“What can I say?” He gave MacConnell a hard look. “When I see something I want, I take it. And once I have it, I keep it.”
“Yes,” Winnifred said brightly. She smoothed a hand down her skirts. “It was all quite romantic. Now, tell me what brings you to Inver? And how have you been since we last met?” Her cheeks burned so bright, the blacksmith could have used her to heat his iron.
Sin turned his head to glare at her.
“I’m visiting friends in the area.” MacConnell patted the cart horse’s rump and rested his hand there. “As to how I’ve been”—he shrugged—“these are troubled times in Scotland. The working man has it rough.” He slid a glance at Sinclair. “Fortunate for you, you’ll never have to experience our privations.”
Like he didn’t work? Sin tossed the reins down. All right, he’d had enough. The disrespect from his tenants he could tolerate. It was his responsibility to shelter and support them. But from this guttersnipe? Touching his horse, eyeing his wife, making her blush. A growl rumbled about in his chest. Like hell he’d sit here and take it.
Winnifred scooped the reins into her hand. “Well, it was lovely seeing you.” She rested her palm on Sin’s thigh and squeezed. A warning? A plea? Whichever, it had its desired effect. The irritation burbling behind his breastbone eased away. Sin sniffed. He’d wait to remove MacConnell’s head from his neck until another time.
MacConnell wasn’t as smart as his wife. Didn’t know when it was best to escape Sin’s presence. He put his hand over the reins that lay on the horse’s back, preventing their departure. “Have you heard aboot the fight that broke out at a coffeehouse in Glasgow? The guard was called in, killed two of our men. Just boys really. Students. I even heard the Earl of Abercairn got pushed around a wee bit. Nasty business.”
Sin stilled. He hadn’t heard about that incident yet. The paper from Glasgow lay folded on his desk, unread. But according to Tavish, fights were breaking out more and more across Scotland. Riots flaring and no one seemed to know the exact cause. “Yes, it is. But what business is it of yours?”
MacConnell shook his head, making annoying tutting sounds. “Just correcting myself from earlier. When I said the peerage won’t be affected by the troubles. With tempers running so high, no one is safe,” he said, looking right at Sin. The man’s freckled face didn’t look so innocent as he gazed at Sin, a message hidden in his smirk.
The hairs on the back of Sin’s neck stood on end.
MacConnell blinked, and the strange moment disappeared. He turned a sad smile on Winnifred. “I would hate for anything to happen to you, Winnie. Be sure to take care.”
“Rest assured,” Sin said coldly, “I’d never allow harm to come to my wife. Anyone who attempts it, won’t live to regret it.”
MacConnell tipped his hat. “As you say. Goodbye, Winnie.” With one last pat to the horse’s rump, he turned and strolled away, whistling a Scottish jig.
Sin smacked the reins down and the horse pulled into motion. As they rolled out of the village and towards the next farm, he said, “I don’t think I like your friends,Winnie.”
She worried the fraying hem of her gloves. At this rate, he’d need to buy her a new pair each week. “I haven’t seen Donald in many years. He did seem … changed.”
He seemed like a snake, was what he seemed. And one who knew more than he was letting on.
Sin turned the cart down the drive of his next tenant. Something was afoot in his Scotland. Something bubbly just under the surface that he couldn’t see. It was more than just hungry people becoming angry. Sin couldn’t pin down his suspicions, but it was time he stopped ignoring the problem.
His tenant, a sheep herder named Clacher, raised a hand in greeting and trudged toward them.
In times of distress, his people used to pull together, not turn on each other. Was someone inflaming the mob as Liverpool suspected? To what end?
His home was tearing apart at the seams. He might not be able to feed all the hungry, but he did know how to investigate conspiracies. And put an end to them.
He squared his shoulders. His honeymoon was over.
It was time to go to work.
Chapter Nine
Winnifred hesitated, pen poised, before crossing an item off her list. The dowager marchioness seemed to enjoy ordering the meals for the day, and Winnifred didn’t want to usurp all of her mother-in-law’s duties. The woman barely tolerated her as it was.
She sighed, and looked out the window of her snug parlor. Finding her way as the new marchioness was proving difficult. It wasn’t like one of her experiments. In her father’s laboratory, she could test different hypotheses, observe the results, and move on to the next one if a theory was disproven. No judgment over an incorrect speculation. No consequences aside from lost time if her research proved faulty.
Here, one false move and social ostracism could result. Or worse. The servants seemed a friendly lot, but they reported to the steward, who would report any concerns to Sinclair. Or to Deirdre.
Banquo lifted his head from her feet. She bent down to scratch behind his ears. “If only relationships with people were as simple as they are with you.” His tail thumped in agreement. Horatio blew out a breath from his bed on the settee, his upper lip flapping.
“Well, time to get to work.” She picked up her list. Putting the pen back in its inkwell, she pulled a piece of lead from her desk and marched from the room, the dogs at her heels. The tour from Deirdre had been delivered at a brisk pace, and Winnifred hadn’t been able to examine her new home as thoroughly as she’d wished. As its marchioness, she wanted a detailed accounting of it, and of any problems that might need remedying.
She would prove to her husband that she would be a useful and competent wife.
She started at the top of Kenmore, spending more time than was required on the ramparts and in the corner turrets. It struck her anew. Her, unimportant Winnifred Hannon, now Archer, lived in a castle. She ran her hand along the rough stone inside one of the larger turrets. The space was empty, but the view from the window … breathtaking. A family of red deer grazed near the outskirts of the woods. Two boys stood hip-deep in the loch, casting out nets in hopes of catching supper. If the sun had been shining brightly, it would have been a perfect summer day.
