Page 13 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

Chapter Four

Lord Percival held his glass toward the lamplight and stared distractedly at the prism of color reflected in the deeply cut crystal. He was listening to the old duke’s words as he shared a whisky with the Mackinnon. Their topic of conversation, was, as it had become of late, the duke’s grandson.

The duke gave a short, sardonic laugh and said in an explanatory way to Percy, “God’s love, Percy, he’s so much like John that I find myself hard-pressed to call him Ross at all.”

Percy joined in with a laugh. “That could be his biggest asset…” The laughter faded, his face turning serious. “Or his worst trait,” he said in rather doleful tones.

“Aye. It could make him or break him,” the Mackinnon added a second later, his expression somber as well, his words coming deep and rasping in his throat.

At this moment the thought gradually permeated Lord Percival’s slow-moving mind that the old man seated on the other side of the partner’s desk was a different old bird from the one he had been talking to only months ago.

Right before his eyes his old friend had changed.

Not long ago his eyes were dull and lifeless, his gait slow and wobbly, but now his walk was sure and strong, and his eyes reminded Percy of hope.

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

As he studied the duke, the dark blue eyes gazing at him over an aristocratic nose seemed to sparkle with vitality, their look filled with the light of sudden, unanticipated insight—the result of which was something Percy could only liken to humorous understanding.

“I’ll tell you something else,” His Grace was saying, his voice light and spruce. “He’s a wee bit like me when I was a lad. Impetuous. Full of more answers than there are questions—with a tendency to leap before he looks.”

Percy had learned some time ago that the Mackinnon’s grandson bore the old man more resemblance than mere physical attributes. He knew also that it would merit him nothing to mention it, and that the Mackinnon would come to recognize the way of it in his own time. Apparently that time had arrived.

Percy smiled. “As you’re so fond of saying, he’s a Mackinnon through and through.

There’s no denying that,” Percy went on to say.

“The lad is coming along, faster than I anticipated. He’s smart, and has a strong desire to please you, which makes him try all the more, but I do worry that we won’t have him ready before Colin McCulloch arrives with the Duke of Grenville and his family.

” Percy shook his head. “I’m not one to fret unnecessarily, but there’s still a lot of the uncivilized American in him, and our ways don’t come easy or natural to him. ”

“They will in time,” the duke said.

“Yes, but time is the one thing we don’t have much of—if we’re going to keep to the original schedule.

You will be having that horde of houseguests arriving sooner than we’d like, unless…

” His voice trailed off, his expression frozen in thought.

“It’s not too late to postpone the ball, you know—or to beg off completely.

After all, you planned it before your grandson materialized. Everyone would understand.”

The Mackinnon came to his feet and faced Percy with hard, angry eyes.

“What do you mean, beg off? Mackinnons dinna beg…for anything. What would be the wisdom in that? Do you want me to teach him it’s all right for a Mackinnon to go back on his word?

Or that he can grovel his way out of his obligations? ”

Percy shrugged. “Very well. I know when I’m surrounded. I surrender. I don’t know why I suggested that. I knew before I said it that those words would ride about as smoothly as a poorly gaited horse with you.”

“Aye,” the Mackinnon said, “they would.” His voice softened, but the look in his eye was as determined as ever. “We’ll proceed as planned. Ross is my grandson. He’ll be ready.”

The old duke walked back to his chair and settled himself in it, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Without opening them, he said, “The Stewart lass will have her betrothal ball, but I’m wary of the match she’s made.”

Percy raised his brows and waited, his interest piqued.

Opening his eyes, the duke caught Percy’s amused look.

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s nae because Huntly didna choose to wed a Highland lass,” he said.

“A Highland lass would have had more sense than to be forced to marry a man like Huntly.”

“A Highland lass wouldn’t be so complaisant. She would want to do her own choosing,” Percy said.

“Aye,” the Mackinnon said, but it was obvious to Percy that his old friend was still bothered. “I didna ken Colin McCulloch for a fool,” he went on. “He couldna be too happy about his niece’s betrothal to a man like the Earl of Huntly.”

Those words surprised Percy. “Why? Huntly is considered a good match…”

“To those who dinna know him well,” the Mackinnon finished. “I’ve nae trusted Huntly. The man galls me, and it’s no mystery why. Misery seems to follow in his footsteps.”

As he spoke, the duke was thinking of his beloved daughter, Flora, and how her infatuation with Huntly years ago had given her naught but the stinging slap of rejection.

At the time he thought Flora better off for it, but she never seemed to be herself after Huntly spurned her for another—turning his back on Flora to marry the daughter of the Duke of Corrie, who was held in such high favor by Queen Victoria.

“There’s more here than you’re telling me,” Percy said slowly. “The problem isn’t the Stewart lass, or the fact that she’s English. It’s Huntly, isn’t it? What has he done to you? Why do you dislike him so?”

“Dislike? Ha! ‘Tis too mild a word to describe the way I feel about Huntly.” The Mackinnon looked suddenly tired. He rubbed his eyes. “I dinna ken hate would even do justice to my feelings.” He looked up and saw the way Percy was looking at him. “I ken you’ll give me no rest until you’ve wrung the last dram of information from me. ”

Percy laughed. “Is it that obvious?”

“Aye, it is.” He thought for a moment, wondering where he should begin. “You never knew my youngest daughter, Flora.”

