The Irresistible Mac Rae Read online

  The older woman related the tale, halting at frequent intervals to frown at Riona.

  “She and Harold McDougal were seen entering the garden and leaving some five minutes later. Riona’s dress was torn, and her hair askew. Not only did she show a lack of decency in refusing to absent herself from the guests, she acted in the most forward manner, almost daring anyone to chastise her for her behavior. When I insisted that she should at least demonstrate a little shame, she told me some story about being lured into the garden. It matters little why she was there, madam. All that is important is her behavior while she was alone with a young man. That was, and remains, deplorable.”

  “How many people know of this encounter?” Susanna asked.

  Mrs. Parker responded quickly. “All of the guests at the party. Maureen’s betrothal is in jeopardy. There are too many proper young women in Scotland for Captain Hastings to settle for one whose family is tinged by scandal.”

  How many of them were possessed of a considerable fortune? A question Susanna decided not to ask.

  “If she marries the young man, we can let it be known that she was carried away with an excess of youthful exuberance, predating the marital bed by some weeks. But if she steadfastly refuses to marry, the world will see her as a strumpet, a young woman of loose morals. That will surely seal Maureen’s fate.”

  “And who is this Harold McDougal?” Susanna asked.

  “I am, madam.”

  To her surprise, a young man stood in the doorway. At first glance, he looked amenable enough. Of average height, with brown hair and flashing hazel eyes. But there was something about him that she didn’t like, an instantaneous feeling that had less to do with logic and more to do with instinct. She’d been a widow for some years, had relied upon her own judgment when boarders had come to her small house in Cormech seeking a room. On more than one occasion, she’d turned away a potential source of income simply because of a first impression.

  “I was the one who led her into sin, madam,” he confessed, looking down at the floor, studying either the oak boards or perhaps his dusty boot tops.

  Strange, but he didn’t look all that contrite.

  Sly, but not clever, for all that.

  “I cannot deny that there was an attraction between us, ma’am,” he said, his eyes still downcast. “But I was wrong to encourage it. Of the two of us, I should have been stronger.”

  That statement had Mrs. Parker nodding in agreement.

  Riona, however, snorted in a thoroughly unladylike manner.

  “But I’ve come to make amends now,” he said, and for the first time raised his head to stare directly at her. “I would take your daughter to my wife.”

  “I agree that my daughter’s behavior sounds dreadful,” she said calmly. “However, you will grant me the license to speak with her before I make a decision.”

  “I would be a good husband,” he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’ve some family property. And plans for the future.”

  “Do any of those plans include my daughter’s fortune?” Susanna asked bluntly. She could hear Mrs. Parker’s indrawn breath.

  Neither she nor Mrs. Parker had been born to wealth. Mrs. Parker made her living as a matchmaker, chaperone, and governess of sorts, escorting young women through the perils of society. For that she was paid a handsome sum.

  As to Harold, Susanna wasn’t naïve about the effect of Riona’s inheritance on a young man’s fancy. Harold’s heart might be engaged, but she would wager that he had found it easier to fall in love with an heiress than a woman without a fortune.

  “I am aware that your daughter is an heiress, ma’am,” Harold said stiffly, all righteous anger and indignation. “But I would have loved her had she been penniless.” His words met with Mrs. Parker’s murmur of approval.

  “A pity that we can’t test your fidelity,” Susanna said dryly.

  She stood, nodding to Polly. “The decision will be made, but it will not be made tonight,” she said. “For now I think it would be better if we retired to our rooms.” She nodded to Harold. “If you will give us a few moments, I’ll have a chamber prepared for you.”

  He bowed smartly and smiled his acceptance, the expression no doubt meant to be disarming.

  She sent Maureen to her room with a whisper that she’d visit her later, then turned to Mrs. Parker. “Shall I send a slight repast to your chamber?”

