And the Bride Wore Plaid

  Damn. I’m doing it again. Apparently he had a weakness for women with green eyes and pointed shoes. He closed the window, then held up his boots to the light. They were now mudless, but covered in some sort of gray grime. Tipton would not be pleased.

  Devon swiped them with the hand towel on the night table, stomped his feet into the boots, and shrugged into his coat. The sooner he lured the serving maid into his bed, the sooner he could relax and stop worrying he might meet a paragon of feminine virtues—the exact type of woman one might feel compelled to marry.

  A woman he might not be able to refuse.

  Fate might be conspiring against him, but she had not beaten him yet. Devon whistled softly to himself as he stepped out of the cozy confines of the room into the hallway, pausing a moment to get his bearings.

  If he had thought Kilkairn Castle disreputable during his brief view of it the night before, it was even more forlorn in the bright sunlight. At first glance, the wide stone-lined hallway benefited from a brace of large, high-set windows, the tall ceiling arching gracefully over a set of elaborate iron chandeliers. But closer inspection revealed the layering of dust that piled in the corners of the hall, and the thick bracket of cobwebs that stretched from cornice to chandelier bracket. He followed a particularly long cobweb where it stretched down to the corner of the rug that ran the center of the hallway. In all probability, the runner had once been a rich red, though now it was an indiscriminate brown.

  All told, it was a strange state of affairs considering that while at Eton, Malcolm had been so fastidious about his possessions that he’d taken a ribbing from his classmates on more than one occasion. It had taken the force of Malcolm’s hot fists and ready temper to silence most of the naysayers.

  Since then, of course, Malcolm had married, a supposedly “blessed state” that seemed to have the effect of immediately turning a sane, logical man into a quivering, starry-eyed impostor. Devon had seen just such a transformation occur in no fewer than three of his own brothers.

  Thank God he was prepared to fight off the talisman ring’s curse. He was a man who favored a more lively way of life. His needs were simple—enjoyment of life, an occasional flagon of brandy, and the warm company of a large number of the fair sex.

  His stomach rumbled and he sighed, then made his way down the stairs. He wondered if there was to be breakfast or if he would have to procure his own. Considering the state of the castle, he would not be surprised to discover that there was ham for breakfast, but first he’d have to catch the pig, strangle it with his bare hands, and dress it himself.

  The unmistakable clank of a serving dish sounded at the very bottom of the great stairs and alleviated his fears. Devon followed the sound, his stomach growling louder as the wafting scent of bacon reached his nostrils.

  He didn’t even pause on reaching the room, but entered forthwith. Only two occupants were inside. One was a bent-over, hunkered old man dressed in a footman’s livery who stood beside a sideboard filled with steaming platters. He didn’t even look around when Devon entered, but continued to move a water pitcher slowly toward an empty water glass.

  Across the room sat the other occupant, a slender, well-dressed man with an expressive face and deep auburn hair. A rather small, solitary figure at the huge gleaming table, he occupied an ornate chair, a plate before him.

  The man was just lifting a bite of egg to his mouth when his gaze fell on Devon. The man’s eyes widened, and he dropped his fork. “Damn me, but I’ll be drawn and quartered!”

  “So you shall, Strathmore,” Devon said. “An event I’ve predicted on more than one occasion.”

  Malcolm grinned from ear to ear as he jumped up from the table. “Devon St. John! How are you, you pox-ridden, swiving, crimped-ear dog!”

  Devon took the hand Malcolm thrust toward him. “God save us all, but it is Malcolm Macdonald, scourge of Scotland and bane of Britain. Hide your money and your women!”

  Malcolm laughed. “Och, laddie! You haven’t changed a bit! When did you arrive? I didn’t expect to see you till after this rain quit us.”

  “Last night, rather late. Didn’t anyone inform you?”

  “No one has informed me of a bloody thing! Who was up to greet you?”

  “The housekeeper. Your butler was apparently unavailable.”

  “Davies,” Malcolm said with a disgusted snort. “He’s never where he should be. Still, I’m surprised one of the footmen didn’t mention it.” Malcolm looked at the humped-back old man who stood by the buffet and said loudly, “Damn it, Ketron! Why didn’t you tell me St. John had arrived?”

