Wrapped in her woolen cloak and carrying a satchel holding the mittens, scarves, and hats she had knitted for the unfortunate, Janet met Mairi in the entrance hall of the boardinghouse. “It is blowing a gale outside.”
Stepping down the creaky stairs, Mairi pulled her hood low over her brow. “Always does this time of year. At least it is not raining.”
“Thank heavens for small mercies.” Janet’s stomach gave a wee flutter. She’d been looking forward to doing a bit of shopping, and being able to catch up on the news with Mairi was an added boon. She held up her satchel. “It will only take a moment to drop these at the Benevolent Society.”
“Aye, and it is on the way to the haberdasher’s.” Her Ladyship opened the door. “I need to purchase some silk thread for a receiving blanket I’m making.”
“Oh, my word!” Janet skipped beside her newly married friend. “Tell me you’re not expecting.”
“We are.”
“What wonderful news. When?”
“Spring. I think.”
“Should you not be home at Eilean Donan and in your chamber with your feet propped on a stool?”
“Wheesht. I’d go mad being cooped up for so long. ’Tis bad enough as it is. Dunn says this is my last outing afore he insists upon my confinement.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here…as long as you are feeling well.”
“Never better. It seems pregnancy agrees with me.”
“You are fortunate. I’ve heard tell of women who take to their beds ill as soon as they miss their courses.” Janet clutched her cloak tighter against the wind. “Have you been to the seer?”
“Nay.” Mairi slapped her hand through the air. “I’m not about to allow an old crone to tell me whether I’ll live or die, or if the child will be lass or lad.”
“Smart of you…though I’m not certain I’d be able to wait nine months to find out.”
“I think seers are wrong half the time, nevertheless.”
“Aye. The women in Achnacarry jest that if ours says the bairn will be a lad, then expect a lass.”
Her Ladyship gave a pronounced nod. “See what I mean?”
A shingle hung outside the West Highland Benevolent Society’s door, screeching and unreadable in the wind. Janet pushed inside to find the same crusty old man with a stooped spine who had manned the office since she was a child. “Hello, Mr. Andrews. I’ve brought you some woolens,” she said, pulling the assortment of scarves, bonnets, and mittens from her bag and placing them on the table.
“Och, just in time, lass.” He gave her a grin, revealing two black top teeth. “With the chill in the air, I believe winter will be early this year, and there are certainly plenty of unfortunate souls who will be grateful for these.”
Mairi examined a mitten. “Your work is quite good, Janet.”
“Thank you. Is there anything else the society needs, sir?”
Mr. Andrews scratched his chin. “A hall with about twenty rooms and blankets.”
“Well, I might be able to help with the blankets.”
“That would be much appreciated, miss,” he said, gathering the woolens into his arms. “I’ll expect to see you a few months hence.”
“Indeed you will, sir.” Janet turned to Mairi. “See, that didn’t take long at all. Now to enjoy our shopping adventure.”
Together they continued on their way. At the curb they were forced to walk single file in order to use a plank to cross the muddy street. On the other side, Mairi took Janet by the elbow. “We’ve talked enough about me. How are things now your father has remarried?”
“I’d rather not talk about things at Achnacarry.” Janet rolled her eyes as they stepped inside the haberdasher’s shop. A sign on the door indicated the tailor was visiting between the hours of ten and three and that all gentlemen should schedule an appointment with the clerk.
“Good morn,” said the merchant from behind the counter.
The two women greeted him in unison.
“May I help you find something?” he asked.
“Silk and sewing needles, please,” Mairi replied.
“Ah yes, we received a shipment with brilliant new colors just for Samhain. You’ll find them and the needles just here.” Beaming, he motioned to the silk display case with at least a dozen drawers along the far wall. “Needles are in the bottom drawer.”
“Thank you.” Janet gave him a nod as the bell rang and two more ladies stepped inside.
“I’ll leave you to make your selections,” he said, then greeted the newcomers.
Janet used the tiny wooden knob to pull open the top drawer and peek inside. “These are lovely. Do you like the blue?”
“I think yellow is more neutral.” Mairi moved in beside her. “Your tone was a bit foreboding when you uttered ‘Achnacarry.’ Is all well?”
“Och, let us simply say it is a welcome diversion to spend a few days in Inverlochy.”
“Oh dear, I sense some discord.”
