The Scottish Lord’s Secret Bride (13 page)

‘Will we not be seen?’ Morven spoke to him through the tiny apertures in the wall, and he chuckled.

‘If anyone comes in now they will commit me for talking to myself, or themselves for hearing things. You can come out…’ There was a double knock at the door and he scowled, like a little boy foiled of his desire for an extra pie. ‘Lord this is like the old town in Edinburgh. People popping out of the woodwork like worms. Stay there whilst I chase whoever this is away.’

Morven didn’t see that she could do anything else.

****

Fraser muttered a few choice Latin swear words under his breath, as his factor shifted uneasily on his chair.

‘Say that again, please,’ he said with icy politeness. ‘You have been given the idea that I am to be wed? Why did you not mention this when we spoke last?’

Archie Retson coloured. ‘Lady Napier said it wasn’t generally known, and you preferred not to talk about it. So I just mentioned the number of beasts we’d need to you. When you looked so surprised, I got to wondering. We’ve known each other a long while.’

Fraser kept his expression purposefully blank. ‘Yes, and?’

‘Last night after I’d got home and had a bite to eat, I got to thinking a bit more, my lord. I’ve never kept anything from you, so I’m not going to start now. Plus why not mention it to you, when I’ve been asked to make sure we have meat. Seems all wrong to me, and if it isn’t, well on my head be it.’

Fraser steepled his hands under his chin. Damn his mother, what
was
she playing at? ‘Archie, never ever keep anything from me, not even if you think it libellous or positively harmful,’ he said earnestly. ‘I need to be on top of what is going on, be it good, bad or downright ugly. Take it from me; I have no intention of getting married in the near future. Or as things stand, in the far future either. I need to get to grips with the estates, relearn my lands and plan their futures before I think of mine.’ He nodded to the factor who stood up, cap in hands.

‘Then I’ll make sure you do, my lord. Can we walk over the Gled farm tomorrow? Old Tavish is muttering about drainage.’

Fraser agreed and waited until Archie had left before he drew in a deep breath and let it out in one long sigh. ‘I think I’m going to lock the door and hide,’ he said wryly to the peephole in the wall. ‘I wonder what bit of my rule—do not disturb unless there is a fire, flood, famine or invasion—people do not understand?’

Morven peered around the cupboard door. ‘He puts you first. That is worth being disturbed for surely? Especially with what he imparted.’

Fraser inclined his head. ‘Oh yes, I know,’ he said wearily. ‘And the plot thickens. I’ll have to make sure I’m not found alone with any young lady in a compromising, or not position.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I best leave then.’

‘Except you now, whilst you read this missive from Stirling,’ Fraser said as he waved the envelope. ‘It is both disturbing and reassuring in parts.’

‘Which part is bigger?’ Morven asked as she took out the letter from the envelope and dropped down into the chair recently vacated by Archie. ‘Good grief he writes very small, and like a snail dipped in ink. Crossed the lines as well. Too proud to ask for a frank?’

‘More than likely. The presbytery does not like to waste money. Which, believe me, normally I would applaud. Not, however, when it makes my life more difficult though. Can you decipher it?’

‘One moment.’ She scanned the lines quickly. ‘Just about.’ There was silence for almost three seconds and then Morven tapped her nails on the desk and harrumphed. ‘Well…of all the… Damn it, what is he like? A fence sitter bar none. It’s a case of as we thought. Nothing is certain until we ascertain what Tam Curtin said and did?’

‘So it seems, but at least he’s promised not to divulge any of this to anyone else.’ He retrieved the letter and envelope from Morven’s loosened grasp and locked it away in his safe. ‘Only I have the key for this.’

‘You think he knows it refers to you and not one of your staff?’ she asked as she sat back as far as the chair allowed.

Fraser pocketed his key once more and looked up at her. Not for the first time, Morven envied him his long lashes, even if they were the colour of burnished gold. At least his hair and lashes weren’t the same sandy red as his brother Gregor’s. Fraser’s hair was deeper in colour, more russet than a sandy red, and his complexion wasn’t at all similar to the pale Celtic colour of his siblings. Only their eyes of a deep forest green were the same. ‘More than likely,’ he replied. ‘Ah well, we’ll just have to take care. Carry on as if we are indifferent to each other until Tam Curtin arrives.’

