Chapter Three
Alex relaxed fractionally once they were well within the borders of Caithness. They stopped for mid-day meal in Latheron, a village situated at the crossroad to Wick and Thurso. After their dinner, they would head north toward Balforss. Any chance of arriving there by nightfall had passed. They would have to make camp along the way.
Lucy FitzHarris had probably never slept rough in her life. He was rather looking forward to the temper tantrum she would undoubtedly throw when she found out. His pretty bride’s protest might prove entertaining. And yet, she had surprised him, even moved him, with her generosity toward the Sutherland family. At least she acknowledged her privilege through acts of charity. That weighed heavily in her favor.
He paused inside the tavern door of the Latheron Inn. After his eyes adjusted to the dark interior, he forgot how to breathe—Lucy was talking to Patrick Sellar, Lady Sutherland’s factor. He stood motionless, his right hand twitching above the hilt of his sword while the rat-faced bastard smiled and fawned over his woman. Sellar’s dull black eyes flicked his way. When Lucy turned to look at him, her delicate eyebrows drew together for a moment. Then she turned to Sellar again.
“Shite,” said Uncle Fergus, who had materialized beside him. “Best bide here, lad. Sellar may give you away. I’ll see to Lucy.”
Beads of sweat broke out on Alex’s brow. Uncle Fergus took Lucy’s elbow, made excuses, and then led her away from Sellar with far more grace than he had demonstrated with the soldiers this morning. He scrutinized Lucy’s behavior from afar for signs Sellar had revealed his identity. When Fergus and Lucy were seated at a table in the far corner of the tavern, and he was certain he hadn’t been betrayed, he made straight for Sellar.
The man greeted him with a false smile. “Mr. Sinclair, I believe felicitations are in order.” How could a man make such words sound hateful?
“We met with one of your tenants on the road this morning. Said you burned them out of their home. Left them with nothing.”
Sellar shrugged and sat down to his meal. “Likely a disgruntled crofter seeking sympathy by making up outrageous stories of my cruelty.” The rat-faced Sellar bent to his plate and shoveled a large chunk of sausage dripping with gravy into his foul mouth.
“If I find their accusations true, I’ll—”
“What? What will you do, Sinclair? What exactly will you do?” Sellar challenged.
What Alex wanted to do was find a way to make the man suffer—preferably in front of an audience of Sellar’s victims. But he had promised his father he would adhere to the law on this matter. That meant evidence. Testimony. Trial. Things they did not yet have.
“I’ll make you pay dearly for your crimes, sir.”
“I’ve heard similar threats from your father.” Sellar shoved another piece of sausage into his mouth and talked around the food. “I don’t take kindly to threats, laddie.” He wiped his greasy chin with the back of his hand. “When I’m threatened, I get angry. And when I get angry, bad things happen.”
Alex placed a palm on the table and lowered his head to Sellar’s level, taking in his stench and the rosewater scent Sellar used to hide it. “Then take what I say not as a threat but a promise.” His voice, low and deadly, rolled out of him like the tide. “So help me God, you will answer for your treachery if I have to take you down myself.”
Sellar smiled, displaying a mouthful of rotting teeth. “You have a lovely little bride, Sinclair. Mind her carefully. The roads are crawling with highwaymen. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to the Duke of Chatham’s daughter.”
The veiled threat to his woman was more than he could stand. Sellar must die.
Unfortunately, Magnus pulled him away from the table before Alex’s fist found the bastard’s face. “Not here, man. Not with Miss Lucy watching,” Magnus rumbled into his ear.
He shook Magnus off and held onto his rage long enough to make it out of the tavern without striking anyone. Declan, unaware of what had transpired inside, was the unfortunate recipient of Alex’s wrath.
“We’re leaving as soon as the lass finishes her meal!” he shouted. “And for Christ’s sake, keep her away from Sellar!”
…
A disagreeable-looking gentleman named Mr. Sellar introduced himself to Lucy as the manager of Lady Sutherland’s estate. He expressed his fond wishes for a happy wedding. She held a handkerchief to her nose, a discreet attempt to shield herself from the man’s body odor.
“My dear Miss FitzHarris. What a pleasure to meet you. I must have you ’round to lunch with Lady Sutherland.”
