Claimed by the Laird (11 page)

“You’ll tell me anything useful you find.” Eyre was curt. “I don’t care who you are—I need to know. The location of the whisky still, where they hide the barrels...” He slapped a card down.

Lucas already knew the location of the whisky still, but he had no intention of telling Eyre. Not yet. He needed to search the bothy. The last thing he wanted was Eyre and his men charging in there, destroying the evidence and arresting the smugglers or worse, making a hash of it and sending the gang to ground. That way he would find out nothing useful at all.

“I’ll pass on anything I can,” he said.

Eyre nodded, seemingly satisfied. “I’ll get them in the end,” he said venomously. “And that stuck-up little bitch, Lady Christina MacMorlan, who protects them.”

Lucas’s head came up. His skin prickled to hear Christina referred to in such disrespectful terms. It was all he could do to keep his fists at his sides and not smash them into Eyre’s face. He dropped his eyes to the cards again, dealing another hand, shuffling the deck.

“Lady Christina does her best to protect the whole village,” he said carelessly, after a moment. “It should not surprise you that she disapproves of the way you work.”

Eyre gave a bark of laughter. “Don’t tell me you’re sweet on her, too, Mr. Ross? Everyone seems to think she is some sort of saint.”

Lucas shrugged. “I don’t have much time for aristocrats,” he said truthfully, “but I admire hard work when I see it.”

“Well, you won’t see it at the castle,” Eyre said. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “Lazy bunch of bastards.” He slapped down his glass and looked around to summon the landlord for another pint. The landlord ignored him.

“Another one asking for trouble,” Eyre groused. “I’ll shut him down. I’ll shut down the whole village for their sneaking, law-breaking ways.” He nodded toward Lucas’s empty glass. “Was that the peat-reek you were drinking?”

“I’ve no idea,” Lucas said. “I didn’t ask.”

Eyre’s lips twisted into a mirthless smile. His eyes were very cold. “You’re a slippery customer, aren’t you, Mr. Ross? I’m not sure I trust you.”

Lucas shrugged. “Please yourself. But I do have a favor to ask you.”

Eyre grunted, which was not exactly encouragement.

“Release the child, Callum MacFarlane,” Lucas said quietly.

Eyre jumped, knocking over his empty glass. “What do you know of that?” he snarled. A number of men turned to look at them.

“Softly,” Lucas said. He raised his voice. “Sorry to take your money, Mr. Eyre,” he said with a cocky smile, “but you can afford it better than I.” He took Eyre’s pile of coins and slid them over to his side of the table.

“I hear that if you don’t let him go, the smugglers will shut down their operation,” he said quietly. “If that happens, you will never capture them and I will not find out what I need to know.”

“Where did you hear that?” This time Eyre kept his voice discreetly low.

“People talk,” Lucas said evasively.

“Not to me,” Eyre said.

“Well,” Lucas said, “that’s hardly surprising.”

“I tried to turn a few,” Eyre said. “No one was interested. Not even for money. Tight as clams.”

“They’re loyal,” Lucas said, “and they don’t like the government and they don’t like the English.”

Eyre stared at him. “You sound English yourself, Mr. Ross, if it comes to that.”

“I don’t belong anywhere,” Lucas said. He leaned forward. “Will you do it?”

Eyre was silent for a long time, and then he nodded abruptly. “I’ll see what I can do.” His eyes narrowed on Lucas again. “If you’re sure that’s the real reason?”

Lucas thought of Callum MacFarlane in the jail in Fort William, alone in the dark with the rats, the walls running with damp, a child used as a bargaining chip to make a man spill his secrets. Callum was younger than Lucas had been when he had had to struggle to survive on the cold streets of Edinburgh. The boy might be from tough stock, but he would never have been without his father’s protection before. Lucas had failed to protect his brother. He would do what he could for another man’s child.

He met Eyre’s gaze very straight. “What other reason would there be?” he asked. “I’m not a sentimental man, Mr. Eyre.”

