Page 34 of A Stranger’s Promise

Nicholas sipped of whisky, then asked, “What has Captain Edwards to do with your bonny governess?”

Alistair tossed him a suspicious look. “Why speak of her?”

“Why ask the man, at the dinner table, if he knew her?” Nicholas asked in turn.

Ah, that. Alistair shrugged.

His friend laughed. “‘Tis plain as day, you’re besotted with the lass.”

Alistair sipped his drink. Why deny it? “She has a fiancé. A feckless fop of a man.”

Nicholas laughed again. “Not the hapless Captain Edwards? Oh, that is interesting.” He tossed back the rest of his whisky, then set the glass on the table and rose. “As ever, my friend, you choose the harder path. But I’ve yet to see you fail. With that, I bid you a good night.” Halfway to the door, he halted and turned. “Ah, Lady Cassilis.”

Alistair shifted his attention to the right and met Nicholas’ eyes.

“I swear I saw her in Maidens today,” Nicholas said. “In the company of a strange man—a working man, and not very skilled, judging by his appearance.”

“A man?” Alistair echoed, mildly surprised. “That is strange.” She held her reputation dear. She wouldn’t allow herself to be seen with a strange man, especially one of the working-class.

“I find her riding in a fishing village even stranger,” Nicholas said. “Surely, the proof she claims to have discovered cannot be found there.”

The woman had yet to confront him. Alistair shrugged. “Until she plays her hand, I have no way of knowing what she’s up to. I can do nothing but wait.”

“Wait.” Nicholas shuddered. “I detest the word.”

Alistair grunted a laugh.

“Who can fathom how that woman’s mind works, eh?”

Alistair didn’t answer.

Nicholas bade him good night, strode out the door, and shut it behind him.

Alistair took another swig of whisky. He needed to discover how Lady Cassilis planned to contest his legitimacy—later. For the moment, he had more pressing matters to deal with. Memory rose of Charlotte in her captain’s embrace.

Nicholas was right. He wouldn’t retreat. He’d choose the harder path.

He lifted his whisky and watched the flames of the fire reflecting in its depths. He absolutely would not let Charlotte wed the scoundrel.

* * *

Alistair arose the next morning with a rare headache. He’d spent a sleepless night puzzling just how he might open Charlotte’s eyes and still had yet to settle on a plan. He entered the breakfast parlor in a dark mood. Guests came and went. Some greeted him with nods before he responded with a scowl, which sent them scurrying. He would have to remember to glower more often. After washing the last of his eggs down with a cup of tea, he escaped to the stables, saddled his favorite roan, and rode out onto his estate, his mind still on Charlotte.

Heavy dark clouds hung on the horizon as he cantered past the orchards and south into the forest beyond. Spring would arrive soon. Already, the first hint of buds dusted the branches of the hawthorn and silver birch dotting the rolling hills. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the brisk morning air. The land sang in his blood. In all his travels, he had yet to find a place better than Culzean, the seat of his clan. He’d poured every penny of his vast fortune into the estate.

He pondered his stepmother. She intended to prove him illegitimate, yet he’d seen nothing of her plan save once catching her in the library, poking through the musty pages of long ignored books. Why take so long to prove her case? With so many witnesses to his scandalous origins, surely proof of his illegitimacy wouldn’t be hard to find. And what of her trip to the village of Maidens? He would have to ride there himself and see what he might discover—but, another day. Today, he intended to settle the matter of Charlotte.

He urged his horse east and trotted over rocky green hills and under trees. He’d have to spend more time with the lass in order to open her eyes to the captain’s unsuitability. Why she would yoke herself to the man bewildered him mightily. She was such a cheeky lass and the man quite unworthy of her. Such a union would be a travesty. The more he thought on the matter, the more his irritation grew. By the time the first fat drops of rain began to fall, he found his headache had returned with a vengeance.

With a curse, he wheeled his horse and headed home. The rain intensified and, seeing Piper’s Brae running through the trees ahead, he dug his heel in his horse’s side. The beast broke into a gallop, sailed over a low line of shrubs and landed in the middle of the road.

A sudden movement to his left drew his attention. Through the downpour, he glimpsed a man wearing a green cap with a red feather tucked in the brim before he vanished into the trees near the Swan Pond. What the devil? Alistair started to urge his horse after the man, then thought better of it. The driving rain had already soaked him to the bone. Chasing a wanderer wasn’t worth the chance of catching his death. He spurred his horse once again with a “Ho there,” and headed home.

Minutes later, he galloped down the castle drive and under the arched entrance just in time to see a fine barouche roll to a stop before the castle doors. Thankfully, the rain had dwindled to a drizzle. He eyed the vehicle with a scowl. What fresh hell was this? Already, he found the house party beyond tiresome.

A man hopped from the carriage and with a broad smile, waved as Alistair cantered past, headed for the clock tower and stables. By the time he’d seen his horse settled and returned the way he had come, the wind and rain had driven the newly arrived guests inside. The fact he’d escaped the wearisome charade of greetings put him in a perversely good mood and, in an effort to keep it that way, he dashed to the back of the castle and entered through the kitchens.

“My lord!” the cook cried. “We didnae expect to see ye.”