She recognized the name Sutherland. Magnus had said those unfortunate people who lost their house were from Sutherland.
Mr. Sellar prattled on, “I had the honor of meeting your father some years back. It was at the Barley Corn, a gentleman’s club, I think….” And on, and on, and on. His fawning behavior—the tilt of his head, the elongation of each vowel, the insipid smile—was so tiresome, she thought she might actually yawn in the man’s face. She was about to extricate herself when he spotted someone behind her and said, “Ah, there’s your man, Alex, now.”
Lucy turned toward the doorway, her heart stumbling a few beats. Had her intended come to meet her halfway?
No. It was only the tall one. Apparently, he hadn’t exaggerated when he’d said Alexander Sinclair looked a lot like him. Mr. Sellar had mistaken the tall Sinclair for her soon-to-be husband.
Merde.
The tall Sinclair’s face had darkened. What could he be angry about this time? Mr. Sellar wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t English. He wasn’t even a stranger. Indeed, he seemed to be well acquainted with the Sinclair family.
Before Lucy could correct Mr. Sellar for his mistake, Mr. Munro appeared and said, “Pardon us, sir. We must eat and be on our way.”
Happy to be rescued, Lucy followed Mr. Munro to a table on the opposite side of the tavern room. She was relieved to be away from the tedious man, but something about the recent exchange pestered her. She pretended to listen to Mr. Munro’s nattering, all the while replaying scenes in her head.
“Ah, there’s your man, Alex, now,” Mr. Sellar had said. “He looks a lot like me,” Mr. Sinclair had said. “Bonnie wee thing.” Tawny red hair, just like the boy’s…
The truth crystallized all at once and her entire body went up in flames. The blasted Scot had played her the fool. Lucy said a very bad word.
“I beg your pardon, miss?”
She struggled to contain herself. Every organ inside her body shook with the need to sink a dagger into the heart of the tall Sinclair, Alexander Sinclair, the lying bastard who would be her husband.
“Are you all right, miss?” Mr. Munro asked.
Fortunately, Mr. Munro didn’t seem to notice that she had incinerated before his eyes. Taking some calming breaths, she regained her noble demeanor and gave him a brittle smile that hurt her cheeks and made her teeth feel funny.
“I’m fine, thank you. Perfectly fine.”
…
Alex waited outside atop Goliath, anxious to leave this place, this trap. Lucy exited the tavern with Uncle Fergus. When Magnus offered to hold Hercules and help her into the wagon, the act triggered a jealousy in Alex that only added to the churning sensation in his bowels. He shot a look at Magnus hot enough to melt the bampot. Magnus fired back an I-ken-how-to-treat-a-lady look.
Magnus would pay for that.
He was about to tell him as much when Lucy leaned her head out of the wagon. “Oh, Mr. Sinclair.”
All three Sinclair men swiveled their heads in answer to her call.
“Magnus, I mean.” She favored Magnus with another one of her sweet, dimpled smiles. Alex knew what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that smile. That she gave what should have been exclusively his to Magnus made him want to remove his cousin’s bollocks with a dull knife.
Magnus trotted back to the wagon, all ears and bright eyes. Christ, the man was like a dog performing tricks for his mistress. “Yes, miss?”
“Would you be so kind as to ask the cook for a spare bone for Hercules?”
“With pleasure, miss.” Magnus tossed a smug grin his way before dashing back into the tavern.
“Be quick about it,” Alex shouted. “We’re late as it is.”
While they waited for his doaty cousin to complete his errand, he spotted a familiar figure strutting toward him and cursed under his breath. Liam Ulbster, stepbrother of his former sweetheart Elizabeth, and stepson to his mother’s beloved cousin Diana Ulbster. He did not like Liam Ulbster. Liam was a bawfaced bastard with very little substance to his character.
“Alex.” Liam’s special talent was the ability to smile with his mouth full of shit.
Oh God, will this day never end?
He sighed and remained in his saddle, with the hope his exchange with Liam would be brief. “What brings you to Golspie, cousin?”
“Your wedding, of course,” Liam said. “My parents and I have returned from London for the single delight of attending your nuptials. You’ll be pleased to know my lovely stepsister Elizabeth will be there as well.”
Alex slumped in his saddle. He hadn’t considered how he would feel upon seeing Elizabeth again. Would his previous feelings for her resurface? “We look forward to your visit,” he lied.
