Max felt his knees weaken, and he clenched his hands into fists, hardly daring to hope. “Mister—” his voice broke, and he swallowed and tried again, trying to remember everything his mentor, Andrew Prince, had taught him about Highland gentry. “Laird Oliphant. It’s nice to meet you.”
The older man had stopped within an arm’s reach of Max, and now studied him, his arms falling to his side. He cocked his head, his gaze sweeping over Max, and hummed slightly.
“Mr. Deville, welcome to the Highlands.” The man’s voice was deep and echoing and warm, feeling familiar to Max in a way he’d never experienced before. “My cousin mailed your references when he told us he’d be sending a new manager for the factory.”
References? Oh, Lord, what didthatlook like? Max had no experience running a factory, but Mr. Prince seemed to think he’d do well… Laird Oliphant was waiting for a response, so he swallowed again. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’m—I’m excited to tackle the challenge of helping Oliphant Engraving run smoothly as we move toward the twentieth century.”
The older man’s eyes narrowed over that remarkable beard, and he nodded once. Then he turned and jerked his head toward the leather chairs by the fireplace. “Sit down, laddie”
Was this to be an interview, then? Max struggled to keep his breathing even as he followed the laird. Struggled to keepeverything—even his expectations—even.
Laird Ewan Oliphant was the head of the clan, and had a lineage that dated back to the medieval ages. Well, Max supposed thateveryonehad one of those, honestly, but Laird Oliphant couldnamehis ancestors.
Max wasn’t even sure the name of his father.
America was based on the idea that a man’s ancestors didn’t determine his worth, but Max had been raised by Roy DeVille, Senior, who absolutely believed he was better than everyone around him, merely becausehisancestors had been wealthy.Max had lived that firsthand, and it was logical to be awed by the man currently settling across from him.
Mr. Prince had told Max what to expect in the Highlands, but Laird Oliphant was dressed in a thoroughly modern suit, rather than the kilt Max had been dreading. But that was part of the history and heritage too, and now that Max was living here on Oliphant land, would he be expected to don one of the woolen skirts?
As his ancestors did?
“So, laddie…” The older man’s voice was deep, calm, as he studied Max. “Ye’ve come to set the factory to rights?”
“No, sir.”Don’t make a hash of this, you idiot.Max’s fingers kneaded his thighs. “Mr. Prince told me it’s running smoothly, and I’ve studied everything I can on the factory. I believe it can run well enough without me, but I’m flattered that I can help.”
The laird hummed and nodded approvingly. “Oliphant Engraving has been around longer than you or I, laddie. It’s a part of our heritage, ye understand. Cousin Andrew’s side of the family has always run it, and that didnae change when he moved to America to marry that new wife of his.”
Remembering the fuss his hometown of Everland had made over the arrival of the wealthy industrialist, Max nodded. “He’s very proud of the work the factory does. The engraving itself makes Prince rifles stand out in the market, and the craftsmanship is unmistakable, sir.”
To Max’s surprise, the older man frowned at the compliment, and Max swallowed, wondering what he’d done wrong.
“Cousin Andrew told me you were a fine young man, Mr. DeVille, one who will do the Oliphant name proud.”
“I’m going to try, sir.”
The frown deepened. Perhaps it was thesir? Was Max expected to call the older manmy laird, the way the butler did?
“He also told me some other things.” Laird Oliphant’s dark gaze flicked across Max’s features. “Things I wasn’t sure I believed until you arrived here and I got a good look at you.”
Oh.
Slowly, Max sat straighter. “I…” He swallowed, his gaze locked on the older man’s beard. “He told me the same things. Sir.”
“Things about yer mother, and where you were born.”
Max’s pulse was pounding in his ears so loudly, he wondered if the laird could hear it. “He…Mr. Prince spoke at length to my—to the man I always thought was my father. He came to some surprising conclusions.”
“Apparently ye’ve been raised by a Roy DeVille, who moved to Wyoming from Alabama. He has an older son, named after himself, and his wife Margaret has been dead for many years.”
Max’s jaw hurt from how hard he was clenching it. He remembered the years of mockery from his older brother—bright and golden, like their father—about how Max’s birth had killed their mother. There’d been beatings, yes, and shame. He’d spent his life treated like a pariah in his own home.
And now, perhaps, he understood why.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to Laird Oliphant’s and rasped, “Yes, sir. But Mr. Prince tells me…” His throat was thick with fear andhope, and he swallowed again. “The man I thought to be my father…”
“He isnae, laddie,” the older man whispered, his own voice raspy.
To Max’s surprise, the laird’s dark gaze was a little watery, and his beard moved as he smiled.
