Chapter Three

By the time the big gong sounded in the bailey, signaling the evening meal, Emily and her sisters—with a bit of help from Fiona—had hatched their own plan.

Fiona escorted them through the twisted hallways until they reached the spiral staircase leading down. “’Tis better my brothers doona see me with ye just yet, but all ye need to do is go through the double doors in by the entrance. Ye’ll be in the Great Hall where the clan eats.”

Thanking her, Emily led her sisters down the stairs—careful to stay on the broader side of each curved step—and then through the doors she’d spotted earlier. Once inside, she stopped so abruptly that Lorelei and Juliana bumped into her. Ignoring their chiding, she gazed around the huge room.

She could very well have stepped back a century in time. The hammer-beamed, wooden ceiling was two stories high. Three large iron chandeliers hung from heavy chains. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes and warriors in battle lined the walls between the arrow slit windows. Four hearths were set in the stone, two on either side of the long, rectangular room, fires blazing with warmth to ward off the dank chill. The long tables and benches that took up most of the floor space were filling with MacGregors of all sizes and ages, many of whom were armed.

At the far end of the hall, a raised dais held the high table. The MacGregor crest—a buckled belt around a lion’s head with a royal crown—graced the wall directly behind the large, intricately carved armed chair which obviously belonged to the leader of the clan. To either side of that hung various types of weapons.

“I thought the MacGregor name was banned.” Juliana gestured to the round wooden crest and then looked around. “And didn’t our solicitor say only a few MacGregors were allowed to live here?”

“He said the MacGregors who did not fight at Prestonpans were given a retreat. I’m sure that included their families as well.”

“You are quite right.”

Emily turned at the sound of Ian’s voice behind her. He and his brothers still wore the same clothing they had earlier in the day, which was a relief, since their own baggage had not been unpacked from the wagons yet and they remained in their traveling clothes. After what Fiona had told her, she suspected not delivering the trunks promptly was another ploy to make them uncomfortable, but obviously dressing for dinner was not a main concern.

“I am glad they were not separated.”

“Too many of our clan are still forced to hide in the hills. Some have sought refuge in Ireland.” He pointed to the girl Emily had seen on her arrival. “That one—Glenda—is my ward, since her parents were killed trying to flee.”

Emily looked at the girl seated at one of the long tables close to the dais. She appeared to be perhaps four and ten at the most and she was watching them sullenly. “It must be hard for her.”

“I’ve tried to help her adjust to the change,” Ian replied.

“And other changes, too. Hopefully, soon,” Rory said. “Lord Mount Stuart will see to it.”

Emily drew her brows together. “The son of the former prime minister, Lord Bute?”

“Aye. He’s already talking up members of Parliament to restore our name…and our lands,” Rory answered. “So ye shouldna plan to stay—”

“I am quite sure I have not been the first to tell you that you are quite rude,” Juliana interrupted.

He grinned. “Do ye nae want to add a ‘bloody’ to that?”

She glared at him. “Barbarian.”

His grin widened. “Is that the worst ye can do?”

“Please! Do not encourage her.” Emily leveled a look at her sister. “We do not intend to be rude, either.”

“Aye, well. We have manners, too,” Alasdair smiled at Lorelei and offered his arm. “May I escort ye?”

For a moment she looked flummoxed and then she smiled prettily while Juliana rolled her eyes. “I suppose you might.”

“And allow me to escort ye,” Ian said to Emily, extending his arm as well. “We have a table especially reserved for ye.”

Emily put her hand on his sleeve, not surprised that his arm felt like steel beneath it. Oddly, the sensation sent a tingle up her arm. She didn’t have long to ponder on it because she heard Juliana behind her.

“I do not need assistance,” she practically hissed.

Rory chuckled. “I just dinna want to see ye sprawl on your face again.”

“I did not sprawl!”

“Aye. Because I caught ye.”

This sounded like it was going to escalate, but before she could turn around, she heard Carr’s voice, soothing as a zephyr wind.

“If ye will allow me, Miss Caldwell, I’m sure Rory can find his own way.”

There was an audible sniff. Then, “Thank you.” Emily gave a silent sigh of relief.

“It seems my brother and your sister are peas in a pod,” Ian said as they walked toward the dais.

“Juliana can be a bit bristly.” She had her own reasons for that, but Emily wasn’t about to disclose such personal information. “But she has a kind side, too.”

“Well, a symbol of Scotland is the thistle,” Ian replied, “but it does have a pretty flower.” Before she could respond, he stopped and gestured. “Here ye are.”

She wasn’t particularly surprised that the small table he’d led her to was in a corner off to the side of the dais. After what Fiona had shared, she hadn’t expected to be seated as guest of honor on the dais. But Ian was watching her covertly, probably wondering if she were going to protest. She affected one of Lorelei’s smiles, the one she used with beaus in ballrooms. “This is just perfect. We can observe without being noticed.”

“That’s…good, then.” His expression didn’t change, but one brow lifted almost imperceptibly. “And is your room to your satisfaction?”

