Parnell was small as castles went, built in a standard, square pattern around a diminutive interior courtyard that Kate glimpsed as they rode past the wide, nonfunctional gate. Happily situated in a rock embrasure above the sea, it had thus been spared the wear most fortress castles incurred, and the stone, though several hundred years old, sparkled as if newly quarried, the many windows gleaming with golden light in the slanting rays of the morning sun.
It was wonderful, Kate thought with a touch of desperate longing, pristine and well-kept and orderly and very much protected. The carriage ground to a halt, and John leapt down, hurrying to hand her out. The door to the castle opened, and there stood the eighth marquis of Parnell, James Murdoch.
She remembered him as a nice-looking youngster, but he had grown into an elegant man with dark blond hair that complemented his large, hazel eyes. He stood just above middling height and had a trim, athletic build that his exquisitely tailored clothes accented. His cravat would make snow weep with jealousy. He was, in a word, perfect.
“Mrs. Blackburn! Even in sad circumstances it is a pleasure to see you again!” He bowed at the waist, and she returned a small curtsey.
“Thank you, milord.”
“No. Please. Your cousin was my sister. I insist on the familial rights. You must call me Parnell.”
“As you will, sir.”
“Allow me to welcome you to my home,” he said without making any attempt to hide his pride. Kate liked him for that. She’d had too much of enigmatic men. His open pleasure was refreshing. He stood aside, and Kate moved past him into a wide, light-filled great hall, the black-and-white-checkered flag-stone gleaming ebony and sparkling white. A cluster of maids were assiduously at work bleaching the marble staircase that flowed in a gentle spiral up to a mid-story landing marked by a series of tall, slender windows.
“How lovely.”
“I am delighted you approve.”
“Milord.” A footman spoke from beside them.
“Yes?”
“Captain Watters’s compliments, sir. He asks if you would meet him this afternoon at your convenience.”
Watters, Kate recalled, was the murdered Captain Greene’s replacement. Her tentative pleasure dissolved.
“Inform the captain that I am previously engaged,” the marquis said, “but that after dinner I shall be happy to meet him in the library.”
“Yes, sir.” The footman bowed
The marquis turned to her, and his expression grew concerned. “I am a poor host. You are tired. I will have your maid shown the rooms as soon as she comes in, and then—”
“I have no maid.” Her eyes dropped in embarrassment. Now he would know the quality—or lack thereof—of his sister-in-law’s relatives. “She decamped.”
“How frightful for you,” the marquis exclaimed sympathetically. “Then we shall have Peggy perform the necessary duties while you are with us. She was your cousin’s maid.”
“Thank you.”
The door opened, and John appeared, laboring under a crate. Behind him, carrying a traveling trunk as easily as if it were a leather satchel, came MacNeill. His gaze was flat, his manner aloof.
“Your driver, Mrs. Blackburn?” the marquis asked, studying Kit with open and friendly interest. “He looks able to handle himself in any difficulty. I shall commend the carriage company.”
“No, sir,” she said, feeling her color rise. “He is… That is to say—”
“I owed a debt to her father, sir, that Mrs. Blackburn kindly allowed me to repay by seeing her safely on her journey,” Kit said smoothly. His cape had swung back, revealing his dark green regimental jacket.
“Ah. You are a military man,” the marquis said. “That explains it. I’ve heard innumerable stories about the loyalty Highlanders have for their commanders. Holdover from the old clan system, I suppose?”
MacNeill didn’t bother to correct the marquis’s misconception. Why should he? He would be gone soon. He could care less what the marquis thought of him. “That’s right, sir.”
“Very good …er…”
“MacNeill, sir. Kit MacNeill.”
“Mr. MacNeill,” the marquis said, smiling. “Thank you for delivering Mrs. Blackburn safely. I am most beholden to you.”
MacNeill’s gray-green gaze touched her with deliberate carelessness. “I was happy to be of service.”
Kate’s chin snapped up. How dare he make his indifference so obvious? Did he fear that their night together would turn her into a romantic ninny? That she would throw over everything that she had hoped and worked to achieve at the mere thought of his touch? His mouth? His whispered words? That she would make a scene by insisting that he offer for her hand?
He needn’t fear. She was not some silly schoolroom miss, her head stuffed with sugar-spun mawkishness.
“You’ll stay with us a few days while your mount recovers, won’t you?” the marquis asked with complete sincerity, a quality MacNeill likely wouldn’t be able to identify, not being acquainted with it in his own makeup. “Of course you will. I’ll have a room made up at once— No, no! No sense in protesting. I insist. Least I can do.”
Before Kit could answer, the marquis raised his hand. “Here, John! Bring Mr. MacNeill’s mount down to the stables. John’s a magician with horses, aren’t you, John? Of course you are.”
“Really, sir. That is not necessary,” Kit said. At least he had the grace to look uncomfortable.
