The Lady and the Laird Page 5

  When William had gone, Angus sat for a while, a preoccupied look on his face. Katlin Sinclair was a problem but only a temporary one. In the meantime, he had other matters to deal with—tenants who needed disputes settled, decisions to be made about new barns and crofts, investments to be watched and the like. He was a busy man and he had no time to be idling over some fool of a female who didn't have enough sense to know where she didn't belong.

  With an angry shake of his head, he set his feet on the floor and stood up resolutely. Enough of her, he had far more important things to see to.

  He left the library without noticing the portrait that hung near the door, for it had been there all his life and he rarely thought of it. But a handsome painting it was all the same.

  The man in it was past his prime yet still impressive with his gray hair and beard and his farseeing eyes. He wore the high collar and velvet doublet fashionable in the long-ago Tudor days. Darkness swirled in the painting behind him but the proud towers of Innishffarin could still be seen looming over his shoulder, unforgiving reminders of all that had been lost.

  ***

  "Out," Katlin said. She gave another hard push for emphasis. "Out."

  The sheep turned its head and gave her the sort of look only a sheep is capable of—great patience mingling with stolid bewilderment.

  For good measure, it swung its ample posterior in Katlin's direction. She was firmly and none too gently nudged out of the way.

  "That does it," Katlin muttered. She marched to the head of the animal, seized it with both hands, dug in her heels and pulled. "Out!"

  "Baa."

  "Out!"

  "Baa."

  "Blast!"

  "Baa."

  The sheep lowered its head and butted Katlin square in the stomach. She let go and sat down hard on the stone floor.

  "John!"

  "Right here, miss," the coachman said as he came trotting up the steps from the kitchen. Seeing the sheep standing triumphantly over his disheveled mistress, he stopped short. "I've been looking for her. Thought she was still below somewhere."

  "Well, she isn't," Katlin said, "and I'd like to know how she got in here in the first place."

  "Came in through the door, miss," John said mildly, "same as the others."

  "Others? What others?"

  "Four or five of them, miss. They're wandering around below. Seem to make themselves right at home."

  "I'll just bet they do," Katlin muttered. She got to her feet and stared at the sheep. "Why aren't you mutton?"

  The animal gave her a vaguely wounded look and went back to munching the tapestry.

  "I'll get a halter, miss," John said hastily. "Have her out of here in no time."

  "And the others!" Katlin called after him. "Sheep belong outside. That much I do know and nobody's convincing me otherwise. Sheep in the house, indeed. Why not the horses while we're at it?"

  "Make a terrible mess, don't you think?"

  Katlin whirled, for one horrible moment fearing the apparition in the corridor was back. But instead she found herself facing a tall, slender young man with fair skin, freckles and bright red hair. He returned her gaze with unabashed interest.

  "I'm Seamus McMahon," he informed her gravely. "I helped look after things for old Mr. Isaiah. A good man he was."

  "You were in his will," Katlin said, for she recognized the name,' 'but I didn't see you at the reading."

  "No disrespect there, miss. My cousin over in Moraine Bay broke his leg and needed my help. But it's grateful I am for your grandfather's generosity. We all are."

  "I'm glad to hear that," Katlin said as she shook her skirt straight. "Perhaps it will incline you to stay on at least until I can get settled.''

  The young man looked at her in surprise. "I've no plans for leaving, miss. Laird Wyndham has promised us all good positions later."

  Katlin's eyes widened. She could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. "Oh, he has, has he? How very kind of him, making promises he'll never be in any position to keep. Or have the terms of my grandfather's will somehow been misunderstood? I inherited Innishffarin and I've no intention of letting anyone else claim it."

  "Begging your pardon, miss," Seamus said quickly. "I guess it just never occurred to anyone that you'd want to stay."

  "Well, I do and I will." She caught sight of Sarah coming from the kitchen, bringing with her a small group of people.

  "Good," Katlin said, turning her attention to those assembled, "you're all here. There is something I want to say to you. Actually, a few somethings."

