“You go too far, sir,” she snapped, her fingers beginning to shake before she folded them into her lap. “Your brother and I were perfectly happy. I will not lower myself to answer your asinine, ill-meant accusations.”
She hadn’t forgotten how to hold her own in a conversation, for damned certain. He refused to admire her spleen. “Then dunnae. But Donnach Maxwell willnae be calling on ye here. Nae any longer. I’ll nae have him in this house.”
“You cannot—”
“My house,” he interrupted. “My rules.”
“Then you may have this house,” she snapped, pushing to her feet. “I have Edgley House by the harbor, andthatbelongs to me. You stomp about this house as long as you wish. You’ll do it alone.”
She strode up to him, clearly expecting him to move out of her way. Callum remained where he was, wondering if she had any idea how very patient he was being. He couldmakeher tell him what she knew about Ian’s death, and just how close she’d become to Donnach Maxwell; of that he was certain. But blunt didn’t suit him. Not today, anyway, when his memories were nearly thick enough to walk upon. And not after meeting the little one. And the wee lass had changed more than that. He couldn’t sit alone in his fortress and plot his vengeance against the world while Margaret MacCreath and her two-colored eyes smiled innocently at him.
“Go if ye like,” he said, keeping his voice low and level. “Lady Margaret stays here.”
All the color left her face.“What?”
“I’m Lord Geiry. She is my brother’s daughter, and therefore my ward. She goes where I say. And I say she stays with me.”
“You devil!” Rebecca swung her open hand at him.
He knew it was coming, and lifted his arm to block the blow. Then he caught her wrist in his fingers. “I’m being very kind at the moment,” he said, releasing her the second she pulled away. The touch seared him, and not with the anger and disgust he’d expected. “I’m allowing ye to stay if ye wish. Ye might consider that before ye begin slapping and kicking.” The Rebecca he remembered had never been much for slapping, but she’d had a hell of a kick. That likely wasn’t proper enough for her any longer, but he didn’t care to find out for certain.
She tromped to the desk and back again. “Why did you come back?” she finally snapped, pacing again. “Why? Because with Ian gone you would finally have his money? Because you would do anything to make a stand against Dunncraigh? It’s been ten years, Callum.The duke has been nothing but kind for all that time, and especially since Ian died. I don’t know how I would have managed to sort through my father’s business or keep Ian’s going without his or Donnach’s expertise on the matter. So keep your stupid, petty grudges to yourself, and do not ruin my life, or Maggie’s, because of them. Take the title, take the money, take the house, but leave us alone.”
He tilted his head. Was that the man he’d been? It sounded familiar, in an uncomfortable, far-off way. “I’m nae here for any damned money,” he stated, grinding out the last word. “And in Kentucky we’ve nae use for earls or dukes. I own a business that I began, one that I reckon earns me more income than Geiry ever could.”
She looked him up and down again, color returning to her cheeks. “You don’t look it.”
“I didnae dress to impress ye, Rebecca.”
Lady Geiry sniffed. “If you have your own money, then why are you here? You’ll ruin everything!”
Callum had become accustomed to keeping his own counsel, to knowing the hows and whys of a thing and simply expecting his employees to do as he ordered. He hunted alone but for Waya, and after his exit from Scotland ten years earlier, he’d found that he preferred it that way. And he fully meant to ask his own questions in his own time to discover what, exactly, had happened to his brother. Still, all he had now was a vast, smooth surface of unknowns. If he stirred the pot, however, a morsel or two might emerge.
“I was stacking kindling,” he began, pushing away from the door and walking to the window when the memory made him restless, “and found a bit of newspaper that said Lord Geiry was dead. Then I found the last letter I’d received before anyone could burn it, and read it. Half an hour later I was on my way back toScotland. As for the why, it was one word I read. One word I keep hearing. Do ye ken what the word was?”
She’d pivoted to keep him in view. “I’m… I’m sorry you had to learn about Ian’s death that way, Callum. I truly am. But this has been difficult enough. Please go away, and don’t muck about in what we’re just managing to get straightened out. We’re trying to move forward again.”
“‘Drowned,’” he said, ignoring her protest. Well, not ignoring, but memorizing every word for future study and reference. “Ian drove off the bank of Loch Brenan anddrowned. Didn’t break his neck, didn’t get crushed beneath the wheels, butdrowned. Ian. The lad who caught fish with a spear from under the water. The lad who’d go swimming with us, but wouldnae go shooting or riding because he couldnae bear to look the fool.”
“What? I…” She took a deep breath. “Accidents happen, Callum. He took the phaeton out in a storm, and a terrible thing happened. Don’t try to make it worse than it was.”
“Ye’ll have to excuse me if I choose nae to take yer word for anything, lass. Especially when ye’re being courted by Donnach Maxwell and practically calling Dunncraigh yer da’ a year after losing yer true papa.” Returning to the door, he pulled it open. “I’ll be sleeping in the master bedchamber. Unless ye and I are sharing it, ye’d best have yer things out by midnight.”
She stalked past him. “Don’t you dare speak a word about this drowning nonsense to Margaret,” she hissed. “I think sometimes she still expects her papa to come walking back through the front door.” Her voice caught. “If you’ve come only to look for conspiracies, look well. You won’t find any. And then go away. Or at the least, let me leave with my daughter.”
Callum watched her return to the foyer to collectyoung Margaret and then head upstairs, calling for servants to help her move her things to the yellow room, wherever the devil that was. He wanted to walk the house, to familiarize himself with it all over again, but he would do that tonight, after everyone else had gone to bed.
As for Rebecca, when he’d gone over this plan in his mind, he’d forced her out of the house. He didn’t trust her; she’d stood against him once, and so she could go to the devil with the rest of clan Maxwell. Margaret’s existence had altered that. The one person he knew to be innocent in Ian’s demise was going nowhere. The closer she remained, the better he could protect her. If that meant Rebecca had to remain beneath his roof as well, then so be it. The truth, as Shakespeare had written, would out. And God help Becca if she was involved.
Chapter Four
Rebecca paced the morning room floor, her gaze angling to the mantel clock every time she reached the farthest point from the window. Someone was punishing her. That was the only reason for this disaster that made any sense. And whoever it was had the ability to slow down the progression of time, as well.
Finally the front door opened, and she gripped the back of the couch to keep from rushing into the hallway. When Pogue knocked on the half-open door, she gestured him forward. “Get him in here, and shut the door,” she whispered. “And please let me know if Lord Geiry stirs from his bedchamber.”
The butler nodded. “Of course, my lady.” Turning, he practically grabbed the young man by the scruff and shoved him into the morning room. “In ye go, lad.”
Bartholomew Harvey, Esquire, tugged down at the front of his jacket as he regained his footing. “I’m here, my lady. You said it was urgent.”
