons and that must certainly have been horrible, but what else can you tell me about him? He seems so angry.”

Ian sighed. “Devon is three years younger than me, yet older than the others. Even as bairns, he seemed to feel things more deeply than the rest of us.”

“Then he must have taken your mother’s death hard?”

“Aye. He was a lad of ten. ’Twas the last time I saw him cry. And,” he added, “the first time he ran away.”

“Did someone go after him?”

Ian shook his head. “Da was too devastated to even notice he was gone, I think. And, with the others too young to leave alone, I didna follow him, either.”

“I understand,” Emily said. “When my parents were killed, my sisters had only me to take care of them.”

“And how old were ye?”

“Nine and ten…Juliana was three and ten and Lorelei only eleven.”

He hesitated a moment. “’Twas the reason ye married?”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “My father was certain one of his inventions would result in great fortune. Sadly, none of them did, so there was little money for a dowry.” Emily looked down at her folded hands. “The earl agreed to take in my sisters if I married him.”

Something that felt very akin to a knife blade sliced through Ian. He had thought—at least when she’d arrived—that she’d married the elderly Woodhaven for his money. In a sense, she had, but for the right reason. As laird, he understood the responsibility of taking care of not only his family, but also his clan. He reached over to tip her chin up with his fingers.

“Did he treat ye well?” The question was no more out his mouth when he saw a flash of pain in her eyes and knew the damn earl had not. But the look vanished almost instantly.

“I had no expectations,” she said. “It was…a convenient marriage.”

The invisible knife twisted in his gut once more. What she’d left unspoken was clearer to him than the words he’d heard. He had a thousand questions he wanted to ask, but no right to. Still, he couldn’t resist asking one.

“Did ye come up here to escape…memories? Mayhap some that were nae so good?”

She made a little scoffing sound. “I suppose one could say that.” For a moment, she gazed out to the garden, then she turned to him. “You might as well know the truth. My sisters and I are here because we have no place else to go.”

Ian started. “What about the earl’s country estate? And the London townhouse?”

“His cousin claimed the estate and it did not have a dowager house.” She shrugged. “I sold the townhouse to pay off creditors.”

Lucifer’s horns! This was worse than he’d expected and it also made clear why she was so desperate to live at Strae Castle. She had to.

She gave him a wry smile. “So you see, that is why you are stuck with me.”

Being stuck with her didn’t seem so terrible, although he was well aware his clan expected him to fight when the time came and their name and lands were cleared. Rage built at the earl who’d squandered his money and left no provisions for his wife, and along with the anger, a desire to protect her surged through him.

He leaned forward, cradled her head, and brushed his lips over hers. “This will be yer home then, lass—”

“God Almighty! I kenned the Sassenach would get to ye!” Devon stood in the archway, staring at both of them. “I kenned it!”

Before Ian could react, Devon turned and stomped off. Ian started to go after him, but Emily held him back. “He needs time.”

“He is a grown man, not a bairn.”

“That may be…” She hesitated, then smiled. “But I would rather continue where we left off. If you do not mind.”

He blinked, not sure he’d heard correctly. If he did not mind? Mind? All his mind could think of was kissing her.

With a groan, he pulled her close and covered her mouth with his.