  “You’re not putting me where I stayed last, I trust?” the other woman asked querulously. “The wind is simply too fierce. I would prefer a south-facing room.”

  Susanna didn’t bother telling the woman that there were no south-facing rooms. She only nodded, resigned to having Mrs. Parker as a guest once again. Glancing at Riona, she summoned her with a nod. They met in the hallway outside the parlor.

  “I cannot marry him, Mother,” Riona said stonily, after the double doors were closed. “I won’t. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Sometimes the appearance of impropriety is all that’s necessary,” Susanna said. “There is Maureen’s happiness to consider.”

  The fact that Captain Hastings was visibly in love with Maureen was the only bright spot in the entire situation.

  “Is there nothing else I can do, short of marriage?”

  She glanced at her daughter, sighing. For the first time in many months, she wished Fergus were near. Her former boarder and longtime friend would have advised her on how to handle this situation. Riona and Fergus had always been close, her daughter coming to view the older man almost as the father she missed so much.

  “If there is something, I cannot think what it might be.”

  There were Captain Hastings and Maureen to consider. What man in good standing would wish to align himself with a family riddled in rumor and innuendo? A fortune could not purchase respectability.

  “I want more in my life,” Riona said, her contempt for Harold McDougal showing in her eyes, and her stubbornness in the set of her chin. Susanna could not honestly blame Riona for her feelings. A lesson in human nature she’d learned long ago. The more flattering the prose, the less substance the remark. So far, Harold had not impressed her with his sincerity.

  “Your father once said much the same thing to me,” she said. “Before he went to sea again. He never found what he wanted, but I could never have stopped his looking. Nor would it have ever occurred to him that following his dreams would pain those he left behind.”

  Riona looked stricken. Harsh words, perhaps, but the truth was often cruel.

  “Sometimes,” Susanna added, “we must put our own happiness aside for those we love.”

  She left Riona then. After arranging for the comfort of her guests and visiting with Maureen, Susanna retreated to her own chamber. This room was her haven, the place where no problems intruded, no cares were allowed past the door. Between the two long windows was a large, comfortable chair and there she sat and sewed most days.

  “Why do you not come down to the parlor?” Polly had asked her a few months back.

  A moment had passed before she’d realized the answer. In Cormech, the parlor had been a communal place for her boarders to sit in the evening. She’d become accustomed to the sanctity of her chamber. Even after all this time in a new house and with only her family in residence, she still found herself coming here. Perhaps because the sheer size of Tyemorn Manor was disconcerting. Or it might simply be that she had become a creature of habit after all these years.

  There was only one exception, and that was when she and Old Ned discussed the ledgers. Susanna found herself sitting companionably with him in the library on those nights. Almost as she and Fergus had once done around the kitchen table.

  Sitting in her favorite chair, Susanna pulled her lap desk close. She didn’t know quite what to do, and there was only one person whose judgment she trusted implicitly. Fergus MacRae. If anyone could talk some sense into Riona, he could.

  Swiftly, she began to write, each word interspersed with a sigh, and the whole of it ble
ssed with a prayer.

  Chapter 2

  T he great hall at Fernleigh was an ugly place, one that was in the process of being painted and refurbished. The once brightly hued brick had been allowed to fade over the years to a dull gray. Above him, the stained-glass window that must once have been magnificent, detailing the story of the first Drummond laird, had been left to neglect. What panes weren’t damaged had been loosened by winter winds and summer storms. The stone floor was equally as ill cared for, being pocked and worn. A difficult place for him to walk.

  Yet he wouldn’t have traded being here for anyplace on earth.

  “What is it, Fergus?” Leah said, coming to stand beside him. Her hand trailed across the back of his neck, enough that his concentration ebbed. Smiling, Fergus McRae put the letter down on the table in front of him and reached for her.

  “You’ll shock all the servants, my dearest,” she said, allowing him to pull her down on his lap.

  Grinning, he bent to kiss her, and when that was done refused to release her once again. But then, she wasn’t trying to escape all that hard.