Eyre laughed. “All right. I’ll do it. What do I get in return?”

Lucas paused for a moment, drawing rings on the tabletop with the base of his glass. He did not want to give Eyre any advantage that might endanger Christina. Despite the doubts he still harbored toward her, his stubborn instinct was determined to keep her out of this. He could not tell Eyre the location of the whisky still. Which left only one option.

“I can show you the sea cave where the smugglers have been storing the peat-reek,” he said. He had searched it the day before and found nothing. The smugglers were long gone from there, and he doubted it would benefit Eyre. Even so, it felt oddly as though he had betrayed Christina, and he felt a pang of guilt. He swore under his breath.

“I’ve searched the entire coastline for that,” Eyre said. “How did you find it?”

“You don’t need to know how,” Lucas said. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it.” Eyre stood up, still eyeing him suspiciously. “Tomorrow night. Meet me by the church. And I’ll keep my side of the bargain and let the boy go home to his mother.”

“He doesn’t have a home left,” Lucas said. “You burned it down, remember?” He put the ace of diamonds down on the table. “I believe I win again.”

Eyre peered at the cards, gave a grunt and slapped down another handful of pennies. “What were you before you were a gardener, Mr. Ross?” he said. “A card sharp?”

“Something of the sort,” Lucas said. He pocketed the money and raised his empty glass of peat-reek in mocking salute. “Your good health, Mr. Eyre.”

There were jeers as Eyre left the pub. Lucas left the money on the table to buy a round of drinks, and let himself out into the night. Across the road the blackened spars of Niall MacFarlane’s house stood out stark against the night sky. There was a scent of wet wood and burning in the air.

Lucas resolved to write to Lord Sidmouth as soon as he was sure that the smugglers were not involved in Peter’s death. He wanted to be free of any association with Eyre. The man might be enforcing the law, but his methods were illegal in themselves. He worked through terror and destruction, and Lucas wanted no part in that.

A light rain was still falling, and his jacket was soaked through by the time he reached the castle. He let himself into his cottage and lit the lamp on the table. Immediately the room sprang into brightness, the warm colors of the rug and the cushions mocking the coldness of the empty grate and the chill air. Someone had put a pile of coin on the table, a pile that gleamed silver in the lamplight. Beside it was a vase of flowers with a note propped against it. Lucas unfolded it, assuming it was from Bevan, accompanying his tip from the duke. However, it was from Christina.

“Please take the money, Mr. Ross,” she had written. “You have earned it. Thank you.”

Lucas sighed. He let the note drift down to lie on the table. The money was not a problem. He could always give it away. But the flowers were a different matter. They were so vivid, a flash of warmth in the dullness of a room he had refused to make his own. He knew Christina must have chosen them and brought them here. She had done it because she cared. She had seen his discomfort when the duke had offered to pay him and had misinterpreted it as pride, so she had tried to soften the gesture with a gift.

Anger possessed him suddenly, a fierce rage that he was not what she thought him. At each turn he suspected her and at each turn she repaid that suspicion with generosity of spirit. He did not want her kindness. He did not want her to care. Whatever she thought, he did not belong at Kilmory. He belonged nowhere and he did not want to. He had always been solitary. It was the best way, the only way to avoid hurt, to avoid loss. He had learned that lesson at twelve years old and he would never forget it.

He put the money in his wallet and he put the flowers outside in the rain, and then he shut the door on them. In the morning they were still lying there, rain washed, wilted, their colors fading as he set out to work.

CHAPTER NINE

A
LLEGRA
WAS
LYING
in a blissful tumble, half asleep, half awake, cradled in Richard’s arms. They were in her chamber at Kilmory in the luxury of a deep four-poster bed with sheets that felt smooth and silken against her skin. It had been another boring day of rain and pianoforte lessons and no visitors at tea except for the doctor’s wife and her colorless daughter, but tonight more than made up for the tedium of the day. Allegra had taken her maid into her confidence. It had been the only way to smuggle Richard inside the castle. The girl had thought the situation impossibly romantic but Allegra did not trust her to keep quiet even though she had paid her. Sooner or later she knew that word would get out, and then she would have to face the truth—and her parents. She wondered if she was starting to take deliberate risks. It felt to her as though she would rather be caught than confess.

