Chapter 2 #2
Cat squeezed her hand. “To Ballantrae Bay, to see Cormac Donigan.”
“Cormac Donigan?” He was their father’s former business partner, but Rory and Cormac had parted ways years ago. “But why?”
Cat glanced at Callum Ross, then took Freya aside, lowering her voice. “If anyone knows what’s become of Rory’s treasure, it’s Cormac Donigan. The smugglers won’t stop coming if they think the treasure is here. We need to find it if we’re ever to have any peace, Freya.”
Every villain and blackguard in Scotland believed the treasure was hidden at Castle Cairncross. If Cat and Lord Ballantyne could find it … well, it wouldn’t solve all their problems, but the smugglers would cease tormenting them.
They wouldn’t be forced to flee Castle Cairncross, then.
It was a chance. A bleak one, but a chance. “Do you really think Cormac Donigan will know where—”
“No! It’s a mad scheme, Cat. If you insist upon going to Ballantrae Bay, then go, but you may take these two with you.” Sorcha jerked her chin toward the two men. “Goodness knows we don’t want them here.”
No, they didn’t. Of course they didn’t. Callum Ross had grabbed her, threatened her. The idea of such a man invading the sanctuary of her beloved castle made bile rise in her throat. A thousand objections to their presence here rushed to her lips, but she couldn’t make them leave her mouth.
As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t agree with Sorcha.
The truth was, they needed Lord Ballantyne’s friends. If—no, when—another lugger came—they couldn’t be here at the castle alone. To pretend otherwise was mere foolishness and would spell their doom. “Sorcha—”
“No,” Sorcha repeated through gritted teeth. “The last thing we need at Castle Cairncross is another pair of scoundrels.”
Freya glanced at the gray-eyed man, who was watching the scene unfold with cool detachment, and another involuntary shudder tripped down her spine.
Callum Ross was a cold-blooded brute, but the devil you knew was far better than the dozens of devils they didn’t.
Every villain in Scotland was eyeing Castle Cairncross.
Sooner or later, another lugger would come.
It was only a matter of time before one of the boats made it to the shore, and once it did, they’d be overrun.
God help them, then.
“We can’t keep on as we have been, Sorcha. This business with Father’s treasure needs to come to an end.” She took care to keep her voice soft, coaxing. “I don’t like this either, but if another lugger should come—”
“Then we’ll drive them off, just as we did the last three!”
“And the next one? Will we drive them off, too? And the one after that?” She shook her head. “No, Sorcha. We just managed to drive off this last one, and they grow bolder with each attempt. The day is fast approaching where we won’t be able to frighten them off, and then what will become of us?”
“Please, Sorcha,” Cat added softly. “There’s no other way.”
Sorcha said nothing. The six of them stood there in the drive in silence, a ludicrous tableau, until at last Sorcha turned, and without a word marched down the drive, and vanished into the woods beyond.
Freya watched Sorcha go, her heart in her throat. It wasn’t an outright rebellion, and thus, more than she’d hoped for. It was as close to an agreement as they were likely to get from Sorcha.
As for Callum Ross … she risked one more glance into those cold eyes and took a few hasty steps backward, away from him.
She’d simply stay out of his way.
It was a large castle. With a little luck, she’d never have to lay eyes on the man again.
“I see the rumors about the MacLeod sisters weren’t exaggerations.” Callum threw himself into one of the dusty leather chairs across from the fireplace in the drafty study Hamish had led them to, his grim gaze on the glass of port in his hand.
Hamish opened his mouth, presumably to agree that Sorcha MacLeod was a hellion of the first order, and her sisters not much better, but what emerged wasn’t agreement, nor was it the apology it should have been.
In fact, it sounded like a strangled laugh.
Callum stared at him. “Do you find this amusing, Ballantyne? Forgive me, but I fail to find any humor in some deranged chit tearing a chunk of flesh from my throat.”
“No, of course not. It’s just the expression on your face was … well, it isn’t often you’re caught so completely off guard, Callum. But of course, it’s not at all amusing. I do beg your pardon. Perhaps I’ve had a touch too much port.”