  She was in his arms, as he’d dreamed all these years. Separated by war, they had found each other again only a year ago. They had waited to marry until her widow’s mourning was done, and the ceremony, mutually anticipated, would occur soon.

  “It’s a letter from a friend of mine,” he explained, reaching for it and holding it open so that she might read it along with him. “It’s from Susanna McKinsey, my landlady when I lived in Cormech.”

  One eyebrow rose, but Leah said nothing. Still, he caught the glint in her eyes.

  “She was a friend, Leah,” he said, smiling gently at her. “And I felt like an uncle to her daughters.”

  “What does she wish of you now, Fergus?”

  “It seems as if one of her girls has gotten herself into trouble,” he said, frowning as he continued to read the letter. “Riona refuses to wed a young man who compromised her.”

  “Is she of a nature to be led astray?”

  He smiled, remembering Riona. “I’ve never thought her to be so.”

  “What does Susanna want you to do?” Leah asked, not bothering to read the letter. Instead, she concentrated on his features, staring at his face as if she couldn’t get enough of the sight of him. She did that a great deal, and well he knew the feeling, since he’d often caught himself doing the same to her. Neither one of them could quite believe in their good fortune in finding the other after all these years.

  “The young man in question is not a match Susanna would have chosen, evidently. Yet at the same time, it seems that the other daughter’s betrothal is in jeopardy if scandal erupts.”

  “It sounds as if there isn’t much choice for her.” Leah moved to a more comfortable position. Not for her, but for him. He had but one leg and a stump, and she was forever conscious of it, trying not to cause him pain or discomfort.

  “She sounds like a willful girl,” Leah said.

  “I knew another like her,” Fergus teased. “This girl met me in secret places because our parents disapproved.”

  “And fell in love with you.” She stood, bent to kiss him full on the lips. “For that reason alone, I sympathize with the young man’s plight.”

  “It’s not as simple as that, Leah,” he said, putting the letter on the table again and placing both his hands on either side of her waist. “Evidently, he is more enticed by Riona’s fortune than he is Riona. She knows that and refuses to marry him.”

  Leah laid her hands on his shoulders and leaned into him for yet another kiss. He would never grow tired of kissing Leah, not after thirty years of missing even the sight of her.

  “What is she to do if not marry?”

  “Exactly Susanna’s dilemma. She wants me to come and see if I cannot talk some sense into the girl. Riona and I have a great fondness for each other.”

  “Would you leave me so close to our wedding?” Leah asked carefully.

  “No,” Fergus said firmly. “Not after all these years and not after all this waiting. Unfortunately, I cannot help her in this instance.”

  She seemed to contemplate the matter. “Will you send her a letter to that effect, Fergus? Or choose a gentler way?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It seems a harsh thing to simply send her a letter explaining the matter. I believe you should send an emissary. Someone who would explain your absence so that she is neither hurt nor offended.”

  “Who would you send, Leah?” he asked, amused. She had someone in mind or she would not have suggested it.

  “James.”

  His eyebrows rose. “James?” he repeated.

  “Why not? Who else could plead your case so well?”

  “And doing so would absent him from our wedding,” he said, understanding immediately.

  She smiled, but the expression was tinged with sadness. “He cannot help but feel bad on such an occasion. Even though I bless him for saving my life.”

  Perhaps it would be better if James were gone from Fernleigh on the occasion of their wedding. Taking a life was a difficult thing, regardless of how villainous the victim. The ceremony would, no doubt, remind James of the death he’d caused.

  “If you can convince him to go,” she said, grabbing her basket. She’d been on her way to another room when she’d stopped to kiss him, and now her chore needed to be completed. She turned and glanced back at him, her expression amused. “He is as stubborn as you, my dearest.”

  “A challenge, Leah?”

  “If you choose to take it that way,” she said, and left the room with a swish of hips.

