The Scoundrel's Pleasure Page 4

  Fletcher’s features softened. “She is, isn’t she?”

  Duncan dared to broach the matter of children. “Not that it’s my business, but I’m surprised there aren’t more little MacNeils running about the place.”

  When he left the island the twins, Rory and Rabbie, were babies. They would be rambunctious ten-year-olds now.

  Fletcher cocked an eyebrow at his brother. “So far, they have been enough of a handful, but we continue to try, just the same.”

  Duncan, anxious to see his nephews, asked, “Where are those rascals? I probably wouldn’t recognize them if they came up and tackled me.”

  “It does seem quiet around here without them; they’re currently on a field trip to Skye. They’ll be home soon.”

  “Do you still have sheep?”

  “We’ve got them over near Ben Rothsay. It won’t be long before we do some shearing.” He raised a black eyebrow at his brother. “You do remember how to shear sheep, don’t you?”

  Duncan clasped his hands together and cracked his knuckles. “I can still beat you by a dozen.”

  Fletcher cracked his knuckles as well. “In your dreams, little brother. In your dreams.”

  They sat in comfortable silence. The grandfather clock in the hallway outside the library door gave notice that it was seven o’clock. Although he had been back in Scotland for over a week, Duncan felt exhaustion seep into his bones.

  There was a gentle knock on the library door, and when Fletcher called, “Enter,” the housekeeper, a pleasant-looking woman of perhaps forty, rail thin and ruddy, stepped in. “Yes, Mrs. Miers?”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Grace, but there be auld Barnaby roamin’ about without his breeks again.”

  So, Duncan thought, the ancient valet still appeared to prefer a breeze on his bony behind.

  “Take him back to his quarters, if you will, and pour him a whisky. Hopefully he’ll sleep until morning. Oh, and Mrs. Miers? Lord Duncan should have hot water for a bath. Can you see that it’s done? Perhaps Evan and one of the girls can give you a hand with the buckets. Please don’t try to do it by yourself.”

  After she left, Duncan said, “It’s going to take a mighty long time for me to get used to that title.”

  “Hell,” Fletcher answered, “I’m still not accustomed to being Your Grace and Duke of Sheiling, and it’s been over ten years.”

  Fletcher brushed dog hair off his trousers. “So, you’ll meet with the brothel owner tomorrow. I wish I could join you, but there’s an important meeting of the crofters I don’t want to miss.”

  “I’ll be anxious to see who owns the property now. You know, that was the first time I realized all black people didn’t talk like they did back home. That big woman manning the door sounded every bit as Scots as Geddes, albeit she peppered her speech with more colorful words.”

  Fletcher took another sip of brandy. “With its closeness to the river, it’s the perfect place to build a cannery, and the island is screaming for some new opportunities. We’ve got the distillery, where they’re refining a beauty of a scotch whisky, but other than that there aren’t many prospects for work. The crofters are doing better now that I won’t accept payment from them; even so, some of them are looking to leave if they can’t get wages.” He studied Duncan again. “Times are changing, brother.”

  “I’ll get it done, trust me. Since we last talked about it, have you learned what the building is being used for?”

  Fletcher was thoughtful. “Sometime last year, the schoolmaster disappeared after the schoolroom burned. It’s right next to the church, but fortunately the fire was put out before it got that far. According to Rosalyn, there is a woman running a small dame school at the old brothel now, for those who want to be in school until the building is ready, but I’m not aware of who she is or where she lives. She may stay there for all I know. I’ll leave it to you to find out.”

  “You mean you’re going to toss a bunch of kids out onto the streets to fend for themselves just so you can open a business?”

  “It isn’t like that,” Fletcher said in his defense. “Rosalyn has been to the brothel on a few occasions since the fire and smoke damage to the school. The school should be ready to use again by the time we make arrangements to buy the property.” He shook his head and raked his fingers through his hair. “This may be a small island, Duncan, but there’s so much to be responsible for. As soon as Reverend Fleming returns from the mainland, I’ll have to get in touch with him and see how things are progressing with the school. The main thing is we want that piece of property.”

