The Laird Who Loved Me

  Alexander grinned down at her, his arms crossed over his chest as he rocked back on his heels. “You could simply save your pride, admit that you’ve lost, and come to my bed now.” Even in her plain clothing, there was no disguising her beauty. He was especially fond of the bonnet, which framed her face and made her brown eyes seem even larger.

  She regarded him with a determined expression. “I’m going to win this, and you, my lord, will be on your knee. Wait and see!”

  Alexander shrugged. “You won’t succeed. Dingwall hates the duchess.”

  “Well, if I fail—and I don’t believe I will—it won’t be for lack of trying.”

  He rather liked it when she lifted her chin like that. “A few slices of freshly baked bread and some soup won’t break a decade’s old feud.”

  “How I go about this is none of your concern. I’ll see you this evening, MacLean. With Lord Dingwall.” She spun on one heel and left, her basket clutched against her.

  Alexander waited until she disappeared around the stables before he followed. A loud chorus of female voices raised in greeting made him pause at the edge of the stables and peer around the corner.

  Every maid in the house seemed to be standing there, and Caitlyn was welcomed like a hero of a classic Greek myth. Good God, MacCready was right: she has every female firmly on her side.

  Caitlyn spoke to a tall, large-boned hulk of a woman with iron-gray hair tied back in a bun. She was almost twice the size of Caitlyn, her shoulders as broad as a farmhand’s.

  They said farewell to the group, then headed toward the low fence that surrounded Lord Dingwall’s land. The women watched them until a call from the kitchen door made them hurry away. Alexander followed Caitlyn toward the fence, his long strides quickly overtaking her and her companion.

  Caitlyn looked over her shoulder and saw MacLean approaching, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze, his green eyes agleam, his stride purposeful. She couldn’t help a small thrill of excitement from racing down her spine as she gestured for Mrs. Sterling to continue. With a glare at MacLean, the older woman huffed on to the fence, well within earshot.

  “What do you want now?” Caitlyn asked impatiently.

  “I came to give you a word of advice.”

  Caitlyn hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she trusted him, yet she was determined not to miss any important information. “You’ve been anything but helpful up until now.”

  “But this time I am quite certain there is no way in hell you’ll succeed, so I can afford to be generous. I’ve heard that Lord Dingwall takes a walk every afternoon around three. If you can’t get into the house, that may give you access to him.”

  “Oh, we’ll get into the house. But thank you for your advice, I’ll let you know if we needed it.”

  “There is also the little matter of the horse.”

  “I already know that it bites.”

  He grinned, his eyes crinkling in an alarmingly attractive way. “Do you know about all of the horses?”

  She glanced back at the field, which looked empty. All she could see was a sea of grass that led to a manor house on a small rise.

  “I have no desire to see that beautiful skin bruised.” He slipped his finger along her cheek, leaving shivery tingles in his wake.

  She jerked away. “Thank you for that bit of knowledge. But bite or no bite, you’ll never see my bared skin.”

  From by the fence, Mrs. Sterling gave a supportive, take-that “Humph!”

  MacLean’s gaze narrowed. “We’ll see about that.”

  Drat the man! Every time he had the chance to muddle her thinking with a kiss or a touch, he took it. Well, she’d show him!

  She stalked to the fence, put the basket through the rails onto the ground, and nimbly climbed over. As she waited for Mrs. Sterling to do the same, she glanced under her lashes at MacLean. His brows were raised, a look of surprise—appreciation?—on his face. Well, he should be appreciative. She’d been born and raised in the country, and if there was one thing she knew how to do, it was how to scale a fence.

  When Mrs. Sterling joined her, Caitlyn picked up her basket and set out for the house. It took almost twenty minutes and a good deal of it was uphill, but she didn’t see one sign of the biting horse.

  “Of course I didn’t,” she muttered as she marched behind Mrs. Sterling’s broader back, keeping a sharp lookout for snapping dogs. “Just you wait, MacLean. This evening I’ll have finished my task, and you haven’t even started yours!”

  An hour and a half before dinner, Alexander said, “MacCready, gather my army.”