“Is that your bride in the carriage? You must introduce us.”
Liam’s request brought him to full attention. The mingin’ clotheid would expose his identity to Lucy and ruin everything. “No!”
…
Liam startled at Alex’s outburst. What the devil had gotten into the loon?
“I apologize, but she’s requested solitude,” Alex said. “She’s exhausted from the trip, ye ken. I beg your indulgence.”
“I understand, cousin,” Liam said, bowing.
The giant they called Magnus barreled out of the inn with a bone that looked larger than the man’s forearm. He handed the ghastly thing through the wagon opening to its passenger.
Perhaps Alex’s fiancé is a dog?
Alex nodded a curt farewell and spurred his horse on. The wagon rattled forward with the two other Sinclair men trailing behind. He waited until the Balforss party was well down the road and then strolled into the Latheron Inn. He found the man he was looking for finishing his meal.
“You’re late,” Patrick Sellar said without looking up from his plate.
Liam attempted to lighten the moment. He preferred pleasant over terse conversation, even if he had to pretend. “I do apologize, but I was detained by my stepsister. She insisted on accompanying me as she wanted to visit a dressmaker here in town.”
“Sit down.”
Apparently, Sellar did not wish to participate in pleasantries. He wiped off the chair opposite the man and lowered himself into it. “I must say I’m very curious. What is it you so urgently needed to speak with me about?”
“You owe a great sum to a certain moneylender in London.”
He felt his public face vanish for a second, then recovered. Keeping his tone light, to disguise his irritation, he said, “I don’t see how that is any concern of yours, sir.”
“Oh, but it is my concern. My employer, Lady Sutherland, has purchased your debt. You now owe her a great sum of money.” Sellar leaned back in his chair and gave Liam his full attention.
“Why would she do such a thing?”
“Lady Sutherland requires a favor of you.”
He tugged at his collar. The stock tied around his neck was suffocating. “May I ask what kind of favor?”
“It’s very simple, really.” Sellar used his sleeve to wipe the grease from his fat lips.
The company of this exceedingly unpleasant man made Liam’s gorge rise, but he listened. Carefully.
A quarter of an hour later, he climbed inside his black lacquered carriage. He flopped down on the leather bench across from his stepsister Elizabeth and rapped on the roof, signaling the coachman to drive on.
“What did Mr. Sellar want with you?” Elizabeth asked. She made a face like she smelled something noxious and flicked open her fan. His stepsister hated him. She’d always made that clear.
“Nothing much. I saw Alex on my way into the tavern. He was escorting his intended to Balforss for the wedding.”
“Did you see her?” Her eyes sharpened on him.
“I caught a glimpse. Pretty little thing. No comparison to you, my beauty. But our dear cousin, Alex, seems to have rebounded nicely after your rejection. Marrying the Duke of Chatham’s daughter. My, my.”
“Illegitimate daughter,” she corrected.
“No matter. I doubt very much the wedding will take place.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You remember Lord Langley?”
“Doesn’t he belong to your club of deviant layabouts?” Her upper lip curled into an ugly sneer.
Liam cocked a knowing eyebrow at her, hoping to elicit a response. “Yes. The viscount is a member of my private social circle. We enjoy our pleasures of the flesh on occasion.”
Elizabeth crinkled her nose again. He loved to provoke his stepsister. He especially liked the way the tops of her breasts pinkened when she was riled.
“So?”
“Apparently, Miss FitzHarris is mad for Langley and Langley is mad for her.”
“Who on earth told you that?” She pulled a perfumed handkerchief from her reticule and held it to her nose as their carriage jangled past a pig farm.
“Patrick Sellar. Just now.”
“Nonsense. Lucy FitzHarris made a laughingstock of herself over him. He never made any overtures toward her. In fact, last I heard, he was engaged to marry the very dull Miss Whitebridge and her piles of money.” She shifted away from the open window of the carriage and fanned herself.
“Well, you are mistaken. Lord Langley is Lady Sutherland’s relation, and she is quite fond of him. According to Sellar, he’s desperate to stop the wedding and retrieve Miss FitzHarris. He’s turned to Lady Sutherland for help and is on his way to Dunrobin Castle as we speak. I have agreed to lend a hand.”