  The assembled group, six in all, reacted in various ways. John and Sarah looked a bit concerned but were hard at work showing confidence in their mistress. Seamus McMahon was still trying to adjust to her surprising declaration. The others looked wary.

  "You must be Maggie Fergus," Katlin said to a small, plump woman with gray hair, vivid green eyes and a cautious smile. "I'm glad you're staying on."

  The housekeeper bobbed her head cheerfully. "Lord Wyndham wouldn't have it any other way, miss."

  Katlin frowned. She had been raised to treat servants with consideration, and it wouldn't have occurred to her to do anything else. But there was a misunderstanding here that needed to be straightened out.

  "Lord Wyndham has been very helpful," she said, for truth it was, if a bit galling. "However, there seems to have been some confusion on the point of my staying. Innishffarin is Sinclair property, it has been for more than a century and I have absolutely no intention of ever giving it up. My grandfather's will requires that I remain in residence for six months. I have no problem with that at all. Eventually, I will return to London but I envision many happy visits to Innishffarin in the future. Is that clear enough?"

  She spoke pleasantly, even gently, but when she finished, she could not help but feel that she had failed. Her audience looked decidedly unconvinced.

  "Well," Maggie Fergus said, speaking for them all, "if that's how you feel about it, miss, the best of luck to you, I'm sure. It's no shame to be changing your mind."

  "I won't change mine," Katlin said with a hint of asperity. Did no one believe her equal to the challenge? "Now from what I can see, there is work to be done. To begin with, I would like to examine the larders and see what sort of supplies are needed for the coming months. Mrs. Fergus, will you assist me with that?"

  The housekeeper inclined her head. "If you wish, miss. Mr. Isaiah was a plain man, not much caring for his comforts. He was as happy with an old piece of mutton as with anything else."

  "I see," Katlin said. That didn't surprise her. Her memories of her grandfather—fond though they were—were of a plain and simple man whose zest for life had largely died with his only son.

  No wonder Innishffarin had a such a sense of— what was the word? Stillness, perhaps. Yes, that was it, as though the ancient castle was in some halfway state, not really inhabited but not yet abandoned. That would have to change.

  "The larders, Mrs. Fergus," Katlin said with an encouraging smile. "And then, Seamus, I would like you to show me around the castle. It looks as though there may be some structural work needed."

  He nodded slowly. "Aye, miss, you could say that."

  Which hardly sounded promising but Katlin wasn't going to dwell on it. Brisk action, that was the ticket. She hadn't made a terribly impressive start but that was going to change. Before day's end, no one at Innishffarin would doubt that the new mistress was staying on. Let Lord Angus Wyndham make what he would of that, she thought as she followed Mrs. Fergus down the stone steps to the kitchen.

  The larders were immediately adjacent, three large, almost cavernous rooms that, had they been fully stocked, could have held enough food to withstand a months-long siege.

  "Aye, miss," the housekeeper said when Katlin commented on that, "you've put your finger on it. In times of trouble, everyone from these parts was drawn into the castle for safety. There could be three or four hundred all together, maybe more. Innishffarin came under siege twice
so far as I can recall but was never taken."

  Her round, old apple face wrinkled. "When it finally did fall, it was through trickery, not valor." Barely were the words out than she remembered herself. "Begging your pardon, miss, but fact's fact."

  "And honorable service to one's king isn't trickery, Mrs. Fergus," Katlin said gently. The slur against her family was so far off the mark that she took no insult from it. It was merely a case of people believing something that wasn't true.

  "Innishffarin was given to the Sinclairs by King William in gratitude for our recognition of his sovereignty, recognition the Wyndhams were reluctant to give. The king felt it was important to have such an important holding in the possession of a family loyal to him. He could hardly be blamed for that."

  "I suppose not, miss," Mrs. Fergus murmured. "It was all long ago. We were speaking of the larders. "

  Katlin allowed her to change the subject, but in the back of her mind the thought lingered that even after so many generations, no one at Innishffarin seemed to accept Sinclair rule.

