Devil's Own

Duncan put his hands on his hips, looking defiant. “Well, that’s what Auntie Bridge called her.”



“Well your aunt Bridget best mind her tongue.”



One of the sheep bleated, calling Duncan’s attention back to the flock. He tore a handful of grass and tried to feed it. “Will they never marry?”



“The sheep?” Elspeth tilted her head, considering. “Why, I think not, actually. Particularly not the one you’re feeding. That one’s Artemis. She’s very wise, and brave too. And she’s chosen not to marry just any silly old ram who ambles into her pasture.”



“Won’t she get lonely?”



She tapped her finger on her mouth in exaggerated contemplation. “I suppose she does. Sometimes. But she has her oats to occupy her. And she enjoys meeting new people, like you.” The sheep nudged Duncan’s hip, smelling the remnants of what she imagined were probably crumbs from a bit of food he’d hidden in his pocket. “But this way, Artemis has the freedom to graze where she likes. Wander where she likes.”



“Does she wander? What if she doesn’t come back?”



“That’s a risk, isn’t it? She’s not wandered off yet. Though I suppose one never knows.” Elspeth smiled widely, and looked at her friend to share in the moment.



Her smile froze. Anya’s gaze was restless, scanning the horizon from beneath a furrowed brow.



“Duncan, would you please do me a favor and get one last bucket of oats from the feed shed?” Elspeth pointed across the glen. “It’s just over there, near the cottage. Don’t you know, if you feed a sheep from your very own hand, you’ll have a friend for life.”



He grinned. “Oh, aye, straightaway,” he said, and raced off.



Anya was looking uneasily at the trough, now empty of oats. “Were those from …”



Elspeth knew her friend was nervous at the prospect of running into the neighboring farmer. “Aye, we get our feed from Angus’s farm. But don’t fret.” Stepping closer, she put a soothing hand on Anya’s sleeve. “He’s nowhere about. The man works harder than a plow horse. Rare is the sight of him setting foot off his own lands.”



Though Anya sighed and nodded, she still appeared upset.



“But whatever is the matter?” Elspeth asked. “You mustn’t hold back. I can see the trouble on your face.”



“Oh, Elspeth. I have horrible news.” Anya wrung her hands in front of her.



Elspeth’s stomach heaved. Had Aidan left? Had he said something terrible about her? He’d stormed off after their lesson. Did he say he never wished to see her again? She waited mutely for Anya to explain.



“We haven’t the money to pay you,” Anya confessed. “Aidan, when he arrived … I found… please don’t believe me to be rifling through my brother’s effects, but I saw he had a pouch full of gold coins. I’d just assumed … all that time sailing about … perhaps I’ve spent too much time with you!” She gave a dismissive, self-deprecating laugh. “I suppose I’d assumed that, on his flight from the Indies, he’d absconded with a chest of treasure. But he tells me that single pouch is all he owns in this world, and so it turns out we haven’t the money to pay you after all.”



Anya put a fretful hand to her temple, continuing, “I get the impression Gregor has some funds tucked away, but my maddening brother is being uncharacteristically miserly. I suspect he’s waiting to see what Aidan’s truly about, to see if he decides to stay on with the family. So there you have it,” she finished in a rush. “We require your services and yet find ourselves unable to pay.”



Elspeth’s shoulders sagged with relief. But a queasy anxiety was quick on its heels. She and her father needed the money. Very much so. And yet, foolishly, she couldn’t bring herself to mind. The only thing she could think was that she must continue to see Aidan, and she’d just have to figure out another way to fill her father’s and her belly, even if it meant opening her own schoolhouse. “Don’t fret over the money. I know your family needs me, and I’ll not quit you.” I’ll not quit him.



“But I can’t allow you to do so much for us, when we have nothing to offer in return”—Anya put up a hand to stop Elspeth’s interruption—“but there is a possible solution.”



Her friend looked distressed, but Elspeth gave her an encouraging look. “Yes?”



“We could barter. Aidan has much experience. You could trade labor for reading.”



Elspeth paled. He’d spent life as a slave, how could she ruin his newfound freedom by making him do labor? And for her? “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”



“He needs to learn, and you are the most bookish of all of us.”



“Your brother Declan is quite learned.”



Anya shook her head, looking beleaguered. “He insists on you. Don’t argue.” She glanced at the ring of muck at Elspeth’s skirts. “It seems you need the assistance.”



