Chapter Two

“What do ye propose we do?” Rory asked yet again.

“Damned if I ken.” Ian poured a dram of whisky, drained it, and leaned back in the leather chair behind the massive desk in the library. The brothers had retreated there as soon as Maggie, their housekeeper, had taken charge of the Sassenachs. The idea had been to plan strategy, but so far none of them had come up with anything. They just kept shaking their heads as though they’d all been clouted with the hilt of a claymore.

“I will ask our solicitor to make sure the papers are legal,” Carr said.

“’Tis the king’s seal on them,” Ian replied bleakly, then pushed the crumbled sheets across the desk. “Look for yerself.”

Carr smoothed the papers and glanced at them before folding them neatly to tuck into his shirt. “Still. We want to make sure.”

“That doesna solve the problem,” Rory grumbled. “Those women want to live here.”

“Well, it wouldna be so bad to look on the one called Lorelei,” Alasdair said with a chuckle. “She’s verra bonnie.”

Rory snorted. “Ye think all women are bonnie.”

“Well, they are.” Alasdair didn’t seem the least bit affronted. “But ye have to admit, that one looks like the faeries sent her, with her pale hair and silvery eyes.”

“More apt, the demons sent the other one,” Rory said.

In spite of the dire situation, Ian grinned. While Maggie had been leading the women into the castle, one of their wolfhounds had enthusiastically tried to make Juliana’s acquaintance. Unfortunately, he had barreled into her from behind, causing her to stumble and fly forward like a leaf in the wind. Rory had, by instinct, leaped forward, too, catching her before she’d sprawled on the ground. She’d been furious by the time he’d set her back on her feet, whether from embarrassment or the guffaws from his brothers or both, she’d offered a string of English curses that would have been hard to rival.

“Well, ye did hold her a wee bit longer than necessary,” he said.

Rory scowled. “Only to teach the lass a lesson that they doona have free rein. The MacGregors are in charge here.”

“We hope,” Carr said.

“Aye,” Ian responded before Rory could argue the point. “Assuming the deed is legal, the countess could make our lives miserable.”

“Which is what I thought we were supposed to do to her,” Rory replied. “Wasn’t that the original plan?”

“Aye, but that was when we thought she would just be visiting and the leasehold was still in effect. I doona ken that is the best thing to do now.”

Rory eyed him suspiciously. “Are ye having a change of mind because the old dowager isna quite so old?”

“And bonnie,” Alasdair added.

“Nae!” Ian realized his overly quick denial belied the fact. It didn’t help when Alasdair and Carr both grinned at him. His face warmed like a green lad when he thought of where she was right now… Probably soaking in a bath, her naked body all pink from the warmth of the water… Then he remembered his instructions and which room she’d been given and where it was. His conscience niggled at him. With an effort, he dismissed it and returned to his fantasy of her bathing. He hadn’t had a chance to glimpse much of her, other than her face with its lush, kissable lips, since she’d been wearing a travel pelisse that had covered most of her. Was she…? He shifted in the chair, aware that his breeches had grown tighter. “’Tis a fine line we walk, right now.”

Carr inclined his head. “We might need to reconsider, since she could send us all packing.”

“Doona be an arse!” Rory frowned at both Carr and Ian. “And doona tell me ye are thinking of welcoming them!”

“Nae, but…” Ian held up his hand before Rory could retort. Carr was right. They couldn’t just make life miserable now for three young women. “Mayhap alter the plan a bit. We can still make sure the lasses are shown how hard life can be here, but we can also impress on them what good stewards we are, so they’ll ken there is nothing to worry about when they go back to London.”

“How soon will that be?” Rory asked.

From the way his body was reacting to Lady Woodhaven, the sooner the better. What he didn’t need was to get involved with her. Apart from the fact that she must be very manipulative—how else had she been able to secure the deed in her own name? And she’d chosen to marry a man near old enough to be her grandfather, no doubt for his money and title—but his clansmen would consider him a traitor if he colluded with a Sassenach countess. These were MacGregor lands, regardless of what an English king decreed. His duty to his clan—who did exist, regardless of legal proclamations—was to hold the lands for his kin.