Given that there were better-appointed bedrooms—not to mention an actual bathing room—in the newer part of the castle, he was well aware that it was not. But she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of complaining about the room or, for that matter, the lack of hot water, either.

“The room has a wonderful medieval feel to it and the unusual staircase as well.” She gave him another of her sister’s smiles. “I love medieval history so I am sure I will be quite happy living in this castle.”

He looked a little disconcerted, then he gave a brief bow. “Enjoy your dinner then.”

She allowed herself a genuine smile as he walked away. The games had begun.

…

“I doona think I was really expecting better news, but there’s naught we can do,” Carr said the next afternoon as the brothers met in the library once more.

Ian looked at the somewhat smoothed deed Carr had put on the desk. “The solicitor says ’tis legal, then?”

“Aye.” Carr helped himself to the open bottle of whisky. “Even if Lord Mount Stuart is successful in getting our clan cleared this year, only the lands annexed as leaseholds would be returned.”

“Mayhap we should get a second opinion?” Rory asked.

Ian shook his head. “Carr’s going to Oban was risky enough, since we are MacGregors. I willna risk anyone going to Fort William.”

Alasdair nodded. “Too many soldiers with ne’r much to do might enjoy arresting a MacGregor.”

“To say nothing of the Camerons around the place,” Rory said.

“We never ken which way the wind blows with them,” Alasdair replied.

Cameron lands bordered theirs to the north. In the past, when all clans had been forbidden to give aid to any MacGregor who hadn’t changed his surname, the Camerons had taken particular delight in cattle-reiving, knowing the MacGregors could file no complaint. That had, of course, resulted in MacGregors responding in kind and adding a sheep or two for good measure. Ian almost grinned as he recalled the stories his grandfather had told. The cattle, like the clan, had disappeared into the mists, causing folks to speak of fae help or, for the more superstitious, that the clan itself consisted of changelings…which might actually have been useful at the darkest point in their history. Recently, especially after Culloden, there had been an uneasy truce, oft broken, between the Camerons and MacGregors.

“I agree with Alasdair. ’Tis nae worth the risk of clashing with either soldiers or Camerons.” Ian opened a desk drawer and tossed the deed into it. “For now, at least, our people think the countess is here on a lengthy visit. Only we four—and Fiona—know about the deed.”

“And where is Fiona?” Alasdair asked. “I’ve nae seen her today.”

“She invited the Sassenachs to the solar this morning,” Ian answered. “She said she was going to show them around the castle and gardens.”

“Do ye think that wise?” Carr asked. “When they see the modern half they will wonder why—”

“’Tis the point, brother,” Rory said. “They have to realize they are nae welcome without our saying it. ’Tis brilliant.”

“Until she decides to wield her authority and choose her own room,” Carr answered.

Ian’s conscience niggled at him again, although he pushed it aside. “Last eve she said she liked living in a medieval castle.”

“That was before she kenned what the rest of the place looked like,” Alasdair said. “And if she decides to exert her ownership rights, then the whole clan will ken about the deed.”

“We can still deny it,” Rory said. “We can say Carr took the deed to the solicitor—which is true—and we are going to make sure ’tis authentic.”

“Didna I just do that?” Carr asked.

Rory waved a hand. “’Twas the solicitor’s opinion, nae ours.”

“Regardless,” Carr answered, “I think Ian needs to talk with the countess about what she intends.”

“And it would nae hurt to apologize to the ladies and offer them better rooms,” Alasdair added.

Rory frowned at him. “Are ye going soft on the fae-looking one?”

Alasdair frowned back. “Do ye ken nothing about women? If ye expect one to do what ye want, ye have to offer her something she wants first.”

“When did ye become an expert on women, little brother?”

“I was nae the one who got rejected leading the ladies into dinner last night.” Alasdair quirked his mouth up. “Ye were, if I recall correctly.”

“I dinna get rejected!” Rory defended himself. “I dinna ask to escort that redheaded harpy.”

“But ye wanted to.”

“I dinna—”

“Enough.” Ian glared at them both. “Ye are nae bairns. And apart from what either of ye think about the Caldwell ladies, we have the dowager countess to contend with. ’Tis what’s important.”

“I agree,” Carr said. “The sooner ye talk to her, the sooner we ken where we stand and…” He glanced at his other brothers. “…the sooner we can plan a real strategy.”

Ian sighed inwardly. Carr was right. He was going to have to talk with Emily Woodhaven and, to alleviate the prickling of his conscience, he would offer better rooms. Mayhap, he would even let her have her choice, now that Fiona had shown her the castle. That might make her more amenable to his plan—suggestion—about keeping the deed’s existence private for now.

Alasdair was right. Give a woman something she wants. In return, she will be more pliable. That strategy had worked well enough on previous conquests. Not that he saw Emily—the Lady Woodhaven, he mentally corrected—as a conquest. In a sense, she was the “enemy” or an “obstacle” at best. Certainly not someone to lust after. He needed to put that idea out of his head and concentrate on what really mattered. Holding the land, not holding her.

But his traitorous body was already looking forward to seeing her again.