  “We should be prepared for a negative response. Is there any place we could suggest the inhabitants of the old brothel move to, if indeed they live on the premises?”

  “I’d be willing to cede them any number of pieces of land. Perhaps offering them free land to build on would be a good incentive.” Fletcher rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If that’s not an immediate option, I believe there’s a vacant croft cottage near the village that would suffice until more permanent arrangements could be made.”

  “Well,” Duncan said, “it’s all worth a try.”

  Chapter Three

  Isobel returned from the meeting shaken. Yellow the Cat, their mouser, raised her head, then snuggled back into a ball in the sunshine, apparently content that nothing was being asked of her. When Delilah met Isobel at the door, Isobel knew there was no hope of keeping the problems to herself. Delilah offered to make her “a wee cuppa.” While she waited for the tea, Isobel picked up the handmade booklet lying on the rosewood side table, one Ian had made for her at school. Until now, she hadn’t gone through it entirely, for she was constantly interrupted by one thing or another.

  In it were pictures he had drawn of her, Delilah, Henry, Hamish, and Lily. They were caricatures, really, although Isobel didn’t think Ian knew the name for what he’d drawn. For instance, her caricature’s most outstanding feature was her hair. Red as flames. And there was a bright red circle on each cheek. She put the back of her hand against her cheek and felt the warmth. She knew they would be rosy. Of course Delilah was enormous and black and she was depicted knitting something that was so long, it went off the page. Henry was also black, but he had a wide smile on his face, and carried a huge hammer, which amused Isobel, because as many times as Henry picked up a hammer, he got distracted and forgot what he was going to use it for.

  There was nothing funny about her new teacher, Lily; she had been drawn with skill and care. She was blonde and lovely, just as she was in real life. Of course he couldn’t put her idiosyncrasies to paper, like her affinity for cleanliness and her odd habits about food and laundry. Ah, but Hamish. He was drawn big and brawny with lots and lots of red hair—like hers—and his mouth was open with a bubble over his head laughing. Ho ho ho! it said, as he stood beside a well-drawn seafaring craft. Puzzling, however, was that beside the figure of Hamish Ian had written Hamish the Boat, PD. PD? Down in the corner she saw in parentheses (pretend dad).

  She turned to the final page and gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. She had never gotten this far before. On the page was an oblong box with the letters RD printed across it. At the bottom were the words (real dad—Robert Dunbar). She sagged against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. As far as Isobel was concerned, Ian’s father was dead to her and would continue to be so. Suddenly all of the inner rage she’d experienced at the meeting softened. She could not lose control. One tiny slip and her life and Ian’s would be ruined.

  Delilah returned with their tea and a plate of scones. “So, how did it go?”

  “Someone wants to buy the property.”

  “What for?”

  “Apparently it’s the perfect location for a new cannery.” Isobel pushed a tendril of hair from her forehead, recalling the oh-so-very logical plan the solicitor had laid out before her. And himself, acting like typical royalty, merely sat there, smug as any monarch could be at the idea of turning so many lives upside down. “I can understand th
e need for jobs, I really can. But…” She felt deflated. “I can’t sell this place!” She gave Delilah a frantic look. “What would we do? Where would we go?” She took a sip of tea, noting that her hand shook.

  Delilah nodded and flicked a crumb from the corner of her mouth. “Ye mean they didn’t offer a solution?”

  Isobel straightened. “Of course they did. Something about an old crofter’s cottage on the edge of the village until permanent arrangements could be made.”

  Delilah was thoughtful. “At least they came up with something. Not hardly goin’ to be a positive response if they put us out on the street.”

  Isobel threw her a hard glance. “They also said the duke would give us property to build on.”

  Delilah brightened. “Now that sounds fair.”

  “I know I have many bills to pay. It doesn’t make things any easier. After all the years we’ve been here, how can I simply hand the building over to someone who will knock it down? All of our memories will be lost forever.”

