Chapter 2
Struan didn’t mean to do it. The whole proposal was daft.
Struan had meant to tell McGregor to go to hell, and then press for the payment.
Not because he needed the money, but because he didn’t like the idea of McGregor wiggling out of an agreement.
It had been foolish of him to offer the loan in the first place, but Struan had been young and too trusting of McGregor’s acquaintance with his own father.
Since then, he’d learned the risk of trusting.
And yet, early in the morning after he met with McGregor, he found himself walking toward the street where the man lived, in one of the newer neighborhoods of Edinburgh, and then watching the door of the house that belonged to his quarry.
Come by the house and see if you like her. McGregor obviously meant that Struan should make a social call in the guise of being friends with McGregor himself, and then meet the daughter being offered up as a sacrificial lamb.
But Struan MacInnes was a soldier. He knew the hallmarks of an ambush, and he refused to follow the breadcrumbs McGregor was laying down.
He’d do his own damn reconnaissance. On his own terms.
So this initial foray was intended only to scout out the house and grounds, perhaps to overhear servants talking in the back where chores were done in the yard, or in the working rooms with doors and windows left open.
He never expected to see the daughter in the flesh. But that’s what happened.
He’d drifted down the back alley of the row of houses, barely fast enough to call it a walk. Just when he reached the backyard in question, where a group of servants were doing the wash, a maid with a voice a field marshal would envy bawled out, “Miss Elspeth, we need more soap!”
“Look in the cupboard below the stairs, Bri,” a much more cultured voice responded. “I moved everything for washing day there last autumn.”
“Aye, Miss Elspeth. Forgive me, I forgot!”
Struan was confused. This was Miss Elspeth McGregor?
A daughter of the family, doing the washing. Directing the washing. Like a housekeeper.
The young woman who’d answered to Miss Elspeth wore a dress in a hideous shade of purple, as well as battered boots that looked as if they’d once belonged to an old man.
Her apron was shabby as well, but hid much of the purple dress, which was an advantage.
It was tied around her waist in such a way as to highlight her figure, which he also found to be an advantage.
Her blonde hair was bound into a plait, presumably to keep it from dipping into the vat of dirty water. Even so, it was obvious that the hair would be long and light and wavy and weightless if allowed to fall freely.
The woman in purple laughed, sounding absolutely delighted to be there, in front of a giant tub of filthy laundry.
The other women and the one older man seemed buoyed by her mood, and laughed and smiled as they continued the chore—a chore which Struan knew to be a grueling one.
In the army, all the soldiers but the highest ranking officers had to do their own washing, and do it well, or live with lice and fleas.
What was going on? A daughter of the home’s owner, this Elspeth McGregor, was inexplicably helping the servants on washing day. Was this why her father was so desperate to be rid of her? He couldn’t afford to pay more servants to care for the house, and had to press a daughter into the duty?
No. That made no sense. Struan could count. He’d seen who passed in and out of the house—plenty of workers were employed. And the lady seemed perfectly content, even pleased to be participating in the ordeal.
Something was off in that house. Struan should leave it all well alone. Make McGregor pay his debt in coin, just like any other man. Or else face debtors’ prison, just like any other man.
Struan should go home to the Highlands as he planned, and avoid whatever trap McGregor had set for him.
But. He stayed and watched, drawn to the easy, efficient movements of the young woman. And more than that, he listened. He could hear only some of the talk, but he heard laughter and joking and good humor, even if he didn’t know precisely what was said.
And so often, her laughter above it all. Warm, sweet, unrestrained.
He wanted that laughter. What a stupid, intangible thing to want. But he wanted it. That joy.
And if she were married to him, he’d get to hear it.
Why would she laugh around you? a part of him countered, a part that had become far more talkative since his injury. Are you the sort of man who makes a woman smile?
No. He was not. But he still wanted that laughter.
After he tore himself away from the house, he walked the city until the clock spun to a more civilized hour.
In the afternoon he found his comrade Calan Shaw at his favorite club, one that was popular with gentlemen of military background (indeed, membership required the good references of no fewer than six current members, so the pattern of veterans sponsoring other veterans was well established).
Struan was uncomfortable at the club lately. But at least Calan was here, instead of at one of the establishments that offered drinks but also provided feminine companionship for a price. Struan never liked such places, even before. Now, it made his skin crawl. The skin he had left to him anyway.
“Shaw,” Struan said in greeting. “I’m glad I found you.”
