Rogue of the Borders (18 page)

“Ye need to keep this near ye,” Fiona said as she handed it to Abigail. “The Crone would nae have given it to ye if she dinna think ye would need it.”

Goodness. Next Fionna would probably start talking of curses and prophecies or something. Not wishing to lead Shane’s cousin into the land of delusion, Abigail accepted the stone and dropped it into her pocket.

“We had better go downstairs. I have kept Shane waiting long enough.”

Fiona turned toward the door. “Be sure ye tell Shane about the stone.”

Although Abigail nodded, she didn’t think she was going to tell Shane anything about this whole episode any time soon. The less said to upset the possible fragility of the MacLeod temperament the better.

Shane paced the dining room as he waited for Abigail, although it was much too small for him to work off any true agitation. He grimaced, suspecting what he felt was anxiety, not anger. Never in his entire life had he had a case of nerves. Not when he’d trained to use his sword and dirk. Not when he’d commanded a naval ship in the war against Napoleon. Not even when he’d battled pirates on his private enterprises. But one wee spectacled lass was practically doing him in.

He’d thought he had things under control. His cousins had accepted—or at least, they hadn’t questioned—his rather weak reason for staying on board the ship at night. Arriving at the townhouse early in the morning to break his fast ensured his young sisters were kept unaware of the arrangements as was the new clerk at the office. When Shane escorted Abigail to work each morning, it appeared they were arriving together, having spent the night at the townhouse.

Shane had also been careful not to spend much time alone with Abigail, especially in a private room. The kiss they’d shared reminded him all too well how attracted he really was to her—and that he’d given his word to her father. Better to avoid all temptation—after all, the original twelfth-century Templars had shunned all avarice and lasciviousness, even to the point of sleeping with candles burning in the common room lest one of them give in to relieving masculine needs in the middle of the night.

Lustful thoughts Shane could force aside—at least when he was awake. But his dreams? How could he control those? And if a Highland faerie had decided to share his home, how could he combat that?

He could almost hear the Crone of the Hills cackling.

The cackling, he soon realized, was his sisters giggling in the hall. Shane quickly sat down and attacked his coddled eggs as the twins accompanied Abigail and Fiona into the dining room.

“I am sorry to be late,” Abigail said a little breathlessly as she sat and accepted a plate Caitlin hastily put together.

“I was a bit late myself,” Shane replied while he took in Abigail’s state of dress. Normally, she looked as prim and proper as a schoolmistress, an image he found oddly intriguing, lending itself to all sorts of fantasies about Abigail literally letting her hair down and loosening the prudish clothes. Fantasies he quickly banished, of course. But today, her hair was not pulled severely back. The pins holding in place were already coming loose. One side of her collar was definitely higher than the other as though the dress hadn’t been properly buttoned. Even her spectacles were crooked, although she adjusted them as soon as she was seated. “I gather ye overslept?”

“I…yes, I did. Hopefully, it will not happen again.”

“I think Abigail was dreaming,” Fiona said with a giggle. “She looked all dazed, almost like she was in a trance.”

Abigail turned pink. ‘I was not in a trance.”

“Pleasant dreams, I hope?” Shane asked. To his surprise, her face turned bright red. What kind of dreams had she had? When she busied herself buttering toast and refusing to meet his gaze, he raised a brow. Surely, she had not had—?

Was it possible his wife harbored the same kind of fantasies he did? Hardly plausible, since ladies were given a refined education and certainly kept protected from carnal lechery—or even the
thought
of it. His oath to her father was proof of that. Still, Shane had a feeling that all sorts of things might be possible with Abigail. She admitted she’d disguised herself as a boy to sneak down to the wharf for sailboat races. Who knew what other lessons she might have been exposed to? And Abigail read books. Not just lighthearted frippery either. To what extent did her self-education go?

A woman with sexual fantasies—especially one plainly dressed and fastidiously inclined in mannerisms—was almost too much for his mind to absorb, although his lower region sprang into immediate readiness. Luckily, he could stay seated until his wayward appendage decreased in size.

As though lightning had struck him, Shane jolted upright in his chair, nearly dropping his fork. What if Abigail had shared the dream he had last night? He remembered the sparkles that had drifted in the air—and the silvery peal of laugher.

Faeries.

He needed to set sail as soon as possible.

Shane was acting strangely again. Abigail glanced sideways at him as he hurried her along the path toward the docks after breakfast. Luckily, she had long legs and could keep up with him, but he appeared jittery. Although Shane had assured her he was not angry at her being late, the few questions she asked him were met with short, terse answers and he seemed to be avoiding looking at her as well. He was acting as skittish as one of Jillian’s prized colts and Abigail wished now she had done more reading on horse training. By the time they reached the office, she was short of breath, but she made an effort to pitch her voice low as she lightly patted his arm. “There now. Easy. You will be just fine.”

Shane jerked as though she’d applied a red-hot iron to him and stared at her. “What…what do ye mean?”

“Everything will be all right now,” she said soothingly.

His eyes widened slightly. “Now? What…has something changed?”

“In a way,” Abigail said, deciding placating him might be a good idea. “I want to thank you for letting me be a part of your life and dreams.”

He nearly stumbled on a step and stopped abruptly, his expression turbulent. “My …dreams?”

Shane had the look of a man—or horse—about to bolt. Abigail moved in front of him, blocking his path, and ran her hands along his neck and over his shoulders gently as she’d seen Jillian do to a spooked animal.

He gave her an incredulous look. “What are ye doing?”

“Calming you,” Abigail replied, continuing her ministrations since Shane had stilled beneath her touch. “Was your rest disturbed last night?”

