“You… look at her a great deal. And you smile. That frightened me at first, until I figured out the reason for it.”
“Very amusing, Adam,” he returned dryly. “Does anyone else suspect?”
“Some of the servants do. They reckon she’s leading you on in exchange for more funds coming into Lattimer.”
“And your opinion?”
Abruptly Kelgrove became fascinated with the rust on the railing. “She’s very dedicated to this place,” he finally said. “Is she aware that her clan chief wants to purchase it?”
“She is. She asked me not to sell it to him.”
For the first time during the course of the conversation, Adam looked genuinely surprised. “That… doesn’t make sense.”
“It does, if you take into account my charm. And mainly, the lack of interest Dunncraigh’s shown in aiding the situation here.” He frowned. “That could change if he became the landlord of course, but…” Swearing, he dragged a hand through his hair. “I like it here, Adam. God knows I like the challenge of it. But it isn’t just about me, and which assignment I want. Am I the one who can do the most good here? Or is it Dunncraigh?”
“I think that your asking the question, sir, answers it as well.” Kelgrove sighed. “Despite the fact that I would rather continue to serve you someplace where the fighting is more straightforward and our foes wear uniforms, this place suits you. I’ve never seen you step into a situation that you didn’t somehow improve by involving yourself in it. You would be dead if that were otherwise. And so would I. A hundred times over.”
Gabriel looked up again, taking in the view once more. Contemplating things wasn’t in his nature. He saw, assessed, and acted all within a heartbeat and with the deadliness of any finely honed weapon. If he could name the exact opposite of who and what nature had made him, this—being a duke—would be it.
Him, a duke. Not just in name, but in fact. For the rest of his life. The head of a line that at the moment had only one other member, and no heirs. And at the same time, a very, very large family of dependents in need of an effective leader. It should have terrified him. In some ways it did, but mostly when he considered the consequences of failure. And that was a familiar sensation, and one that almost felt… comforting.
Deciding to remain at Lattimer did provide him with an answer to the one question that had troubled him almost from the moment he’d set eyes on the dusky-haired chit up to her armpits in mud. Stating, knowing Fiona belonged with him was one thing. Making it happen was another. But now, in this whirlwind of chaos, he might have just found a way.
“Well then,” he said, standing to brush off his trousers and return to the precarious safety of the widow’s walk. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
As Fiona had said, in planning a battle he found the obstacle before him and looked for the most expedient way to go past, around, or preferably through it. In preparation for meeting with his next obstacle, Gabriel changed back into his uniform and sent word that he was to be informed as soon as Dunncraigh returned from surveying the land the duke expected he was about to own.
Before he left the bedchamber,hisbedchamber even with that damned bed in which he couldn’t sleep, Gabriel stopped to look at himself in the full-length dressing mirror. In the years since he’d put on his first uniform he’d gained some muscle and a few inches in height, and of course myriad scars both internal and external. The eager, naïve optimism had disappeared very quickly, but for the first time in over a decade he felt it again. Not as naïve, perhaps, but unmistakably hopeful. And that surprised him more than anything. Until he’d discoveredwhyhe felt so… hopeful, he meant to hold onto the sensation for dear life.
He brushed at his sleeve. This could well be the last time he wore any uniform. He didn’t have to wear itnow,but with a battle waiting on the horizon, it felt both appropriate and strategically sound. This was how Dunncraigh would see him, whatever he chose to wear. And this was how he dressed to begin a war—at least this one, last time.
The morning room gave him enough space to pace, and it was the first door at the top of the stairs. Fiona had vanished into her office, ostensibly to leave him to make his own decision, but neither of them could pretend she wasn’t part of it. He wondered, though, if she’d realized just how large a role he meant for her to have in this. That would be the next battle, he imagined. He had them all lined up, ready for the saber.
“He’s here,” Sergeant Kelgrove said, leaning into the doorway. “Sir Hamish is still with him.”
“They’re connected, Hamish’s lips to Dunncraigh’s arse,” Gabriel returned, rolling his shoulders. “Thank you.”
The sergeant nodded, patting his coat pocket. “I’ll be close by. Bellow if you need my pistol.”
Gabriel paused at the top of the stairs to watch as the Maxwell and his entourage milled about in the foyer, commenting about profit and yield.Hisprofit and yield, no doubt. “Your Grace,” he said, and eight pairs of eyes lifted to look at him. “Might I have a private word with you?”
“Of course, lad.”
He caught the congratulatory nod Sir Hamish sent his clan chief, but Gabriel kept his own expression neutral. Here, he was outnumbered. In the morning room the odds would be even, and he reckoned he had surprise on his side. Backing to the door, he waited until Dunncraigh joined him before shutting them in together.
“Ye’ve considered my offer, then,” the duke began.
“I have. I didn’t expect it, I have to admit.”
“It’s well past time MacKittrick returned to Maxwell hands,” Dunncraigh said, clearly in an expansive mood. “I reckon ten thousand pounds will satisfy us both, aye?”
“That seems a low number,” Gabriel returned, curious enough about Dunncraigh’s strategy and motives to let the conversation play out a little.Feint and parry, look for weaknesses. Some things never changed, thank the devil.
“If the estate was in her prime, aye. But we both ken she’s long past her glory days.”
“I can’t argue with that. With the textile and pottery works, though, you—”
“Lad, what ye have are two wee factories and a distillery that barely pay fer themselves, and thousands of empty acres fit fer naught but sheep. Sheep ye dunnae have. Just bringing the estate back to a profit will take time that ye dunnae want to spend here. And who knows when that curse could next cost ye still more time and money. Give her back to the Maxwells. Ye’re a hero in the army, I hear. The Beast of Bussaco, or someaught. If ye want twelve thousand pounds, I’ll give ye twelve thousand.”