“I suppose. Honestly, I have no grounds upon which to complain. ’Tis just difficult to see one’s own father acting like a lovesick chap.”
“I can hardly imagine my father behaving so un-earl-like.” Mairi covered her mouth and stifled a giggle. “And your stepmother. Is she treating you well?”
Janet pursed her lips and glanced over her shoulder to ensure no one was eavesdropping, then lowered her voice. “I suppose she’s nice enough. Though she looks at me with leery eyes. And I strongly suspect she’s planning to marry me off to the first man who happens past.”
“Truly?” A crease formed between Mairi’s eyebrows. “Your father ought to have something to say about that.”
“Thank heavens, else I would have been peddled off to a traveling merchant who called in a fortnight ago.”
“A merchant? You are the daughter of a knight and a laird. Has your father not begun to seek an alliance with your hand?”
“Haud yer wheesht!” Janet knew all about arranged marriages. Mairi had been promised to the Earl of Seaforth all her life, until the earl fell in love with an English lass. Thank heavens he did, else Mairi never would have been able to marry the man she was meant to. “You are my dearest friend, m’lady, but I must say you are the last person who should talk to me about making alliances via the marriage bed.”
Mairi stared, agape. “Goodness, you are right. I cannot believe I uttered it.” She shut the top drawer of the thread display and pulled open the next—not that she seemed to be paying any attention to the colors whatsoever. “Forgive me for prying, but are you planning to forge your own alliance—say during Samhain?”
“Not at all. I’m nowhere near as flamboyant as you, my dearest.” Janet sighed, knowing she’d just told a tall tale. If only I could be forward like Mairi—bat my eyelashes at a braw lad and have him swoon at my feet. “However, I am browsing. I would like to find a suitable gentleman afore my stepmother starts to meddle—if she hasn’t already.”
“Is there a suitor you might have in mind?”
“Nay. Please keep my confidence, but I’ll admit I did think, with so many clans coming to the Samhain celebrations, why, there might be someone.”
“Hmm. How about Ciar MacDougall? He’s next in line to be laird, and his lands are vast indeed.”
“MacDougall?” Janet said, her voice trailing off. She had known Ciar all her life. He was as much her brother as Kennan. MacDougall lands were not as vast as Cameron lands, though that didn’t matter a lick to her. Her friendship with Ciar was unquestionable. Unfortunately, she’d never felt much of a spark for him. Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of spark, heart palpitations, swooning, falling in love? In addition, she was quite certain he felt the same. Spark-less. In fact, they’d discussed their feelings at a gathering when she was eighteen. They’d agreed to be fast allies for life and never sweethearts. “He’s a good friend, I suppose.”
“Friendship is a place to start.”
“No, Mairi. I am not attracted to Ciar.” Janet opened the drawer of needles and pulled out an assortment of four pinned on a black piece of cloth. “You found love,” she whispered. “Is it wrong for me to want that as well?”
“Not at all. I am the last person in all of Christendom to downplay the merits of a bond with love. To me it is the difference between building a house of stone and one of sticks.” Mairi opened her fan and held it up to ensure more privacy. “Do you want to know what I think?”
Janet kept the needles to purchase and closed the drawer. “I’ll wager you’re about to tell me.”
“At every gathering we have ever attended together, you have not been able to avert your eyes from the laird of Clan Grant.”
Janet nearly spat out her teeth, she guffawed so loudly. “Oh please. Mr. Grant?”
“I’m telling you true.”
“If what you say is actually what you have observed, then ’tis only on account of his vile nature and his insistence on blaming my father for his own livestock losses. I declare, that man is neglectful of his affairs, an unmitigated brute, and a rogue of the worst order!”
The curtain behind them swished open. A tailor with a measuring ribbon around his neck stepped through and gave the ladies a sideways glance. The problem? On his heels was the very man for whom Janet had professed her dislike so profoundly.
Her throat constricted as she drew her hand over her mouth.
“Grant,” Mairi said behind her, far too chirpily. “’Tis good to see you this morn.”
The man towered over them by a foot, glowering directly at Janet. “Is it? Or would you prefer I collect my horse and leave the profits on my remaining yearlings for your brother to collect?”
Janet’s face grew hot. “I—”
“Oh please, Your Lairdship,” said Mairi. “You cannot hold Miss Janet and her clan accountable. You ken they would never thieve your cattle.”
