The Scot. Lyn Stone

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      “Aye. Two men conspired in it. One resides at Shipman’s Inn and goes by the name of Ensmore. Sounded educated to me, but the publican there didn’t know his rank. I could only follow the one, so I don’t know the other, but he’s a common man, rough speakin’. And prone to meanness,” James added, recalling the kick he had suffered. “Do what you will with the warning. Good day.”

      James turned to leave, his honor satisfied. He had already missed two hours’ work and needed to get back to the building site.

      “Wait!” the earl demanded.

      “Hire a few outriders and arm yourself. You’ll be fine,” James assured him. “Good luck.”

      “Stop! You cannot simply march in here with an announcement such as that and then leave!” Eastonby declared.

      “I can and must, sir. There’s no call to detain me. I’ve said what I came to say.”

      All of a sudden the earl became friendly, forced a smile and gestured to the chairs grouped near the fireplace. “Come now, I admit I was a trifle hasty to dismiss your information in such a fashion. Do forgive me if I insulted you. Allow me to offer you a drink at the very least, by way of thanks.”

      “Too early for liquor and I canna stomach tea,” James declared, impatient to take his leave.

      “I implore you,” the earl coaxed. “Stay a while. I need to hear more about this.”

      Resigned to missing at least another hour wielding his chisel and files, James acceded to the earl’s wishes and took a seat in one of the fine brocade chairs the man had indicated. He succinctly related every word he had heard at the inn’s public room and what he had discovered about the man who made the plans.

      The earl nodded, leaning forward and giving James his full and undivided attention. Again, but sincerely this time, he offered a reward. “Won’t you accept something for your trouble last evening? You did go out of your way and most likely have saved my life as well as my child’s. I truly owe you, Garrow.”

      “Nay, I said I’ll take naught and I meant it.” James glanced down at his own scarred and callused hands when he noted his host staring at them.

      “You work hard for a living, I see,” the man observed.

      “True enough.”

      “If you do not mind my asking, what is it that you do?”

      Since he asked kindly and seemed genuinely interested, James saw no cause to avoid the answer. It was honorable work. “I’m a stone carver.”

      “And also laird of this…Galioch, was it? You need the added income to maintain your estate?”

      “Aye, I do that.” He could see the earl’s mind at work, wondering how to settle what he considered payment of a debt without offending. “You owe me nothing,” James insisted, “but there is another matter I might as well take up now the chance presents itself. I wouldn’t take it amiss if you saw to feeding your folk at Drevers. I confess this has been a wee drain on our resources at Galioch.”

      “My folk?” The earl frowned. “What do you mean, feed them? Mr. Colin, my steward there provides for these people.”

      James stood. “Aye, well, he collects their rents and the wool at shearing time, is all. Most of ’em have left the country, but there’s a few won’t give up what they’ve considered theirs for centuries. I canna let ’em starve. If you won’t see to ’em, then I must. They’re my neighbors, y’see. Many are good friends.”

      The consternation on the earl’s face told James more than anything he could have said in his defense.

      “I swear this is news to me, Garrow,” he said, shaking his head as he motioned for James to sit again. “I’ve not been to Drevers since I first inherited when I was twenty. What else should I know? You seem an honest man and you’ve done me a great favor already. Please, be frank, and do me another.”

      “Well, your place is in sad repair. To be honest, mine’s worse, but I do all I can to see my people have what they need. Yours, as well, but a bit of food’s about the best I can manage these days.”

      Eastonby sighed loud and long. For a good while he said nothing, but looked James straight in the eye. “You are obviously a man of honor and compassion. You have the title, I presume?”

      “Baron, fourteenth of the name. Granted by King James. Named for him like all the eldest sons in my family.”

      “Garrow, you say. My father was acquainted with your grandfather, I believe,” the earl commented. “Are you Catholic?”

      James hesitated, shrugged, then admitted, “Not so’s you’d notice.”

      Silence reigned for a moment. “Are you married?”

      “Nay.” He refused to confess the why of that. Not many women would welcome a home at Galioch or a husband gone half the year, laboring like a peasant to fill the larders. “Why do you ask?”

      The earl smiled. “Garrow, I think you and I can strike a bargain that will benefit us both. Are you game to give a listen?”

      James nodded. He thought he knew what Eastonby would propose and it made good sense to him. Being awarded the stewardship of the earl’s estate in Colin’s stead would certainly be preferable to the six months James had to spend working in Edinburgh each year. No one would regret the departure of Frank Colin, either. As for asking his marital status, the earl must want a family man to run the place now that his bachelor steward had not worked out. “What do you have in mind, sir?”

      “I will deed Drevers to you in its entirety, Garrow, if you will marry my daughter, Susanna,” the earl announced proudly as if he’d found the solution to peace in the world.

      James asked the first thing that came to mind. “What’s wrong with her?”

      In the room adjacent, Susanna Childers listened, her ear pressed shamelessly to the door. At her father’s words, she squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth until they ached. She moved away from the door then, unwilling to listen further and hear the accounting of what Father considered her misdeeds.

      She knew she had only herself to blame for landing in Edinburgh, but Father had no right to marry her off to a Highlander. The scandal in London would blow over like the ill wind it was and she could go home again. Eventually. But not if she were wed and buried in the bleak hills to the north with that lot of wild savages. She’d heard tales of how those people lived!

      For a moment, she considered storming into the room and protesting so vehemently, the Scot would run for his very life. But before her hand reached the doorhandle, Susanna reconsidered. Such a display would only prove her father’s accusations of impetuosity and arrogance. It would serve her much better if she approached him later and pleaded like a penitent, she supposed.

      The very thought went against everything she stood for. Women should take an unyielding stand against men ruling their lives and treating them like possessions. Hadn’t she preached that to anyone who’d listen?

      However, saying as much in public had gotten her into this predicament in the СКАЧАТЬ