His eyes darkened and he studied her intently, as though she were some foreign creature he’d just encountered. “Why do ye ask?”

Goodness, why did he sound so intense? She smoothed her palm against his chest, murmuring softly.

Shane grabbed both her hands in one of his. “Ye must stop this behavior, lass, before someone thinks ye addled.”

Abigail blinked. Addled? Shane thought
her
addled?

“Why did ye ask about last night?” he said again.

She frowned as he dropped her hands. “Nothing. I just thought if you had slept late too, you might have had disruptive dreams.”

His eyes turned dark again and then he shook his head, as though to clear it. “I need to see to the shipment. The tide ebbs at midday. I hope to set sail then.”

Abigail’s frown deepened as she followed him inside. He certainly had changed the subject quickly. And she thought he hadn’t planned to leave for another day or two. It almost seemed as if he were running away.

But from what?

Richard watched with covert interest as MacLeod and his wife entered the office. The display of one-sided affection on the steps seemed strangely out of place, although what man would be interested in the bitch? She was opinionated and actually wanted to discuss things like politics, which were clearly a male prerogative, even in Scotland. What man wanted a woman around who thought she knew more than he did?

“Are you sure you must leave today?” Abigail asked Shane as she set her reticule on a shelf under the counter. “I thought the kelp had to dry completely.”

“It is dry enough,” Richard replied before Shane could. “This is a new client. If we get his shipment to him a bit early, that will bode well for us.”

Shane nodded. “He is right. There will be cases of wine and brandy to deliver to a second client in London as well. Securing two new clients with one haul is a blessing. Meeting deadlines assures continuing contracts.”

Richard wondered why MacLeod was bothering to explain commerce to a female. “Your husband is correct. Additional clients means additional money, which means additional shopping trips for you.”

Abigail gave him a scathing look. “I do not care to shop.”

He could believe that, considering she wore plain dresses with high necks and long sleeves that gave no shape to her. If she had any female assets at all they were well-hidden, not that he was inclined to care. She was too tall and thin for his tastes.

Besides, if Richard played his cards right, it would only take a couple of more trips to these
new
clients—both of whom had engaged in shady endeavors with him before—and Abigail MacLeod would have no need of fancy clothes. Her husband would be spending his days in Newgate—and using the family’s wealth to secure his release.

“While I am gone, perhaps you could secure a new butler,” Shane told Abigail.

“I will set up some interviews, but it is a very important position. I would want you to approve.”

Richard intervened. “A butler can be the success—or the bane—of a successful household. You really should take the time to find the right person. Mrs. MacLeod is doing an excellent job of filling in at the counter. I can handle the rest.” He ignored the raised eyebrow and skeptical look Abigail gave him. The last thing he needed was Albert returning too soon and discovering deficits.

It was bad enough to put up with the bitch. Her nosing about, asking too many questions and suggesting ways to
improve
the bookkeeping all put huge obstacles in his path. He’d already created a second set of books—safely hidden—and he was beginning to make a tidy profit off the funds he’d siphoned from some of the smaller ships operating within MacLeod’s shipping line. Richard didn’t think MacLeod’s wife was smart enough to actually figure out what was happening, but he’d much prefer she not be in his way at all.

But how to get rid of her would be a delicate matter.

Chapter Sixteen

“Ye nearly broke a yardarm on this run,” Donald told Shane as the schooner approached the harbor at Le Havre three days later. “’Tis nae like ye to let the sails full out with the kind of following sea we had. Were the fiends of hell off the stern?”

Shane looked at his quartermaster, not sure what to say. He knew Donald wondered why they’d loaded the kelp before it was completely dry. The holds would need a good scouring when they returned to rid it of the smell. He could hardly admit it was mischievous faeries he worried about and not fiends.

Or that his attraction toward his wife was getting harder and harder to control.

“With Albert nae attending the office, I wanted to get references for the clerk we hired. Reneau claims he worked here at Le Havre.”

“He probably did if he was able to arrange this shipment as well as cases of wine and champagne to drop off in London.” Donald squinted against the sun. “Do ye have reservations about him?”

“’Tis just a feeling. He shows proper respect, but his eyes are cold.”

“But Albert likes him?”

“Albert likes the fact the man kens how to keep books. I doona think Albert would have agreed to act as temporary butler, even for Janet’s sake, if he dinna think the accounting would be in good hands. I just find the timing of Reneau’s appearance odd, coming just before David got attacked.”

“It could be coincidence. If Albert likes the man, ye have nae to fash about. Besides,” Donald added, “ye have your wife there to keep an eye on things as well.”

Which was a really sore point with Shane. While he could understand Abigail wanting to use her education, he did not approve of her working so close to the docks. Nor did he care for the idea of her working with Reneau. The man had not flirted with her—at least not in Shane’s presence—but the situation did not sit well. Shane had told each of Ian’s footmen that whoever accompanied Abigail for the day was to remain with her at all times. He had also given strict orders that they be fully armed, and to make sure she stayed in the office and didn’t go out on the piers. He wished them luck with that, realizing how headstrong Abigail was. Still, having an armed bodyguard would keep the ruffians that roamed the area at bay. He hoped. Shane muttered a curse under his breath. A part of him wanted to stay in Edinburgh to protect Abigail himself. The other part of him wanted to put as much distance between them as possible.

And now the damn faeries had intervened.

Pushing aside his personal problems, he helped the men unload the bales and then took the bill of lading inside the office on the wharf.

“I am looking for the dock master,” he said.

“Antoine Padget, at your service,” the man behind the counter replied as he picked up the papers Shane had laid down. “Ah, Mr. MacLeod. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. In his post, Mr. Reneau said your kelp makes the finest ash. I shall look forward to continuing to do business with you.”