Page 12 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

The cook nodded and indicated a table with a wave of the cleaver.

Ross seated himself at the long stone table, keeping it between himself and the cook.

He wasn’t too trusting of these tight-mouthed Scots—at least not yet.

A second later he heard the door behind him close and figured Mary was unhappily on her way to make his room comfortable.

He ate a meal of cold mutton and potatoes, wondering what it was going to be like to live here in this crumbling, drafty old place. It had been his father’s home, and now it was his. Would it ever feel like home? Ross couldn’t think much further than that. Tomorrow would be time enough to think.

Over the next week, Ross spent considerable time with his grandfather, most of the time doing what Ross called locking horns.

It didn’t take Ross long to learn that he and his grandfather were more often than not on opposite sides of the corn bin.

One of the biggest issues they exchanged words over was the way Ross dressed.

And on that point, Ross did not waver one bit.

He was born a Texan and raised as one, and that meant he dressed as one.

He wasn’t about to wear those uncomfortable fancy clothes with their stiff collars and uncomfortable coats of the kind his grandfather wore. He saw no reason to.

Over the course of time his grandfather had decided that Ross needed to remain in seclusion at Dunford to give ample time to see to what he termed “Ross’ enlightenment”, at least for the next several weeks before they began traveling to inspect some of the lands he would inherit from his mother and grandmother once he received the title.

It was more than obvious that this wild, unrefined lad from Texas wasn’t anywhere near being ready for introduction to the polished Scottish society, which included many English nobles.

Ross, on the other hand, hadn’t given much thought to that sort of thing. He figured you inherited a title much like you bought a section of land. One you had the bill of sale in your back pocket, it was yours to do with as you saw fit.

He soon learned that was not the way things went, at least for the Scottish temperament. There were a few things he would have to agree to, according to his grandfather. None of them were to his liking.

And neither was the needle-nosed man his grandfather had put in charge of his enlightenment, one Lord Percival.

The first time they met, Ross took one look at Lord Percival and decided this man couldn’t enlighten anything. After he heard him speak, he was convinced this was true. “He speaks worse than either one of us.”

“Lord Percival is English,” his grandfather said. “He is an old friend, and he has graciously agreed to leave his home in England for an indefinite period of time, in order to be your teacher, tutor, friend, and guide. I’ve placed him in charge of furthering your education.”

“What?” Ross said, then he dug his heels in.

He wasn’t about to be pushed, prodded, or led anywhere.

Not by this man. “What in the hell is that supposed to mean? Further my education, my ass. There isn’t anything wrong with my education.

I finished school,” he boasted, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I’m literate. ”

“Barely,” said Lord Percival, his thin lips curling in disgust. He sighed and pinched his nose.

“You must be tutored, nevertheless. You are quite ignorant when it comes to anything pertaining to either Great Britain or Scotland. You know nothing of the history of the clan you are to lead, nothing of the ways of a Highlander. More importantly, you can’t possibly expect to be a duke and take your place in society, looking and acting the way you do. ”

“There’s not a thing wrong with the way I look,” Ross said through clenched teeth.

If this had been Texas, he would have already loosened the man’s front teeth.

Nobody talked to him like that. Nobody. Ross scowled, giving that Percival fellow the eye.

Let him think him uncouth, uneducated, or unmannerly.

He didn’t care. As long as the man saw Ross as someone he didn’t want to tangle with.

“First we will start with the way you walk,” Percy went on, as if he hadn’t heard Ross at all, and looked down his nose at him with an uppity expression.

“The hell you say!” Ross missed the uppity look. He was halfway out the door.

“Or, if you prefer, we could start with that hair of yours,” Lord Percival called after him. “It’s much too long and ill kept.”

“Go to hell.” Ross slammed the door on his way out.

Lord Percival had his work cut out for him, that much was certain.

But Lord Percival had a lot more stamina than Ross figured this skinny foreigner could possibly have.

The little man was everywhere, and nothing seemed to deter him from his duty.

For a while, Ross wondered why in the Sam Hill they bothered to even try making him over.

Nothing about him seemed to be right: not the way he walked, or talked, or dressed, or wore his hair; not his table manners, or any other manners, for that matter.

“What have you got against my manners?” Ross almost shouted.

With perfect calmness, Percival said, “I can neither like nor dislike something I have never seen.” While Ross glared at him, the undaunted Lord Percival went on to say, “I will be more than happy to pass judgment on your manners when I’ve had the opportunity to observe them.”