“No.” Percy’s gaze rested upon the miniature portrait of Flora on the duke’s desk. “She was lovely.”

“Aye, she was lovely and when that portrait was painted she was in love.”

“The man was fortunate.”

“The man was the Earl of Huntly.”

“Huntly? I never knew. I heard he came close to marriage with one of Argyll’s daughters.”

“Aye, but Argyll wasna foolish enough to sell his geese at such a poor market, so Huntly married another wealthy lass.”

The face Percy saw was hardly the face of the chief of Clan Mackinnon he knew.

He looked suddenly older, and tired, his face strained and withdrawn, as if he had gone back, retreated into something painful.

There was no humor in him now, no laughter, only a grimness that comes from pain too sharp and too deep to be borne.

“Three months after she was cast aside by Huntly, Flora was raped. Brutally. And she was with child. I ken she knew the man who did it—knew him and preferred death to revealing his name. She hung herself two days later.”

“And you never learned the identity of the man she protected?”

“No. Flora was dead. It no longer mattered.”

“Something about it still matters, or you wouldn’t feel such hatred for Huntly.”

“He broke Flora’s heart and ruined her life. After what that did to her, death was a kindness. For that reason alone I’d like to meet him with the business end of a claymore. Other than that, I have no feeling for the man, although I’d wager my title that there’s something evil about him.”

“Perhaps the Duke of Grenville hasn’t heard about Huntly’s faults. I know him. He wouldn’t do that to his daughter if he had. He’s an honorable man, and a just one. He’s a loving father, completely faithful to his wife and devoted to his family.”

The duke’s face grew seriously intent. He took another swallow of his drink, his heavy-lidded eyes studying Percy’s face.

“I ken all about Grenville. I’m certain he hasn’t heard anything about Huntly.

Few people have. Huntly isn’t what he seems. He covers his tracks well.

He hides behind a mask of false virtue and passes himself to the whole of Scotland as a wealthy and influential man.

Even in the eyes of the kirk he is just and upright—a benefactor who pays in gold coin from a sullied purse. ”

“You make Huntly sound like a man who would skewer his own mother if it profited him,” Percy said.

“Aye,” the Mackinnon said. “That he would.”

“And you’re having a ball to honor his betrothal?”

“It would be a slap in the face for me not to have a ball for the Stewart lass. Colin McCulloch and I have family ties—and we’ve been friends for a long, long time.

I knew the lass’s mother, Anne.” With a frown he added, “I fancied myself in love with her at one time. She was too bonny to be married to an Englishman.”

“You make it sound like punishment,” Percy said, and laughed.

“Anne is still a beautiful woman, and I’ve seen her daughter, Lady Annabella.

Like her mother, the girl’s a beauty. More so than her mother, I think.

She has a look about her—and a face that draws a man’s breath from his body and turns his reason to ash. ”

As soon as he spoke these words, Percy felt the oppressive weight of uneasiness settle about him. Ross was a wild one, and a bit unscrupulous when it came to women. He glanced at the duke and saw the gleam of similar understanding in his eyes.

“It seems we have a potential problem here,” Percy went on to say. “Lady Annabella isn’t one to go unnoticed, and we both know Ross has an eye for the lassies.” He was shaking his head. “I can only hope…”

The Mackinnon laughed. “Hope. If my memory doesna fail me, ‘Hope is a prodigal young heir, and Experience is his banker.’”

Percy looked sick. “I’m aware of that quote, Your Grace.

I simply chose to ignore it.” He could tell the duke was enjoying this, but Percy wasn’t about to be deterred.

“It’s the latter part of that quote I’m worried about.

History repeats itself… Will you stop laughing, Your Grace?

God knows the lad doesn’t need additional experience.

That’s reason enough for me to think it might be wise to keep the lad out of sight a while longer—prolong his teaching… ”

“And shorten his experience?” the duke said in a tone that was light and lively.

Percy stiffened. “There will be other balls, Your Grace.”

“Aye, and other lassies as well.” The duke stood, returning to the silver tray and pouring himself another drink.

“I’ll give some thought to what you’ve said, Percy, but I’ll warn you now, you’ve just handed me a very interesting reason for seeing that Ross is at his polished best when Huntly arrives. ”

Percy came to his feet, his face pale. He placed his glass on the tray next to the whisky decanter.

“It would be disastrous to even mention your grandson’s and Lady Annabella’s names in the same breath.

You know that. I suspect he’s already stolen the virtue of every bonny maid within five miles of Dunford. You can’t afford to take that risk.”

“Cornering a milkmaid in the hayloft isna the same thing as going after Huntly’s betrothed. What makes you think the Stewart lass isna safe around him?”

Percy’s expression was dour. “He fishes on who catches one.”

The Duke of Dunford regarded his longtime friend with a furtive smile and nodded, a thoughtful expression in his eyes.

With bearing that could only be called regal, he did not speak, but sat with almost stony dignity as Percy crossed the room and opened the door, then closed it quietly behind him as he left.

Keeping his eyes focused on the massive carved doors, the duke leaned back in his chair and folded his hands thoughtfully across his chest. His gaze traveled across the room and settled upon an ornately carved frame, gilded with gold.

The granite features softened as his eyes rested upon the portrait of his daughter.

He lifted his glass, the glow from a nearby lamp striking the crystal and shattering the light into a thousand rainbow fragments.

“For Flora,” the Mackinnon said calmly, and downed the contents of the glass.