“Perhaps I haven’t had enough.” Callum tossed back the last dregs and set the glass aside with a thump. “I daresay you’d find Sorcha MacLeod’s antics less diverting if her blade had been pressed to your neck.”
“I won’t argue that point. I didn’t find it all agreeable when Catriona poisoned me with a handful of deadly monkshood.”
Deadly monkshood? What the devil?
He glanced at Keir, who was staring at Hamish with his brows aloft. “Catriona MacLeod poisoned you?”
“It was an accident.” Hamish grabbed the bottle of port from the sideboard and dropped into the chair across from Callum.
Keir snorted. “How does someone accidentally poison a man with deadly monkshood?”
A small smile crossed Hamish’s lips. “It’s a long story, and one not worth telling.”
“What the devil are you smiling at, Ballantyne? One of the MacLeod sisters tried to behead me, and another tried to poison you, and you’re grinning as if you find it charming.
” God above, had the man lost his wits? “It seems they’re every bit the witches the rumors claim them to be. They’ve certainly bewitched you.”
At that, the smile slipped from Hamish’s lips. “They’re not witches. Bloody hell, Callum, if you knew how much damage those rumors have done them—” He broke off with an exhaled breath. “I didn’t call you to Skye to argue over whether or not the MacLeod sisters are witches.”
“Ah, now we’re getting to it.” Keir drained his glass and held it out for Hamish to refill it. “Why did you call us up here, then? That blasted note you sent was about as illuminating as a cave drawing.”
Hamish didn’t answer right away but sat there turning his glass in his hand.
Callum seized the bottle of port, poured a measure into Keir’s glass, then topped off his own. “Well, Ballantyne?”
“You heard Catriona. She and I are leaving Castle Cairncross tomorrow. The only way to stop this business with Rory MacLeod’s treasure is to find it and put an end to the rumors once and for all.”
“And? What has that got to do with us?”
“We can’t leave her sisters here alone, Callum.
Another lugger will come, and that’s to say nothing of the villagers of Dunvegan, who don’t look upon the MacLeod sisters with friendly eyes.
At this point, the villagers may be more dangerous than the smugglers.
I need you here to keep watch over Freya and Sorcha MacLeod. ”
“So that’s it, then.” Callum dropped his empty glass onto the side table. “You summoned us all the way to Skye to babysit a pair of redheaded hellions.”
“No. I summoned you to Skye to protect them. I grant you Sorcha’s a bit, er … unpredictable, but Freya’s no hellion. She’s a quiet, unassuming young lady.”
“Freya?” Callum glanced at Keir. “Who the devil is Freya?”
Hamish rolled his eyes. “You did notice there were three sisters, did you not? Freya is the middle sister. If you recall, you were standing on the front drive with her not ten minutes ago.”
“For God’s sake, man. Freya was the lady in the green dress with the blue cloak over it,” Keir added. “One would think you’d remember her, given the way you manhandled the poor lady.”
Green dress? Oh, right. That tiny wisp of a girl who’d appeared at the castle door when they’d first arrived. The one who’d stood about wringing her hands while her demonic sister tried to behead him. “Yes, yes. I recall her now. Not much use today, was she?”
Keir cast him an incredulous look. “Because you frightened the wits out of her, Callum! She nearly fell into a swoon.”
Had she? That was a pity, but he never would have grabbed her if her mad sister hadn’t leapt on him. If Freya MacLeod had lost her wits, she could blame her sister for it.
“Freya’s a bit timid, but make no mistake, Callum. If it hadn’t been for her, there would be a pool of your blood soaking into the drive right now.” Hamish drew a finger across his neck. “Sorcha MacLeod doesn’t listen to many people, but she does listen to Freya.”
“If she’s so adept at managing that wild sister of hers, what do you need with us?” Callum rested a booted foot on the worn ottoman in front of him, a sudden exhaustion seeping into his limbs. “Surely they’re able to take care of themselves.”
Hamish leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and fixed his gaze on Callum.
“They’re as capable as any young ladies I’ve ever met.