“You’re hollering down a rain barrel.”

“Beg pardon?”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree,” Ross said, close to snarling.

“Are we talking about the same thing here?”

“ I’m talking about an education,” Ross said.

“I don’t know where you got off.” He dug his fist into the ruffled front of Percival’s shirt.

“Don’t call me uneducated. You wouldn’t do half as good as I’m doing if we were doing this to you, in Texas.

” He gave him a shake. “Let’s just see just how educated you are, Percy.

Do you know what it means to spill the beans?

Do you know what it means to be madder than a wet hen?

Or to fling a Joe Blizzard fit? Or to be faster than a chicken on a June bug?

Do you know what a blue norther is? Or the name of the president of Mexico?

Can you name the river between Mexico and the United States? Do you know what Tejas means?”

Before he could go on, the sound of laughter coming from behind him reached his ears and Ross turned, not bothering to release Percy.

His grandfather stood in the doorway.

Ross let go of Percy, and while Lord Percival put his shirt back in order, the duke said, “Lord Percival, are you experiencing some difficulty with my grandson?”

“Yes, Your Grace, I am.”

“Leave Ross and me alone for a while, Percy.”

“With extreme pleasure,” Percival said, heading for the door. “He’s all yours.”

Ross scowled, his eyes hot on Lord Percival’s back as the man exited the room as if his pants were on fire. “Percy missed his calling. He should be working in the dungeon, turning the screws on the torture rack.”

“Come with me, Ross. I have something to show you.” Ross followed his grandfather into the library. Standing in front of the desk, he watched the duke shuffle through a stack of papers on his desk. Finding one that apparently satisfied him, the older man grunted and handed the paper to Ross.

FIVE-THOUSAND-DOLLAR REWARD

FOR INFORMATION ON THE WHEREABOUTS OF

ROSS MACKINNON

WANTED FOR RAPE

CONTACT SHERIFF OF CORSICANA, TEXAS

Ross tossed the paper on the desk. “That’s a lie.”

“I believe you, of course. But would they? More importantly, do you have any means for defending yourself?” He sighed.

“If you refuse the title and the requirements that go along with it and return to Texas, this,” he said, thumping the paper, “is what will be waiting for you. I’m an old man.

I don’t have much longer to live. It is imperative that I secure my title before my death.

There is no point in wasting either your time or mine if this isn’t what you want.

I understand how difficult it must be for you.

If it’s more than you can handle, I understand. ”

Ross scowled. “I can take anything you or Lord Percival can deal out.”

“Can you now? Are you certain about that, lad?”

“I can take it. It just goes against my grain, is all.” Ross’ scowl was gone, and so was most of the anger from his voice.

“Then, do you suppose you can be a little more agreeable? Lord Percival isn’t here in the capacity to torture you. He’s only doing his job—as a favor to me, I might add.”

In the end Ross agreed to being tutored, primarily because his grandfather gave him the option of being tutored or returning to Texas, “To stand trial for rape,” as the Mackinnon so eloquently put it.

“I told you that was a lie. I never raped a woman in my life,” Ross said, coming up out of his chair and banging his fist on his grandfather’s desk. “I never had to.”

The duke looked as if he were about to smile, but he cleared his throat instead. “Not according to Tess Cartwright.”

“Tess Cartwright couldn’t get a corpse to sleep with her. And I’ve never been that desperate.” This time when he coughed the Mackinnon’s cough was real.

Ross cooled down a bit and agreed to keep trying with Lord Percival, but he wasn’t fully convinced his grandfather didn’t have something to do with those trumped-up charges.

Tess Cartwright? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

A man couldn’t get drunk enough to crawl between her legs.

He knew beauty was only skin deep, but Tess Cartwright’s ugliness went clear to the bone.

He had about as much use for a woman like that as a hog with a Sunday hankie.

He looked at his grandfather, not missing the gleam in his eyes. He had learned a couple of things about the old man since coming here. One, that he was a man to be reckoned with, and two, that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. Absolutely nothing.

Once his tutoring was under way, Ross amazed everyone with how fast he learned.

He also amazed the old duke with how much he already knew as far as women were concerned.

Once his grandfather called him on the carpet for dallying with a parlormaid and said, “It appears you are giving considerable attention to furthering your education of women.”

“I already knew enough,” Ross said. “I was just making sure I didn’t forget any of it.”