  Oh, the servants had been fond enough of her grandfather and he of them, as his will showed. But fondness was not loyalty. That they seemed more inclined to give to Angus Wyndham and that, in turn, bothered Katlin greatly.

  Still, the larders—what was left of them—demanded her attention. Two were entirely empty and the third so sparsely stocked that it couldn't have kept them fed for more than a handful of days.

  "Obviously, we must send to the village for supplies," Katlin said. "I will draw up a list and we will go over it together. I should warn you, my tastes are more varied than were my grandfather's."

  Mrs. Fergus brightened. "That's good to hear, miss. Truth be told, I like to cook but with your grandfather there wasn't much point. He wanted his joint and his potatoes, and that was the end of it."

  "Feel free to experiment," Katlin urged. "How is your supply of spices?''

  "Pitiful, but we could have fresh herbs aplenty if we planted the garden that used to be here years ago. How would you feel about that?"

  "Good enough to help you do it," Katlin said. She laughed at the housekeeper's startled look. "I'm not afraid of getting my hands dirty, if that's what you're thinking."

  "It was," the housekeeper said frankly. "To be honest, miss, you're not at all what we expected."

  To be honest, Katlin thought, she wasn't what she'd expected, either. Innishffarin seemed to be changing her. So far, at least, she thought it was for the better.

  Two hours later, she had reason to reconsider that. By then she had walked over almost every part of the castle with Seamus—except for the passageway where she'd encountered the whatever it was, and which she made an excuse to avoid. She was footsore, weary and undeniably discouraged.

  "I'm sorry, miss," Seamus said kindly. "Did no one warn you?"

  "My great-aunt tried to," Katlin admitted. "She said Innishffarin was a ruin.''

  "It's not quite that, not yet, but it's definitely headed in that direction. The fact is, the place has been let go for decades now. Old Mr. Isaiah just seemed to give up on it after—" He hesitated.

  "After my father was killed?" Katlin asked softly.

  Seamus sighed. They were standing on one of the parapets looking out over the rolling green hills to the west. The sea was unusually tranquil but far to the north, clouds could be seen.

  "That was before my time, miss," he said, "but I think it started even sooner. As far as I understand, your father had no interest in living at Innishffarin. He wanted a different life and Mr. Isaiah wasn't willing to force him to stay. He loved your father, you see, and he wanted him to be happy. But it meant there would be no heir for Innishffarin. Maybe if you'd been a lad, it would have been different but under the circumstances..."

  "I was taken away to London," Katlin said softly, "and Innishffarin was left to decline. Is that what you're saying?"

  "Close enough, miss. Laird Angus tried to buy the place but your grandfather would have none of it. He was determined to live out his days here."

  "Yet in the end he was willing to see Innishffarin go to the Wyndhams if I wasn't strong enough to keep it."

  Seamus nodded. "Innishffarin needs strength, miss, if it's going to survive. That has to come from somewhere."

  Katlin turned her head and looked at the young man. It was late afternoon. The sun was tending westward, sending slanting rays of gold over the hills. Seabirds circled overhead. She could smell the heather mingling with the scent of salt water.

  Deep within her, she felt the ache for land and sea, adventure and home, that she had never recognized before but that seemed, oddly, like an old companion, always there but only now admitted.

  "It has to come from me," she said quietly and tried not to be too daunted by the fact. For truly the task was frightening. So much had to be done, but how? Her grandfather had left enough money to get by, but not nearly enough to do everything that was needed.

  Lady Margaret had set aside funds for her long ago, but to use them she would require her great-aunt's approval. And then there was Charles, supposedly her future husband, wealthy enough to rebuild a dozen Innishffarins. Perhaps he would agree to help if he understood how truly important it was to her.

  She would write to him immediately, for simple courtesy demanded that she do so. Perhaps she would even invite him to come and see Innishffarin for himself. She liked Charles, after all, and she certainly wasn't about to give up on the idea of marrying him. On the contrary, she had more reason than ever to do so.

