Chapter One #2
The tall horseman carried himself upright in the saddle, and a hooded dark cloak concealed his body and the thoroughbred’s rump.
Even in the inclement weather, polished stirrups shone silver against black leather riding boots.
Had the sun been out, Lachlan might have seen his own smile reflected in the windowpane.
He knew of only one man who cut such a gallant, noble figure.
Cuthbert.
A sudden squeal of feminine delight pierced the outdoor air. At the same time, a knock came upon the open library door. Lachlan turned towards it. ‘Mother! Come in.’
Caitrin MacLanoch joined her eldest child at the window. ‘Cuthbert has yet to dismount, and already yer sister runs to welcome him.’
Lachlan laughed and laid an arm around his mother’s shoulder. ‘She’s spent the last hour keeping watch from the curtain wall.’
From their vantage point, they observed Cuthbert slip from his saddle and toss the reins to a waiting groomsman.
Grizel, a lithe young woman of sixteen summers, threw herself into her cousin’s waiting embrace.
He lifted her high and swung around in circles, sending her into fits of laughter and merriment.
The hood from Cuthbert’s cloak fell back to expose fair hair tied at his nape.
When at last he set Grizel upon her feet, she took his hand and tugged him out of the rain towards the keep’s entrance.
‘Well then.’ Caitrin patted her son’s hand. ‘Let’s go welcome yer cousin. He’ll be in need of warmth and food. Cook has prepared the midday meal.’
‘More to the point,’ warned Lachlan, ‘he’ll need saving from Grizel’s incessant chatter.’ He set away the ledgers and accompanied his mother to the blazing open hearth in the great hall.
There, Cuthbert removed his sodden cloak and handed it to a servant. He greeted Caitrin with open arms and drew her into his embrace. ‘Auntie. Such a pleasure to see you again.’
‘And ye too, dear nephew.’ She switched to Gaelic. ‘I hope ye’ve not forgotten the Highland tongue, lad.’
He replied in kind. ‘Not forgotten, but ’tis rare I’ve the opportunity to speak it.’
Caitrin pulled back, a picture of surprise. ‘My sister doesnae speak it to ye and Agnes?’
‘Only when it be the three of us. ’Tis not fair to speak the Gaelic in front of Father. Ye ken he doesnae understand it. Besides, I’ve nae peers in London with whom to practise.’
Grizel’s eyes lit up. ‘Dear cousin, ye can practise with me all the while ye’re here.’
Cuthbert switched to English, cultured and refined. ‘Thank you, but it’s far less taxing on my brain to think and converse in English.’
When Grizel opened her mouth to reply, Lachlan leapt to Cuthbert’s rescue. ‘Sister, I’ll not have ye box his ears. Ye can talk the heads off Auntie Elspeth, Agnes, and her guest when they arrive.’
His sister skewered Lachlan with a death stare, which he ignored in favour of embracing his cousin. ‘Good to see ye. I’ve missed yer pretty face.’
Cuthbert slapped him on the back and fired a teasing rejoinder. ‘It’s only pretty because you’re used to looking at your own ugly face in the mirror.’
Lachlan roared with laughter and gestured towards the dining room.
During the meal, Cuthbert regaled them with news of London and answered Grizel’s volley of questions about society, gossip, and fashion.
Caitrin asked, ‘And what of the young lass travelling with my sister and Agnes?’
‘Lady Helene Beckett,’ answered Cuthbert. ‘Her father is the Earl of Penforth.’
‘He’s a Whig?’ asked Lachlan.
Cuthbert nodded. ‘My father’s good friend. Helene would be refused any association with you or our family if her father thought you supported the Jacobite cause.’
Lachlan agreed. ‘There’s much to be said about the company one keeps. I’m careful not to engage with Jacobite insurgents.’
‘Very wise, else you’d have the wrath of the English at your door.’
‘Aye,’ said Caitrin. ‘We’re ever mindful of resentful clans who speak ill of us because we dinnae engage with partisans of the exiled Stuarts.
We MacLanochs keep to ourselves, but our ties with the English through my sister’s marriage has always raised the eyebrows on some and the hackles on others. ’
Grizel fidgeted in her seat. ‘All this talk makes me worry for the women’s safety. I hope their carriage willnae be set upon without yer protection, cousin.’
Cuthbert pressed one hand to his chest and feigned a wounded heart.
‘Sweet Grizel. Upon my life, I would never abandon a woman to the perils of danger. Rest assured we travelled here under the protection of the king’s men.
Sanctioned by King George himself. For this reason, I was able to leave my mother and sister and Lady Helene in safe hands and ride ahead to advise they’ll arrive later this afternoon. ’
Grizel smiled with excitement. ‘I cannae hardly wait to greet them. I’ll go now, Mother, to alert the housekeeper.’ She stood and lifted the hem of her skirt to avoid tripping over it as she ran from the dining room.