  The old man didn’t look up but continued with his task, his blue-veined hands trembling as he lifted the pitcher to pour water into the glass. Large droplets splattered everywhere, sizzling on the ham plate.

  “By St. Brennan’s boat, I am surrounded by imbeciles and deaf mutes!” Malcolm sighed, then shrugged as if to move past his irritation, a pained smile touching his mouth. “There’s naught for it now. Accept my apologies, St. John. I shall have to force you to drink a bottle or two of my best port as a way to offer solace for my shortcomings as a host.”

  “I accept,” Devon said without hesitation.

  “Thank you. You always were a generous man.” Malcolm glared at the elderly retainer. “As I’m sure you’ve noticed, things are in a wee bit of disarray.”

  That was an understatement. Devon cleared his throat and said politely, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”

  “Yes, it is. These servants are horrid. They were m’father’s, most of them. The only ones who would stay. Except that one.” Malcolm nodded toward the ancient footman who was now slowly wiping up the spilled water using the corner of his coat. “That one was a wedding gift from Fiona’s mother. The harridan swore she was doing us a great service and claimed that he was indispensable to her household. At the time I thought she was being too generous, but now I am not so certain.”

  “A parson’s gift, hm?”

  “Aye. I think the real reason she sent him here was to cause us the greatest inconvenience she could. Devon, honestly, the man cannot hear a word.”

  Devon chuckled. “How inconsiderate.”

  “Aye. But enough of my misfortunes.” Malcolm gestured to the table. “Come and eat!” He waited for Devon to sit before he took a chair. Then he said in a very loud voice, “Ketron, bring another plate!”

  The old man didn’t so much as blink, but continued, ever so slowly, to wipe yet another bead of water off the sideboard.

  Malcolm closed his eyes, a deep crease appearing on his forehead. After a moment, he opened his eyes. “Perhaps I should just get it for you.”

  “Oh no—”

  “Nonsense,” Malcolm said, standing up with the air of a man who has suffered long and sees no end in sight. He made his way to the buffet, where he startled the butler by reaching past him to get a plate and then piled it high with a spoonful of every dish available.

  Devon blinked at the amount of food that was eventually set before him. “I am overwhelmed.” He supposed he could get used to the drafty halls, damp beds, and cobweb-strewn corners if his sojourn at Kilkairn Castle promised food like this. “I don’t believe I’ve seen a more lovely sight.”

  Malcolm resumed his seat and beamed affably. “Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day. Fiona has the ordering of dinner, so I have to—” He broke off at Devon’s expression. “Never mind that. Just eat and enjoy.” He glanced over at the elderly footman and then said in a loud voice that was a hair from a yell, “Ketron, could you inform Lady Strathmore we have a guest?”

  The footman turned from the sideboard and put his hand to his ear. “Eh?”

  Malcolm muttered under his breath and then repeated his request, even more loudly.

  “Aye, my lord,” the old man said. He straightened his shoulders, then lifted his foot. He shuffled more than walked, and it took him forever just to reach the door.

  The second he passed through, Malcolm pulle
d his plate closer and reclaimed his fork. “So, how are those brothers of yours?”

  “Chase just wed. Brandon returned just a few months ago from his honeymoon, and Anthony and Anna are talking about having even more children.”

  “Chase just wed? And Brandon as well? Saints, but it sounds as if the whole lot of you have gone daft.” Malcolm eyed Devon up and down. “You don’t have that bloody ring, do you?”

  Devon nodded once.

  “Blast! I knew it.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  Malcolm drew back a little, his eyes wide. “Because it means that your goose is cooked, my friend.”

  “It means no such thing,” Devon said much more firmly than he meant to.

  A crack of laughter met this. “How do you plan on escaping?”

  “By staying busy.” Devon shifted in his chair, his shin hitting the leg of the table right where his morning visitor had kicked him. He winced.

  Malcolm’s brows lowered with concern. “The table has odd-placed legs.”

