Chapter Seventeen

When Ian woke the next morning, sunlight was streaming in his window. He must have finally fallen asleep. He’d tossed and turned most of the night, partly because neither Rory nor Fiona had returned home with Devon, and his other reason—and he wasn’t sure if this was the real reason he hadn’t been able to sleep—was Emily.

The kiss they’d shared in the folly had given him an inkling of how passionate she could be under the missish guise she wore, and his wayward cock was only too eager to explore those possibilities. But also, after hearing her plight, he realized how similar their backgrounds were. She’d lost her parents five years ago and had to take care of her younger sisters, like he did with his brothers when his father had been killed. She’d done the practical thing, sacrificing herself to an old man, who sounded as if he’d not cared one wit for her, in order to provide a home for Juliana and Lorelei. He could understand why Strae Castle was as important to her as it was to the MacGregors, not that his clansmen would understand. Scots were still pitted against the English.

And now, Emily wanted to make Devon her friend. Ian wasn’t sure that was even possible.

He threw off the covers, dressed quickly, and made his way to the small dining room, expecting to find it empty this late in the morning. To his surprise, Fiona was at the table with Emily and her sisters, breaking her fast. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Ye are back! Did Rory and Devon return as well?”

“Nae,” she replied.

He frowned. “Did Rory nae catch up to ye? And ye dinna find Devon, either?”

“Aye to both your questions.” She buttered a piece of toast. “Rory found me and we both found Devon.”

“Where are they then?”

She started to take a bite, then put the bread down. “They are following the dragoons.”

“What?” Ian resisted an urge to pull at his own hair. Emily sent him a worried look and he sensed she was thinking about what would happen if they got caught. He was thinking the same thing. “Are they both daft?”

“Aye, probably.” Fiona scooped up some shirred eggs, apparently not concerned that her brothers might be in grave danger.

“Will ye stop eating for a minute and tell me the story?”

“I’m hungry. I have nae eaten since yesterday morning.” Fiona eyed the eggs on her plate, then reluctantly put her fork down. “Devon wanted to find out what the dragoons were up to, so we hid in the trees and waited—”

“Ye are all daft!”

“If ye are going to interrupt, I will finish my food.”

Ian sighed. “Go on then.”

“’Twas nae long before we heard them marching along the road.” She turned to Emily. “There were only twenty of them and the eejits dinna even look right or left. If we’d had more men with us—”

“Doona speculate. Just finish telling me what happened.” Ian tried not to let his annoyance show.

Fiona glowered at him and cut a piece of ham, which she thoroughly chewed, no doubt chastising him by making him wait. Irritating as it was, he was pretty sure his brothers were safe or she’d not be drawing this out. He forced a smile.

She swallowed. “As it happens, the dragoons marched right on past us and stayed on the road to Inveraray.”

That surprised him. “They are headed to the Campbells?”

“’Twould seem so. They dinna turn and head this way, at least.” She picked up her toast. “But Rory and Devon are trailing them to make sure.”

That made sense. Ian trusted Rory to stay far enough behind—and to watch his back—to avoid getting caught. But another question remained. “I wonder why the dragoons are going there?”

“That is what Rory and Devon intend to find out,” Fiona said.

Emily cast him another worried look, and Ian groaned inwardly. Following the dragoons to make sure they didn’t double back was one thing. Snooping around the Campbell lair was quite another. As much as he had an urge to saddle his horse and ride after his foolish brothers, he had no plausible excuse for simply appearing in Inveraray.

So for now, all he could do was wait.

…

Rory returned with Devon as they were sitting down to the evening meal a day later, again in the small dining room, since Ian and his other brothers hadn’t come in until well after the clansmen had eaten in the Great Hall.

Emily watched covertly as the two took their seats. Devon hadn’t spared her a glance, but he didn’t seem angry. Perhaps Rory had been able to calm him down, or maybe just being away had served its purpose. Ian had said Devon was given to disappearing for several days at a time. She just hoped she would be able to break through those barriers he’d erected against everyone English.

“What were ye able to find out?” Ian asked.

“The dragoons did go all the way to Inveraray,” Rory said.

“’Tis good then,” Ian replied. “We doona need dragoons spying on how abundant our harvest is.”

