Highland Sword Page 21

  Before coming to the mountains above Inverness, he and his brother had stopped at Carrie House for Christmas. For the first time since the war, Aidan had found himself looking out at his estate not as a reminder of the loved ones he’d lost. Instead, he’d conjured a future. A home where he and his wife could spend some time between his duties in the courtroom and possibly in Parliament.

  Still, as he gazed across the snow-covered fields and moors, he couldn’t wait to show Carrie House to Morrigan. Perhaps in the spring, when the fields were green with barley and the meadows were spattered with the purple of the thrift flower and the white blossoms of the whitlow grass. And everywhere, the air would be filled with the fragrance of the gorse.

  Dismounting at the keep, he told himself he needed to meet with Cinaed before he saw Morrigan.

  Cinaed and Niall and Searc and the laird gathered to greet him in the laird’s study. Lachlan did not look well. He was growing frailer. Even with a cane, he could barely walk without assistance, and a profound weariness was evident in his drawn features. But regardless of his physical decline, his mind appeared to be as sharp as ever.

  Aidan briefly explained the queen’s request and the arrangements he’d made with the Duke of Clarence.

  “He’s the blasted nephew of Butcher Cumberland,” the laird reminded everyone.

  “But the least detestable one,” Searc put in. “The man favors Scotland. And his mistress of twenty years was Irish. He sired ten children with the lass. He can’t be all bad.”

  “He’ll be king before he’s done,” Niall told them. “Everyone knows it. The War Department and the Admiralty respect him. More than a year ago, before the old king died, I heard that the Archbishop of Canterbury had declared openly that Clarence is the fittest to rule of them all.”

  Aidan concurred. “The king hasn’t had his formal coronation yet, but Brougham says even his supporters in Parliament are tired of his self-absorbed dramatics and his bullying.”

  The trial that Henry Brougham won on behalf of the queen was barely over before the king was demanding that his camp find another way to divorce her. But the latest word was that his advisors told him as clearly as possible that any further action would surely involve details about the king’s own adulterous relationships becoming known to the public. The future of the monarchy itself would be jeopardized at a time when the nation had other, more pressing matters to attend to.

  “But Clarence isn’t next in line,” the laird said. “There’s that other one. The Duke of York.”

  “York’s interests are limited to the enjoyment of London’s high life,” Aidan replied. “He can’t see beyond food, drink, cards, and racehorses. And his health is failing. He was carried out of his box at Ascot last year. They said it was the heat, but the word is that the duke suffered a mild apoplectic stroke. At White’s, there are wagers being placed right now that York won’t live long enough to be king.”

  “So that leaves the Duke of Clarence,” Lachlan said.

  Aidan turned to Cinaed. His opinion was the only one that really mattered. “What do you think about meeting with the duke?”

  “I heard he went to sea as a lad. We have that in common, anyway.”

  Although Aidan doubted Cinaed’s experience was as pampered as the duke’s, he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “What do you think you can accomplish with this meeting?” the laird asked.

  “If he’s to be king, as my mother believes,” Cinaed answered, “then we’ll have the ear of someone who could support reform. Someone who could help Scotland gain a greater voice in the government.”

  Searc had been pacing the room throughout the discussion, and he stopped abruptly. “But what does he want in return?”

  All eyes fixed on Aidan. “He wants to hear Cinaed say that he’s not interested in sitting on Britain’s throne.” Those weren’t exactly the duke’s words, but the meaning was close enough. “I think he wants to judge for himself if the son of Scotland is a threat to his future.”

  Everyone here knew the answer. Cinaed had made it clear. He had no desire to be king.

  “We need to show our faces to him. As Scots. As Highlanders,” Cinaed said with conviction. “He needs to see more than the handful of landowners he might have raised a glass with in London. What could they tell him about the people going hungry in the Maggot?”

  Everyone agreed.

  “When was the last time an English king came to Scotland?” Lachlan asked.