“I see. And what do you get in return for your assistance, pray tell?”
“Why, Elizabeth, you wound me. I’m simply helping out my dear friend.”
His stepsister burst out laughing. “That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard you tell.” She narrowed her eyes. “You forget I know you well, stepbrother. You don’t have an altruistic bone in your body.”
“Lady Sutherland has requested a favor of me for which I will be paid handsomely.” He hedged for a moment before adding, “And I need your help.”
“Ha. I knew it. You need something from me.” Contempt dripped from Elizabeth’s pink lips. God, she was gorgeous. “What do I get in return?”
He leaned back, wondering how much he dared disclose. He’d left London under the pretense of attending the wedding of Alex Sinclair and Lucy FitzHarris. In truth, he’d fled the city to avoid his creditors. His reckless gambling, extravagant lifestyle, and eccentric sexual appetite had overreached his meager allowance. If his father discovered his shameful pecuniary situation, he would cut him off entirely. He was in a delicate position, to say the least.
Lady Sutherland’s offer to forgive his debt in exchange for a simple service was the answer to his financial woes. Success could set him right again. But he needed his stepsister’s help, and she would be loath to help him without sufficient inducement. Fortunately, Liam had the proverbial carrot in his breast pocket.
He edged forward in his seat and placed his hand on her knee. “I found your letters.”
Elizabeth slapped his hand away with her fan. “Lying lout. I don’t believe you.” Doubt rippled across her brow.
He had planned to use her letters to extort a different kind of favor, but they would do nicely for his new purpose. “I thought Lord Toremount was a married man,” he said, feigning confusion.
Elizabeth’s eyes widened when he withdrew her letter from his coat pocket and waved it at her. She tried to snatch it from him, but he held the letter out of her reach.
“You thieving little worm. Give it back or I swear I’ll—”
“You’ll hurt me? Oh, dear heart, do you promise?”
She lifted a slender booted foot and aimed for his groin. Before she connected, Liam grabbed her ankle and held her still.
“You’re a feisty little minx today, aren’t you?” In vain, she struggled to free her foot. “Relax my pet. I will return your letters to you as soon as we finish our errand of love.” She stopped squirming, and he released her ankle. He found his stepsister particularly attractive when she was agitated. Her lovely eyebrows pinched together and her sweet pink lips pursed into a pretty pout. Even now, he could feel his todger pressing against the front of his britches.
“What do you mean, errand of love?” she spat.
“It’s simple, really. Langley has written a letter to Lucy, declaring himself. Upon our arrival at Balforss, you will deliver the letter to Lucy, and I will deliver Lucy to Langley.”
“You’re going to steal Alex Sinclair’s bride? Have you lost your mind? The man will surely kill you.”
“Not if you reignite Alex’s interest. One kiss from you and he will happily forget his mousy bride.”
Elizabeth tilted her head and tapped the tip of her fan on her chin. “Easily done, I suppose. But what if I don’t want to?”
“Fine. I’m certain there are plenty of people who would love to know about your most intimate affair with Lord Toremount.”
“I hate you.”
“I absolutely adore you, dear one.” The tops of her full breasts pressed against the front of her stays. He wanted very much to fondle them. Liam struggled to maintain focus. “Flirting with our cousin shouldn’t be a chore. I thought at one time you entertained the idea of marrying Alex Sinclair.”
“I did until I realized the fool wanted me to leave London and live with him among the peasants and sheep.” A new thought seemed to occur to her. “What if Lucy FitzHarris doesn’t want to be delivered to Langley? What if she’s unwilling to leave Balforss? What then?”
“Don’t be thickheaded. You think she would choose Highland gentry over the future Earl of Bromley? By all accounts, Lucy FitzHarris is in love with Langley. I don’t think we’ll have any difficulty. Besides,” he gave her an impish grin. “It’ll be fun.”
The crack of the driver’s whip made Liam’s todger stand at attention. Interesting how his appetite for carnal pleasures soared whenever he visited the Highlands. It must be something in the water that made men want to rut like animals.
He leaned back in his seat to relieve the pressure in his lap. “Tell me, dear heart, you wouldn’t feel like lifting your skirts, would you?”
Elizabeth’s boot connected with his right shin.
“Ow!”