“But this place …” Elspeth looked at the meager pasture around her, at the mucky hooves and empty trough. He’d sailed the seven seas, and their paltry situation mortified her. “He’ll hate it here.”



Anya waved a hand at the thought. “My brother will accustom himself to the idea.”



She didn’t want to be something this heroic man had to accustom himself to. She found an excuse to turn her back, scraping a bit of mud from the trough. Chagrin twined deep in her belly, nauseating her. The thought of making Aidan labor on her family’s farm was too much to bear.



But she needed to keep seeing him. Which meant she needed to keep up their lessons. She felt Anya’s gentle hand on her shoulder and turned to face her friend.



“The fact is,” Anya said, “he has no choice.”



“But what will he think when he hears the idea?”



Anya smiled. “Elspeth, it was his idea.”



Chapter 7



Aidan lay sprawled on his tiny cot, whittling a wee dragon for his nephew. He’d stalled on his plans to set himself up as a slaver, deciding he’d best improve his reading first. It was just too dangerous for him to blunder into this so ignorant. He had to be careful—everything had to be perfect. Now that he was back on Scottish soil and reminded of all he’d lost, he was desperate to find the man with the black pearl.



He studied his wee carving. Too bad dragons weren’t as easy to slay as they were to whittle.



Paring a bit of wood from the dragon’s belly, he let his thoughts turn to family. Young Duncan was almost as new to the household as he, but even so, Aidan thought the lad had guessed him to be the source of his mysterious gifts. Perhaps the boy sensed his uncle’s aversion to attention, but he’d kept his mouth shut, and so Aidan kept the figures coming.



During the long years he’d lived as the property of another man, it’d become a habit not to call attention to himself. Even the quarters he’d chosen at Dunnottar kept him outside the domestic fray of his MacAlpin siblings. The old guardhouse lay apart from the main tower house, and he loved opening his door to the sound and smell of the waves. Long had he lived in—and been choked by—the sweltering heat of the tropics, and he couldn’t get enough of the brisk air off the North Sea.



“Hard at work?”



The breezy tone told Aidan exactly whom he’d find standing in his doorway. Twilight was upon them, and though the shadows cast Gregor’s light brown hair a darker shade, his brother still bore the unmistakable coloring of their mother. Aidan’s chest clenched.



“Gregor.” He quickly slid the bit of wood he’d been working under his mattress. He was still becoming accustomed to the company of his family. They were a solid unit, complete with their own dramas and woes, harboring conceptions of him that were in utter disharmony from the man he’d become. Aidan found the lot of them made his mood bristle and his head ache. “What brings you this far afield?”



“Cormac insists I give this to you.” Gregor bowed his head, touching a sword to his brow.



Aidan recognized the simple, unadorned steel basket at once. Though he remained sprawled on his cot, his muscles tensed. “Don’t be put out on my account. You should’ve just had Cormac deliver it, if you’re so loath to.”



“So prickly, brother.” Gregor tossed him the sword, and Aidan bolted upright, snatching it from the air. His brother laughed. “And nimble too.”



Aidan had no taste for blithe chatter and ignored the attempt. Instead, he slid his hand into the basket hilt, tilting the broadsword to catch the light of the window.



“Father’s blade. Why are you bringing this to me? I was never the man’s favorite.”



“No, you weren’t his chosen son, were you?” Gregor’s lip curled into a sardonic smile. He strolled into the room, eyeing what few objects Aidan claimed as his own. “That was me, and more’s the pity.”



“You’d have me pity you?” Aidan tried to view the room through Gregor’s eyes. Candle, table, knife, washbowl, and the plaid Anya had given him that he’d yet to wear. He must seem quite the piteous creature to one like his dashing elder brother. “How do you figure?”



Gregor leaned back against the stone wall, arms crossed over his chest. “While you had playmates and outings, I was being trained to follow in our father’s illustrious military footsteps.”



“Are you completely lacking in sense?” Anger was a continual roil in Aidan’s belly, and it erupted now, the bilious taste familiar and—God spare him—reassuring. “You’ll recall it was on just such an outing when I was stolen from the lot of you.”



“Aye. But you’re home now, and like it or not, we want you here.” Gregor considered him for a moment. “I find I trust you, despite myself.”



It was Aidan’s turn to laugh. He was certain the thought had crossed Gregor’s mind that he was secretly a hardened pirate come to loot the family and be off again. “Why should I care whether you trust me or not?”