  “It isn’t that. I merely struck a previous injury. A bruise caused by a rather spirited mare.”

  “A mare?”

  “Yes. One with very intriguing green eyes.” It was somewhat odd, but every time Devon thought about the sassy maid, he smiled.

  Malcolm grinned in return. “Oh ho! An armful, was she?”

  “And then some.” Devon rubbed his shin once more. “She wears pointed boots, too. Apparently she took something I said in an unfavorable light and delivered a kick worthy of my new gelding.”

  “What did you say to cause such a reaction?”

  “Nothing that I can think of. I merely told her she had to pay a toll to leave my room. A kiss. Inexplicably, she took offense.”

  “Och, you found a spirited one!” Malcolm spread some marmalade on a piece of toasted bread. “Where did you meet this maid? At a tavern along the way?”

  “No. It was here. In the blue room.”

  Malcolm’s laughter froze on his lips, something flickering in his gaze. He looked down at his toast, a strange expression on his face. “Did you…did you say the blue room?”

  “Yes,” Devon said cautiously. “Why?”

  Malcolm shook himself, as if waking from a deep sleep. “Och, nothing. A thought, ’tis all. How did you come to be in the blue room?”

  Reassured, Devon reached for the salt. “It was the only one clean enough to inhabit. When I awoke this morning, the maid was there and claimed the room to be hers. So, in return for vacating the premises, I asked for a kiss.”

  Malcolm started to take a bite of his toast, but then apparently thought better of it and returned it to the side of his plate. “What did this, ah, lass say to your price of a kiss?”

  Devon grinned. “She didn’t say anything while I was kissing her.”

  A faint flush crept up Malcolm’s neck. “She let you kiss her?”

  “Yes. Then I decided I wanted another kiss, and that was what caused our little disagreement.”

  “But she let you kiss her once,” Malcolm repeated as if unable to believe his ears.

  Devon frowned at his host, a sense of unease prickling along the back of his neck. “Why? Is she maid to your wife?”

  “Maid to—oh no!” Malcolm apparently found that comment amusing for he snorted a laugh, then said, “She’s no one’s maid, is Kat. Tell me more about this encounter.”

  So the chit’s name was Kat. Most likely a short version of Katherine. Devon shrugged at Malcolm’s interested gaze. “There’s not much more to tell.”

  “What do you think of this lass? Do you think she is pretty?”

  “Pretty” wasn’t quite the word for it. In comparison to the woman’s true attributes, “pretty” was a pallid, winter shadow. “’Lush’ is a better word. She was well rounded with red gold hair and green eyes and—” He broke off, uncertain how much to reveal. “She was quite a noticeable woman.” Which was understating the truth by a wide mark. Still, it never behooved one to bare all of one’s secrets. For all Devon knew, Malcolm might have an interest in the maid himself. Devon regarded his friend for a long moment. “Why do you ask?”

  Malcolm waved an expansive hand. “No particular reason. Did the two of you speak for long?”

  “For several minutes. She was quite sharp-witted.” And had a body that had begged for further exploration. “I take it you know this woman.”

  Malcolm’s lips twitched. “Oh yes. I know her. That’s why I’m surprised that all she did was kick your shins. It’s amazing she didn’t blacken your lights, too.”

  “She’s a feisty one, I’ll admit that. At one point she threatened to, ah, remove a certain ‘appendage.’ One I’m very fond of and have no wish to go without.”

  Malcolm burst into laughter. “She didn’t!”

  “Yes, she did. I tried to talk her into admiring my appendage at a closer distance rather than threatening to remove it, but she refused—” Devon frowned. “Good God, what is wrong?”

  Gulping great gusts of air, Malcolm rocked back in his chair, his face red as he struggled to contain his laughter. “D—don’t tell me any more, please! Let me—have to—catch my breath!”

  It was too much. Malcolm had always been a laughing soul; it was one of the things Devon liked best about him. But for some reason, this time Devon had the feeling that Malcolm was actually laughing at him and not with him.

  So it was that he said in a rather frosty voice, “I beg your pardon, but while it was certainly an amusing moment, it wasn’t that funny.”

