Page 67 of Lyon of Scotland
“Fine,” she said, and he strode into the room. “Dove, what are you doing here?”
“Hold off,” Linhope said. “Let me look at that wound.” He sat at Dove’s other side, as Charles still tended to his father. “What happened?”
“Lady Cameron hit him with a teapot,” Hannah said.
Dare huffed. She wondered if it was anger, laughter, or both.
While Linhope examined the patient, Hannah and Nell explained what had transpired. Seeing Dare’s outrage beginning to simmer, Hannah set a hand on his arm.
“Hold off, as Linhope says,” she told him. “I told Dove his threats will not hold with us. And then Nell took care of him quite smartly.”
“She did.” He twitched his lips.
“I sent the maid for a constable. He should be here soon,” Nell said.
“You did the man a disservice, Lady Cameron,” Linhope said. “He will be dizzy for a week. He will have to rest.”
“Not here!” Nell said. “Send him to a hotel or send him home.”
“Lord Lyon, please let me apologize for my father,” Charles said. “I tried to stop him. I know he can be—arrogant. Hateful, at times,” he added.
Dare listened as Charles told him about Dove’s ambition for Charles, wanting his son to have more credit for his work.
“I see,” Dare said then. “I will talk to Sir George when I return to London soon. You deserve to be recognized for your part in the English armorial designs. Those are excellent, lad. But I want the Scottish office to present the king’s Scottish arms.”
“I agree, sir. I cannot thank you enough.” Charles looked at his father in dismay.
“Now, what to do with the man?” Hugh Cameron said, having been patiently listening. “The constable may decide to take him to the Tolbooth—wait. The Tolbooth is shut down now. We have Calton Hill jail. Horrible place,” he said, looking at Dove. “I am sure he does not want to go there.”
Sir Frederic sat up. “I feel sick. Terrible headache. Your housekeeper can look forward to a warrant for assault.”
“She is Lady Cameron,” Hugh told Dove. “And she may charge you with assault and forceful entry in this house. Lady Strathburn has full right to accuse you of that, too. Which do you prefer? The Scottish court may favor Scottish ladies, I warn you.”
“You have other warrants of assault coming at you too,” Dare said. “In London and here in Edinburgh. Watch for notice of those. I think the next month will be very uncomfortable for you, sir. By the by, this gentleman, Mr. Cameron, is an excellent solicitor, should you require legal advice.”
“Damnation, get me out of here,” Dove told Charles.
“We are leaving on a steamer this afternoon,” Charles said. “Can he travel?”
“I advise rest, but where he stays will be up to the constabulary,” Linhope said.
“Now who is at the door?” Nell said as heavy knocking sounded on the door once again. “That has to be the constable by now.” She opened the door. “Oh! Sir Walter!”
Hannah stood just as Dare did, and saw Sir Walter Scott, Oliver Huntly, and a third man step into the foyer.
“Oh dear God.” She grabbed Dare’s arm. “Whitworth!”
Chapter Thirteen
“Come in, gentlemen,”Dare said, beckoning Scott, Huntly, and their guest into the parlor. He recognized the young man, having seen him last summer at the Gordon house—quite young, with blond hair flopped over his brow, shadowing deep-set eyes. He was beautiful in a frail, gentle way. He was far too thin, his face gaunt. Dare knew the signs—too much drink, too much laudanum. He frowned, and shared a quick glance with Linhope, who seemed to notice the man’s condition too.
“Mr. Whitworth,” Dare said low, wary.
“Lord Strathburn—Lord Lyon,” Whitworth said. “We met at the Gordons’ once. Hannah,” he said then, with a whooshing exhale, as if very anxious. His hands trembled. “Lady Strathburn, I hear now.”
“Mr. Whitworth.” She came to Dare’s side, standing close, and tucked her hand in his elbow. He set his hand over hers, in a protective, deliberate gesture.
“And is that—Mr. Dove?” Jonathan Whitworth said then. He went pale.