  “He’ll do it,” Fergus announced to the empty room. “He’s family.”

  Picking up the letter again, he read it once more, feeling Susanna’s worry in the words she hadn’t said. He truly had no answers for her dilemma. Foolish girls must pay for their foolishness. Still, he found it difficult to believe that Riona had been so lax as to allow herself to become the source of scandal. A person did not change character that much in the time since he’d seen her.

  “You want me to do what?” James MacRae asked incredulously. “I can’t leave Gilmuir now; the hull of the new ship is being water tested.”

  “It can wait a week or two,” his brother, Alisdair, said easily.

  Their uncle, Fergus, sat between them, smiling. “That it can,” he said in agreement.

  James looked at the two men with narrowed eyes.

  The day was bright, the last of the sunshine pouring down into the unfinished great hall of Gilmuir Castle. A long scarred and well-used table had been moved into the space for the convenience of the workers, and it was here the three of them sat.

  Once, the castle had sheltered generations of their clan, only to have fallen into ruin in the last thirty years. Alisdair had it in his head to rebuild the old fortress. The work, although having progressed for more than a year, was nowhere near complete. The priory had been reroofed and the foundations shored up, and now scaffolding supported the stone masons as they built towering walls. The constant ringing noise of chisel against stone resulted in frayed nerves and a fine mist of dust permeating everything around Gilmuir.

  Once councils of war, gatherings to discuss raids and retribution, had been held in this place. Along the south wall, his grandfather had sat in the great stone chair the MacRae lairds occupied when adjudicating punishment. Flags and pennants had flown above long trestle tables, and torches flickered from sconces mounted in the brick.

  Now there was nothing but rubble, the signs of construction obliterating any hint of a glorious past. Alisdair, the current laird, sat at the head of the table, Fergus to his left and James to Alisdair’s right. Each man drank from a tankard—one of the first provisions to be purchased in Inverness had been supplies of excellent whiskey.

  “What is this rush to send me from Gilmuir?” James asked.

  “I wish you to do an errand for me,” Fergus said, his grin replaced by a frown. “A task that I
would entrust to no other person but you. Or,” he amended with a glance at Alisdair, “your brother if he could be spared.”

  “Chinese gunpowder could not move me from this place,” Alisdair announced. “Not with Iseabal so close to her time.”

  “Nor would I ask it of you. Not when there is someone else who can help,” Fergus said, sending an irritated glance toward James.

  James studied the other two men in silence. Alisdair had an air of satisfaction about him nowadays, possibly because the work in the shipyards and the restoration of Gilmuir was going so well. Or perhaps it was simply because he was married and happy, and Iseabal, his wife, was heavy with child. Fergus looked equally as content, but then he was due to marry a rich widow soon.

  Of the three of them, he was perhaps the most unsettled, both in temperament and in purpose. A year ago, he’d captained his own ship, but he’d chosen to leave the sea, working at Alisdair’s side to create a shipyard in the cove below Gilmuir. He’d been content for the most part, satisfied that the first MacRae ship was out of the design stage and into construction. Yet now he felt curiously detached. Adrift.

  Despite the fact that Gilmuir was the ancestral home of the MacRaes, he didn’t feel the tie to the castle that either of the other two men did. The shipyard, although important and the source of his labor all these past months, failed to hold his continuing interest. Perhaps he missed the sea, although James doubted that was the reason for the dissatisfaction with his life. Captaining one of the MacRae vessels had been a challenge, but he’d not been born for a life aboard ship like his brothers.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Offer my apologies to Susanna, explain that I’m to be married.”

  He lifted an eyebrow and stared at both of them. “If all you want is a messenger, Uncle, send Rory.”

  The older man fixed him with an intent look. “I wish a representative,” Fergus said shortly. “Anyone can deliver a letter. I wish someone to stand for me. She is a kind and gentle woman, and I would not have her hurt by my inability to aid her now.”