‘The king?’ queried Lachlan.
‘Yes,’ said Cuthbert. ‘It was a condition of Helene’s father that we travel into the Highlands under the protection of a retinue of redcoats. Seems the earl has clout and the king’s ear. No pressure, cousin, but she’s yours and mine to protect.’
Helene. Lachlan was at a loss to understand why Drumocher Castle was her choice of destination.
What young woman in her right mind, one with privilege and connections, abandoned the Season in London when it was in full swing?
He found it difficult to believe she’d turn her back on high society in favour of spending time in the rugged Highlands.
More to the point, why would her father allow it?
There was more to this than Lachlan could fathom.
Already she had his attention, but not his trust.
His mother voiced his next concern, asking Cuthbert, ‘The soldiers. Will they make camp here?’
‘No, Auntie. From here, the men will reach the nearest military garrison by nightfall.’
Caitrin gave a sigh of relief. ‘Well then, before our guests arrive, I’ve a few last-minute preparations to oversee.’ With a parting smile, she exited the dining room.
Lachlan adjourned with Cuthbert to the library, noting the way his cousin flopped into a chair in front of the fire.
His head tipped to one side, supported by his hand with elbow bent on the chair’s arm.
The heavy sigh he expelled—the sigh of one burdened with a world of worries—had him sink deeper into the armchair.
‘Wine or whisky?’ asked Lachlan.
‘Wine.’
Lachlan poured and handed Cuthbert a glass of claret before seating himself with a dram of whisky. ‘Slàinte mhath.’
‘And to your good health too.’ Cuthbert raised his glass and took a deep swallow of the red.
‘’Tis good to have ye visit us. I’ve missed ye this past year, and I’m verra sorry I couldnae spare the time to join ye in London for a while.’
‘No apologies required. Our visit to the Highlands is long overdue. Besides, your mother was poorly, and you were needed here to ensure her recovery. She looks well, I might add.’
‘Aye. The fever almost took her. She gets tired quickly, but in time her full strength will return.’
After a silent pause, Cuthbert’s tone turned jovial. ‘Your non-attendance at the start of the Season’s balls and social gatherings was noted by certain women with whom you are, shall we say, intimately acquainted.’
Lachlan sipped his whisky. ‘Is that so?’
‘On the other hand, I was not deaf to the whispers of those who exalted over your absence.’
‘Namely?’
‘Mothers who rejoiced knowing their debutante daughters would not fall prey to the charms of the Scoundrel Scot.’
Lachlan turned his head sharply towards his cousin. ‘The Scoundrel Scot?’
‘Their words, not mine.’
‘I dinnae dally with debutantes!’
‘Apparently, they believe you do.’
‘An assumption that doesnae sit well with me.’
‘Wipe the scowl from your face,’ laughed Cuthbert. ‘We’re self-confessed rakehells, and now you suddenly develop a care and conscience for your reputation?’
‘I’ll concede there be nae difference between myself and the English libertines. We both bedded aristocratic ladies whose husbands failed to satisfy their needs, but ye ken verra well ’tis a rule of mine to leave debutantes and virgins well alone.’
‘Those mothers and domineering matriarchs couldn’t care a whit about your rules.
To them, you’re a savage Highlander and a threat to any mother’s virtuous daughter, but don’t let that stand in the way of our womanising wagers.
In so saying, I propose a toast.’ Cuthbert raised his glass.
‘To next year’s Season. We’ll pick our prize and see which of us will be the first to bed her. ’
Lachlan shook his head, knocked back the whisky, and laid the glass next to the bottle on a rosewood table between their armchairs. ‘I’ve nae appetite for any future wagers. Even if I did, we both ken I’d win.’
Cuthbert’s laughter ricocheted off the library walls. ‘You’re the most arrogant Scotsman I know.’ He took a swallow of red and pointed a finger at Lachlan. ‘Correction. I pronounce you the most arrogant man I know.’
‘I’m a MacLanoch. What do ye expect? And dinnae forget the same blood runs through yer veins.’
‘Well, thank God my mother married an English viscount, else I might have turned out like you. Wild, arrogant, and as scandalous as these Highlands you call home. I’d not trade a genteel life in London for anything in the world.’
‘Genteel?’ Lachlan quirked a brow and said with a wry smile, ‘Dinnae ye mean ye’re a regular Don Juan living under the guise of an English gentleman?’
Cuthbert shifted in his chair and rolled his shoulders as if to shrug off the truth of it.
Lachlan poured himself another dram. ‘I’m just glad my luck with the ladies didnae drive a wedge between us.’