Morven sighed and twisted the strands of hair that had as ever come loose from her bun between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Damned hair,’ she muttered and pushed it behind her ear. It didn’t matter how many hair pins she used the result was always the same. Within the hour it looked as if she hadn’t dressed her hair for a week. ‘How long will that be?’

Fraser looked at the ornately drawn up calendar on the wall next to his desk. ‘Three weeks or so. The games are the last weekend of the month.’

‘So until then we have to wait and be on guard?’ How on earth were they going to cope? Even now sitting in a room where it seemed anyone could appear and demand entrance, Morven’s body quivered at Fraser’s proximity and her hands itched to touch him.

‘So it seems,’ Fraser said. He stood up abruptly and his chair teetered before it fell back onto all four legs with a crash. ‘Oh hell, come on. Let’s ride. I noticed you have your habit on.’

‘I dressed without thinking what might happen.’ Morven looked down at her midnight blue riding dress with its matching jacket and rued the fact she hadn’t bothered to bring her hat with a peacock feather over one ear. ‘I’d mentioned I like to ride and was assured there would be a horse and a groom available if I needed them.’ She thought over their conversation. ‘Is it not risky?’

‘Not if we ride towards home farm,’ Fraser gestured to the door, and obediently Morven stood up and walked towards it. ‘I need to go to Gled and talk sense into the tenant again, but that is for later. For now it will be more for pleasure. With an end purpose. Come.’

I’m like a puppet, she thought, amused. He dictates and I obey. ‘For?’

‘I need to take a look at the dairy and it’s a pleasant ride across the fields. Every inch is within view of anyone in or around the castle, and as we will tell the men here where we are going and why, no one will blink an eyelid. Heaven knows we need to be circumspect, but Lord, we will need to converse sometimes.’

‘No more than that?’ Morven took his arm, very prim and proper once again. ‘That’s a pity.’

‘Minx, I’ll see what can be arranged.’ He led her out of the building and across the grass outside. ‘Either that or one or both of us will explode.’

She nodded. There was no need for his warning pinch to remind her to behave and be circumspect. Two grooms—chatting loudly—had appeared around the side of the stables and stopped in their tracks, to hastily bow.

Evidently no one had expected to see their laird, let alone with a visitor that morning. Fraser’s explanation, however, seemed to drag the men out of their stupefaction and within minutes Morven found herself aboard a perfect dappled mare called Bonny, with Fraser astride a raw-boned gelding, aptly called, she was informed, Boggle—a derivation of Boggart—the Scottish name for an evil or mischievous spirit. The way he pranced and shied at every imagined fear made her agree.

Bonny meanwhile trotted, then cantered perfectly.

They reached the dairy and Fraser laughed. ‘This horse will become dog meat if he doesn’t behave.’ He pulled the horse’s ears in affection. ‘Or so I tell him at regular intervals. Poor thing hasn’t been getting enough good vigorous exercise. A bit like me.’ He slanted a look at her and held his arms up to let her fall into them and be lifted to the ground.

‘Ohh dear,’ Morven cooed the words as her booted feet hit the hard-packed earth of the dairy yard. ‘That can’t be good. Surely we can rectify that for both of you. Boggle during the day and you at night?’ She ran her tongue over her lips and bit the bottom one, to let it go with a gentle plop.

Fraser groaned. ‘For the love of God do not do that, not now when my cock is about ready to peer over the top of my buckskins.’

She tittered. ‘Oh not good, so as I said, we need to take care of you both.’

‘Let’s hope we can then.’

****

The conversation was punctilious and frankly boring. Fraser wanted to swear at his mama who had chosen to invite the minister, his wife and seven other locals to dinner. Without running it past him as she usually did. Now seeing the assembled guests together, Fraser understood why. What a motley bunch.

Sir Reginald, self-satisfied and opinionated, and Lady Colquhoun, a faded blonde, along with their son and daughter, Alexina and James. Both children in their early twenties and as far as Fraser could see with less sense between them than his favourite sheepdog, and on Alexina’s part, with a lot more spite. She fancied herself as the next Lady Napier. Even with his present situation unresolved, Fraser did not, and never would. James, known as Jamie, was amiable and mainly concerned with stalking and the upkeep of his deer herd.

