Page 76 of The Tempting of Thomas Carrick
As if reading his mind, Manachan continued, “As leader of the clan, I’m ultimately responsible for yours and Lucilla’s health while you’re on clan lands. More, you’re my dead brother’s son, and as dear to me as he was.” Manachan stirred in the chair. “And as you can see, I’m not dead yet, and thanks to Lucilla’s tonics, I’m now well enough and able enough to do what needs to be done.”
He caught and held Thomas’s gaze. “Yes, something is going on here—something that can’t be tolerated. Not by the clan, not by me. You haven’t yet told me the whole of it, but you will—before you leave. Because I won’t be able to get to the bottom of it, whatever it is, while you’re here. That’s a simple fact—one of the heart—that I understand, and that you must accept.”
Manachan paused, his gaze shifting, turning inward as if he were consulting some map, some plan. “The lairdship was never to be yours, and to your credit, and to your father’s before that, neither of you ever challenged that truth. More, you’ve both honored it, which is something all the clan knows, approves of, and appreciates. Not necessarily in their heads, but definitely in their hearts. You are a laird by birth, by nature, by stature, but you were never to be theirs—that’s one of those unsaid things that everyone knows and, again, one that I know you’ve always accepted. You will never be The Carrick, and it’s precisely because of that that you must leave.”
Meeting Thomas’s gaze again, Manachan stated, “Nigel will never be as strong as you—and he resents it. That’s understandable, but not helpful. Regardless of his shortcomings, he’s able enough, and he can and will, in time, carry the mantle of the laird well enough, but I cannot make him concentrate and focus as he must while most of his attention is fixed on you.”
Plain speaking, and there was nothing in that that Thomas could argue.
Then Manachan’s lips lifted in a puckish grin. “And there’s also the little problem that Lucilla won’t leave while you remain. So I need you to leave and take her from here, away from any danger. Her remaining is simply untenable.”
Thomas grimaced. “You’ll get no argument from me on that score, but…” He frowned. “I can’t understand why you haven’t pulled rank and sent her home already. It’s not like you to allow another’s will to override yours, especially when clan standing and security are involved.”
Manachan snorted. “You’re still not thinking straight. Would that I could send her packing, but not only am I her host, for goodness’ sake, but she’s also the daughter of a powerful neighbor, one I have no wish to alienate. And on top of that, her rank is akin to high-priestess-in-waiting of the local deity—and quite aside from howIfeel about the Lady, which is complicated, I admit, I’m not about to disendear myself to those of the clan who do believe by insulting the Lady’s representative.” He huffed. “I can’t send her packing, and she knows it, damn it.”
Thomas studied his uncle, Manachan’s words rolling through his mind. “I didn’t think you gave any credence to the old ways.”
“Aye, well.” Manachan shrugged. “My mother, your grandmother, was a cousin of that old witch, Algaria. She, my mother, believed, and a lot of the clan still do, and I’m too old and wise to discount something just because I don’t understand it.” He sighed and met Thomas’s eyes. “The long and the short of it is that I can’t ask Lucilla to leave, yet if anything happens to her while she’s here, Cynster will flay me alive—and I’d have to let him.”
Thomas heaved a sigh, too. Lying back on his pillows, he stared at the ceiling, juggling Manachan’s demands—the commands of his laird—with his own and Lucilla’s wishes.
He’d come to Carrick Manor to learn what was going on and to ensure that things were put right. Instead, he’d uncovered a far more widespread and malignant malaise. He hadn’t succeed in learning who was behind it, or even how far it had spread—but he had, along the way, brought Lucilla to the manor, to Manachan, and that had resulted in him and the clan getting their laird back. Even without looking at his uncle, he could sense Manachan’s greater strength, and there’d been a clarity and incisiveness behind his words and thoughts that simply hadn’t been there days before.
Did he believe Manachan was now in a position, health-wise and understanding-wise, to get to the bottom of what was going on and resolve the issues troubling the clan?
And if the answer to that question lay on the positive side of the ledger, as it did, did he then have reason, or the right, to refuse a direct request from his laird? Especially a request he understood—even if, in some respects, that request ran counter to his own inclinations and rubbed against his pride?
Two minutes passed, then he pressed his lips together and lowered his gaze to Manachan’s face. “All right.” Even he heard the resignation in his tone as he said, “I’ll leave—and I’ll take Lucilla with me.”
Manachan formally inclined his head. “Thank you. And now, if you please, you can tell me all the rest that you haven’t yet mentioned, but that I need to know.”
Thomas settled back and obliged, relating all he and Lucilla had discovered, linking the facts and laying out their suspicions, detailing the samples they’d sent for analysis—the evidence for which they were still waiting. They still had no clue as to who was responsible, but if anyone could learn the truth, it was Manachan. A Manachan returned to vigorous strength and the full use of his faculties—and thanks to Lucilla, that was what they now had.
* * *
Apparently, Lucilla had been kept from Thomas’s room and his side only by a strongly worded decree from Manachan. After Manachan had left him, Thomas had Edgar carry a message to her that he needed to speak with her and would meet her in the drawing room before dinner.
After dressing for the evening with Edgar’s help, Thomas slowly made his way down the stairs, gripping the bannister and leaning heavily on a cane Ferguson had found for him. His head was still hurting, but the pain was dull, a throbbing ache he could ignore if he had to. The sharp slicing pain from the wound in his leg was another matter. Every time he put his weight on that foot, he was forcibly reminded that he shouldn’t be walking.
He gimped through the open drawing room doors and found Lucilla already there. Her emerald gaze fixed on his leg, as if she could see the injury and feel his pain.
From the way her eyes narrowed and her lips pinched, he suspected she was holding back a string of acid observations he really didn’t need to hear.
He reached the armchair opposite hers, and she opened her lips. “Don’t.” He caught her gaze when it flicked up to his face; holding it, he slowly sat. “I wouldn’t be here if there was any other way.”
She frowned. “You should have stayed abed. I could have come to your room.”
No, she couldn’t have; he was perfectly sure he wasn’t that strong. Leaving her comment unanswered, he went on, “I had a long talk with Manachan this afternoon, as an upshot of which there are several matters we need to discuss.”
He’d spent the time since his uncle had left him rehearsing his points; he laid them out in concise and logical order.
She heard him out in silence. When he reached the end and Manachan’s request that he leave and take her back to the Vale before continuing on to Glasgow, a definite frown formed in her eyes, but she didn’t, even then, respond.
Not knowing from which direction she was intending to attack his and Manachan’s decision was, he decided, worse than arguing with her. When silence stretched, and she continued to stare, frowningly, apparently unseeing, at him, as if her thoughts were far away, he sighed—a touch exasperatedly. When she refocused on his face, he arched a brow. “Well? Will you agree to leave with me and go back to the Vale?”
She studied him for a second, then turned her head and looked at the open door.
She rose, walked across the room, and quietly shut the door, then she turned and, rather more forcefully, stalked back. She didn’t resume her seat but started pacing before the hearth, back and forth between the two armchairs. He hadn’t seen her pace before, but he didn’t think it was a good sign.