  He could be persuaded to see the virtues of Innishffarin.

  That it might be unwise to tie the two together did not occur to her. Indeed, her smile as she left the parapet was filled with eagerness. Seamus took note of it and shook his head in amazement. Either Miss Katlin Sinclair didn't understand the task ahead of her or she had a few more surprises remaining up her pretty sleeve.

  Whichever it was, they were in for an interesting time of it and that was no exaggeration. Innishffarin hadn't seen such goings-on in a very long time.

  Seamus was smiling, too, as he followed her down the stairs, thinking all the while of what he'd say to his mother's second cousin—or was it third—when Padraic asked him what he thought of young Miss Sinclair.

  Whatever he said would swiftly make its way to Laird Angus. But that was only right and fit, for no matter what Miss Sinclair believed, Innishffarin belonged to the Wyndhams. It was only a question of how long it would take her to accept that.

  Chapter Five

  Katlin's letter to the Baron Charles David Louis Randall Devereux was a week in reaching London. There it sat for a day in a silver salver on his lordship's desk, awaiting his return from a pleasant few days spent at his country estate.

  When at last he returned, he was too tired to do more than glance through the pile of correspondence. He did give heed to several of the more impressive invitations but decided that the letter from Katlin could wait. She had, after all, displeased him.

  It was most extraordinary, this business of her staying on in Scotland to look after some absurd legacy from her grandfather, something about a crumbled old castle that seemed to make no sense at all. Lady Margaret had tried to explain it to him as soon as she returned to London, but she hadn't done a very good job of it, possibly because she didn't understand Katlin's actions herself.

  Certainly, she didn't approve of them, that much was clear to his lordship. Lady Margaret had reminded him at length of what a well-brought-up young lady Katlin was, how sweet and charming, how caring of him, how respectful of propriety. In short, how utterly unlike her this present behavior really was.

  He couldn't disagree, for he had found Katlin quite the thing himself. It was, indeed, the principal reason he had chosen her—if not yet officially—to be his wife. The second reason was a good deal less noble, having to do with the fierce, hot desire she made him feel every time she glanced at him out of those huge brown eyes.

  When he thought about having
her beneath him, taking her innocence, being free to use her over and over as he saw fit, the baron could hardly contain himself. But he had managed to do so and now he damn well meant to reap the rewards.

  What he did not intend—and could scarcely countenance—was her remaining alone in the wilds of Scotland in clear neglect of his wishes.

  Over breakfast the following morning he at last read her letter. It appeared hastily written, he noted critically. She had a good hand and spelled better than most people he knew—better than himself, for one— but she needed to be more formal in her phrasing. Reading a letter from Katlin was just like having her there in the room with him.

  She sounded entranced by Innishffarin, he noted with alarm, describing it as a "magnificent castle true to the grandest traditions, somewhat neglected in recent years but well deserving of care."

  Was it, indeed? He could imagine few things less attractive than a hideously drafty old pile of stones. It was all too reminiscent of those rougher, uncouth times when a man was expected to be able to acquit himself in battle, dying if necessary in defense of his family, his land and his sovereign. Really too primitive to be borne.

  His eyebrows rose in a face that was thoroughly patrician if a shade on the horsey side. He had a long head, thin sandy hair, large eyes that protruded slightly and a jaw that went a bit longer than it should have. In short, he looked like every other Devereux, male and female alike.

  She wanted him to what? Visit Innishffarin? Preposterous. Why would he want to do a thing like that? Granted, Scotland could be pleasant in the spring if one went for the shooting and stayed in proper accommodation. But a hideous old castle hard by the sea? He could not possibly see himself in such a setting.

  And yet... There was something about the letter he couldn't quite put his finger on but that created the impression he ought to go. Katlin really did seem to have the bit between her teeth. Yes, that was it. She was dotty over the place. She'd have to be, to even consider staying on there. She clearly wasn't thinking straight.