  “He’s not king yet,” Niall reminded them.

  “He’s close enough to the throne,” Searc put in. “In two hundred years, none of them have come. And this one is coming to the Highlands. We’re not sending you to him.”

  Aidan told them all the details of his meeting. He and Brougham had met the duke in the new west wing of Kew Palace.

  “For obvious reasons, the king will never know about this meeting with you. The duke is supposedly coming to Inverness to look into the construction delays of the Caledonian Canal.”

  Everyone in the room began to speak at once. They all had an opinion on the disastrous project. It had initially been intended as an inland waterway to protect English shipping from the threat of French warships. Cutting at an angle from the western to the eastern seas, the canal ran through the Great Glen from Fort William to Inverness.

  Aidan knew part of the push to build the canal had come from the Royal Navy, which gave the duke, as Admiral of the Fleet, a good reason for coming to Inverness.

  “A seven-year project,” Lachlan huffed.

  “We’re ten years past that already,” Aidan added. “And close to eight hundred thousand pounds.”

  “In no small part due to a certain member of this clan,” Cinaed said, gesturing toward Searc.

  “It’s true. I admit I might have had a hand in slowing things down a wee bit,” he said, looking like he’d just swallowed the canary. “But I wasn’t about to help the bloody English with their war effort, was I? And a man can’t be faulted for making a few pounds where he can.”

  Aidan had heard the canal would be obsolete before it was finished. At fourteen feet deep, it was too shallow for many of the new ships being built.

  “Who knows that the duke is coming?” Searc asked, obviously in favor of putting an end to the talk of the canal.

  “I should think the military command at Fort George and Fort William will be notified,” Niall suggested, drawing a nod from Cinaed.

  “Then our friend Sir Rupert will know as well?”

  Aidan turned to see a glint of mischief in Searc’s eyes, and he wondered if there might be some other plot in the works that he hadn’t yet been told about.

  CHAPTER 28

  MORRIGAN

  With the severe cold, heavy snow, and ice limiting their time out of doors, Fiona’s daughters needed to be kept busy, and Morrigan was glad to oblige. She, too, needed activity to distract her. Aidan was back, but she had yet to see him. The men had been sequestered in the laird’s study all afternoon. She was excited and anxious, happy and nervous. She wanted to run with the children one moment, but considered locking herself in her room the next.

  The large drawing room on the floor above the Great Hall provided a comfortable gathering place for the women, especially during inclement weather. An hour ago, snow had again begun to fall. Isabella was ensconced by the fire with a medical journal that Searc had brought her from Inverness. Auld Jean nodded in a chair opposite her, her mending on her lap. Maisie and Fiona had their heads together at a table in an alcove and appeared to be making plans to storm Westminster. The large fire in the hearth warmed the room nicely, and Morrigan and the children were at the far end, where they could play and carry on.

  Three other youngsters from the household had joined Catriona and Briana. The current game they were playing was What’s the Time, Mr. Wolf. In this case it was Miss Wolf, and Morrigan was playing the lead role.

  She stood with her face to the wall while her playmates squabbled and tri
ed to line up some safe distance behind her. All day, she kept thinking about the night of Samhain and Aidan’s hints about choosing games and having a wife and children. Unfortunately, the warm glow of the memory was continually torn away and replaced by the chill, intrusive reality of her present situation.

  After her meeting with Baker, Sir Rupert Burney had written her back. Of course, the letter came unsigned, but Morrigan knew the identity of the sender. He made no effort to disguise the contents. If the letter fell into the hands of the Mackintosh leaders, that was clearly Morrigan’s issue to deal with. In the missive, he told her he was pleased with the information she’d provided. The warehouse had been raided, and the stolen weapons secured. No one had been at the location, and no proof established a tie with the Mackintoshes of Dalmigavie or with the son of Scotland. Sir Rupert warned that she needed to do better the next time, and she was to reply to K. Baker at the post office on Church Street. There was no mention of her father’s letter or a face-to-face meeting.