“We doona need them around to steal the peat we cut after the harvest, either,” Alasdair said. “But I wonder why they went to Inveraray?”

Rory shook his head. “We didna want to breach the castle—”

“Speak for yerself, brother,” Devon growled. “I was nae afraid to try.”

“It would have been foolish of ye,” Ian said sharply, causing Devon to glare at him.

“I dinna say ye were afraid.” Rory gave his brother an empathetic look. “But taking the chance of getting caught was nae worth it.”

A muscle clenched in Devon’s jaw, and Emily wondered if he really would have tried to sneak into the Campbell castle or if part of his defiance was trying to prove something to himself. She suspected the latter and filed it away for future reflection.

“Were ye able to find out anything?” Carr asked.

Rory shrugged. “We saw the ducal carriage in the driveway, so Argyll was home from London. I suspect the dragoons were delivering a message from Kilchurn Castle or receiving one from Inveraray.”

“Kilchurn Castle?” Emily asked. “Where Gavin Campbell and his father live?”

“Aye,” Rory answered. “Chances are, neither are up to any good. I still think they stole MacGregor sheep.”

Juliana narrowed her eyes. “Would those not be Emily’s sheep?”

He gave her an annoyed glance, but to ward off an ensuing argument—Devon’s face was already looking like a thundercloud—Emily intervened.

“Those were our sheep.” She smiled at the brothers. “We are united now.”

Devon snorted. Ian gave him a warning look.

“Back to the matter at hand,” Carr said. “Did ye discover anything else?”

“Aye,” Rory answered. “They dinna stay long. Half of them rode back toward Kilchurn—”

“We followed to make sure they dinna detour toward us,” Devon added.

Ian nodded. “And the other half?”

Rory frowned. “They rode south.”

“South?” Carr knit his brow. “Ye think they were delivering a message to somewhere else as well as Kilchurn?”

“I wanted to follow them.” Devon cast Rory a baleful look. “But my brother threatened to bash my head in and tie me to a tree.”

Rory shrugged. “Only until the riders were gone.”

Emily felt her eyes widen. Rory sounded so nonchalant as though he’d actually do that. None of the other brothers looked overly concerned, though. “You really would not hurt your own brother, would you?”

Devon gave her a quick glance before he looked away. Rory grinned. “Och, aye. ’Tis nae like we have nae sparred before.”

Sparred? Is that what they called bashing someone’s head in here in Scotland?

“It wouldna have been wise of ye to split up,” Carr said, “and if we hadna heard from ye, we would have had to send riders out searching.”

“Aye,” Fiona agreed. “’Tis just as well ye didna follow them.”

“But I could have found out where they went,” Devon said stubbornly.

“I suspect I ken,” Ian said grimly. All eyes turned to him. He sighed. “Bute lies south of Inveraray. Argyll must have sent the earl a message.”

The brothers exchanged glances.

“And it would have come from London—”

“Parliament is nearly ready to convene—”

“Which means something is in the wind—”

Emily frowned. “What are all of you talking about?”

They all paused. Finally, Ian spoke. “Since the Earl of Bute is the former prime minister—”

“Yes, I know,” Emily said. “I have met him on several occasions.” That caused the brothers to exchange glances. “What of it? His son is in Parliament and I am sure he likes to stay informed as to what is happening.” She looked around. “Why would that be important to you?”

Ian hesitated. “Lord Mount Stuart is sponsoring a petition to reinstate the MacGregor name and restore our rights.”

“You have mentioned that.” Emily lifted her hands, palms up. “There could be any number of reasons why the Duke of Argyll sent a message to the earl.”

“True, but why would the duke also send a message to Kilchurn? Or mayhap receive one from his brother?” Carr asked. “The Campbells could be planning to protest the petition. They have never favored our clan rising again.”

“Then that makes them the enemy, does it not?” Juliana asked.

“No!” Lorelei exclaimed. “We are invited to their ball.” She gave Emily a wistful look. “I had so wanted to go to a ball.”

“And ye will.” Alasdair smiled at her. “And I’ll be looking forward to dancing with ye, before I have to leave for Ireland.”

Lorelei brightened. “I would enjoy that.”

Emily frowned at her sister, then looked at Ian. “Do you think it wise that we attend if they are plotting something?”

