To Catch a Highlander (3 page)

"I'll be a weaver's mother,"
Shelton
said with horror. "Who in the world would dig holes in a perfectly good lane?"

"I have no idea, though it does seem a wasted effort." Dougal guided Poseidon around the holes and finally halted at the steps that led to the front portico.

Though some of the windows were thrown open to the cooling evening air, no one seemed aware he'd arrived. He swung down, handing his reins to
Shelton
before climbing the steps. He paused at the top and removed his gloves.

The groom tied the mounts to the ornate iron hitching post and hurried after Dougal. "Me lord, shall I knock on the door?"

"By all means." Dougal tucked his gloves into a pocket and looked up at the large columns. They were well placed and seemed solid, the ornamental work of high quality.

Shelton
knocked, but no answer came.

Dougal looked back down the lane from the portico, wondering anew at the fresh holes. Perchance some large stones had recently been removed; that might cause such havoc.

Shelton
knocked again, a bit harder, but still no answer was forthcoming.

After a moment's silence, the groom puffed out an irritated sigh. "Me lord, no one's answering. Shall I—"

Dougal held up his hand, and the groom obediently silenced. Voices, low and murmuring, came from one of the open windows at the far end of the portico.

Dougal gestured toward the window. "The servants must be busy in other rooms and are unable to hear your knocking."

Shelton
scowled. "Lazy is what they are. I'll wager a month's wages they heard me and jus' don't wish to do their duty!" He turned as if to march to the window and accost whoever might be inside.

"No," Dougal said softly.

He walked down the portico to the open window and peered in. As his vision adjusted to the darkened room, he realized he was looking into a sitting room. Large, with well-placed windows, the chamber should have been airy and bright but instead appeared unkempt and dingy. A stained settee and two chairs—one without an arm and one sitting rather drunkenly to one side—decreased the room's natural charm, as did the other mismatched pieces of furniture.

Even worse were the walls, which were papered in a sadly faded red and cream striped pattern. This might not have been so evident, but empty, large portrait-shaped spots proclaimed how bright the paper once had been.

From inside the room, someone yelped, "Ouch!"

Dougal leaned to his left and saw two people kneeling by one of the large fireplaces at the far end of the room. One was a large, burly man with arms bulging with muscles, his hands clutched about a mortar board and trowel, his gray head tilted to one side as he peered up the chimney shaft. Beside him was a woman in a faded blue gown, her hair pinned beneath a kerchief, though Dougal detected a strand of gleaming blond several shades lighter than his.

She turned her elbow to examine it. "I scraped it on the edge of the brick."

Her assistant grunted. "Ye need to be careful."

"I know, I know. I won't have any skin left by the time we finish." She bent over and looked up the chimney. "Angus, I don't think it'll smoke the way it is now." Soft as butter, her sweet voice slid over Dougal's senses with the delight of fresh cream.

Bloody hell, if this woman looked even half as attractive as her voice, he might be enticed to stay away from his sister's a bit longer.

Her companion snorted. "Trust me, miss. I think it will smoke, and badly."

Miss? Then she wasn't a servant.

"I don't know, Angus," the woman replied, her cultured, silky voice at odds with the man's rough country tones. "I want this chimney to smoke worse than Lucifer's own fire. Let's add another brick to be certain."

Dougal stiffened. He'd thought they were repairing the chimney, but they
wanted
it to smoke. What in the hell was going on?

The woman rubbed her neck with a gloved hand, black ash smearing her skin. "Goodness, I'm going to be sore tomorrow."

"Not as sore as ye were after we spent three days smearin' ash and wax over the panelin' in the library," the man returned evenly, scooping some mortar from a bucket and preparing to insert a brick into the chimney.

Dougal's hands curled into fists. They were bricking up his chimney and had already smeared ash over his library paneling? B'god, he'd put a stop to this foolishness right now. He moved to step over the low windowsill, when the woman stood, her back still to him, and sighed. "Angus, when you're done with the brick, I shall add some oiled rags. That will make it smoke even worse."

Angus turned an admiring glance at his partner in crime. "Miss, ye've a gift fer this, ye do."

She chuckled, the sound just as seductive, except for the hint of mockery. "I'm becoming as adept at this as the new owner is at shirking his duty."

"Now, miss, he might have a good reason not to rush here."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Perhaps he won several houses at the card game and has been visitin' them all."

"It's far more likely he was waylaid by a lass with loose morals. From what I hear, the man's a lace-bedecked profligate."

Blast the woman and her rude assumptions! He may have stayed in
Stirling
to sample the charms of a widow, but that did not make him a lace-bedecked profligate. What burned the most was that she was correct in her assumptions about what had kept him away from his new acquisition.

The large man stood, ash and soot falling to the floor about him. Huge as a barn door, he spread his hands wide. "Och, miss, it smokes good enough now. Come, we've worked hard today. If there's more to do tomorrow, we'll do it then."

"If there's time. We don't know when MacLean will bother to arrive." She sighed and stripped off her gloves. "I shouldn't complain, for the man's lateness has been a boon—we've been able to get so much done."

"Aye," the man agreed "The house has never looked so poorly."

"Indeed," the woman said, her voice tinged with pride. "We've put all of the good furniture in the attic and brought down the old odds and ends, hid all of the good portraits and replaced them with the horrid ones stored beneath the stairs, loosened the railing on the staircase, pried up some floorboards, and packed away the good dishes, leaving only the old and broken pieces."

Dougal blinked.
Good God
!

The rough man chuckled. "Going to serve the new owner on a bared table, are ye?"

