“Well.” Adam let out a chuckle, then grimaced. “Thank the devil for that, then.” Seating himself once more, Kelgrove resumed brushing at Gabriel’s dress uniform. “Whatever command you end up with, I will be happy to continue to serve with you. The Horse Guards will be near enough my family that I can visit, without forcing me to spend all my holidays in Surrey.”
“The Horse Guards is in London, Adam. The Sixty-eighth Foot is in Spain.” He scowled at Kelgrove. “Did you find another barrel of that contraband whisky overnight?”
“Of course not, Your Grace. It’s just that… Well, you’re a duke now.”
“Yes, and Wellington’s a marquis. He’s still my commanding officer.”
The sergeant’s face reddened. “I’ll leave it to my betters to sort out. I would be honored to serve with you anywhere you’re posted.”
With that oddness echoing through his thoughts, Gabriel made his way down to the breakfast room. Yes, several of the commanders in the Horse Guards had noble titles, and a surprising number of them had never seen combat. He might have had a title forced on him, but he had no intention of spending his days pushing flags about on maps. The idea was both suffocating and ridiculous.
The Duke of Dunncraigh already sat at the breakfast table, working his way through a stack of thinly sliced ham and a thick piece of bread slathered in butter and apple jam. “Good morning, Dunncraigh,” Gabriel said, opting for a pair of boiled eggs and some of Mrs. Ritchie’s rather exceptional haggis.
“Lattimer. I’d like a few minutes of yer time this morning. I’ve something to discuss with ye.”
Fiona would be going into Strouth this morning to see old Ailios Eylar, and he’d wanted to join her. If conversing with Dunncraigh convinced the duke to leave more quickly, though, it would definitely be worth the time spent speaking with him. Being a duke, he would have thought, should have put him in the position of not having to host people whom he disliked. Aristocrats were absurd creatures. “I have some time after breakfast,” he said aloud.
“I’ll meet ye in the garden at half-seven, then.”
Something had evidently happened between last night and this morning, and not just to him. An entire exchange of dialogue without any sneering or insults. Next they’d be doing the Highland fling together. “I’ll be there.”
Up in the Highlands summer mornings came early, and light already danced through the room’s four narrow windows and deepened the blue in the carpet. Another pretty day, though Gabriel enjoyed the rainy, foggy ones just as much. Highlands weather was like the Highlands itself—changeable, unpredictable, and extreme.
As for why he felt the need to dwell on the graces of sunlight this morning, he could thank the next figure to enter the breakfast room. Fiona wore pale yellow, with a darker yellow and red pelisse over the simple muslin of her gown. Her dusky hair was tied back in an artfully chaotic tangle atop her head, her black eyes bright and full of fire. His heart beat harder as she passed behind him.Mine.
“Yer Graces,” she intoned, heading for the laden side table and making her breakfast selections. “I hope ye both slept well.”
“Quite well, thank you,” he returned, not surprised when she set down her plate several chairs away from him and across the table. “You?”
“Fer the most part, aye. And I’ve just added the head counts together; ye didnae lose a sheep yesterday.”
“Good.” He took a breath, remembering the part he’d decided to play. “I reckon we’ve taught those poachers that I won’t be trifled with.”
“Aye,” Dunncraigh took up. “Ye’ve outsmarted them fer certain.”
Ah, the morning’s first sarcasm. At the moment Gabriel couldn’t be certain whether the duke simply thought him an idiot, or if he knew something more about the thefts than he was letting on. His arrival could be read the same way—a coincidence, curiosity over meeting Lattimer’s new owner, or an attempt to discover the strategy of sheep protection Gabriel had implemented. Though why the Maxwell would need to steal sheep, of all things, he had no idea. Still, he never assigned anything to coincidence until it had proved itself to be nothing more.
One by one Dunncraigh’s men arrived for breakfast, including a dour-looking Hamish Paulk, who’d evidently left his home at Fennoch Abbey before dawn to make it to Lattimer in time for eggs. When Artur Maxwell strolled in, Gabriel looked up, and immediately had to stifle an unhelpful grin. “What the devil happened to you?” he intoned.
Artur swiped his hand gingerly across his swollen nose and black left eye. “I ran into a door in the dark,” he muttered. “Ye might place a few more candles aboot, Lattimer.”
“I’ll see to it.”
As he looked down he caught Fiona’s amused glance. Were they allies now, finally? It felt like they were, especially after last night. That boded well, even if he was surrounded by a herd of hostile Highlanders.
“What are yer plans fer today, Yer Grace?” she asked Dunncraigh, with the cautious smile she’d adopted yesterday. “I’m happy to assist ye with whatever ye require.”
Artur made a derisive noise at that, but continued eating. Dunncraigh, though, wiped his mouth and stood. “I’ve nae been here fer some time. I thought I might take a ride aboot the lake and down to Strouth, in a bit. And I’d like to see the textile mill, if ye’ve nae objection, Lattimer.”
Gabriel wondered how Dunncraigh would react if their roles were reversed and the Sassenach had just stated that he meant to poke into the duke’s holdings. “I may accompany you,” he said aloud, more to prick at the Maxwell than because he meant to subject himself to more torture.
Of course the moment the Maxwell finished his breakfast all of his hangers-on did as well, and less than a minute after Dunncraigh swallowed his last bite of ham the only three people left in the breakfast room were Gabriel, Fiona, and Hugh the footman.
“They’re very coordinated,” Gabriel commented, inhaling the scent of his strong coffee one last time before he drained the cup. “Almost regimental.”
“Ye shouldnae make fun; if one of ’em hears ye, they’ll all know aboot it.”
“Do you think they all know what happened to Artur’s nose?”