“Of course it is,” the marquis assured him. “Can’t have Mrs. Blackburn’s protector bedding down with the militia like some commoner.” He eyed MacNeill’s tattered and worn plaid surreptitiously.
“Peggy!” A small, no-nonsense looking woman bustled forward. “Take Mr. MacNeill up to the tower room and see that he is taken care of, and you might give his coat a brush-down, eh?” He gave MacNeill’s jacket a telling look. “We sup in three hours.”
With a short word of thanks and a slight bow in her direction, MacNeill followed Peggy up the staircase, and God help her, Kate could not control the deep sense of relief filling her.
The marquis held out his hand.
“Now, my dear Mrs. Blackburn, there is much to tell you.”
EIGHTEEN
CONTRIVING TO EXTEND ONE’S STAY IN CONVIVIAL SURROUNDINGS
THE WARMTH OF THE MARQUIS’s greeting bolstered Kate’s flagging spirits, and the kindness in his expression dispelled any lingering discomfort occasioned by MacNeill’s sardonic manner. Her gaze unwillingly lifted toward the top of the stairs where Kit had disappeared.
He’d had no difficulty handing her care over to another man. Why should he? He had important things to do, people to kill. She should be pleased he’d been so circumspect. There hadn’t been the merest hint that they had anything but a civil association. She must remember that he acted in her best interests and be properly appreciative of it rather than feeling petulant and unhappy and—
She forced a bright smile to her lips and prepared to give her full attention to the marquis.
“I suspect you would like to see your rooms,” he said. “But if I might first impose upon you for a few minutes of your time, I would be greatly obliged.”
“Of course,” Kate said. He waited while the footman took her cloak and bonnet and then hastily stripped her gloves off before he could see the patches on them.
“If you please?” He offered her his arm.
The ability to gauge the exact degree of pressure that signaled friendship without forwardness came back to her at once, as if she had shed the last three years as easily as she’d shed her gloves. It was all familiar: the soft murmur of polite conversation; the susurration a hemline makes while sweeping across a thick, rich carpet; the angle at which one carried one’s head to denote interest. All the little things that made life gracious and endurable. She made a mental note to include a section on keeping one’s social skills honed in her book.
Yes, she thought with determined conviction, this is where I belong.
It was an impressive home. The grim stone walls she had envisioned did not exist. White-painted walls acted as a foil for exquisite paintings and a charming collection of etchings. She’d expected to see lurking suits of armor, but Castle Parnell held no reminders of its owners’ heraldic past. The rooms were comfortably furnished, light and airy, the plastered ceilings bordered with carved moldings.
Three of the castle’s four wings, James informed her, were still used by the family, while the fourth, which had been abandoned by the preceding generation, now housed a company of militia—though the presence of military within the castle walls was exceptional.
Parnell’s ancestors had, the marquis explained, remained aloof as much as possible from the political fervor that infected many Highland families. That was not to say they did not back the obvious choice when it was politic to do so, but given the opportunity, they generally stayed out of the affairs of kings and generals. They had been rewarded for that prudence by being allowed to keep their ancestral home where many of their neighbors had been forced to forfeit—if not land, titles.
“Do you like it?” the marquis asked shortly. He sounded unexpectedly anxious.
“Oh, yes,” she answered. “It is quite wonderful.”
“I am delighted it meets your approval.”
She darted him a curious glance.
“We are as fortunate in our neighbors, too,” he said.
Her brows rose. “I own I am surprised Clyth offers much in the way of polite society.”
“Not Clyth.” A steely expression replaced his former good-humored one. “I am referring to the neighboring estates. There are two within ten miles. You would never have imagined we are so well populated, would you? And further inland we count fully eight additional families of great merit within a single day’s journey. So, you see, we are never short of company.”
She regarded him in puzzlement. “How delightful.”
“Yes. Exactly,” he said, opening a door and stepping aside. “This is my library. Won’t you be seated?”
He indicated a silk-covered settee, and after seeing her comfortably settled said, “I confess I have led you here intentionally, Mrs. Blackburn. I wanted to tell you the things I should have written regarding the circumstances of your cousin’s death.”
“I already know them, sir.”
The marquis’s brows flew up in surprise.
“I was told my cousin’s death was not the result of an accident.”
The marquis’s expression grew quizzical. “Yes. Just as I wrote to your family in my second letter.”
“Second letter?”
“Yes. I wrote as soon as I realized that the… deaths could not have been the result of an accident.” He regarded her in sober puzzlement. “Did you not receive it?”
“No.” She frowned, searching her memory. It was not unheard of for mail to be lost, especially if the maid hadn’t paid the postage when the courier arrived…. Still, it was odd.
“My dear!” the marquis exclaimed. “My poor Mrs. Blackburn. You did not know?”