  The valet, who had just set a stack of fresh hand towels by the basin in the corner of the room, turned to look at Alexander. “Your army, my lord?”

  “Yes, you said you’d recruit some helpers. Where are they? Miss Hurst had an entire platoon of women to see her off on her voyage to Lord Dingwall’s house.”

  “Oh, that army. Well, my lord, it was not as easy to convince the men to join our cause as I hoped. I was reduced to offering bribes.”

  “What?”

  “The men don’t dare to be open in their support of you for fear of retaliation from the other side.”

  “Fools, the lot of them. What can the females do besides overstarch neckcloths?”

  “Actually, my lord, the females have done quite a bit more.” MacCready opened the wardrobe to reveal a stack of white shirts with iron burns, two waistcoats with every button snipped off, and boots that appeared to have been blackened with coal dust.

  “Good God!”

  “Precisely, my lord. Not only must I inspect every housekeeping item before it comes into the room, but I must also check for hidden items in your food and drink—”

  “Drink?” Alexander glanced at his decanter of port and frowned. “The port is excellent.”

  “That port is excellent because I personally fetched that decanter of port from the library. The brown tea that was sent up as ‘port’ was not excellent.”

  Alexander had to admit that Caitlyn had made this little game interesting. He never knew what would happen next. “Have we no assistance?”

  “I found only two, my lord.”

  “I’m disappointed in the lack of backbone displayed by the males here. Well, collect our two volunteers and bring them here. Miss Hurst will arrive at dinner empty-handed, and I wish to have my task completed by then. It will take more than one person to capture the bow from that monster Lady Kinloss calls Muffin.”

  “Yes, my lord. I shall bring them here immediately.” MacCready bowed and left.

  Alexander finished tying his cravat, wondering how Caitlyn was faring. A faint flicker of worry raised its head. She’s fine. She had that hulking guard of a woman with her. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

  Well . . . the dogs could attack her, or that damned biting horse. And what if Dingwall really was crazy, not just justifiably angry with Georgiana?

  Alexander restlessly went to the window to look at the road. Nothing moved as the sun sank over the lake. No horses were coming or going, and the stables were still.

  Damn it! He turned away and crossed to the fireplace, which crackled merrily. He grasped the fire iron to stir the logs, and the handle came loose from the shaft, which clanked noisily onto the marble hearth.

  Grumbling, he bent down and picked up the iron shaft, which immediately slid from his fingers. What in hell— He looked at his hands. Black grease smeared his palm and fingers.

  Teeth clenched, he threw the handle to the floor and stalked to his water basin. With his clean hand, he grabbed the pitcher and tilted it to pour water into the basin, when Crash! The pitcher fell to the floor and broke into a thousand pieces, brown liquid spilling everywhere.

  The scent of port tickled his nose. So that’s where they dumped it.

  Alexander stood scowling at the handle left in his hand, his shirt and breeches splattered with port, glass and brown liquid all over the floor, and his one hand still covered in grease. With a disgusted
snort, he went to drop the handle, only to find that some enterprising female had coated it with a sticky substance.

  He had to open his hand flat and shake it until the damn handle dropped to the washstand.

  Bloody hell, what a mess. He looked at his hands, then decided that the port that had landed in the washbasin would have to do. He washed his hands in it, glad to see that it was as effective as water.

  The door opened and MacCready entered, pausing as he saw the destruction. “Oh, dear. My lord, I’m so sorry this happened! If you’ll take off your shirt and waistcoat, I can—”

  “No, thank you, MacCready. I’ll wear what I have on until dinner. I might get a bit mussed with this dog.”

  “Very well, my lord. I’ve brought your squadron for their first inspection.” He went to the door and looked down the hall. “This way, please. Come in!”

  In shuffled an ancient man and a pockmarked youth with a shock of bright orange hair. So these were the men who weren’t afraid of the women in the household. No wonder: they stood no chance of gaining female attention anyway.

  MacCready gestured to the older man. “This is Rob McNabb, and this is young Hamrick Hannaday. They’re your squadron.”

  The old man snapped a smart salute, while the younger man simply looked confused.