“Just long enough to assure the countess that everything is being managed well and she can count on her profits being sent to London on a regular basis.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Carr said, “but Devon will nae like it.”

He probably wouldn’t. Their younger brother hated anything to do with the English. He’d even offered to make sure the old dowager didn’t enjoy a single day while she visited. Who knew what he would do once he learned of the new situation. Ian sighed.

“We will just have to deal with that when he returns.”

“And what about our uncles?” Rory asked. “They’re due to arrive in a day or two. They’ll nae be pleased, either.”

Probably not, but at least they wouldn’t be as obvious about their feelings as Devon. Donovan and Broderick had taken the surname Murray and were thus able to move more freely in both English and Scottish society but that didn’t mean they were more likely to want an English countess here.

Ian heaved another sigh and reached for the bottle of whisky on the desk. He would have to handle one crisis at a time.

…

Emily, along with her sisters, followed the middle-aged housekeeper—Ian had called her Maggie—into the castle and up a winding, narrow flight of stairs. Besides issuing a terse “Follow me” the woman hadn’t said a word, nor did she pause in the entryway to give Emily a chance to look around. She’d gotten only a glimpse of a large room beyond double doors to the left and a single door to the right that was closed, before they’d ascended the stairs. When they’d crossed an actual drawbridge and approached what looked like a truly medieval castle, Emily had felt a twinge of excitement. It had a thick crenellated curtain wall surrounding it with merlons and embrasures, and she could picture archers posed along the battlements, bows drawn, ready to do battle with any enemy that approached. The castle itself was an imposing square granite structure, several stories high, with round towers at each end. It was like walking into the world of several centuries ago.

And maybe she had. Inside, the walls were stone, and a wooden staircase they were climbing spiraled upward with uneven steps and no railing to hold on to. She’d read in a history book that they’d been deliberately built that way so invaders would have a hard time brandishing a sword while keeping their balance.

“This looks primitive,” Lorelei whispered.

“I hope there are not bats in the rafters,” Juliana replied.

“Shhh!” Emily hissed at them. The last thing they needed was to insult the housekeeper and, by extension, the MacGregors who were their hosts, but the woman didn’t appear to have heard. Still. The meeting outside had not been exactly cordial and they didn’t need to ruffle anyone’s feathers.

Her sisters said no more, but perhaps that was due to the effort of climbing. Maggie didn’t pause at the first landing but continued up another flight of stairs to the second floor. Then she led them through what seemed a maze of dark interior hallways, lit only with candles stuck in wall sconces. Finally, she stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall. Pushing it open, she looked at Emily.

“This is the room the laird made ready for ye.” She glanced at Lorelei and Juliana. “I’ll have the room across the hall aired for them.”

“Thank you.” Emily shot her sisters a warning look. The lack of addressing her properly with “my lady”—especially when the housekeeper gave Ian the respectful term “laird,” even if it was banned by the English—wasn’t a point she wanted to argue at the moment.

“Could we have some water brought to tidy up a bit?” Lorelei asked.

“There’s water in the pitcher there.” Maggie pointed to the dresser. “And a basin beside it.”

Again, Emily gave her sisters warning looks. “That will be fine.”

The housekeeper gave a curt nod, then stepped back and shut the door, leaving the three of them alone. Emily looked around the room. Besides the dresser, there was a small table and two chairs by a very narrow window—probably an arrow slit, she realized—a single bed, a wardrobe against one wall. There was also a screen behind which, she hoped, was a chamber pot. A large hearth took up most of the remaining wall. Logs had been laid, but not lit. At least, she wouldn’t be cold later.

“That woman is horrible,” Lorelei said, interrupting her thoughts.

“She certainly would not find herself employed in any London household,” Juliana added.

“I doubt that she would want to be,” Emily retorted. “And we were warned that Scots could be taciturn, so we will just have to adjust to her personality.”

“And what about the men?” Juliana asked. “They were rude as well.”

Lorelei giggled. “But you have to admit, they were all very good-looking!”