His brothers burst out laughing and even Devon smiled.

“Did I say something humorous?”

Ian grinned. “In a way, ye did.”

“I do not understand.”

“Battles are won by kenning what your opponent is planning,” he said. “And what better way to do it than by entering their own lair?”

Carr nodded. “Where we will have several sets of eyes and ears. If something is amiss, we might be able to find out what it is.”

“Then that means we are going to the ball?” Lorelei asked. “For sure?”

Emily sighed, even as Alasdair assured her sister they would attend. Her sister had a kind heart, but sometimes, she wondered if Lorelei would ever grow up.

…

“I doona think it wise to take the Sassenachs to Kilchurn’s celebration this weekend,” Broderick told Ian the next afternoon as he came in from the fields.

The last thing he wanted to discuss was Campbell’s ball. He was dirty and itching from stacking barley sheaves all day. He needed a bath—and a dram of whisky—but both his uncles and Devon had been waiting for him near the door to the Great Hall. He was too filthy to suggest the sitting room directly across the way—Maggie would chastise him like a bairn—so he motioned for the three of them to follow him down the hall to the library. At least the chairs in there were leather and cleanable.

“I am guessing this has something to do with the dragoons?” he asked after he’d closed the door.

“Aye,” Broderick answered. “Devon rode over to the distillery this morning to tell us what he’d learned.”

Ian wasn’t surprised. His uncles hadn’t been around for the last few days, since the grain was at the fermentation stage and needed to be watched closely in order to know when to separate the wash and start distilling it. They’d basically been sleeping in the office of the distillery so they could keep checking.

“’Tis likely Henry Campbell is hatching something with his brother the duke,” Donovan said, “else why would the dragoons have gone in separate directions?”

“And leave so soon after arriving at Inveraray?” Broderick added.

“I agree with ye,” Ian said, “but we doona ken why.”

Devon snorted. “The Campbells doona want us to have our name back.”

“We doona ken that for certain.”

“Nae, but Argyll spends more time in London than he does at Inveraray or Kilchurn. He tends to side with the English more than the Scots.” Broderick looked at each of them. “And the Countess of Woodhaven is English. What if she’s in cahoots with him?”

Ian grimaced. If only he could tell them what he knew. That her situation was as dire as theirs, but he was pretty sure the irony of that would be lost on his uncles and certainly on Devon. Besides, it was not his story to tell. “Lady Woodhaven has never given any indication that she’s acquainted with the Campbells,” he said. “In fact, Gavin Campbell was expecting an elderly dowager the day he came here.”

“She did say she’d met the Earl of Bute, though,” Devon said.

“Aye and that ’tis the reason we came over,” Donovan said. “If she mentions that to Henry or even the duke, if he’s at the ball, she could easily say she’d prefer the earl nae petition Parliament this fall. Argyll would listen to an English countess’s opinion.”

“Even worse, ’tis possible Bute himself might be at the ball. The dragoons rode in that direction.” Devon narrowed his eyes. “She could put the word in his ear directly.”

After what she’d told him, Ian doubted very much that she would. “The countess could have put us all out if she’d had a mind to when she first arrived, but she didna.” He grew thoughtful. “Since she has met Lord Bute, mayhap she could even put a word in his ear to encourage the petition.”

Devon gave him an arched look. For a moment, he wondered if his brother was going to bring up the kissing in the folly. Ian was fairly sure he hadn’t told their uncles or one of them would have mentioned it. He met his brother’s gaze steadily until Devon finally looked away.

“When she arrived, she needed us,” Broderick said. “Ye said yourself she had questions on everything, and Donovan and I can testify to her getting involved in the distillery, even though we dinna want her to.”

“And we’ve already discussed that she will be bringing in more profit.” Ian tried to keep the testiness out of his voice. “We doona need to keep hammering at it.”

“Aye, the woman is smart and sly,” Donovan said. “Much like Isobel was.”

“And ye ken how that turned out,” Broderick added. “She made a fool of all of us…” He paused, then shrugged. “Well, for certain, your father.”

“Lady Woodhaven is nothing like Isobel.” Ian didn’t bother to keep the edge off his voice. “And I willna have ye comparing her to that bitch.”