“We’re making progress in our investigation into the whisky smugglers.” Richard was stroking her hair gently away from her face. “We’re closing in on the leader of the gang.”

Allegra smothered a sigh. She did not want to talk, least of all about Richard’s work, which she considered tedious in the extreme. On the other hand, Richard had sounded very pleased with himself so she made a noise that indicated how clever she thought he was and snuggled deeper into his embrace, turning her face into his throat and pressing her lips against the warm, damp skin there. His arms tightened about her. She thought there was nothing nicer than this intimacy, unless it was making love itself. She loved the slide of Richard’s body against hers and the feel of him inside her. And she thought she was probably quite good at sex. It was pleasing to find something that interested her so much; all her previous attempts at activities such as needlework or playing the piano had been such a bore.

“We found the cave where the smugglers have been hiding their contraband,” Richard said. He was stroking her hair absentmindedly, and Allegra could tell that his thoughts were on his work and not on her. “It was empty of the peat-reek,” Richard said, “but we caught someone there. They come from here—from the castle.”

Allegra half sat up out of his arms and blinked at him. “Here?” The thought disturbed her. She was not sure why. She knew that whisky smugglers were very active in the neighborhood. Everyone knew that. But it had never occurred to her that they might have connections to Kilmory Castle itself. “Who was it?” she said. “Is he a member of the smuggling gang?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Richard said. He sounded so smug Allegra wanted to slap him. “But they gave us some useful information and they are going to spy for us.”

Allegra’s feeling of disquiet increased. She had no loyalty to the smugglers, but she disliked the thought of someone from the castle acting as informer. It felt deceitful, dangerous and wrong.

“I expect the leader of the gang is Uncle Lachlan,” she said, yawning, sliding down under the covers again. “He drinks so much whisky he probably needs to make it himself.”

“Lachlan MacMorlan is nowhere near the drunkard everyone imagines him,” Richard said drily. “Even so, we’re looking for a cooler head than his.” He stretched. “If we stamp out this plague of smugglers, the home secretary himself will commend my work. Your parents must accept me then—”

He stopped. Allegra had not been able to stifle her sigh. “They will,” she said soothingly to forestall his next comment. “They just need time to get used to the idea of you as a son-in-law—”

“You still haven’t told them,” Richard said flatly. “You promised me you had. I thought, tonight...”

“You thought I was bringing you in secretly through the servants’ quarters because they knew we were married and wanted to meet you?” Allegra sighed. “Oh, Richard! Anyway—” she ran a hand over his chest “—I
will
tell them. And it is more romantic like this, more exciting.”

Richard, however, evidently did not think so. He had sat up and was starting to pull on his clothes. Allegra shot upright. “Where are you going?”

“I have to leave.”

“But why?” Allegra remembered at the last minute to keep her voice from becoming a wail. “It is barely past midnight. We have the whole night—” She let the covers fall artistically to expose her breasts. Richard stopped, stared for a moment and then picked up his boots, turning away. In the faint twilight Allegra could see his profile and the mutinous line of his mouth. Her heart sank. This was not about him making a discreet exit unseen. It was about punishing her for keeping him a secret.

He partially turned to face her. “I’m not your lover, Allegra,” he said. “I’m your husband.” His voice was hard. “If you do not tell them within the week, I will do it myself.”

“Very well,” Allegra said. She knew when to sound meek. A lifetime with her mother had taught her that. “I promise,” she said. She slid across the bed to sit beside him, placing a hand on his bare shoulder. “You do not have to go.”

