A Very Highland Holiday - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,96

he cast the woman a sour glance, finding her staring, open-mouthed, and he nearly asked her if she was looking to catch flies.

“But it can’t be.”

“I assure you I am who I say I am,” he insisted.

“But… h-he’s…”

“Dead?”

“No, he’s not dead. Though he’s just a boy!”

“He is fifteen,” said Callum. “I’m the eldest, by far, but if you prefer my younger brother, I can still arrange it.”

Open-mouthed still, she pinched her shawl before her, looking every bit as though she might swoon. “B-But… I don’t understand.”

Callum heaved a sigh. “Ach, lass. What’s there tae understand? I’m back from the dead. Ye’re among the first tae know it.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “In fact, I’m on my way home—a rather convenient coincidence, I might add.”

She blinked disbelievingly. “Are you really?”

“Really what?”

“Lord MacKinnon?”

“I am now,” he said with no small measure of disgust. “My Da took a bullet at Falkirk. I would ha’e, as well… were it not for the bloody bastard who shot my Da. So, ye see, here I am by the good graces of a Wolfe.”

“Hmmm,” she said, casting her head down to assess her wiggling toes. She looked as though she had something more to say… but, for the moment, Callum was heartily relieved she wasn’t looking directly at him. Even now, he held back tears that longed to be shed. Only once, after rousing from his fever, had he cried… for the father who’d raised him so honorably and died so ignobly. God’s truth, it was no way to meet one’s end—with a gob full of muck. War, indeed, was hell.

“Bloody Sassenach,” he said, with equal parts anger and confusion. How in the name of St. Andrew was it possible to feel so much hatred and gratitude at once?

He knew well enough that Wolfe hadn’t wanted to do it, and the instant he’d had another option, he’d taken it, but it didn’t change the fact that his father was dead.

Despite her confusion, Elizabeth recognized truth when she heard it.

For a moment, she stared at her bare feet, unable to find even a modicum of chagrin over their nudity. For some odd reason, she felt entirely comfortable in this man’s presence. “So then,” she said. “If you are…”

“I am.”

“Then… I suppose…”

He gave her a nod. “You’re betrothed to me,” he finished.

She blushed hotly.

“That… is… indeed…”

“Convenient?”

Elizabeth nodded, wondering how much James had had to do with this very awkward happenstance. Without a bit of help, it seemed entirely unbelievable that she would discover herself ensconced here at this very inn only to be thrust into the same room with her intended—unless, it was… planned?

Or… by some miracle, the fates had intervened.

But nay… Elizabeth blinked with dawning comprehension: Her cousin had returned from Culloden in the dourest of moods. He’d ensconced himself for hours and hours with his father, then emerged from Uncle Edward’s office with renewed purpose.

It wasn’t very long after that meeting that Elizabeth had been told about her betrothal—to a Highlander, no less. When she’d protested, James had privately reassured her that she would be well pleased with the match, and what was more, he’d said: It would serve her sensibilities far, far better than it would to marry some fat, greasy English lord.

In fact, she wasn’t particularly well endowed, and her most recent inquiry had been from an elderly gentleman whose gout hadn’t allowed him to serve in the King’s army.

Naturally, with James’ reassurances, she’d acquiesced. It was only later—much later—when she’d discovered she was actually betrothed to a boy, that she’d felt like socking her cousin in the nose. She’d been irate all over again, although she took some small comfort in the fact that through their affiliation she might, indeed, be able to save a venerable clan.

James was right after all; It spoke to her inner crusader.

Even despite that she didn’t entirely understand the political upheaval, or the Scot’s lament, she knew enough to know that it was not entirely fair to call these men traitors—men who’d fought, not so much for Bonnie Prince Charlie as they had for their way of life.

In the end, James must also have felt the same, because the walls were not so thick as her uncle liked to believe. She knew her cousin had defied a direct order and freed a Scotman…

That man, she realized, must be Callum MacKinnon.

She opened her mouth to ask him a question, then closed it again, realizing that this was no act of God. Was Mrs. Grace also aware of the circumstances,