The Maxwells had big plans. Long-term plans. The sort of plans that wouldn’t stand for interference from a cautious man whose heart would always remain with the Highlands and her people. The sort of plans that went beyond what a wealthy, self-made English merchantneeded to see his daughter and granddaughter safe and comfortable.
Rebecca encouraged Stapp to prattle on for nearly an hour before she set aside her napkin and declared that the day had been refreshing. Callum would have termed it enlightening, but then he hadn’t eaten any of that fine-smelling fare. Once the footmen had packed up the remains of the picnic half the men in the glade began wandering along the path back toward the cathedral, while the other half waited until Stapp and Rebecca headed in that direction so they could fall in behind.
As if it had been waiting for the picnic to end, the drizzle began again. Rebecca opened her green parasol, and Stapp moved closer to her to share in the cover. Callum could repeat to himself that he didn’t need to be jealous, that whatever happened to him Rebecca wouldn’t ever agree to wed the marquis now. But she’d come close to doing just that, and as far as Stapp knew, he still had a very good chance of winning her hand.
“Touch her and lose yer arm,” he muttered, slipping past trees as he trailed them. “Try it, Stapp. I dare ye.”
Whether Stapp heard the warning or decided he’d be wiser not to press his luck today, he didn’t move any closer. As they reached the cathedral he continued on with Rebecca to the waiting curricle and helped her up to the seat. He said something to her that Callum couldn’t hear, then backed away as the curricle turned into the street.
Once she was safely away Callum sprinted behind the cathedral and through two alleys to reach Jupiter and the lad he’d left watching the stallion. He flipped a coin to the boy and swung into the saddle, heading them toward the bridge at a gallop.
He hoped Rebecca would tell him about her conversation with Stapp; he hadn’t followed them to eavesdrop but he hadn’t made any attempt to give them privacy, either. He’d followed to make certain she returned home safely and without incident. She might be a “friend” of Donnach and Dunncraigh, but Ian and George Sanderson had been “friends,” as well.
Thudding across the river Ness just before the curricle reached it, he sent the big bay pounding up the narrow streets, past the rows of opulent, well-kept mansions, and up the short, gated drive of MacCreath House. Swinging down, he tossed the reins to Johns and dove into the house just as Pogue pulled open the front door.
“Is everything well, m’laird?” the butler asked, stepping back hurriedly.
“Aye. I’ve been here all day, in the office.”
“Very good—ye’ve a visitor in there now. Ye said he could have the run of the house. Mr. Kimes.”
Damnation.“Bring me a dry coat,” he shot, and headed down the hallway.
The clerk sat behind the large desk at the back of the room, three ledgers open before him and a much scribbled on set of papers on top of that. When Callum walked in the lad stood, nearly dumping the entire mess onto the floor. “M’laird. I—”
“Sit,” Callum said, shutting the door behind him and taking one of the chairs facing the desk. “I apologize for being late.”
“There’s nae nee—”
“As far as ye’re concerned, we’ve been in here together for two hours,” he continued.
“Um. Aye. Certainly.”
“Good. What did ye find?” Callum shrugged out of his wet coat and tossed it at a footman when a dry onearrived at the door. He couldn’t do anything about his buckskins at the moment, but hopefully Rebecca wouldn’t notice.
“Well, to begin with,” the clerk said, pulling still more papers from a satchel, “I’m nae certain what ye may already ken about Dunncraigh. Some of it’s common knowledge, after all.”
“Assume I dunnae ken anything that’s happened within the last ten years. I’ve heard a few things, but the more ye can tell me, the better.”
“Aye. Just over two years ago, then, he tried to purchase Lattimer Park. It’s a grand estate south and west of here, used to be the property of Malcolm MacKittrick before he was hanged for being a Jacobite. King George gave it to one of his Sassenach cronies, and it was last owned by one Ronald Leeds. He’d more or less abandoned it, but when he died the Crown found an English soldier to be his heir. Gabriel Forrester. This new Lattimer didnae want to sell, and Dunncraigh bought off the estate’s gamekeeper to sabotage the property. Lattimer found him out and took him to court over it. Dunncraigh lost nearly a thousand clansmen and five thousand pounds in damages over the mess.”
Dennis handed over a set of newspaper clippings that seemed to detail the story, but Callum set them aside for later. “Lost his clansmen to what?”
“To Lattimer. His cotters declared him the reincarnation of MacKittrick, and themselves MacKittrick’s clan. He’s doing well by them, from what I’ve heard.”
“They turned their backs on Dunncraigh? A thousand of them?” The Dunncraigh he knew would never have let that stand. Especially not when it elevated someone else’s standing in the Highlands.
“There’s only rumors about that, but it seems His Grace said they could either leave Lattimer’s land orleave clan Maxwell. All but a dozen or so stayed with Lattimer.”
“Serves the bastard right,” Callum muttered. Dunncraigh had been burning out cotters for years, sending them scattering to make room for his profitable Cheviot sheep. Eventually clan Maxwell would have had enough of the abuse. Or a thousand of them had, anyway.
“That’s nae for me to say, of course,” Dennis Kimes returned, glancing up from his papers. “The next incident that ended in the newspapers was six months later, when the Duke of Lattimer’s sister ended up married to Laird Maxton, one of Dunncraigh’s chieftains. Then another of his chieftains, Sir Hamish Paulk, had the sudden urge to pursue business in America. Ye didn’t know him, did ye?”
“America’s fairly large,” Callum returned. “Nae, I didnae meet him. I did know a Graeme Maxton, eldest boy of Brian, Laird Maxton. He’d be my age. That lad could drink.”
“Aye. That’s him. He married the English lass a bit over a year ago.” Dennis looked up. “He has three younger brothers under his wing, and a new bairn of his own. A good man, from what I hear.”
So someone with his own background hadn’t needed to be banished from home and take ten years to decide what sort of man he wanted to be. He didn’t know whether to be pleased for Graeme, Viscount Maxton, or annoyed with him.