“I’m glad to be found.” Calan was sipping a whisky that clearly pleased him, because he insisted Struan have some from the same bottle. A skinny lad appeared out of nowhere to offer a new glass.
Struan took it, thinking that he’d need a drink in him if he ever hoped to get the words out.
The two of them sipped in silence for a little while.
“It’s good,” Calan said, in the tone of one seeking confirmation, after Struan finished the dregs. The same lad reappeared to fill both glasses again.
Struan nodded. “You picked well.”
Calan grinned. “Yes, I do that. But it’s always gratifying to hear other people tell me so.”
Struan shook his head but said nothing, not wanting to add fuel to the raging fire that was Calan Shaw’s ego.
After another few moments, Calan gave him a different look.
“What brought you out? Not that I’m not pleased for the company, but you’ve been damnably difficult to drag from your townhome ever since we got back to Edinburgh.
Are you finally sick of brooding alone, and you’d prefer to brood among friends? ”
Struan took a breath, then said, “I might be about to do something stupid.” Yes, the whisky had helped loosen his tongue.
Calan raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“I can’t tell you what it is. I just need to be talked out of it.”
“How can I talk you out of it if I don’t know what it is?”
“You could say, Struan, don’t do something stupid.”
“I could, but honestly, I’ve never had to say that in my life. You don’t make stupid decisions. You’re always thinking ahead and considering the options.” Calan paused. “You’re not about to kill yourself, are you? Because that would be stupid.”
Struan shook his head. “No. If I were going to do that, I’d have done it before now.
” Even in the worst time after his injury, when all he thought about was how much pain his body could hold, he never considered ending his life for more than a few seconds, which he figured was a natural reaction to such overwhelming agony.
But they could all name more than one soldier who chose to end it all, so Calan’s question was fair. To reassure him, Struan added, “I promise that however stupid my current decision is, I’ll be alive to regret it afterward.”
“Excellent. I was worried for a moment.” Calan took a long drink. “Give me a hint, at least. Is it about money? A woman? Something else?”
Definitely a woman.
“Let’s say it’s about money,” Struan said, because it was also about money. At least partly.
“Are you considering some extravagant purchase?”
“That’s one way to put it,” Struan said. “Though not so extravagant that it would damage my finances. But it could be considered…unwise.” And unethical, which was the larger problem. He clarified, “It’s not legal. Or maybe it is legal, but it would be frowned upon. I think.”
“I’ve never heard you so uncertain about anything.
” Calan was now fully alert, sitting up and facing Struan, his eyes intent.
Calan could go from idle to intense within seconds, but Struan was rarely the focus of the other man’s attention.
It was disconcerting to say the least. “What the hell are you really contemplating?”
“If I told you, you’d not approve.”
Calan let out a surprised laugh. “Well, if I wouldn’t approve, maybe that’s the signal that you shouldn’t bloody do it.”
Struan nodded, then looked down. It was hard to look Calan in the eyes when he was being serious. It was like talking to a wolf.
Calan let the silence stretch, then finally broke it with, “But you want it anyway. Whatever it is.”
“I do. Or I want…the idea of it.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
Struan sighed, dragged a hand over his temples. “I know. Believe me, I’m not enjoying it.”
“Yes, that’s obvious. Struan, I’m your friend. If you tell me what’s actually going on, I can help you. But if you don’t, and then make a stupid decision without telling me, then what’s the point of this…half confession you’re offering?”
“I shouldn’t have come to you,” Struan muttered.
“Why not?”
“Because you would never have this problem.”
“What problem, for Christ’s sweet sake?”
“Never mind. I should go.” Struan put his hands on the leather arms of the chair, preparing to get up.
“No, wait.” Calan leaned forward. “Tell me, I’m begging you. And then we can figure it out. With the other men, or not! Though you know they’ll be insulted if they can’t help too.”
Struan grimaced. He pictured his closest friends. They’d be not just insulted, but hurt that he didn’t trust them.
“Yes, I know,” Calan said. “It’s such a bother, having friends who care about you.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“I know what everyone’s thinking,” Calan said. His smile evaporated and his eyes suddenly went dark. “I can’t help reading people. A lot of times I wish I could.” Then he blinked, and said, “But I don’t mind when my skill can help a friend. So tell me.”
So, after one more slug of excellent whisky, Struan told him.
And Calan, after an achingly long period of silence, told him what would happen next.