  Alexander picked up a towel and dried his hands. “Good to meet you, gentlemen. I appreciate your assistance with my little task.”

  Alexander went to the bed and stripped the case from a pillow, then tossed the case to Hamrick. “Hold on to this.” Crossing to the fireplace, Alexander used a throw blanket from the settee to wipe the fire iron clean of grease.

  Then he retreived the empty pillowcase from Hamrick and hooked it over the end of the iron and rested the contraption over his shoulder. “Come, my lads. We’re off to hunt.”

  An hour later, Alexander returned to his bedchamber with his two soldiers.

  “Good God!” MacCready said. “What happened?”

  Alexander nodded to Hamrick, who held up the pillowcase, a mass of writhing, snarling dog clearly outlined inside.

  “You got him!”

  “Yes,” Alexander said grimly. “Finally. I don’t know how, but he saw us coming.”

  “Aye,” Hamrick said, giving a huge grin. “He gave us a run fer our money, he did. Round the library and outside—”

  “Outside?”

  “All the way to the lake.” Alexander dropped into a chair by the fireplace.

  “That explains the mud.”

  “I dove for the little bastard and almost had him.”

  MacCready eyed Old Rob. “What happened to your hand? Or need I ask?”

  “Tha’ crazed mutt bit me when I tried to feed it a wee bit o’ liver!”

  “Ah. And how did you finally catch the wild beast?”

  “We smeared a cloth with pâté, and when he came sniffing, we all jumped him.” Alexander smiled with satisfaction.

  “Aye,” Old Rob said. “He’s a fierce wee beastie. We could have used the help o’ more men.”

  Hamrick nodded, his orange hair flapping about his ears. “I had ’is leg, and Old Rob had his ear. Lord MacLean whipped that pillowcase out and now we have him!”

  MacCready didn’t look impressed. “I see. And what do you propose to do with him?”

  Alexander rubbed his neck. He was sore and dirty and had bruises on every inch of his body. “All we need is its damned bow, but it must be glued on to the mutt. In all the racing and running and wrestling, it didn’t budge.”

  Hamrick held the pillowcase aloft, and Muffin’s snarling snout appeared against the side of the bag. “I’ll no’ put me hand in there to get his bow, no matter wha’ coins ye offer.”

  “Me, neither!” Old Rob moved his bandaged hand and winced. “In fact, if yer lordship has no more use fer me, I think I’ll find me way to the kitchen and see if they’ll rewrap me hand.”

  MacCready opened the door and placed a coin in the man’s uninjured palm as he left.

  Hamrick hurriedly handed the bag of dog to Alexander and went to get his own coin, then MacCready shut the door.

  “There will be no food in the kitchen for either of them,” he predicted. “They’ve joined the enemy, and now they’ll discover the price.”

  Alexander grunted, staring at the bag. “Now, how am I to get the bow? Perhaps I should shake the bag and—”

  “My lord, please give me the dog.”

  Alexander willingly handed the bag over. “What to you propose to do? This task is lethally dangerous. That dog’s a vicious, cold-blooded, ill-tempered—”

  “The bow, my lord.”

  Alexander blinked. Muffin’s pink bow lay in MacCready’s hand while the dog was tucked securely under his other arm, panting loudly and looking absurdly pleased with himself.

  “How in hell did you do that?”

  “My uncle was a rat-terrier farmer. I grew up around them and know a trick or two.”

  “A rat-terrier farmer?”

  “A suppose the term should be breeder, but I dislike the common sound of that word.”

  “I see. So you know a trick or two and yet you didn’t offer to help?”

  “You didn’t ask.” MacCready opened the door, patted the dog, then placed him on the floor. “Off to your mistress, you little hell-monger. And don’t pee upon the carpets on your way, either,” the valet ordered. “Don’t think I don’t know that little trick.”

  Muffin’s tail wagged furiously, and with a bark he ran out of the room, his nails clicking on the wooden hallway floor.

  MacCready closed the door. “I shall order you a bath, my lord. You still have thirty minutes before dinner.”

  Alexander sat up frowning. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear wha—”

  “A carriage.”