  Malcolm wiped his eyes, chuckling. “Ah, laddie! If only you knew!”

  Devon threw his napkin on the table. “Knew what?”

  “Th-that—by the saints, I c-can’t talk.” Malcolm fell into yet another paroxysm of laughter.

  Devon was forced to wait while his host composed himself. It took several moments and three or four gulps of tepid ale before Malcolm finally gasped a calmer breath.

  The Scotsman wiped his eyes and said, “Here’s the whist of it: the woman you were kissing in your chambers this morning was none other than Miss Katherine Anne Macdonald.”

  Devon stilled. Surely Malcolm didn’t mean…“Katherine Anne Macdonald?”

  “Aye. My half sister.”

  “That tall Amazon is your sister?” Devon repeated, too bemused to do more. Bloody hell. And Devon had thought she was “safe.”

  Malcolm read his look of chagrin as something altogether different. “Aye, ’tis a sad thing my father had such a short one for his male child and then sprung a giantess for his daughter, but so ’tis, her mother being a wee bit on the English side.”

  “That explains her lack of accent.”

  “Lack? You mean it explains why she has one to begin with.”

  Devon smiled. “That, too.”

  “She’s a wild one, is Kat. My parents’ marriage was not pleasant. After one particular fight, my father stormed out and didn’t come back for three months. Seems he found a seamstress in a nearby town, an impecunious English woman who made her way doing fancy stitch. She was tall with green eyes and red gold hair and was rumored to be a lady of some birth, though that was never substantiated. Kat is the spitting image of her.”

  Devon’s spirits began to climb once again. So Kat Macdonald was the result of an illicit affair. Perhaps she was yet a good candidate for a dalliance after all. As long, of course, as Malcolm didn’t mind. Devon didn’t know what Malcolm’s feelings about his half sister were, but judging from the mirth he’d thus far displayed…well, things weren’t as grim as Devon had thought. “Tell me about this half sister of yours…Katherine.”

  “You’ll call her Kat lest you are fond of bruised shins. She dislikes the name Katherine and has never used it.”

  Kat it was, then. “Did you grow up with her?”

  “In the same house? Lord no. My mother couldn’t stand the sight of her. My father asked and asked to have her live here, but my mother was not a forgiving sort of woman. Eventuall
y he quit asking and instead had a snug little cottage built in the woods near here for Kat and her mum. Kat lives there now.”

  Devon lifted his brow. “But she has a room here, in the castle.”

  “Indeed she does. She oft comes for dinner and stays the night. I had the room made up for her after I came into the title. My mother had a fit, but I thought it was only right.”

  “Your mother sounds like quite an opinionated woman.”

  Malcolm made a face. “You don’t know the half of it. At first she flatly refused to have anything to do with Kat, even though it was painfully obvious that the girl needed some guidance. Eventually, I was able to talk sense into my mother.”

  “After your father died, I’m sure some of her hard feelings must have dissolved.”

  “In a strange way, it only made it worse. I think Mother blamed Kat’s mum for the problems in the marriage even though they were in existence long before she came along.”

  “How awkward.”

  “For me, it was difficult.” Malcolm’s expression sobered. “For Kat, it was painful. But I brought my mother round eventually. I told her that if she wished to continue living in the Strathmore Dower House in Edinburgh, she’d make Kat welcome and present her to society.”

  “So Kat is a society miss.”

  Something flickered across Malcolm’s face, but was quickly suppressed. “Hardly. Kat didn’t…” The Scotsman hesitated, then shrugged. “She didn’t take.”

  There was something more to that story, Devon was sure of it. Still, it seemed equally obvious that Malcolm did not want to tell him.

  Of course, it was entirely possible that Kat had not been accepted based on the circumstances of her birth. That and she was far too bold, too bright to be welcomed into the tepidness offered by society. Small, prim-mouthed beauties were lauded by the ton, not tall, strong women who possessed enough red gold loveliness to make even a soggy morning appear fresh and intriguing.

  Devon found himself nodding. “I imagine she didn’t take at all.”