Broderick frowned, Devon lifted his eyebrow again, and Donovan gave him a long look before he nodded.

“Aye, I suppose ye are right,” his uncle said, “but it would still be wise that she nae attend the ball, just to make sure she doesn’t put a word in Campbell’s ear, instead of Lord Bute’s.”

He didn’t want Emily attending the ball, either, but for entirely different reasons. The Campbells had been busy with their own harvesting, and Gavin had not returned to call on Emily, but Ian hadn’t forgotten the sly insinuation that he might want to pay court. If he had his way, he would keep them miles apart. He sighed.

“Unfortunately, the invitation has already been issued. ’Tis nae we can do to prevent the countess from going.”

Devon lifted a corner of his mouth in a slight smirk. “Then ye will have to keep a close eye on her, won’t ye?”

He wasn’t sure if his brother was being sarcastic or reminding him about what he’d witnessed. It didn’t really matter, because Ian intended to keep a very close eye on Emily at the Campbell ball.

…

“I think dinner went surprisingly well,” Emily said as she and her sisters retired to the solar after the evening meal. She sighed as she sank into one of the comfortable, stuffed armchairs. The room had been built to let in the sunlight during the day and the walls, accordingly, were papered in gold damask with trailing vines to give the impression of being outdoors. She’d found, though, that pulling the green velvet drapes at night and having the brazier lit gave the room a warm, cozy feel, more like she was deep within a forest with the sun’s rays setting. The room made an excellent place to retreat from the men—and servants—in the castle as well.

“Yes!” Lorelei clapped her hands excitedly. “And we are definitely going to the ball at Kilchurn!”

Juliana rolled her eyes and Emily almost joined her. That admission had been made without much enthusiasm from Ian after Lorelei had brought up the subject. Again. His uncles and his brothers—save for Alasdair, who seemed amused—had given her disdainful looks. She’d wanted to remind them that Lorelei was young…just six and ten, but doing so would only reinforce their opinions that Englishwomen were shallow.

“What I meant was, the conversation was quite cordial,” Emily said.

Juliana nodded. “Rory actually did not insult me, either.”

“Maybe if you treated him nicer, he would stop,” Lorelei said.

“Me?” Juliana frowned at her sister. “It is not I who starts the arguments.”

“That is debatable.” Emily smiled to take the sting off her words. “It seems you and Rory are like oil and water. But,” she added before Juliana could argue with her, “tonight went very well. Even Devon acted civilly.”

“Do you think he will ever come around to accepting us?” Lorelei asked.

“I hope so,” Emily answered. “But he has had some very bad experiences with the English.”

“But he should not blame us,” Juliana retorted. “We—you—are nothing like his stepmother, who sounds like she was a hoyden.”

“And we certainly are not dragoons.” Lorelei drew her brows together. “Although I am sorry for what happened to him.”

“So am I.” Emily had told her sisters what Ian had relayed to her. “All we can do is be kind and hope Devon will eventually realize we are who we are.”

“But for now”—Lorelei changed the subject—“can we discuss the ball? I am so excited!”

Juliana somehow refrained from looking heavenward again and Emily sighed inwardly, even as for the next half hour they indulged their sister in conversation about all sorts of speculation about a Scottish ball.

Emily was tired when she finally retired to her bedchamber. Thankfully, one of the maids had been in to turn the sheets down and a small fire burned in the brazier. She saw this as a small step in her goal to being accepted by the MacGregors. When she and her sisters had first arrived, none of the servants had attended them. Now, Maggie answered questions in full sentences and Hamish even smiled on occasion.

She noticed then that a glass of mulled wine had been set on the bedside stand, along with a small plate of marzipan squares. Emily smiled. That was probably Fiona’s doing, since she’d made known she loved marzipan. She’d stayed downstairs to talk to Ian and probably brought this up before she went to bed.

Quickly, Emily took care of her ablutions, donned her night rail, and slipped between the sheets. There was nothing quite as decadent as sipping wine and eating dessert in bed. She took several sips of the strong-tasting wine. Perhaps a bit too much apple cider had been added, but it helped to counter the sweet marzipan.

Mmmm. The tastes of both were intense. In a few minutes she was having difficulty keeping her eyes open. She must be more tired than she thought…as the glass slipped from her hand.