  “What’s the time, Miss Wolf?”

  The children’s shout cut into her troubled thoughts, and Morrigan forced her attention on their game. “Two o’clock.”

  The youngsters counted their steps loudly and together, then the question came again.

  “Five o’clock, my wee lambs,” she called out.

  There were some giggles. Five steps were counted out.

  “What’s the time, Miss Wolf?”

  “Three o’clock, my sweet, fat piglets.”

  The laughter became louder. Morrigan heard women at the other end of the room chanting the steps too.

  “What’s the time, Miss Wolf?” all the players yelled out.

  “It’s dinnertime,” she shouted.

  The children shrieked and raced for the starting line.

  Morrigan turned and lunged toward the players. She had to tag one person to make them the wolf, and she now knew why the adults were laughing. Aidan was standing right in front of her. He’d quietly come in and joined the game. His long legs had brought him closest, and he wasn’t making any effort to escape her. She fell against him, and they both tumbled to the floor.

  Aidan caught her by the waist, and she ended up sprawled on top of him. Her hair blanketed his face. Her breasts pressed against his chest. His arm remained around her, holding her. She longed for him.

  Morrigan swept her hair back and tried to raise herself off him, but the devil held her tight. Their faces were so close. She stared into his grey eyes. It was far too easy to be lost in their magic. She wanted to press her lips against his. But they had an audience. The sound of laughter rang around them.

  His hands fell away, and she was free to go.

  “I apologize.”

  “I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

  “It was my fault.”

  “Hardly. The fault was mine completely.”

  Her knee pressed into his groin when she tried to raise her body, drawing a grunt. His hand grabbed her breast as he tried to help her. They kept trying to extricate themselves, but their hands were everywhere, the touches inadvertently inappropriate. By the time Morrigan and Aidan finally got to their feet, the children were jumping around them, and the adult onlookers were in hysterics.

  Morrigan was mortified, but Aidan retained his good humor. He was already exchanging pleasantries with Isabella as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  “We have a Mr. Wolf now,” Catriona yelled excitedly, ready to play again.

  Fiona took each of her children by the hand. “We promised Mr. Gordon a visit, didn’t we?” She didn’t wait for their answer and dragged them out of the room.

  Isabella suddenly needed to see a patient who, oddly enough, was coming to the castle in the middle of the snowstorm. Maisie herded the other children toward the door, saying she could hear their parents calling. Auld Jean took one long, wistful look at the comfortable fire and shuffled toward them. She stared at Morrigan, then at Aidan, then back to Morrigan.

  “That mutton’s been simmering in the pot long enough. I’d say the meat’s cooked.” With a shake of her head, she made her way out of the drawing room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  Morrigan stared after her. Everyone was gone.

  “I never realized I had this effect on people,” Aidan said.

  They were standing so close, their shoulders touched. A minute ago, she would have kissed him if they didn’t have an audience. Now, she didn’t trust herself being left alone with him.

  “We should … I should go help Isabella.”

  She started to walk away, but he caught her arm and turned her around. This time, he didn’t ask permission. He didn’t wait for her to kiss him first. Aidan pulled her into his arms and lowered his lips to hers.

  Morrigan couldn’t remember why she’d wanted to run away. Her hands clutched at his back as the pressure of his mouth increased.

  The give and take of their mouths continued. They were both starved for each other.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. “Missed you every day.”

  She wanted to say the same thing back to him. She wanted to tell him how hard it had been. He was always with her, constantly in her thoughts.

  His lips descended again, and their kiss deepened. His tongue explored her mouth, and Morrigan felt his hand slide down her back and encircle her waist. He pulled her even tighter against his solid body. She felt nothing but the incredible heat that seemed to possess them both. Almost nothing. His trousers did little to hide the hardening evidence of his arousal. But Morrigan wasn’t afraid. She wanted him.