“No. I learned of it only after my arrival.”
“I am appalled that you should come to my home to be greeted by such news, and now I find myself in the onerous position of having to compound your shock even more.”
Kate’s head snapped up.
The marquis caught his hands behind his back and paced across the room. “It was wrong of me not to relate the entire truth at once. The fact that you did not receive my second missive in no way exonerates me, but perhaps after you hear my story, you will not think too poorly of me for my decision.”
Kate bade him continue.
He took a deep breath. “Charles and Grace had grown restless here in the north of Scotland.”
This Kate could well believe. In the few letters Grace had written, she had not bothered to hide her distaste for country living. She had set her eye on London and its many delights.
“Charles repeatedly asked me to purchase a town house in London for their use, but I refused.” His color grew bright. “I do not wish to offend you by being too intimate, but I want you to understand the circumstances of this terrible crime.”
“Please, go on.”
“When he died, my father had been for many years incapable of giving the estate the attention it needed. When I inherited, I borrowed heavily in order to turn the land into a profitable enterprise and return the castle to its former splendor. Gradually, my efforts have been rewarded. Not, however, to the extent necessary to set Charles and Grace up in London in the manner in which they’d envisioned themselves.
“And so I told them. It became a yearly ritual between us—he would ask, I would refuse—but one which I was pleased to think that Charles handled without resentment.” His face grew glum. “I was wrong. Charles had not, in fact, ever reconciled himself to my decision. Instead, he had entered into associations by which he hoped to grow wealthy.
“Had grown wealthy, if the evidence of Grace’s sending her belongings to you is any testimony. At least wealthy enough to relocate to London and stylishly, too.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
The marquis sat down beside her. “Charles threw his lot in with a gang of thieves, smugglers, and wreckers.” He gestured out of the window toward the coast. “You see how we are situated. Charles allowed these blackguards to use my coastline for smuggling and, God help his soul, to wreck those poor ships that sought safe harbor during storms.”
“Dear Lord,” Kate whispered. “But what happened?”
The marquis’s face reflected a bitterness Kate guessed was foreign to his nature. “What must happen when one involves oneself with brutes and savages? There was a falling-out. The result was murder.”
“But I was told that they had been killed by mistake!” Kate exclaimed. “That highwaymen had robbed and then killed them to keep Charles from identifying them.”
“That is what I want people to think,” the marquis said somberly. “That is why I did not write the entire truth of the matter to you. I feared you would involve the British authorities, and they would uncover my brother’s involvement with the smugglers.”
He clasped her hand imploringly. “I have four sisters. Two of them live nearby, but the others live in society in London. The scandal would ruin them, and I, perhaps wrongly, can see no good come of their paying for their brother’s greed.”
“No,” Kate answered at once. “No, of course not!”
“You speak without hesitation because you have a kind heart, Mrs. Blackburn,” the marquis said. “But I would not count myself an honorable man if I did not point out that your cousin Grace was murdered because of my brother’s weakness. I would not presume to accuse her of complicity. My intent was never to keep from you the facts as I know them, but rather to wait until we had met before presenting them to you and then allowing you to make a decision as to what course should be taken. Therefore, you must consider whether you think it best to allow me to seek justice without involving the reputations of my family or make a clean breast of the situation to the British authorities.”
Though Kate had little doubt of Grace’s “complicity,” she held her tongue, asking instead, “What course of action will you follow, milord?”
He smiled grimly, releasing her hand. “The militia is already here, Mrs. Blackburn. They shall rout these bas—blackguards from their caves and holes. I will find whoever killed my brother and your cousin, and I will have justice.”
He quelled his anger with an obvious effort. “Forgive me for burdening you with this so soon after your arrival, but I am a simple man, Mrs. Blackburn. I felt it best to have my say at once and hear your answer.”
He would be guided by her decision. The magnitude of what he proposed swept over her. She owed it to the marquis to consider the ramifications carefully. “Do you plan on hunting down the criminals yourself, milord?”
“Good God, no.” He sounded surprised. “I would only make a muck of it. Captain Watters has already made great headway in identifying the villains.”
“What will happen then?”
“Once we are certain the guilty have been apprehended, I shall hand them over to the authorities for wrecking ships and smuggling. The word ‘murder’ will never be mentioned.”
In other words, there would be no trial for murder, but there would be for wrecking, for which the penalty was the same. Justice would still be served without innocent parties suffering. “I will be guided by what you think best,” she replied softly.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he breathed, “on my behalf as well as my sisters’. I am in your debt.”
“Please. You make me self-conscious.”
“I would not embarrass you for the world. And I will have you know that I do not intend your visit to us should be all grim and dour. I am accounted by most an amiable fellow. I would like you to know me.”
“I would like that, too,” she murmured.
He held out his hand, and she took it. “Then let us continue our walk, shall we?”