Brogan Gillies, the laird from the next estate up the valley, the good friend he’d confided in a few days earlier, was welcome to Kintrain at any time, and Fraser was thankful to see him. He was accompanied by his only just old enough to be included sister Thomasina, who—poor devil, Fraser noted—looked as if she might burst into tears if he addressed her. Then there was Lord Diggle, their local Member of Parliament, whom he was sure was sweet on his mama. All people, when he had taxed her in an aside, his mama insisted would be good company for her guests. Fraser had his doubts.

‘No idea what’s going on but people are desperate to hear you news,’ Brogan said out of the corner of his mouth. ‘No one believes I have no idea what they are talking about, and now it seems I’m supposed to be settling down. Not a chance. Keep your eyes and ears open.’

Fraser nodded. Whatever it was, wasn’t likely to happen that evening anyway.

He watched James and Brogan—with a wicked twinkle in his eye—vying to talk to Morven who as far as he could see contrived to push them on to her sister, who wasn’t very cooperative. Thomasina stared at him with sheep’s eyes and Alexina did her best to intervene in a way designed to set everyone’s teeth on edge, not just his. Fraser could feel a headache coming on. He checked everyone had eaten and nodded to his mother who frowned. His glacial stare must have worked because she narrowed her eyes and then stood, disapproval in every movement. Fraser had no sympathy for her. She hadn’t mentioned the fact they were to entertain until her dresser had passed the message onto his sometime valet. In effect he had been faced with a fait accompli and he wasn’t happy about it.

His mama might be the mistress of the castle but he was the master and she had better remember it. Perhaps it was time to suggest, with more vehemence, that she needed to consider her move down the valley.

‘Ladies, shall we leave the gentlemen to their port and retire to the sitting room?’ Lady Napier said in a frosty tone. ‘Then we can perhaps have a hand or two at whist.’ She didn’t look at Fraser as she spoke, and he knew fine well why. He disliked the card game intently.

Alexina clapped her hands in a parody of delight. ‘Oh yes, shall we?’

Morven shot Fraser a swift glance, obviously noted his wooden expression and smiled sweetly as she put her serviette on the table. ‘Please do, but I’m afraid you must count me out. As my mama will verify, I’m no whist player. Now spillikins, or go fish? They are different things entirely. However, I’m happy to sit and watch.’

‘Indeed they are different,’ Alexina said in a supercilious tone, which Fraser had told Morven all those years ago was called, vulgarly, “pan loaf.” ‘Never mind, we can manage without you.’ Alexina turned to Fraser. ‘What say you, my lord?’

‘I’m sure you can,’ he said urbanely. ‘If you and Mama wish to play whist I’m confident there are people to oblige. I love spillikins so meanwhile will run the spillikins competition.’

Someone, he thought it Brogan, bit back a snort and turned it into a cough.

Did Murren wink as she followed Morven out of the room? He couldn’t be sure, but he smiled in gratitude anyway. After that one swift glance Morven ignored him, his mama frowned, and Alexina snorted, and turned tail without saying any more.

Once the room was devoid of women Jamie Colquhoun burst out laughing. ‘Spiked her by God and didn’t you do it well.’

‘I have a hatred of being manipulated,’ Fraser said levelly. ‘By whoever tries to do so. My mama still needs to remember that. I will of course play whist if you desire it to make up another table.’

‘Not at all, my boy,’ Lord Colquhoun said genially. ‘There’s your mama, duchess, the wife and me. Plus Diggle, the minister and his wife and…’ He added up on his fingers and sighed. ‘And?’

Brogan grinned. ‘The minister won’t play.’ The minister had chosen to take tea with the ladies. ‘His wife will, to be sociable. Plus I think Jamie and Alexina. Jamie because he is better than me and…’ He broke off as presumably he remembered whom he spoke to.

‘Alexina to teach her a lesson,’ Jamie finished for him. ‘She might be m’sister but she is also a conniving witch with a tongue like a viper when she’s in that frame of mind. She’s getting above herself these days; thinks one word from her lips and we all kowtow and do as she decrees. Do her good to be thwarted. So, that’s sorted then. Where’s the port and the drams, Fraser? Come on, you’re slacking. And you owe me one.’

Fraser laughed and got the decanters from the sideboard to put them onto the table. Jamie stubbornly insisted he liked port before his dram, and Fraser was happy to oblige. ‘That I do. Make sure you have a double.’

Even though the minister wanted to oversee everything Fraser set up the interested couples at two whist tables and took charge of Spillikins, all without upsetting the cleric. No easy thing, as the Reverend Oliphant was somewhat touchy.