Page 37 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
With all regard and fondest love
Lavinia Dalreagh
Countess Dunrannoch
Frowning,Rye set the letter aside. He knew the story of why his father had left Scotland—knew that it was the choosing of his bride that had brought the estrangement.
Ailsa had been a companion to Rory’s grandmother, Flora Dalreagh—beneath their attention, as far as the earl had been concerned. Even as the third son, Rory had been expected to marry into the gentry. Ailsa had been a rector’s daughter. Genteel for sure, but not sufficiently well-positioned to please the Dalreaghs.
It had always angered Rye, this knowledge of how his mother had been treated—and his father, of course.
“They’ll have to do without you.” Rye spoke brusquely. “They gave up on you all those years ago. Why should you return now, just because it’s convenient for them?”
“Duty.” Rory lay his head back upon the pillows. “It’s the only reason that matters.”
“I’ll write the reply. I’ll explain. What they’re asking is too much. Let them find someone else.” Rye took up the paper, folded it small and pushed it into his pocket.
“They already need someone else.”
Rye placed his hand within his father’s. The fingers were wasted thin, the skin papery. He wanted to tell him not to speak this way—that he just needed to rest, that he’d grow strong again.
But that would be a lie.
He’d been able to make himself believe it before he’d left on the cattle drive—but he wasn’t a fool.
“It’s you they need.” His father’s gaze remained fixed on Rye’s. “I can’t make you do anything you don’t wish to. A man has to go his own way. I know that better than anyone. But I want you to go, Rye. I want you to be what they need you to be. It’s more than a title. There’s an estate to run—just like this ranch, but with a lot more people to care for. Your tenants, relying on you to keep things running smoothly.”
Rory’s face was pale, coated in a sheen of sweat, and his voice rasping but he held firm to Rye’s hand. “José Luis and Antonio have witnessed my will, Rye. I’m leaving the ranch to Alejandra and the boys. With Juan coming up for twenty-two and the others close behind, they know what they’re doing.”
An ache seared Rye’s chest. He’d been born on the ranch—had been raised here boy and man. The landscape, the cattle, the horses, the people—they were part of who he was.
And his father wanted him to walk away?
“Pedro’s family owned the ranch long before I came in as partner. It’s only right that his sons take over.
“Head east, take the train, book yourself a passage from New York. Find your way to Dunrannoch. They’ll take care of you. Find you a wife in the bargain, I’ll bet! You’re coming on for twenty-seven Rye. A man can’t stay single forever. Telegram ahead and they’ll have her lined right up—some rose-complexioned beauty to make your heart hammer faster than a stampeding herd of longhorns!” Rory’s laughter was brief, dissolving in a fit of coughing.
Rye brought the water to his father’s lips again.
“I’m just a plain Texas rancher and that’s a whole ’nother world. ’Fraid I’ll make a sorry excuse for a viscount.”
“You’re a Dalreagh. We’re stubborn and proud but we do our duty.” He squeezed Rye’s fingers. “You’ll do just fine.”
He gave his half-smile again. “Besides which, it sounds like it won’t be long before the whole caboodle is yours. My father’s a tough old goat but you’ll soon be stepping into his boots. You’ll be more than a viscount; you’ll be an earl.”
And I don’t want any of it,thought Rye.Only for you to stay with me—for everything to carry on as it always has. You and me on the ranch, Pa. This is all I’ve known. It’s my home.
Could he do this?
His father’s eyes were already closing. He was exhausted from whatever was eating him up inside.
One thing was for sure: Rye was his father’s son. If he set his mind to something, he’d do it.
He’d show the Dalreaghs that his father had done a fine job raising him.
“Well, it sounds mighty swell, Pa.”
Content to hear the words, Rory passed into fitful sleep.
