“Aye,” she returned absently, still trying to brush Gabriel Forrester from her mind. “Have someone keep a watch over the duke while I’m away.” She walked outside, then paused on the front gravel walk. “And dunnae tell him where I’ve gone. The last thing I need is fer His Grace to be crushed by a millstone.”
Hamish had been correct about one thing—even if Lattimer avoided death, his mere presence in the Highlands was distracting enough to cause them all trouble. Her, especially. Because however loudly she denied it, shehadbeen flirting with him. And not only was she still counting their kisses, she looked forward to them.
***
“Your paper, Your Grace,” Kelgrove said, slipping back into the library with a short stack of what looked like stationery. “Though I do assume you know you have a plentitude of pages at your elbow there.”
“Yes, I know. I wanted to get rid of you.”
“As I thought.”
Gabriel closed the damned ledger again before he could have a seizure from trying to figure it out. “What did you overhear?”
“The Duke of Dunncraigh wants Sir Hamish to remarry, evidently into a very wealthy family, and His Grace has been notified that you’re here and will likely come by for a visit, something they don’t expect you to enjoy.” Kelgrove ticked off the points with his fingers. “One mention of the thievery, and there seems to be a clash of wills between the two of them.”
That last bit didn’t surprise him in the least. The woman could drive a saint to drink—and he was no damned saint. She could also make a saint at least consider some sinning, because he doubted any man dead or alive wouldn’t have some carnal thoughts in the face of those flashing dark eyes, the curve of those lips, and the way she seemed to burn from the inside out. He imagined not even an infamous Highlands winter could stand against her.
He hadn’t been able to do so. Whatever excuse he gave, whatever strategy he pretended to be following, the fact remained that he thought of little but her face, her mouth, her voice, her curves, from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning to beyond when he closed them at night. He would do more than kiss her, despite the way she seemed determined to thwart his every move—and despite the fact that he’d overheard her kissing someone else just a few days ago. All of which made him a madman, he supposed.
“Do you have any idea what all this means for you, Your Grace?”
Gabriel shook himself. There was a larger game afoot here than what he meant to do with Fiona Blackstock. “Beyond the obvious point that none of the Scots want me here? I’m not certain.” He straightened, moving to the window where a glorious afternoon waited beyond. “I do know that I’ll see it all straightened out before I depart.”
The sergeant nodded. “If I may suggest something?”
“Of course. That’s why you’re here.” Any interest Kelgrove took in Lattimer Castle was a good thing, considering.
“The chit. Miss Blackstock. I know you said she has her uses, but aside from the fact that no one hired her, her… stubbornness and lack of cooperation is doing nothing but hindering you. In short, however much information she has about the estate and its people, you can find those things elsewhere.”
Just a few days ago the woman had tried to send him to sink into a bog, for the devil’s sake. One where her own brother had apparently drowned. And he was not letting her get away from him. Not even if that proved counter to his own campaign here. “I’ll sack her once I find out what it is she’s keeping from me,” he returned aloud. “She’s a game piece, and I don’t think I can put this puzzle together without her.”
There.That at least sounded logical. As for whether he meant it or not, he could figure that out at a time when his subordinate wasn’t eyeing him with cautious curiosity.
Movement outside the window caught his attention, and he stepped closer to see the tail end of a large, red cow wandering up the carriage drive below. “See if you can decipher anything else,” he said, and headed for the door. “She wouldn’t have handed these over if she had a choice.”
One of his five hundred footmen stood in the foyer as he arrived downstairs. “Yer Grace,” he squeaked, bowing, and held out a greatcoat. Gabriel turned around, and the servant helped him put it on.
“What’s your name?”
The boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Diarmid, Yer Grace.”
“Diarmid. Thank you.”
“I… Ye’re welcome, Yer Grace.”
Gabriel stepped outside into the cool, fresh air of a Highlands summer afternoon. He took a deep breath, trying to clear the clutter of his thoughts, and turned up the side of the house.
The shaggy beast had one horn that turned up while the other angled down, giving her a comic, tragic visage. Apparently the farmer Brian Maxwell wasn’t having any better luck keeping track of her today than he had when she’d wandered into that damned mudhole.
“Hello, Cow,” he drawled, moving between her and the tall ferns bordering the estate’s formal gardens. Of course Fiona had been jesting about her name, but he didn’t have a better one to call her, so Cow would have to do. “Let’s find you some hay, shall we?”
The cow stopped, lowering her head to nibble at the long grass to one side of the drive. Hoping he hadn’t miscalculated the animal’s willfulness and that he wasn’t about to make himself look foolish in front of a household that already thought him the devil, Gabriel pulled up a large handful of the sweet grass and waved it under the bovine’s nose.
“This way, Cow,” he said, and stepped sideways.
The beast stood where she was for a moment, eyeing him through long, red strands of fur hanging over her face, then swiped across her nose with her tongue and swung around to face him. Evidently the possibility of fresh hay outweighed the colorful enticements of the garden.
He half expected Fiona to come charging into view and chastise him for coddling or some such nonsense, but he and the beastie made their way slowly to the stable without incident. “Oscar,” he called, “have one of your lads see to the animal here.”