  “Memories are things we take with us, darlin’. The house is just a place to hang our clothes.”

  “But we have the children to think of. Until I hear otherwise, I’m responsible for their education. I can’t be forced to do something I don’t want to do. So many changes coming. With Reverend Fleming retiring, there will be another new situation to deal with.” She took a sip of tea. “He’s been such a big part of our lives; replacing him will be very hard.”

  “Have you heard if they’ve hired someone?”

  “I haven’t, but Birgit told me there’s a young missionary in America whose family is rooted in one of the other islands. He’s one of the candidates, I believe.”

  Delilah barked a laugh. “We’re being inundated by Americans. I suppose it’s the duke who wants to build.”

  Isobel toyed with her teacup, studying the dainty pink and green flowers that circled the rim, then gave Delilah a grim smile. “Yes, it is.”

  “I guess it makes some kind of sense for him to want to extend his hold on the land, as if he doesn’t already own enough,” she groused. “He was at the meeting?”

  “That’s the other thing. No, he wasn’t. He sent someone there in his stead.”

  Delilah took another scone and placed it on her saucer. “That advocate with a broom handle up his arse?”

  Isobel laughed. “Yes, Mr. Gordon was there, but someone from the family was there as well. Guess who?”

  Delilah put her cup down on the tray a tad harder than was necessary. The sound pinged loudly in the room. “Ye don’t say.” She studied Isobel closely. “Did he recognize ye?”

  “Nae. I don’t think so.” He hadn’t given her too much notice; she was grateful for that, even though ten years had passed, and she had recognized Duncan MacNeil at a distance in an instant. She was just another one of his flings. Why should he remember her at all? “It’s better that he doesn’t. I don’t want to give him any reason to suspect…you know.”

  “I guess ye be right,” Delilah agreed. Suddenly she stood; the chair scooting out behind her, sliding along the warping floor. “But it ain’t right that himself can come waltzing back into your life without so much as a how do.”

  “Don’t worry,” Isobel promised. “I’ve already decided that there is no way on this earth that I will sell to him or to anyone else. I don’t have to, and I won’t. I don’t care how many jobs a cannery will create for the villagers and crofters. They can find suitable land somewhere else.” And she meant it.

  • • •

  Duncan watched the restless wind push the waves against the rocks. A cold rain battered the windows, all of which reminded Duncan he wasn’t in Texas anymore. He moved toward the fireplace, settled into the comfortable armchair beside the fire and accepted a snifter of brandy from his brother. He hadn’t gone over the details of the meeting yet; dinnertime was not the time for business. “You haven’t told me what Gavin is up to.”

  Fletcher poured himself a similar snifter and relaxed into the chair opposite. “Well, you know he went off to Glasgow and then Edinburgh,” he said. “He finished studying the history of the world, decided that wasn’t challenging enough, and so went into the priesthood.”

  Duncan nearly choked on his drink. “Priesthood? Why not just the seminary? What man would choose to be celibate if he didn’t have to be?”

  Fletcher gently swirled his brandy. “I guess he thought of that afterwards, because he studied for a year, then decided it wasn’t for him.”

  “I’d have killed myself.”

  “I’ve sent Gavin off to the Borders. I learned a few years ago that we have an estate there, and it needed managing. He went happily.”

  “Sounds like it would suit him,” Duncan mused.

  They sat quietly, enjoying each other’s company and the good brandy. The fire spit and crackled up the chimney, sending warmth into the room.

  “Do you remember the Fleming twins?” Fletcher asked.

  Duncan tipped his head back, glancing toward the ceiling. “Can’t remember their names, though.”

  “Birdie and Robbie,” Fletcher reminded him. “That’s what we called them anyway.”

  “Ah, yes. Which one was the pretty one?”

  Fletcher gave him a chiding look. “I thought they were both rather attractive.”

  “Well, I remember that Gavin was head over heels for the pretty one, the redhead, and she sure knew how to make herself available when he was around.”