He glanced sideways at her. She loved the way that his hair fell across his brow, so tousled, like a poet, and the lean curve of his cheek and the sensuality of those lips. She kissed him and felt the resistance in him falter, so she experimented by exerting a little pressure against his chest and was gratified when he lay back with a sigh. It did not take her long to unfasten his trousers. She had been practicing. He made a sound of acquiescence when she took his staff in her hand and stroked it, and a strangled cry when she leaned over to take him in her mouth.

“Allegra—” He tried to sit up, but she gently pushed him back. “You must not...”

“Hush.” She ran her tongue over him, tasting. It was so strange and yet so delicious. She had been right; she definitely
was
a wanton.

“How did you know...” His voice was faint.

“I read about it.” She felt pleased with herself. She paused, licked the tip and enjoyed his groan. “You can find everything you need in grandfather’s library.”

* * *

T
HE
DUKE
’
S
DISSATISFACTION
with his grotto had a very beneficial effect; it enabled Lucas to get into the castle. Mr. Bevan called him into the drawing office on the morning after his meeting with Eyre. The land agent was a pleasant man, spare and sandy and dry in manner. Lucas liked him.

“In strictest confidence, Ross, I think this project of His Grace’s is a waste of time, money and resources,” Bevan said, pushing the hair back from his forehead with a tired gesture. The lines bit deep around his eyes and mouth as he frowned. “Lady Christina and I agree that there are many more parts of the estate in more urgent need of attention. However—” he sighed “—His Grace is adamant that this should be a priority and he will not be gainsaid. So...” He shrugged with a mixture of resignation and good humor. “I should be obliged if you could take the matter in hand. Go into the library and consult these books His Grace mentions.” He passed over a list written in the duke’s extravagant scrawl. “Good luck, Ross.”

It was more than Lucas could have hoped for. The library was an excellent place to search for a key to Peter’s death.

It was Thomas Wallace who let him in at the front door, proud in his footman’s livery, his round, freckled face polished and scrubbed.

“I can read and write myself, you know,” he confided, when Lucas told him his errand. “I went to the school in the village, the one Lady Christina’s mother set up.”

It was the first time that Lucas had heard anyone mention the late Duchess of Forres. He vaguely remembered Jack once saying that she had died many years before and that it was Christina who had raised her younger siblings. He wondered if Christina derived her nurturing spirit from her mother, and how she had felt to give up her own future to care for her brothers and sisters. She never spoke of it, of course. Lucas knew it was not something she would broach with her servants, but he felt a curiosity to ask her.

As he went into the library he saw that he was not alone. Christina was at the other end of the room, standing on a rickety-looking ladder as she attempted to replace a book on a high shelf. As she stretched upward the ladder wobbled alarmingly. She reversed hastily down the steps, so hastily that she ended up cannoning into Lucas as he came forward to help her.

Once again, Lucas found his arms full of warm woman. She smelled clean and fresh with the faintest hint of summer grass. She was pressed tightly against him, held fast in his arms. Now he was so close Lucas could see how thick and dark her eyelashes were, a striking contrast to the very deep blue of her eyes. She gave a startled gasp and her lips, right beneath his, parted, and the urge to kiss her roared through him. His body’s response to her was so fast and so fierce there was nothing he could do to hide it.

She felt it. His erection was so hard she could scarcely have missed it. He felt the shock rip through her, saw her eyes widen farther, and she looked at him so accusingly he almost laughed.

“Mr. Ross! For shame! In the library!”

Lucas placed her very gently away from him. “I’m afraid that the male anatomy is fairly indiscriminate about location, my lady, though if you prefer we could go elsewhere.”

Christina gave an exasperated huff and fussed about straightening her clothes. She very deliberately avoided his gaze. Lucas was fascinated by her reaction. She had certainly been taken aback by the very obvious response he had to her, but she had not indulged in outraged vapors. He remembered the uninhibited way in which she had responded to his kisses. Her behavior suggested that she was not a virgin. Either that or her education had been quite appallingly broad, which, knowing the Duke of Forres’s unconventional academic interests, was not impossible.

