Page 5 of Return of the Scot
“Join me.” He indicated the empty chair opposite him. “There’s plenty here for us both.”
Mungo looked as if he was about to hesitate. “Master Gille did no’…”
“I am no’ my brother, and whatever heinous acts he wrought on ye, on anyone else, can no’ have erased how I treated ye in the past. I might be a duke, but that does no’ mean I’m no’ one of ye. Ye’re my oldest friend, Mungo. Sit. Drink. Tell me what I have missed, besides my…” He couldn’t quite bring himself to mutter the word “brother” anymore. Not when Gille had done just about the worst thing Lorne could think of. “Besides the most recent shift of ownership, which I will soon rectify.”
While Mungo spoke about the thriving crops, the new pieron their beach giving them access to the North Sea and the marriages and deaths that Lorne had missed, he imagined the many ways in which he’d surprise his half-brother. The dangerous smile he’d flash at Gille. The way he’d like to take his sgian dubh from his long sock and use it to peel back the skin from Gille’s arms slowly. How he’d flick the flesh to rabid dogs if any were near.
When his bloodlust seemed mostly quenched, then he imagined what he’d say to Mr. Andrewson to convince him that reversing the sale without the funds readily available to compensate him would be in the man’s best interest. That part proved harder to imagine than the many ways he would torture Gille for his treachery.
“Then we discovered the sword gone,” Mungo said, and Lorne realized he’d missed what the man had been talking about.
“Why would he take it?”
“We all thought to put at his new residence.”
But Lorne didn’t believe it. Nay, his brother wanted to make sure his betrayal hit Lorne hard. Selling the family seat was a knife to the throat, but stealing the family relic was twisting that knife. But that didn’t make sense because, at the time, as far as everyone knew, Lorne was dead.
Lorne gritted his teeth. He’d left one hell only to fall into another.
2
One week later
Edinburgh, Scotland
Jaime leapt to her feet at the sound of a knock at the door, followed by her butler entering the drawing room.
“Miss Andrewson, pardon my interruption.”
“Aye, MacInnes?” She wiped at her lips to make certain she didn’t have any stray crumbs.
“There is a gentleman here to see ye, my lady. He has asked me to give ye this.” He held out a silver tray with a crisp white envelope on it, addressed to “Sir Jaime Andrewson.”
Sir? She rolled her eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time some ignoramus thought her to be a man.
“He does no’ know I’m a woman?”
“Nay, miss, and given he did no’, I have yet to correct him.”
Thank heavens for small favors. “What would I do without ye?”
MacInnes nodded, his lips twitching into the only grin he’d give her. The man had been with her family since she was a lass, and she looked up to him as though he were an uncle rather than her servant.
She took the envelope, running her thumb over what looked like a hastily scrawled script.
“Shall I wait for your reply?”
Jaime hesitated. “He is downstairs?”
“Aye. ”
“Please wait, then.” Breaking the unstamped seal, Jaime pulled out a card that said “Lorne Gordon, Duke of Sutherland.”
“Impossible.” Jaime swayed on her feet, grabbing the back of a chair to steady herself. She lifted her gaze to MacInnes. “Did ye recognize him? Or is it an imposter?”
MacInnes nodded. “’Tis the former Duke of Sutherland. Well, the rightful duke, I suppose.”
“How?”