  “That was Birdie; she didn’t have much between the ears. Robbie, on the other hand, is currently studying in Edinburgh.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re not the pretty one. A woman can’t be pretty and intelligent.”

  “I beg to differ,” Fletcher said with a laugh.

  “You got lucky. Rosalyn is the most perfect package: beauty and brains.” He turned and gave his brother a wry smile. “And then there’s Kerry, who is also beautiful and bright. She seems content; is she?”

  Fletcher let out a rush of air. “There’s an underlying current of restlessness there. She keeps it pretty well hidden.”

  “I met Evan in the barn; he’s become quite a help around here.”

  “I’ve given him complete responsibility for the horses and all the outbuildings. He’s also been working with Geddes to learn the legal ins and outs of our businesses here on the island. He and Kerry are very close.” He waved his arm toward Duncan. “Not physically, not like that, but they’ve had a bond since the day she arrived and it’s only gotten stronger.” Fletcher made a sound in his throat. “Actually, he’s a better brother to her than I am.”

  “You don’t think she’d leave, do you?” Duncan asked, curious.

  “And go where, and do what?”

  A flash of the ranch and its need for future competent management raced through Duncan’s head.

  Fletcher studied him. “Did it ever bother you that you spent most of your time on this island chasing the lassies?”

  “And trying to avoid any work you asked me to do? No,” he admitted. “Certainly not while I lived here. When I left, I felt like I’d escaped from prison.” He gave his brother an apologetic glance. “For my behavior to you, I’ve felt guilty for years, especially when I realized how much work and responsibility it took to run the ranch.”

  “Well, I have to admit I’m surprised we didn’t see proof of your legacy all over the island,” Fletcher said with a grim smile.

  Duncan shuddered and took a sip of brandy. In his pensive moments he had often wondered that himself. “The thought horrifies me.”

  “So, tell me about the meeting. Did it go well?”

  “I guess that depends on which side you’re on,” Duncan answered.

  Fletcher frowned. “What happened?”

  “You did tell me the place is now some kind of temporary school.”

  “Yes, but not for long. As soon as the repairs are made and the roof is replaced on the schoolroom, it can open again. Of course, we still haven�
��t hired a new schoolmaster and the tutor we had for you, Gavin, and Kerry—”

  “And the Fleming twins,” Duncan reminded him.

  “So you remember that much. You left before you really settled in. Anyway, your tutor stayed on to teach our boys, but he wasn’t interested in taking on the job at the school. And,” he added, “the brothel building won’t pass inspection.”

  “Well, the place is a safety hazard and a firetrap. I could tell that from the outside. I have to get inside to really check out the rest of it.”

  “How will you do that? I’m assuming the owner doesn’t feel he has to accommodate you.”

  “She,” Duncan corrected, recalling the fiery redhead who had sat across the table from him. “The current owner is the niece of the late brothel owner. She’s also the temporary teacher for the children who chose to stay in school. And you did tell me that they have rooms to let for travelers passing through.”

  “So?”

  “So, she can’t discriminate in who she rents to, can she? After all, I’m not some troublesome rag man, although she’ll probably treat me like one.” It had taken him until he returned to the castle to realize that there was something familiar about the woman. It was the way she fidgeted with a scar on her neck. That triggered something in his memory, and as he mulled it over, he remembered the night at the fair. Oddly enough, she had been his last conquest on the island. The virgin. She’d become quite a luscious-looking woman, rounded in all the places he liked his women round.

  At first, he’d thought her animosity at the meeting was because of the circumstances. Now he wondered if she recalled that night as well and the memory didn’t appear to give her any pleasure at all. And why should it?

  In any case, he was about to find out.

  • • •

  Isobel stood in front of Delilah, nearly incapable of speech. “You did what?”

  “I rented Lord Duncan a room,” Delilah repeated with an easy calm. “He paid for a month up front and I couldna’ see any reason to turn him down.”

  “He has a castle a few miles from here. Why would he even want to stay in one of our rooms? They’re plain and serviceable; that’s all. I think even a monk would find them lacking.”