Each one of them is cleverer than the last, but a pair of young women are no match for hardened smugglers intent on storming their castle, no matter how clever they are. ”
Keir drained his glass. “What do smugglers want with the MacLeod sisters?”
“It’s not the sisters they’re after, it’s Rory MacLeod’s treasure. Every damn cutthroat from Ireland’s east coast to the Orkney Islands thinks it’s hidden here at Castle Cairncross, and they’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
Callum snorted.
Rory MacLeod’s infamous treasure. He knew all about it, of course. He’d heard the rumors, just as everyone else had, about how MacLeod had found the lost Jacobean gold and made away with a fortune in coins and jewels.
He hadn’t believed a word of it. Rory MacLeod had been a legend in the annals of Scottish smugglers before he died some months ago, and fantastical rumors had followed him like children after the Pied Piper.
Some of the rumors were true, and some weren’t.
He would have put Rory’s alleged treasure into the latter category, but Hamish had been chasing that lost gold for months now, and if it had led him here to Castle Cairncross, then …
well, perhaps there was more truth to it than he realized. “How many have come?”
“Three. Two luggers before I arrived, and a third just a few nights ago. The sisters drove the first two off, and we managed to keep the third one at bay, as well, but—”
“But their luck won’t hold out forever.” Keir dragged a hand through his hair. “It’s only a matter of time before one of them succeeds in gaining the castle.”
“Exactly.” Hamish nodded. “It’s a miracle they haven’t succeeded already, but as I said, the MacLeod sisters are clever. Even so, it would be the height of recklessness to leave Freya and Sorcha here alone.”
Three luggers, in three months’ time? Someone believed the rumors to be true, then.
Unless, of course, this was all an elaborate ploy orchestrated by the MacLeod sisters. Hamish had said they were clever. What could be cleverer than fooling a wealthy English marquess into saving your hide? “Has it occurred to you, Ballantyne, that Catriona MacLeod is leading you on a merry chase?”
“A dozen times since I arrived in Dunvegan, but I saw the last lugger myself. In any case, that was before …” A small smile drifted over Hamish’s lips. “Well, let’s just say I have every reason to believe Catriona MacLeod is telling me the truth.”
Oh, good Lord. He knew that smile. Hamish had smiled in just that same ridiculous way when he’d fancied himself madly in love with the barmaid at the Slippery Eel in Edinburgh.
“These reasons of yours, Ballantyne. They wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that Catriona MacLeod happens to have the face of an angel, would they?”
“Noticed that, did you, Ross?” Keir raised an eyebrow at him.
Yes, he’d noticed. He was a man, after all, and he wasn’t blind.
“Surely her face hasn’t anything to do with this.” Keir raised an eyebrow at Hamish. “Ballantyne here isn’t so foolish as to lose his head over a pair of green eyes, are you, Ballantyne?”
Hamish gave them another of those enigmatic smiles. “My reasons are my own.”
“There’s your answer, Keir. He is foolish enough.”
“My feelings for Catriona MacLeod have nothing to do with either of you. Now, do you agree to remain at Castle Cairncross and keep an eye on Freya and Sorcha MacLeod as I’ve asked, or shall I fetch another bottle of Rory MacLeod’s port, and keep pouring until the two of you feel more cooperative?”
Keir gave a careless shrug. “I’ll stay. Callum?”
He couldn’t conceive of a more foolish errand than this one. He’d come all the way from Kildary to Dunvegan when he could ill afford to leave his clan to guard a pair of silly chits who were old enough to take care of themselves.
If it had been anyone but Hamish who’d begged the favor of him, he would have refused on principle, but as it was …
Hamish and Keir were his oldest friends. He had few enough of those, and he wasn’t a man who refused a friend when they asked a favor of him.
No matter how ridiculous it was.
“I’ll stay, but that’s no reason for you not to fetch more port, Ballantyne.” He held up his empty glass. “I hope that’s not the last bottle.
A crumbling castle, and a pair of redheaded vixens who may, or may not, be witches?
There wasn’t enough port in the world for that.