“If I were a gentleman I would apologize,” Lucas said. “However, we have previously established that I am not. I am delighted that I was there to catch you, Lady Christina.”

Christina’s eyes flashed with irritation. Her lips thinned as she looked at him with absolute contempt. “Just when I think you could not possibly be more inappropriate, Mr. Ross,” she said icily, “you surprise me by reaching a new low.”

“I may have surprised you but I don’t think I have shocked you unbearably,” Lucas said. “You are...ah...accustomed to the male anatomy, are you not, Lady Christina?”

The color swamped her face. She might be experienced, but she was not in the least brazen. Lucas suddenly wished he had not embarrassed her. There was something gallant and touching in the way she raised her chin and glared at him.

“That,” she said, “is
absolutely
none of your concern, Mr. Ross.”

Well, that was true. Even so, Lucas wondered. Convention demanded that the unmarried daughter of a duke should save herself for her husband on her wedding night. Perhaps Christina, believing she might never wed, had wanted to know what she was missing. The thought did nothing to douse his lust for her. From the start he had found her extraordinarily alluring; he had not even needed to see her to want her. Now everything about her, from the rounded curve of her cheek to the sweet tilt of her lips, made him want to kiss her.

“What are you doing indoors, Mr. Ross?” Christina said. “In the library of all places?”

“I can read,” Lucas said mildly. “And I am house-trained and so may be safely allowed indoors.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Christina said. “However, what I meant was why does your work bring you inside the castle?”

“Mr. Bevan has asked me to take a look at the books of Gothic architecture that have inspired the duke’s plans,” Lucas said. “As you know, my work does not currently live up to his expectations.”

Christina gave an exaggerated sigh. “No one’s work ever does, Mr. Ross. So far Papa has created an ornamental lake, two bridges, a summerhouse, an arbor and a lime avenue. The Gothic grotto is merely his latest fancy and none of them seem to please him when they are transferred from his imagination to mortar and stone.”

“It must be very disappointing for him,” Lucas said, “to fail to translate his dreams into reality.”

“It is never Papa who fails,” Christina said drily, “only the rest of us who fail to live up to his standards.” Then, as though she realized that she had criticized her father to a servant, she blushed. “Excuse me, Mr. Ross,” she said. “I have a great deal to do.”

“If I could trouble you to show me where the duke’s books on architecture are to be found...” Lucas said.

Christina nodded. She led him down the long room past rank upon rank of high bookcases and took a left turn. Here there was a desk in a stone bay window. The sun, slanting in through the high colored glass at the top, patterned the floor and made the dust motes dance in the light.

“More dust.” Christina sounded distracted. “Poor Annie. There is nothing so hopeless as trying to keep a castle like this clean.” She waved a hand over a scatter of books on the leather top of the desk. “Here you have them, Mr. Ross. I hope they will give you an idea of what my father has in mind.” Her gaze fell on the top book and she bit her lip, recoiling slightly. “Oh, my goodness! I assume papa does not intend his statues to be
quite
so overendowed.”

“I now have a mental image of the garden grotto as a woodland glade in which satyrs ravish innocent maidens,” Lucas said, enjoying her discomfiture. He was sure that for a moment her gaze had flickered to his groin as though comparing him to the preposterously huge naked men in the book.

“Pray remove that image from your mind,” Christina said sharply. “We do not require you to use your imagination, Mr. Ross. Not at all. Here...” She riffled through the book, her fingers trembling slightly. “These are the vases and urns and statues that would look most appropriate in the grotto, and this is the archway that Papa admires. There is no need to include the seminaked goddess,” she added quickly.

There was a wanton-looking woman sitting astride the point of the arch in a most suggestive fashion. Her gown was slipping down to her waist and there was a dreamy smile on her face.

“Ah,” Lucas said. “Yes. Far more respectable to ignore a goddess pleasuring herself.” He smiled. “What a very fascinating collection of books your father possesses, Lady Christina.”