  Suddenly, she was frantic to satisfy the hunger. Her hands moved inside his coat and felt the powerful muscles of his back. It was miraculous, the way her body felt, softening and molding itself to the hard contours of his.

  The sound of footsteps and a dull clatter of metal could be heard approaching in the hallway. Clarity returned instantly and with it, sanity. The two of them jumped apart. She was breathless. He straightened his trousers and moved to the window, shoving it open to the chill wind and a flurry of snow.

  A servant came in carrying a bucket with her tools. She was surprised to find anyone left in the room. “I’m so sorry, mistress. I was going to see to the fire.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” Morrigan said hurriedly, crossing over to the hearth. Not that she needed to feel any warmer.

  The young woman curtsied and left, and Aidan closed the window before coming to her side. He took the pokers out of her hand.

  “Allow me.”

  She stepped back and watched him. His hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him. Every time they were together, he grew more handsome, more confident in everything he did.

  He put the tools away and stood up. The way his gaze moved over her, Morrigan wondered if he was going to take her into his arms and kiss her again.

  She glanced meaningfully to the door that was now wide open.

  “I had intended to get back here for Christmas, but Sebastian and I ended up spending it at Carrie House.”

  “Your brother is well?” she asked, recalling his letters.

  “Resurrected like Lazarus from the cave. Unfortunately.”

  “The day was a quiet affair at Dalmigavie.” She sat on a chair a safe distance away from him. “I understand the Highlanders make up for it on Hogmanay.”

  “Indeed. That promises to be a festive event.”

  He approached and moved a chair close to her. Too near and too tempting, she thought. If she leaned toward him even a little, their lips could touch.

  “May I escort you during the promenade?”

  She’d heard about the torchlit parade through the castle and the village on the eve of the new year. It was a coming together of the entire community, complete with pipers and fiddles, dancing and singing.

  “You may. But I have to warn you, I’m a terrible singer.”

  “Not a singer? That surprises me.” He cleared his voice. “Well, I’ll try to make
up for you.”

  She laughed. “You think yourself a fine singer?”

  He nodded with fake humility and then smiled. “To be honest, what I lack in talent, I make up for with confidence.”

  A good reminder. The conversation she had with Fiona and Maisie came back to her. Talent. Did she have any at all? And what would a good dose of confidence add?

  “Making a good show of it is half the battle in everything, is it not?” he continued. “Literature. The arts. Argument. Courtship.”

  Courtship? Is that what was happening? Morrigan watched him as he reached into his coat.

  “I brought you a gift.”

  She touched the handle of her sgian dubh at her ankle, teasing him. “It’s not my dagger or my shoes, so it must be that you brought me another flyer from Inverness. Or is it the book you promised?”

  “The book can wait. This is a proper gift.”

  She stared at the small pouch made of green velvet in his hand. A red ribbon was tied neatly around it.

  “Open it.” He placed it in her hand.

  Morrigan felt her cheeks catch fire. With unsteady fingers she untied the ribbon and emptied it into her hand. The most beautiful necklace lay in her palm. A gold chain with a pendant that was fashioned like a miniature sword. The hilt was decorated with a turquoise stone.

  “Oh my! It’s … it’s stunning.” She was too flustered to say anything more. No one had ever given her a gift so elegant and meaningful. “A dagger. So appropriate.”

  She started to put it around her neck.

  “May I?”

  Morrigan nodded, and he rose to his feet. He moved behind her and took the necklace. She held her hair to the side, and a thrill raced through her as his fingers brushed against her neck. He fastened the chain and sat in his chair again, eyeing her appreciatively.

  “Beautiful.”

  She touched the treasure and looked into his eyes. She loved him. How she loved him. The words wanted to spill out into the open, but she couldn’t allow it. Meeting Aidan Grant was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her, but she wouldn’t ruin his future. She would not allow her feelings to take her to a place where hope led only to heartache.