Page 25 of Sinful Scottish Laird
Cailean knew Spivey—he was an adversary, had been in pursuit of Aulay and Cailean for more than a year. They’d outrun him on at least two occasions and the last time had been terribly close. Their ships had passed so closely as Spivey’s ship, theFortune,tried to turn starboard to fire at them, that Cailean and Spivey had seen each other through their spyglasses. Cailean had seen Spivey very clearly when Aulay’s first mate, Wallace Mackenzie, fired his musket and killed a sailor on Spivey’s deck. Aulay had maneuvered their unmarked ship expertly, and they’d outrun the royal rig. But theFortune’scannon had clipped their foremast. They had barely escaped.
The ship had to be sent to Skye for repair. And the Mackenzies had continued on with their trade.
It was an impossible coincidence that Lady Chatwick would be marrying one of the few men on this earth who would gladly see him hang.
“But who among us is a farmer?” Miss Hainsworth said.
Cailean realized she was still talking to him.
“Certainly not I!” she said with a snort. “I can’t be long in the sun as it gives me a wretched headache—oh, there is my uncle. Pardon me, sir,” she said and stepped away.
Cailean stared at Lady Chatwick, stunned by this news. He had the sudden thought that Captain Spivey had sent her here to ferret him out. But he quickly dismissed the idea—Spivey would need to catch him in the act of smuggling to bring him to justice, and he was presumably so far from the Highlands that it was an impossibility. So was it just a bad coincidence? A peculiar, absurd twist of fate?
Fergus MacDonald startled Cailean, accosting him, whisky in hand. “Mackenzie, lad,” he said with much jocularity. Apparently, it was not his first whisky of the evening. “I wagered I’d no’ see you among us.”
“I’d have thought the same of you, MacDonald.” That was not exactly true—shipbuilding was not entirely profitable, particularly when one built a ship for a Scotsman who promised to pay, then watched that Scotsman sail away and never return.
“How did you gain an invitation, then?” MacDonald asked. “Had to wrangle it from theda, we did. He was right crabbit about it, too.”
“You’ve come in your father’s stead?” Cailean asked, not understanding.
“No’ in his stead, lad. Left him tied to that bloody shrew of a wife, aye? Ach, donna look at me in that way, Mackenzie. He’s his own fortune, he has. He doesna need another.” He threw a companionable arm around Cailean’s shoulders. “Like you, we’ve an interest in the lady’s affairs,” he said low, and waggled thick ginger eyebrows at him. “You’ve heard, have you no’? She’s a bloody fortune to her name and must marry a Scotsman by the end of the year.”
Cailean hadn’t heard it quite in that way, but nevertheless he shrugged MacDonald’s heavy arm off his shoulders. “I’ve no interest in her affairs. I’ve come only as escort to my sister.”
MacDonald laughed and clapped Cailean on the back. “Aye, of course you have, Mackenzie! Ofcourseyou have.” He was still laughing as he wandered away.
Diah,Cailean could scarcely abide it, watching these men jockey around the lady, working to gain her attention. And worse, assuming he was working for the same.
But he’d rather see one of these men prevail thanSpivey.
Somerled had attached himself to her side, he noticed. The rumors of his debts must be true, then. Lady Chatwick was enjoying his attention, obviously—she was quite animated when Somerled said something. She laughed, tossing her head back, her hand going to her belly as if to contain her glee.
He shifted his attention to the windows that overlooked the loch and the gloomy vista of never-ending rain. But he could see the reflections of the people behind him, could see Lady Chatwick’s hair towering above the men.Spivey.
What a tragic waste of a beautiful woman.
He moved away, unwilling to look at her just now, and nearly stumbled over a lad seated in a chair.
Cailean paused. Lady Chatwick’s son had either not noticed him or was refusing to acknowledge him. He had his hands braced against his knees and his head down, staring at the floor. The child seemed to be in abject misery. Well, then, they’d make good bedfellows.
“Good evening,” Cailean said. The lad would not lift his head, so Cailean nudged his foot. “My lord?”
The lad spoke then, but in a tone so soft that Cailean couldn’t understand him. “Pardon?” he asked, and squatted down on his haunches beside him, dipping his head to see the lad’s face. At last, the young lord looked at him.A Diah,what a despondent lad he was.
“Would you like some company?”
The lad shook his head, pressed his lips together and averted his gaze.
“No?” Cailean asked. “A pity, then. I had hoped you might share what you think of the Highlands and Auchenard.” He didn’t really care, but the lad did look as if he could use a friend about now.
“I hate it,” he whispered.
“Hate?” Cailean repeated. “What could you possibly hate?”
“There’s nothing to do here.”
“Och, you donna know what you say. There is much for a lad to do here, aye? Hunting and fishing, stalking and birding. And you canna argue that there is a better diversion than the summerfeill.”
