Love in the Time of a Highland Laird (A Laird for All Time Book 3) by Angeline Fortin (whitelam books .TXT) 📗

at Rosebraugh when the battle began, but both their husbands hae gone tae ground in hiding for their part in the battle lest they, too, suffer Cumberland’s wrath.”

“You’re not in hiding.”

“Nor will I be. I’m only recently returned tae Dingwall after years abroad. I had nae commanding position in the battle. Few probably e’en ken I was there,” he said. “‘Tis only my connection tae my father putting me at any risk.”

“Maybe you should hide.”

“I willnae. Should they come tae Dingwall, I will face them.”

With such an answer brooking no argument, she revisited the previous subject. “So, why were Maeve and Ceana here instead of at Rosebraugh?”

“Wi’ Hugh still missing, the unrest in the area, and their husbands in hiding, they sought protection wi’ their nearest male relative. As they should.”

“You.”

He shook his head. “Nay, my father. Wi’ Hugh gone and nae other… ”

Keir trailed off with a curse and she glanced up at him questioningly. “What? What is it?”

“Ah, bluidy fookin’ hell.”

“Keir?”

“I’m aboot tae be the next bluidy Duke of Ross.”

Al’s eyes widened. She scooted up on the edge of her seat. “You?”

“I feel the same skepticism,” he said dryly, rubbing his hands over his face. “I wisnae cut oot to be a bluidy duke.”

Poor Keir, he seemed overwhelmed by the realization. “You? Why you? Doesn’t that whole primogeniture thing apply here? Sons, nephews, and all that?”

“Hugh wisnae married.”

He pushed out of his chair and paced the shelves behind him before drawing out a thick book. A bible, she saw when he brought it back to the desk. He flipped through the first few pages to reveal a list of names. A family record, much as her grandmother used to keep.

His finger trailed over the record. “He had nae sons, nor any born on the wrong side of the blanket. Nor do any of Hugh’s sisters hae a surviving male child. Maeve’s lad is gone now. Ceana has nae children who made it past infancy.”

Interesting. Hadn’t Ceana just told her something indicating the opposite? Was it denial? Deception? Or had the loss of a child had as much an affect on Ceana as it had on Maeve, though with a difference in how it was expressed? How could it not? An unexpected wave of sympathy for them both washed over her.

“Mathilde has only lasses. My mother and Hugh’s father had nae other siblings.”

She could almost see the wheels working in his mind as he tried to find a way out of it. She couldn’t blame him really. There was a wealth of responsibility that came with being a duke, she would imagine.

“The auld duke had only one brother who died ‘ere he might wed. That leaves me as the oldest male grandchild of the auld duke.” A single concise oath, then silence fell.

“Should I congratulate you, Your Grace? Curtsey?” she asked at length.

He stared at her in horror. “Dinnae do that! Are ye certain there is nae way for Hugh tae come back?”

“I’ve already explained that there isn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Ah, bluidy, bluidy hell! I dinnae want this any more than I anticipate taking on the earldom.” He buried his head in his hands and tugged at his hair with his fists. His frustration obvious. “Och, I confess, that is the true reason I made haste tae discover my father’s fate that day. I dinnae want tae be the earl. Nae yet. I’ve so much I still want tae do. Now this. An dukedom tae bear as well.”

A rush of sympathy drove her from her perch. Dropping to her knees in front of him, she rubbed her hands up and down his thighs to comfort him.

“Oh, it won’t be that bad, will it?” A piece of one of their many conversations leapt to mind. “Didn’t you tell me Hugh had been all over Europe for the past few years?”

He lifted his head, brightening. “Aye. Rosebraugh has an excellent steward. ‘Tis true.”

“There you go.” She beamed, happy to have been able to offer some actual consolation. Squeezing his knees, she leaned away to push herself up, but he put his hands on top of hers. Staying her.

“Thank ye, lass. I dinnae ken how I would hae borne these last days wi’oot yer company.” Sincerity rang in every word. “Ye’ve been a bright light in an otherwise dark time of my life.”

He leaned forward, his lips skimming lightly across her cheek until they rested on her temple.

“You’re welcome.”

With a heavy sigh, he released her and returned to the papers strewn across the desk. “Such a realization makes writing these all the more difficult.”

“What are they?”

“Letters relaying the details of my cousin’s death.”

She winced and picked up one of the pages but after taking a moment to decipher his looping hand, saw that it spoke of Hugh’s death in Paris. Not on the battlefield of Culloden. She asked him about it.

He shrugged. “Only a scant handful of men were aware of his return tae Scotland. Most of them died along wi’ him. The others willnae argue a fine point such as this.”

“But why?”

“Hugh ne’er publicly declared his politics,” he explained. “Ne’er took a side. In truth, politics were of little interest to him. If I can keep his presence on the Jacobite field a secret, the name of the Duke of Ross willnae e’er be associated them.”

She understood what he was getting at. “And the other side won’t see him as a traitor or whatever.”

“Precisely.”

“And you? How will they see you?”

“I’m nae an overly political or religious man.”

“Don’t let Artair hear you say that.”

His lips quirked. “I dinnae believe any king should rule merely because of how he expresses his faith in God,” he told her. “This whole thing has become little more than a religious war.”

“Really? That’s not how I think history remembers it,” she said with a frown.

“Och, it dinnae matter.” Keir whisked the subject away with a flick of his fingers. “Catholic versus Protestant. Neither of our choices for king has overly impressed me. Like Hugh, I was smart