  MacCready tilted his head to one side. After a second, his eyes widened. “My lord! You don’t think—”

  Alexander was at the window in a second. Outside, an ancient carriage had just pulled up before Balloch Castle. As Alexander watched grimly, footmen immediately ran outside to help.

  Though he didn’t recognize the old man who was assisted out of the carriage, Alexander did recognize Miss Caitlyn Hurst.

  “Damn it. She did it. She brought Lord Dingwall to dinner.”

  Chapter 17

  ’Tis a pleasure to win—but sometimes ’tis more of a pleasure no’ to be the one to lose!

  OLD WOMAN NORA FROM LOCH LOMOND TO HER THREE WEE GRANDDAUGHTERS ONE COLD EVENING

  Caitlyn had indeed brought Lord Dingwall, who wore satin knee breeches, yellowed stockings held up with garters, and a puce satin jacket. His clothing would have been the epitome of fashion twenty years ago, but today they appeared like a costume worn on a stage.

  But Dingwall’s manners were surprisingly urbane, mainly because he was in a sparkling good mood. Caitlyn stood at his side and beamed, looking so excited and happy that it set the tone with the majority of the guests. Dervishton and Falkland made fools of themselves welcoming the old man. It also helped that the Treymonts were distant relatives; they welcomed Dingwall warmly and with a touch of familiarity that set his acceptance even further.

  At the table, Alexander sipped his wine and ignored Georgiana. She sat fuming, ill humor rising from her like invisible steam. It had taken some sharp words to extract a promise from her to accept Dingwall’s presence. In fact, it had taken many sharp words. Alexander knew she finally agreed only because she was still clinging to the delusion that she had a place in his bed sometime in the near future. She didn’t, of course, and he’d been blunt in expressing that fact, but she seemed to think that something might change.

  He sent her a glance and found her looking at something with an expression of hate. He followed her gaze, expecting to find her looking at Dingwall, but her fury was directed directly at Caitlyn.

  An uneasy feeling settled between his shoulders. Georgiana wasn’t evil, but she could be cutting. He’d begun to realize tha
t one of Caitlyn’s many faults—besides being painfully impulsive and stubborn as a mule—was that she met the world with her arms and heart wide-open, which made her vulnerable—a fact she’d deny to her last breath. That very trait made her especially vulnerable to the sort of shenanigans Georgiana was capable of.

  Alexander worried about the hatred he saw in Georgiana’s eyes. Had his own vitriol against Caitlyn’s actions caused it? Or was it because Georgiana was facing a younger, more beautiful, and more taking woman? Whatever had sparked the fire, it was raging now.

  A burst of laughter from the other end of the table captured Alexander’s attention. Dingwall was keeping the far end of the dinner table entertained, in a marked contrast to the sullen silence surrounding Georgiana. As Alexander watched, Dingwall said something that made Caitlyn chuckle and then reply, her eyes sparkling. Lord Dervishton, who’d somehow managed to trick Falkland into switching seats with him, leaned forward eagerly to catch what she was saying.

  Alexander’s gaze narrowed.

  Dervishton continued to press forward when there was no chance for him, and he was beginning to irk Alexander. It was time he explained to Dervishton why his efforts were futile.

  A cool hand was placed over his and he looked up to meet Georgiana’s gaze, frosty and demanding. In a low voice that shook with fury, she said, “I’ve addressed no fewer than three remarks to you and you’ve not answered a one.”

  “I’m sorry. I was distracted by Lord Dingwall’s puce coat.”

  Her lips thinned. “Oh? Thinking of getting one?”

  “No. I’m distracted, not demented.”

  She flicked a glance at the end of the table and then back to him. “I wonder.”

  Alexander refused to rise to her bait. “Dingwall has become the life of the party.”

  “Of course he has,” Georgiana said sharply. “He’s in the one house he never thought to be invited into. Why on earth did you demand that I allow that man to come here?”

  Lady Kinloss tittered nervously, her gaze darting between Alexander and the duchess and back. “Though Lord MacLean asked if Dingwall could come, it was Miss Hurst who brought him. I find that very odd!”