Juliana rolled her eyes. “Is that all you ever think about? They were rude.”

Her sister stuck out her tongue. “You are just angry because you tripped and one of them caught you.”

“Caught me? He held me…and wouldn’t let go.”

Lorelei grinned. “I would not mind being held by an attractive man.”

Juliana frowned. “I felt like his bloody captive.”

Emily frowned, too. “You might want to check your language. I am sure you have already created quite an impression with the litany you loosed in the bailey.”

“Hmph.” Her sister folded her arms defiantly.

“Please, Juliana. For me. For us,” Emily said. “From what we witnessed outside, the MacGregors did not seem to have been warned that King George had actually transferred the deed instead of holding it. That had to have been a shock. We do not need to be alienating our reluctant hosts.”

“I can try.” Juliana lowered her arms, looking somewhat mollified. “Just do not expect me to act like some sweet, demure, biddable lady.”

“I…” Emily began but was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Maybe the housekeeper sent up some hot water after all!” Lorelei went to open the door, only to stare at the girl who’d been in the courtyard earlier.

“May I come in?” she asked.

“Certainly.” Emily moved forward, but not before she pinched Juliana’s arm. “Please.”

“We have nae been introduced, since my brothers are all eejits… Idiots.” She smiled at all of them. “I’m Fiona.”

They reintroduced themselves and Juliana, taking care to stay out of Emily’s arm’s reach, added, “I agree with your assessment of your brothers.”

Fiona laughed. “Och, well. Ye took the wind out of their sails, had them in irons, ye did.”

“Irons?” Lorelei asked. “None of them were shackled.”

“Not that that would have been a bad idea,” Juliana said.

Fiona laughed again. “Sometimes I would like to see it as well—they can be a wee bit bossy, all of them—but I meant, when ye take the wind out of sails suddenly, the boat stops dead in the water and canna make headway. ’Tis what ‘in irons’ means.” She looked at the puzzled faces. “We do a lot of sailing on Loch Awe.”

“I am afraid we have not had experience with sailing.”

“I’ll be glad to teach ye, if ye plan to stay.”

Emily smiled. “We definitely plan to stay.”

“Good.” Fiona paused, as though contemplating, and then took a deep breath. “I think ye should ken something, though.”

“Ken?”

“Ken…know. Know something.”

“What is it?”

Fiona hesitated once more. “My brothers hatched a plot before ye came.”

“A plot?” Juliana asked. “What kind of plot?”

“It was to get ye to go back home.”

We are home, Emily wanted to say, but thought better of it. Evidently, the MacGregors didn’t want to welcome an Englishwoman, even for a visit. “Can you tell us about this plot?”

“They were nae going to hurt ye or anything. They figured an old lady was coming—on account of the earl being in his sixties—and thought if they made life verra uncomfortable, ye would nae stay long.”

“I see,” Emily said.

Fiona looked around. “’Tis why they gave ye this room.”

Emily frowned. “This room?”

“Aye. ’Tis on the old side of the castle.”

“There is nothing wrong with it.”

“Nae, but ’tis old.” When they all looked at her blankly, she went on. “The back side of the castle is newer and has conveniences. There is a cistern with hot coals banked beneath it to provide pumped hot water for the bathing room, oil lamps and chandeliers, wood paneled walls, rugs, and comfortable furniture. My grandfather even built a wide staircase. And,” she added, “all the rooms have proper windows.”

Emily was beginning to understand. No doubt the MacGregors had thought that an elderly countess, one used to luxury and being waited on, wouldn’t last long under these conditions. They hadn’t planned on someone younger and more adaptable to show up. Nor did they know that she was destitute and had no place else to go. Everything they owned was in the wagons that had followed them. She set her jaw.

“But why would your brothers do this?” Lorelei asked.

Fiona grimaced. “Because they are eejits.”

“You will not get an argument from me,” Juliana said and glanced at Emily. “We may not be a clan, but I think your brothers have just declared war.”

For once, Emily agreed. It seemed she was going to have to do battle. But knowing what she did now, it would be on her terms.