“I can only go on the facts, m’lady. And the evidence points to Cameron lads.”
Shaking off her mortification, Janet stepped forward and shifted her hands to her hips. “My father’s men did not thieve your yearlings, sir.” She might not be flirtatious like Mairi, but she would hold her own against this brigand. “Did you not hear Kennan yesterday? The Camerons suffered losses, too. Someone else poached your cattle as well as ours.”
The laird’s polished-steel eyes glared down at her, his jaw hard. Janet’s knees wobbled. Good gracious, the man had shaved, and he wore a clean shirt and kilt, looking far too braw for a scoundrel. But Janet could not mistake the hate in his stare; he was glowering as if he might be about to strike. “Then you’d venture to add daft to your litany of dislikes, would you, miss?”
“I-I—”
“You are filled with your father’s bile just like all of his spawn.” Mr. Grant strode past the tailor. “I’ll return for my suit of clothes afore the end of the week.”
Janet cringed, watching him storm out the door, his shoulders so wide hardly any daylight shone between his form and the jamb. She clutched her hands over her heart, every fiber of her body taut. No matter how handsome she found Mr. Grant, she would never like him. “He’s horrible.”
“Misguided, I’d say.” Mairi placed her arm across Janet’s shoulders. “Perhaps I’ll have a word with Dunn—see if he can reason with the laird.”
“What use would that be? Robert Grant will always think what he likes, no matter how mistaken he is. I stand by everything I said about him, and if he doesn’t like it, he can bite his own backside.”
* * *
Robert cracked his knuckles as he made his way to the alehouse. While he’d stood for the tailor to take his measurements, he’d heard the ladies enter the shop. Their banter had been mildly interesting until Janet spat a line of defamatory untruths about him. What the devil did she know of Robert’s character? He wasn’t vile or neglectful, and he most certainly was no fop. Aye, he had a reputation to uphold for harboring a certain talent with the ladies, but rogue?
He splayed his fingers. Mayhap rogue. But on every other count the woman was utterly wrong.
It wasn’t even the noon hour, yet he needed a tankard of ale. Women. He could do without them.
Inside the alehouse, Dunn MacRae rested his elbow on the bar, nursing a tankard himself.
“Got an early thirst, have you?” Robert said as he flagged the barman. “Two, please.”
“You look flummoxed. What’s ailing you?” Dunn finished his tankard and slid the empty to the back of the bar while the barman placed two brimming ales in front of them.
“Och, bloody Camerons.”
“The Camerons again? Good God, they ought to be the least of your worries.”
“I wish they were, but why would my men lie about what they saw?”
“Cameron’s men were seen pinching your cattle?”
“Nay, but they were the only ones about.”
“Aye, though Kennan tells me they lost livestock as well…and as I understand it, your men didn’t return for two days. Anyone could have happened past in that time.”
“Not among the hills of An Cruachan.”
“Well, ye ken what I’m on about. You cannot point the finger at Cameron with certainty.”
Heaving a long sigh, Robert picked up his tankard and drank. “Mayhap I wouldn’t if I’d received a letter from Lochiel explaining his side. And mayhap I wouldn’t if our clans were on good terms, but the bastards have been stealing livestock from the Grants for centuries.”
“In the past, aye, and you repay in kind. Your feud makes no sense to me. You and your da, God rest his soul, are like kin to me. So are Sir Ewen and his sons.”
“I wish I could be companionable with half the lot you are.”
“Perhaps ’tis time to make amends with the Camerons.”
“Daisies will be dancing over my grave afore that happens. You ken the legend. The chief of Clan Cameron defiled a Grant woman in a drunken rage and left her to die in the moors. Bloody savage heathen.”
“I reckon the lot of you have paid for that man’s crimes time and time over.” Dunn swirled his tankard.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m not saying the doing of it was right, but I need to ask, how long ago was the Grant woman defiled?”
Robert rubbed his fingers over the nick on his jaw, the one from the wench’s shave last eve. It hurt nearly as much as the one he’d received on his forearm from a Cameron dirk when the cowards had put his lands to fire and sword when he was but sixteen years of age. “Seven generations, I’d reckon. Mayhap more.”
Dunn tapped his fingers against the MacRae brooch pinned at his left shoulder. “In light of the trouble coming from the crown, do you not think it is time to mend your differences? The time is nigh when the clans will need to stand together.”
