Page 63 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)
Chapter Twenty
“Your lass has had company while she’s been residing at Barra Mackenzie’s,” Fionn Alpin said.
The Earl of Huntly tossed down the last of his brandy. “I’m paying you, and a healthy sum, I might point out, to bring me information of merit, not tidbits about my betrothed and her tea parties.”
“I beg your pardon, your lordship. Here I was erroneously assuming a male suitor was information of merit.” Fionn picked up his hat and turned toward the door.
“Just a minute.” Huntly fed the Spaniel at his side a tidbit from a silver tray and stared into the fire. “Sit down and tell me what you know.”
As Fionn talked, Lord Huntly’s face grew intense.
The intensity soon turned into a white-hot rage.
The bitch was making a fool of him and he longed to put his hands around her throat, but he held himself in check and showed no emotion save a look of determination.
When Fionn finished, Huntly nodded. “That will be all. I’ll handle things from here on out.
You may settle up with my secretary on your way out. ”
Once Fionn had left, Huntly scowled as he pondered just what he should do about this.
He felt trapped, in a deadlock. It wasn’t a feeling he liked.
The Stewart bitch was unimportant, but her fortune was a prime factor here.
He couldn’t risk his marriage to her by confrontation, and he couldn’t lose her fortune by calling the marriage off.
The only thing he could do was to notify her father and hope his intervention would be enough—and soon enough.
He wrote the letter that night, dispatched it with his fastest courier, and readied himself to wait.
A week later the Duke of Grenville stood with his back to the fireplace as he studied the face of his son. “I don’t know if it would do any good to let you go,” he said. “I thought I knew my daughter, but now, I don’t know. I can’t seem to predict how Annabella will react anymore.”
“Please, let me go. Bella will listen to me,” Gavin said. “I know she will. You know how close we’ve always been.”
“You think you can attend to this matter?” the duke asked flatly.
Gavin grinned. “If I can’t, I have no business being your heir.”
“You will have to be firm with her, Gavin. I know that may be hard for you. Remember, it’s for her own good. Your sister must be brought to heel immediately. Huntly is furious, and well he should be. Whatever it takes, you must see to it that Ross Mackinnon is kept as far from her as possible.”
Gavin nodded, looking at the book on Scottish law that lay open on his father’s desk.
The duke moved to stand behind the desk.
“I will send a letter to his grandfather, and one to Colin as well. See that you give this one to Barra as soon as you arrive.” He handed an envelope to Gavin as he sat down.
“One other thing. I’ve moved the wedding date up.
Your mother and I will arrive in Scotland within the month.
Tell Annabella the wedding date has been set for December twenty-first.”
Gavin had been sitting on the corner of his father’s desk, swinging one leg as he toyed with a crested silver letter opener. “That’s less than six weeks away,” he said, dropping the letter opener.
“I’d have it sooner if that were possible,” his father replied.
He looked up as the clock on the mantel struck the hour.
“If you’re going to make that ship, you need to be off.
Don’t forget to kiss your mother goodbye.
She’s dripping like a wet winter, worried that something will happen to you.
Seems she had another one of those dreams of hers last night. ”
Gavin laughed. “Mother always worries, and nothing has happened to me so far. But I’ll stop off and tell her goodbye.”
The Duke of Grenville watched his son stroll from his study, remembering the day he was born.
It had been a difficult delivery and the memory of Anne’s screams haunted him still.
He would never forget how the hours dragged on, as if the clocks had stopped and time existed no more.
A cold fear gripped him and he remembered the agony of waiting—waiting for some word and hearing none, growing more fearful with each passing second.
And then Dr. Bradford had led him into her room and placed his son in his arms. Anne had reached for him, twisting her fist into the cloth of his coat, telling him she knew she was going to die.
“Promise me you will watch over him when I’m gone,” she said, her eyes glazed and her face glistening with sweat.
“I promise,” he had said, calling the doctor aside to talk.
“She’s delirious,” Dr. Bradford said. “She’s had a hard time of it, but she is in no danger of dying. It’s probably the drops I gave her for pain that have distorted her senses. Your wife and your son will be fine.”
Several days later, when Anne was feeling much better, she had said, “I don’t understand it, Alisdair, I know I was dying. I had this terrible feeling of death. I was crying because I’d been told I would be taken from my son.”
“Dr. Bradford said it was the drugs he gave you. They distorted your mind. You are fine now, and so is the baby.”
The Duke of Grenville leaned back in his chair, pondering just why his thoughts had gone in that direction, when he had so many other things pressing upon his mind.
He picked up the silver letter opener Gavin had left on his desk.
He stroked the blade between his fingers, then opened the drawer and put it away.
Gavin. He had been so preoccupied with his mission he had let his son leave without really telling him goodbye. He closed the drawer and left the room.
“My son,” he said to the butler as he approached the front door. “Where is he? Has he left yet?”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. Your son is gone.”