Page 47 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

“Och! Stabbed in the heart with a dirk,” Barra said and laughed.

“What did you do with them? Toss them in the loch with stones tied around their necks?”

“Hardly that. I fattened them up and set them free when they were able to take care of themselves.”

“Well, I can hardly do that with Bella.”

“No, but I can.”

“She’s a little old for tutoring, and it’s a little late to try making a Highland lass out of her now. She’s spent too many years being refined.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Barra said. “Scots blood always rises to the top—like cream. It might be just what the lass needs.”

A moment later he opened the doors that led into the garden.

Bella glanced up and saw her mother and her uncle walk out to join her.

A curse formed vividly in her mind. She didn’t want to be with anyone right now.

She wanted time to be alone. Didn’t this brute have any manners?

Didn’t he respect such things as privacy and solitude?

Her uncle, she noticed, was frowning. She scowled and lifted her chin, determined not to be outdone by this callous, ill-mannered relative of hers, this blackest of sheep in the family.

A moment later his laughter came like a crack of thunder.

Startling. Unexpected. Clamorous. And brief.

She clenched her skirts, determined to make a rapid exit, when his voice stopped her. “What say you, lass? Don’t you find the idea of marriage to the Earl of Huntly a wee bit frightening?”

She paused, giving him a severe look. “I find the story I’ve heard about Seaforth a bit frightening, Uncle. I’ve been told there is a lady ghost that wanders around here at night, dressed in pink and carrying her head. Is it true? Have you seen this lady?”

Barra threw back his head and laughed heartily. “If you’ve nothing to say on the matter, I’ll not ask again. I only sought to know if this be a pleasing match to you, but I can see the answer to that well enough in those wildcat eyes.”

Her mother looked at Annabella. “Well, bless my soul,” she said. “You know, Barra, I think you may be right. She does have the eyes of a wildcat, doesn’t she?”

“Aye,” Barra said. “It’s a good sign.”

Annabella, remembering the favorable comments the coachman made about the elusive wildcat, took that as a compliment. She didn’t smile at her uncle, but it was the first time she didn’t frown.

Mrs. Barrie, the housekeeper, came to the door to summon the duchess to tea with her sister.

As Anne stepped through the doorway, Barra said, “I’ve never seen a lass with eyes as green as a mist-shrouded field of heather.”

“They’re green as glass, and they don’t miss much,” was the duchess’s reply. This drew another laugh from the earl as she disappeared from sight.

Annabella decided she liked this man. Today, standing here in the loveliest of pinetums, the dazzling rays of sunlight setting the red of his head aflame, he wasn’t as frightening as before, not by half.

Suddenly she felt herself enjoying the way he didn’t seem any more enamored of Huntly than she was.

“I take it you don’t much care for my betrothed,” she said.

“Dinna be mouthin’ words for me, lass. I’ve no desire to see one of my own daughters married to that devil, but that’s none of your affair.” He shrugged. “Dinna worry your head with it.”

“But I do worry,” she said rather helplessly. “I don’t care to wed Lord Huntly, but no one asked me about it.”

“Your father isn’t any more prone to be consulting a lass about his business than I am.”

“Since the day my betrothal was announced, I haven’t been able to find anyone who will speak to me of this matter. I see I misjudged you for a man of honest answers.”

When he laughed, the very earth about them seemed to tremble. “And I misjudged you for a lass with no spunk.”

“I’m afraid you were right, Uncle, in your original judgment. My spunk is fleeting at best. I’ve more jelly in my spine than bone, I’m afraid.”

“Well, if it ever gets to going too poorly for you, you send word to your Uncle Barra and I’ll make a fast raid on Huntly and bring you back to Seaforth.”

“Don’t fill her head with stories, Barra. You know there hasn’t been a raid in Scotland in fifty years—although I expect it chafes you to admit such.”

They both looked up and saw Una standing in the doorway.

Barra grinned at his wife and Annabella felt a stab of longing. A man like Huntly would never look at her like that.

“Aye,” Barra said, “but I hear often enough that history repeats itself.”

It was a lighthearted comment at best, and Bella took it for what it was, an attempt to lighten her mood, but she could not help finding a quiet sort of comfort in feeling her uncle Barra would do exactly as he said, if she ever sent the word. It was a comfortable thought, and an endearing one.

“Where is Anne?” Una asked.

“Looking for you, more than likely. Mrs. Barrie called her to tea.”

Una left and Annabella said, “Are all your problems solved so easily as your offer to raid?”

“From time to time.”

“Do you see any solution to my dilemma?” she asked.

“A solution?”

“Simple or otherwise,” she said, “as long as it’s a solution.”

“I wouldn’t be a good Presbyterian if I said no , would I. There is always prayer.”

“I know that. What I’m asking is if you see any way out for me?” she persisted.

The humor left his eyes. “No.”

“So I should lose all hope and be led into this marriage as meekly as a lamb to slaughter?”

He remained silent for a moment, then said, “I imagine you will do what you see fit, regardless of what I think.”

It wasn’t the answer she sought, but it was an honest one, and one, she felt, that hit close to her own true feelings.

For some time now she had been experiencing the strangest feelings she could only call rebellious, for they were in direct conflict with her father’s wishes.

She wondered if she should pursue this vein with this strange relative of hers.

She did not yet understand her strange feelings of kinship with this man who was hardly more than a stranger to her.

“Have you ever known anyone to avoid marriage once the betrothal was contracted?” she asked.

“Aye, but putting your hand into a basket of adders seems a bit severe.”

