The Devil’s Due by Boucher, Rita (free reads txt) 📗

the bargain,” Daisy sniffed, “considerin’ the quality of my biscuits. Now inside with you little man, I’ve got some food packed for your journey.”

Duncan watched with a touch of envy as they went into the kitchen. Their faces mirrored their feelings and beneath the bickering was an undertone of undeniable affection. Poor Fred, if Kate chose to leave, Duncan had no doubt that the steadfast woman would go with her mistress. They would never allow another to share their danger and it would break Fred’s heart. And yours, Duncan MacLean, he silently acknowledged. How can you leave not knowing if she will be here when you return?

The nagging thought came that Kate might be right, that he would risk losing her because of a fool’s errand. He had slept little the previous night contemplating what she had said to him. Without the evidence contained in that book of Blake’s poems, there was no court in the world that would convict Vesey. After so much time, the chances of recovering the book were not worth a Cockney’s curse. Like as not, it was mingled among the thousands of volumes in the famous Steele library or perhaps Marcus had simply given the colorfully illustrated volume away to one of his trollops. Duncan had come to discover that there had been precious little poetry in Lord Steele’s soul. Now, with the news of Marcus’s demise, one of the last pillars of support that Duncan had counted upon had disappeared like dew in the morning.

His reverie was interrupted by a tug at his elbow. Anne stared up at him solemnly, her thumb firmly ensconced in her mouth. At least she had come to bid him farewell.

“Is there anything you're wanting from Edinburgh lass?” Duncan asked. “A ribbon for your hair? A doll, perhaps?”

Anne shook her head and gestured toward the saddlebags

“She wants you to stay,” Kate said.

Duncan looked up to see her standing in the doorway. There were shadows beneath her eyes. It would seem that there had not been much sleep for her either.

“I have told her that you will return as soon as you may, but I do not think that she quite believes me. Her father never came back you see.”

“I am not going to the battlefield, Anne,” he told the child. “Just off to Edinburgh.” But when Kate’s eyes met his, he knew that it was a half-truth he told. Likely he would be facing the biggest battle of his life, and the most futile. “The question is,” Duncan addressed Kate, “will you be waiting for me when I return?”

“I do not think that I will have much choice but to wait for you, Duncan,” Kate said her expression somewhat sardonic. “Not after I give you this.” She held out a small, worn pouch. “I want you to take it and I will brook no protests.”

“A black velvet reticule? A bold fashion choice to be sure. Has Brummel dictated during my confinement that reticules are now de riguer with buckskins?” Duncan asked, masking his relief with humor. She would stay. “Will it be appropriate with evening wear, do you think? It does match my eye-patch rather well.”

“Silly wretch . . .” Kate faltered, not wishing to wound his pride. “I know that you are not a rich man, Duncan and your undertaking will require some funds.” She pulled the drawstring open and drew out an exquisite brooch. “This was my grandmother’s. Accept nothing less than a hundred pounds for it. It is worth far more.” She tugged his hand open and tucked it between his fingers. “And there are ten guineas in here as well.

He understood now what Kate had meant when she had commented that she would have no choice but to remain. This was the sum of her worldly possessions, all of her resources should she be required to flee. Yet, she was giving it to him in the mistaken belief that he had nothing. Touched beyond words, he searched for something to say, but before he could tell her just how much he loved her, she spoke again.

“This belongs to you as well,” she said, fishing around the bag. Her fist opened to reveal the glint of ruby and gold. At first Duncan thought that the light was playing tricks, but it was the MacLean ring. The signet had been in the family as long as there had been MacLeans on Eilean Kirk. It was the only bit of the MacLean heritage that his mother had taken with her, more for its proof of his birthright than its value, Duncan suspected.

“I know that it is an heirloom, but I suspect you could get a fair amount for it. Certainly, enough to hire the services of a canny man at law,” Kate continued, unaware of his shock.

“Wh . . . where? Where did you . . .?” was all that Duncan could stutter out

Kate smiled. “Get it? From your Mr. Dewey of course. It was your legacy to Marcus. Were I you, Duncan, I would retain myself another lawyer. It took better than a year after your supposed ‘death’ for him to send this on to the man you designated to inherit it, by way of Spain, I might add. Of course, by then, Marcus was already long gone. I suppose that I ought to be grateful that Dewey was both incompetent and indiscreet. Had I had not received his letter asking if I knew of any buyers for a ‘deserted Scot castle in a Gothic state of disrepair,’ as he put it, I would never have thought of hiding here. I really should have returned the ring to you sooner, knowing how your finances stand, but I could not without revealing my identity.”

“Was there not another part to the legacy?” Duncan asked.

“Nothing of monetary value,” Kate said, surprised at the intensity of the question. The man looked as if he was struck by a bolt from on high, yet he was totally disregarding the ring. “There