“That’s yer plan then, is it?” Stapp asked from just behind him. “Marry yer brother’s own widow? Ye always did want her for yerself, I recall. Hardly seems fair to her, though, to be saddled with a sot who’d rather drink and shoot bears in America than be a landowner here.”
“Ye ken a great deal about me for someone I’ve nae spoken more than two or three sentences to at a time,” Callum returned, keeping his gaze on the lithe, golden-haired, azure-draped goddess swirling before him.
“I ken who ye are. A younger brother desperate to be half the man his older brother was. So desperate ye’d even take his widow for yerself.”
“I see throwing ye out my window didnae knock any sense into ye. Care to try again on the balcony?” He gestured toward the open doors to one side of the room, the only place where he’d noticed a breath of cool air and the scent of damp evening.
“My father offered ye a very generous price for whatever claim ye have on Sanderson’s fleet, Geiry. Take it. The next offer willnae be as generous.”
Taking a last look at Rebeca, Callum faced the Marquis of Stapp. “Ye’re interrupting a mighty pleasant view here, so I’ll ask ye plain—what will that next offer be, exactly? Because I did turn down the first one.”
Donnach’s brow furrowed for a heartbeat before it smoothed out again. “More than likely it’d be beating ye half to death and throwing ye on the next ship back to America.”
“That doesnae sound very gentlemanly. And how do ye mean to explain two Earls of Geiry vacating the title within eighteen months?”
“Ye can keep the title. In Kentucky, or wherever ye were hiding.” Stapp took a half step closer, and Callum edged his fingers toward thesgian-dubhsheathed against his right calf.
Hiding.Had they looked for him? Ian had known where he was. If his brother had trusted the Maxwell so much, why hadn’t he said anything? Or had they not told Ian they were looking?
Hm.It would have made sense to remove him even before killing Ian. Then the title would have gone to his softheaded cousin, who would have wet himself at the idea of being noticed by a duke and the head of their clan. And then, with Donnach’s marriage to Rebecca, Dunncraigh would have owned Sanderson’s entirely.
Callum clenched his jaw. Damn him for being too stubborn to read Ian’s letters. The last one, at least, though he hadn’t known at the time that there would be no more. It might have told him what was afoot, that they were all in danger. It might have convinced him to return home in time to save the lot of them.
“Interested, aye?” Donnach asked, misinterpreting his silence for consideration. “I’ll convince the duke to grant ye a boon for going away. It might nae be what he offered ye before, but I reckon it’ll be enough. More than enough.”
“More than enough for what?”
“To compensate ye for nae marrying a lass who nae wanted ye, anyway. I was there, if ye’ll recall. I heard what she called ye. And I saw her choose yer brother. I even heard the conversation after ye left the house like a scalded cat.” The marquis chuckled. “I’d wager yer ears were burning, because it was fairly unpleasant.”
Ah, the bit where Stapp tried to turn him against Rebecca so the marquis could move back into the “almost betrothed” position. “Back to Kentucky,” he mused, wishing he hadn’t allowed Rebecca to convince him that shooting both Maxwells was too easy. He knew it, too, but damnation, it was tempting. “Have ye ever seen a man scalped?”
Stapp blinked. “What?”
“Scalped. I’ve seen it. Lost three of my men back when I first began my business. They strayed where they shouldnae have, and paid for it. My point, though, is thatonce ye’ve seen a man scalped, still alive and begging to be killed, being threatened with a beating doesnae much signify.”
“Ye’ll nae win her, Geiry. Ye cannae be trusted, and ye cannae be relied on. I’m the one who’s been here for the lass when she lost her husband and her father. Ye were somewhere off seeing men getting scalped until ye got word ye’d inherited a title and blunt.”
“Dunnae fu—”
The Duke of Dunncraigh stepped between the two of them before Callum could jab a finger into the marquis’s chest, grab hold of his jacket, and drag him out to the balcony.
“Away with ye, Donnach,” his father said.
With a curt nod the marquis turned on his heel and walked into the crowd. Given how close he was to losing his temper, Callum was surprised to see that no one else seemed to have noticed the confrontation. But then Stapp was much more accustomed to navigating Inverness soirees than he.
As for Dunncraigh, well, Callum had insults aplenty for both the marquis and his father. After holding them in for a decade, it felt good to let them fly. Especially since it wasn’t just for his own satisfaction. He had two lasses to keep safe. “Rebecca may think ye’re some kindly grandfather to her,” he said aloud, gazing at the duke levelly, “but I know ye killed my brother, and I know ye killed George Sanderson.”
“That’s a dangerous thing for a lad with yer reputation to say to a man with mine,” the duke returned, not looking even a wee bit surprised at the accusation.
And both the duke and his son continued to pick at the man he used to be, the one they thought he still was. Callum curved his mouth in a slow smile. “Just because ye couldnae find me in America doesnae mean Iancouldnae. And just because he was a bit late in moving against ye doesnae mean he didnae tell me what he knew—and how he planned to fight ye.” He inclined his head. “Good evening to ye, ye old goat. I look forward to seeing ye again. Soon.” Turning, he walked away.
“Ye’ve said that before, and ye’ve insulted me before. I still seem to be… unharmed.”
Callum stopped. The man made a good point. Slowly he turned around and returned to stand in front of the duke. Bending his head a little to reach the man’s ear, he whispered, “Ye’re unharmed because this ismykingdom now, ye pile of shite. Ye’ll live for as long as I say ye will, and nae a breath longer. I warned ye that I’d end ye. I keep my word. But nae on yer schedule. Because if there’s one thing worse than being scalped, it’s waiting for the blade to touch ye. Think on that while ye lie in yer soft bed tonight.”
With that he did walk away, but only to the far side of the ballroom. He might have set the Maxwell’s gaze on him, but the easiest path to what the duke and his son wanted was still Rebecca. For God’s sake, he should just marry her now, and cut them off at the knees.
The thought tempted him. More than tempted him. He wanted her, and he had no intention of letting her go. Ever. But she wanted justice with a taste of ridicule, and he craved revenge. Stapp and Dunncraigh needed a taste of hope, or they might well cut bait and run—or rather, shut themselves behind locked doors where he couldn’t get at them, and where a single letter from a dead man wouldn’t sway a judge to action.