"There's far more to this scheme than even you know. Wait until you see all that Red and I've done to the place!" The woman's voice shimmered warm and generous with laughter, sending Dougal's imagination tumbling into a silk-sheeted bed.

A woman with a voice like that should have the face of an angel, the body of a Greek sculpture, and the skills of a courtesan. Chances were, she was a haggard old crone.

The hulking workman began to gather his tools. "I hope ye and yer pa know what ye're doin'. Fop or no, no man takes well to losin' his belongings."

"
Psht,"
the woman said airily. "It's not as if we plan on knocking him in the head and peeling his pockets."

That was something, at least, Dougal thought grimly.

The workman grunted. "I hope it works, fer yer sake, miss."

"Yes. Then I can clean my lovely house until she shines once again." The woman placed a hand on the mantel, regret in her voice. "I wish we hadn't been forced to this, but we had no choice.

"I daresay some taproom wench has kept MacLean a prisoner to his oversated palate, tying him to her by paying him compliments." The woman gave a delicious chuckle and then said in a falsetto, "
Oh, Lord MacLean, your voice is so manly! Oh, Lord MacLean, I've never seen such clean hands! Oh, Lord MacLean, I've never felt this way about a man before
!"

Dougal's eyes narrowed, heat simmering in his stomach. The wind lifted a bit, swirling the curtains at the window and ruffling the woman's clothes.

"Miss!" the servant said. "Ye shouldn't be talkin' of taproom wenches."

She coughed as the wind blew some of the ash into the air. "No, I shouldn't," she agreed, waving away the ash cloud, "though from what I've heard of him, he's the sort to dally and with whoever is available."

"Is that bad fer the plan?"

Dougal leaned forward, his gaze riveted on the woman's slim back.

She shook her head, the strand of golden hair gleaming where it curled down her back. "No, it's a good thing. A man who is easily distracted is easy to fool."

Dougal glowered, gripping the window frame so tightly his fingers went white. So they wished to hoodwink him into giving up the property, did they? But how? He'd be damned if he'd part with the deed for something so insignificant as mismatched furnishings and smoking chimneys. There had to be more to this scheme.

He quietly stepped back out onto the portico and strode to where the horses were tied. Jaw tight, he turned to his groom. "Did you hear that?"

"Some of it."
Shelton
shook his head. "Lordy, but it do look as if ye're not wanted."

"It's my house, damn it. I shall toss these charlatans out on their ears!"

"And then?"

"I shall leave and send Simmons, my man of business, to repair what's been ruined."

Dougal scowled at the open windows. "What idiots, to think they could fool me with such nonsense."

Shelton
nodded. "Shall I stable the horses?"

"No. I won't be long. If I am not out in twenty minutes, come inside and inform me that the horses have been watered and are ready for the road."

Shelton
's weathered face split into a grin. "Thinkin' ye might need a rescue, me lord?"

Dougal raised his brows. "Have I ever needed to be rescued? I merely wish to make a clean exit once I've exposed their ruse."

He grimly turned and walked back up the steps, the groom following. "Knock,
Shelton
, and don't stop until the knocker falls from the door. I'm going to deal with this insurgency once and for all."

Sophia whirled toward the door. The pounding thud came again, so loud the hall echoed with it.

Angus blinked up at her from where he was stooped beside the fireplace, a damp rag in one hand as he cleaned the ashes from the floor. "Gor, miss! Do ye think 'tis the new master?"

She shook her head. "I didn't hear a carriage."

Relief flooded Angus's face. "Aye, yer pa said the new owner drives a coach and six, don't he?"

"Eight," she corrected absently as the banging came yet again. "It must be the boy from town with the wood."

"It's about time."

She nodded. Over the past month, her plan had grown by leaps and bounds. Still, the delay had irked Sophia. Apparently, winning her lovely house was so unimportant that the high and mighty Lord MacLean couldn't be bothered even to visit it.

Her chest tightened as if she couldn't quite catch her breath. He
had
to visit the house. If he didn't, then all of her efforts would be for naught. All of the work she'd done by day, all of the card practice she'd been doing by night.

Red had said she possessed a natural talent with the cards, and most evenings she could beat him. She could win back her house by counting the cards and outwitting MacLean. All she needed was the chance.

The loud knocking came again, and Angus threw down his rag in disgust. "That lad needs a thrashin', he does." Angus stood and wiped his hands on his pants, leaving long ashy streaks, then turned toward the door.

"Wait! You should wear your coat."

Angus blinked his astonishment. "Fer the lad?"

"As practice. When MacLean arrives, you'll need to present yourself as my butler." She held up a rag. "Wipe your hands, and put on the coat. For our plan to work, MacLean must think we're wealthy, which means that the butler would know how to answer the door properly."

"The lad'll mock me," Angus said darkly, though he took the rag and scrubbed at his hands.

"Not once he sees your fancy coat." She assisted Angus into the waiting coat of black broadcloth. He knotted a muslin cravat about his neck, muttering.

Sophia looked him over. With a bath and the black trousers that went with the coat, Angus would make an impressive butler. "Go on, now. You know what to do."

"Aye, answer the door and look bored. I've seen
Poole
do it time 'n' again fer the squire, but I'd never thought I'd be doin it meself."

Sophia nodded encouragingly. She'd borrowed Angus and his wife, Mary, from the squire. Sophia and her father had very simple needs, and she had only two maids from the village who came once a week to help with the cleaning and cooking. With just Red and herself living here, most of the rooms had been kept in shrouds, the curtains drawn to keep out the damaging light and dust.

She smoothed Angus's coat and smiled. "If Jimmy teases you, he will have to answer to me."