“Aye, but what if I did extend the hand of forgiveness? Lochiel and his sons would be more likely to chop it off.”
“I could arrange a duel of swords between you and young Kennan.”
“Then I’d be accused of murder.” Robert snorted. “The Camerons would partner with the Campbells, burn my lands, and reive my cattle.”
“The Campbells?” Dunn slapped his palm on the bar. “Now I ken you’re daft, ye bull-brained boar. Camerons would sooner march through the gates of hell than take up arms with the Campbells.”
Robert hid his grin behind his tankard. “So you think a wee duel will solve generations of feuding?”
“I do.”
“To first blood?”
“Aye, that’s usually the way of it.” Dunn clapped him on the shoulder. “What do you say?”
“I’d rather give no quarter,” he mumbled.
“That’s because you’re likely to win, and I reckon the cause cannot afford to lose either one of you.”
Robert didn’t give an answer straightaway. He drank his ale thoughtfully. On one hand, it would be a relief to be rid of threats to the southwest. Not that a duel would solve everything. However, if Kennan was willing, then Robert wouldn’t be one to refuse. “Very well. If the Cameron heir is amenable, I will face him.”
“Then I’ll arrange it straightaway.”
His tankard empty, Robert shook hands with Dunn. He wanted to buy some heifers, and there was no time like the present to inspect the yards in advance of the auction.
No sooner had he started for the stables than Miss Janet and Lady Mairi stepped out of the dress shop, their arms laden with parcels. Lieutenant Cummins hastened toward them, tipped his grenadier hat, and bowed.
Robert crossed the street, his fingers automatically sliding around the hilt of his dirk.
“Please allow me to help you with your packages, ladies,” said Cummins in a syrupy English accent.
“Thank you, but we are perfectly able to manage.” With a cursory nod, Janet started off.
“I insist,” he said, reaching for her items and making them fall to the footpath.
“For heaven’s sake.” She bent down.
“I’ll fetch them.” The lieutenant’s hat fell off and hit the lass in the shoulder as he bent down.
Robert snatched the parcels before the man could lay a finger on them. “I beg your pardon, sir, but the ladies said they did not require your assistance.” He straightened, watching the officer, fully aware he’d just broken his rule to steer clear of the queen’s dragoons.
Cummins collected his hat and glowered. “And some people wonder why we need change in the Highlands.” He smacked the tall headpiece against his thigh to clear the dirt. “Thievery is rife. You ken. You’ve suffered at the hands of poachers.”
“I have. And what actions are the queen’s men taking to prevent these thieves from infesting our grazing lands?”
The lieutenant shifted his eyes to the ladies, a smirk playing on his lips. “You are arrogant to insinuate Her Majesty’s army is anything but vigilant.”
“I implied no such thing. I simply asked a reasonable question.” Robert gave a curt bow of his head. “Good day, sir.” He cut off the conversation, then watched the lieutenant march away before he turned his attention to the ladies.
Miss Janet regarded him with the most confounded expression on her face. She held out her hands as if she expected Robert to put the parcels in her arms and saunter off, but Lady Mairi pushed between them. “Would you be so kind as to carry those back to the boardinghouse for us, Grant?”
He looked from Mairi to Janet, then gave a nod.
“’Tis unfortunate there are so many government troops about,” said Her Ladyship.
“Aye,” Robert agreed, keenly aware of Miss Janet’s gaze searing into his back. He plodded ahead, feeling like an oversize errand boy. The lass had expressed her opinion of him quite clearly. Lord knew what feminine wares were in the parcels in his arms. They even smelled flowery.
Worse, Kennan opened the door as they neared the boardinghouse. “Found some use for the Grant laird, did you, Lady Mairi?”
“Oh no, Grant is being a gentleman and carrying Janet’s packages.”
The women stepped inside while Robert followed and gave Kennan a questioning glance, wondering if Dunn had spoken to him about the duel.
“I’ll take those.” Kennan pulled the packages from Robert’s hands to the sound of ripping parcels.
“Ah.” Not many things could make Robert Grant uneasy, but when he looked down at the scarlet petticoat in his hands, heat rushed to his face. Gulping, he tossed the garment into Cameron’s arms and hastened for the cattle yards where he’d been headed in the first place.