Page 21 of The Scottish Duke
Ruth had been amenable to change; Mary fought it. Ruth had laughed often, having the most delightful wit. Unfortunately, Mary was already curmudgeonly, although she was still a young woman.
Mary needed someone to take her in hand, smooth out her rough edges—while not revealing to her that she had any rough edges, of course—and present her as a fait accompli to a wealthy man in need of a presentable wife. Her antecedents were, as Mary might say, impeccable, perhaps even enough to counter her flaws. She might be the perfect mate for a wealthy merchant who wanted to brag about his marriage into the nobility.
The only problem with this plan was that Mary stuck to Blackhall like a burr, having adopted the castle and the family as her own, especially Alex.
She had an unhealthy fixation on her son, and it appeared to be growing stronger with each day.
“I’m certain he won’t be gone long,” Louise said. With any luck, her comment would satisfy Mary and the woman would go away.
What a pity it was a terrible day for riding.
Chapter 7
Winter left the Highlands with reluctance, evidenced by the sleet mixed with snow that greeted their arrival in Wittan Village. The interior of the carriage was warm from the brazier on the floor. The weather outside the carriage wouldn’t prove as comfortable.
Alex gathered his greatcoat around him and opened the door.
“I’ll be back in a few moments,” he told Jason.
“Shall I accompany you, Your Grace?”
“No, it’s a personal errand,” he said, not wanting an audience to the coming confrontation.
The address listed on the note turned out to be a narrow house wedged between two others on a lane in the middle of Wittan Village.
Would the note writer be expecting him? Or would she be anticipating his mother’s appearance? No doubt she thought Louise would provide any amount of money simply because she mentioned an infant. His child.
What blether.
He stood in the sleet and knocked on the door. His discomfort only fueled his irritation. He knocked again. She wasn’t going to ignore him. If she wasn’t home now, then he’d return after he’d been to Inverness.
If she balked at confessing her effort at blackmail, he’d seek out the magistrate for this county. It would be her word against his. He doubted she’d be believed when he produced the anonymous letter in his pocket.
He put a little more effort into the next knock.
The door swung open.
“Awa ye go!”
He was instantly propelled to his childhood and the tales his nurse had told of thewirrikow,the demon who took on many forms.
The woman in front of him could easily be awirrikow,with the three hairy moles dotting her chin. They pointed the way to the deep lines beside her mouth that met the vertical lines extending from the corners of her eyes. It was like her face had been folded a dozen times and then unfolded without any effort to smooth out the creases.
“Aye?” she said. “And what would you be wanting?”
She reeked of whiskey and he took a step back, ignoring the sleet for the ability to breathe.
“I don’t know you,” he said.
As inane a statement as he’d ever uttered, but he couldn’t imagine that she was the author of the anonymous note.
She stared past him to his carriage and the crest on the door.
“I’ve heard tell of you. You’re the Duke of Kinross, are you not? From Blackhall Castle?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Come in, Duke,” she said, holding the door open so he could enter.