She watched Mrs. Barrie stride through the door, heading toward her. Looking back at her uncle, she said, “I suppose I am doomed to this marriage, then.”

Barra met her eyes and smiled briefly. “I trust you will set your mind to working out a solution,” he said. “I am not overly fond of having Huntly as kin. As for any help from me, I don’t mind giving it, as long as it doesn’t set me against the Duke of Grenville.”

She knew at that moment that he understood her feelings and that he not only understood but felt that way himself. It gave her an odd sort of comfort and an even odder sense of closeness with this perceptive uncle of hers.

“Your mother would like you to join them for tea,” said Mrs. Barrie.

“You’d best be going, then, lass. Your mother is a more formidable soul to be reckoned with than the likes of me.”

Apparently Mrs. Barrie did not trust Bella to come by herself, for she directed her most dour expression at her and said, “If you will come with me, I’ll take you there.”

Tea lasted over an hour, and Bella spent most of the time listening to her mother and aunt talk.

Now they were discussing Barra and Una’s five older sons, who were all married.

Annabella remembered there were two younger cousins about her age still at home.

The duchess apparently thought of them about the same time.

“Where are Ailie and Allan?” she asked.

“They’ve spent the past fortnight at Barra’s sister’s. Lorna just had herself a fine baby boy, and her husband Willie is down with a back injury. I sent Ailie and Allan over to help with things. They’re due back today or tomorrow.”

After drinking her tea, Annabella excused herself and left her mother and aunt still deep in conversation.

Bella was tired, having spent the afternoon at such an unexciting pursuit as taking a ride in a gig, which promptly broke down, forcing her to walk the six miles back to Seaforth in her most delicate slippers.

By nightfall Bella’s feet were hurting, and once she kicked off her slippers in her room, she saw the reason why.

Her feet were warty with blisters. She had just started soaking her feet in a soothing pan of warm herbal water brought by an unsmiling Mrs. Barrie when she heard some intermittent tapping against her window.

She wished it away, but after a few minutes, she gave up and hobbled across the floor, threw back the bolt, and opened the window.

Picking up the bedside lamp, she held it aloft and poked her head out.

Her irritated gaze was greeted by a deeply scowling face peering at her from the tree three or four feet from her window. Startled, she saw a copper-haired girl about her age dangling, rather precariously, from one of the limbs.

“Whatever are you doing in that tree at this time of night?” Bella asked.

“Corning to see you, although I must admit you are far too dense for me to have bothered. Will you please stop staring at me with that stupid-sheep expression and offer me a hand?”

“Who are you?”

“I am your cousin, Ailie, you nitwit. Now give me your hand before I fall.” She wiggled herself around to anchor her body with one arm as she extended the other for Bella to take hold of.

Without giving it any more thought, Bella reached for her hand.

A moment later her cousin braced her foot against the ledge beneath the window and pushed away from the tree.

She came through the window with such force that they both went sprawling.

A moment later Ailie was on her feet, glaring down at Bella. “Are you going to lie there gaping like a frightened mutton, or are you going to get up?”

Accepting her offered hand, Bella slowly came to her feet, her mind too occupied with taking in the sight that declared herself to be her cousin. “ You are my cousin Ailie?”

“I’ve already told you that, haven’t I?”

Bella nodded, thinking her cousin was not the refined, neat person Aunt Una was.

Ailie was the spitting image of her father, Barra.

The girl was pretty in a wild sort of way—pretty and unkempt—there was nothing of the daughter of a titled man about her.

Her dress, although new and of lovely design, was rumpled and torn in a place or two.

Her face, although quite lovely with a slender nose and blue eyes, was a bit darker than fashion dictated.

Her cousin did not cover her face and arms with long sleeves and bonnets, apparently, for there was a healthy sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

Ailie went about the room inspecting Bella’s things, opening her jewel chest, glancing over a note Bella was writing that lay on the desk. “Who is Gwen?”

Bella snatched the paper and turned it face down. “A friend. Do you mind?”

“Of course not. Why would I care if you have a friend—although I am a wee bit surprised. You aren’t very friendly, you know.”

“And I suppose you are. What are you doing here?”

“I came to meet you.”

“Couldn’t you use the door?”

“Not at this hour. I suppose this is a bit unconventional, but if Father caught me sneaking in here, he would have me in thumbscrews by morning.” She picked up Bella’s silver-backed looking glass and peered at herself. “There’s an old pit prison here in the original keep. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Well, there is, and we have a well hewn out of rock.”

“How nice.”

Ailie spied a bowl of cherries on the dressing table and put two in her mouth, pulling out the stems and tossing them out the window with the pits. “I hope those grow. I think it’s such a shame to waste perfectly good pits, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Bella said lightly. “I always spit mine out the window.”

“You are very strange, do you know that?”

“Then we should do well together, for I find you strange as well.”

“Oh, I do hope we get on.” Ailie moved to Annabella’s open trunk.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Unpacking? Oh, do let me help you.” With charitable zeal, Ailie began pulling first one thing and another out of the trunk.

“If the circumstances were any different, I might not have come to see you, but you see, there is only my brother Allan and myself here, and the nearest girl my age is more than twenty-five miles away. Of course, my mother and the household staff are females, but I’m not allowed to fraternize with the help, and although my mother is the dearest thing in the world, it’s a trifle hard to make one’s mother into a best friend.

I mean, you can’t exactly tell your mother all your secrets without fearing she might tell your father. You understand that, don’t you?”

Bella nodded in confusion, for in truth, she hadn’t understood a word her cousin said.