The Duchess Read online

  Trevelyan looked at Claire for a long moment. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “She won’t like that,” he said at last. “You’re interfering too much in her life.”

  Claire turned away from him, for something in what he said and the way he said it frightened her. “Shall we go and tell Angus MacTarvit?”

  “Yes, please,” Nyssa said. “We shall go now and you shall explain everything that you’ve done.”

  Trevelyan gave a nod to Oman, and thirty minutes later the group was piled into one of the MacArran carriages. They were an odd assortment of people. Trevelyan was wearing the plaid, which she now knew was the laird’s plaid and which she again told him he shouldn’t wear. He replied that Harry’s kilts would be too short on him, the snideness of which was not lost on Claire. Nyssa was radiant in a golden brown robe that was heavily embroidered with a diamond pattern. Brat, not to be outdone by her enemy/friend, wore a blue robe and had flowers in her hair. Oman, of course, couldn’t have looked more strange. Only Claire was “normal” in her plain red wool dress.

  She didn’t realize that she was looking at the group in the carriage as she feared the crofters were going to see them—as people from another planet.

  Nyssa said something in Peshan to Trevelyan and he smiled.

  Claire looked at Nyssa. “Translate please.”

  Trevelyan answered because Nyssa had turned and looked out the window. “She said that of all of us, the contraption on your behind made you the strangest looking.”

  “My bustle!” Claire said with indignation. “I’ll have you know that—” She stopped because everyone in the carriage was smiling, and Claire began to laugh too. She grinned at Trevelyan. “At least you aren’t dressed like George Washington today.”

  Trevelyan smiled back at her.

  When they were still a mile from Angus’s house, the carriage road ran out and they had to walk. Angus met them at the top of the hill, his gun nowhere to be seen. Behind him were about a dozen crofters. It looked as though they had seen the carriage from a long way off and had come to greet the passengers. The crofters were speechless as they watched the glittering, silk-clad group walk up the hill.

  Angus, who had never before been at a loss for words, looked from Brat to Nyssa, then back again. His eyes grew wider with each look.

  Trevelyan looked at Claire, saw that her feelings were on the verge of being hurt, then he grabbed Angus’s thick arm and pushed him toward the cottage. “Come in here, old man. Claire has something to tell you.”

  The three of them went into the cottage. Claire sat on the only chair, Trevelyan took a stool and they waited patiently while Angus poured each of them a glass of his whisky. When they were served and Angus was seated, he spoke. “What brings the lot of you here?”

  “This,” Claire said and handed the letter to Angus.

  He took it, looked at it, but didn’t seem to comprehend the letter. Claire realized that he couldn’t read.

  “The Prince of Wales has issued a royal warrant for your whisky,” Claire said.

  Angus turned to Trevelyan as though for explanation.

  “We went to Edinburgh recently, and the prince was visiting the queen at Balmoral. Claire sent him a bottle of your whisky and he liked it.”

  Angus frowned and looked back at Claire. She could tell that he still didn’t understand. “You’re protected by a prince now, a man who’ll someday be king. He won’t allow anyone to stop you from making your whisky, not even a duchess. People all over the world will want to buy your whisky. Especially Americans. Americans love anything Scottish. You’ll have rich Americans coming here to bargain with you over the price. You can charge them thousands if you like. Americans love to overpay so they can brag to their friends about how much what they have costs.”

  Angus looked at Trevelyan.

  “Unfortunately, everything she says is true.”

  Claire made a face at Trevelyan.

  Claire could see that Angus was upset by what they were saying to him. Angus stood and turned his back to them for a moment. When he did speak his voice was not quite steady. “I have always loved the old ways. My family has always abided by the old ways.”

  Claire drew in her breath. “You don’t have to accept the warrant. I don’t know if there’s ever been anyone who’s declined it before but I’m sure it can be done. You can stay just the way you are if you want.”

  Angus turned a furious face to her. “Decline? Do I look daft to you? Stupid? Do you think I want to spend my old age freezing in this house? My children left because there was no work for them. I tried to sell my whisky in town but she—” He nodded his head in the general direction of Bramley. “She set upon my wagons and broke the bottles.”

  He grinned at Claire. “Some of the old ways are fine. You’ll not get me out of my kilt, but I could do without a diet of stolen beef. I should like to buy…” His head came up. “I should like oranges in the winter.”

  He sat down on his stool and for a moment he stared at the floor. “If there’s work, maybe my family can come home. I have four boys, all fine, strappin’ lads. They’re in America now and two of them have wives.” Angus looked up at Claire and she could see there were tears in his eyes. “One of my sons has a child. I’ve never seen it and never thought I would.”

  Claire looked at Angus, feeling rather like crying herself, then she looked at Trevelyan. He was watching her with great intensity and he didn’t look away when she stared back at him. After a while Trevelyan stood, held out his hand to Claire and moved toward the door. Angus didn’t seem to notice when they left.

  Still holding Trevelyan’s hand, Claire followed him outside. To the side of the cottage they could hear the sound of bagpipes and Claire started in that direction, but Trevelyan pulled her toward the woods. “Where are we going?” she asked, but he didn’t answer.

  When they were hidden in the woods, he turned to her, took her face in his hands, and kissed her in a way that he’d never kissed her before. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, it was a kiss of…of love, she thought.

  Still holding her face in his hands, he moved back from her and just looked at her, as though he were memorizing her features.

  “That was a very kind thing you did for him,” Trevelyan whispered.

  For some reason Claire was embarrassed by his compliment. “It’s no more than anyone else would have done. I thought perhaps the prince would try the whisky if I sent it to him. I thought he liked me when I met him in London.”

  Trevelyan was still looking at her in his odd way, but then he smiled. “I think Nyssa has arranged a party. Shall we go and watch her dance?”

  Claire knew that as long as she lived she would never experience a day such as the one when she told Angus about the royal warrant. Angus opened great kegs of whisky and passed it out to everyone—without charging a penny.

  “The world is near its end,” Trevelyan said under his breath to Claire.

  The first time Claire had visited Angus she had tried to learn the dances, but today it was Nyssa and Brat who were dancing. When Claire saw how good the two beautiful young women were, she stepped away and watched. Their feet skipped lightly over the swords laid on the ground.

  When Brat tripped over her robe, Nyssa said that they wanted clothes like the Scots. One of the women offered her a long, homespun skirt, but Nyssa pointed to one of the boys and said that was what she wanted to wear. Some people told her that women did not wear the short kilt, but Trevelyan stepped in and said that Nyssa was to have whatever she wanted. Angus brought out two kilts of the dark MacTarvit plaid. The kilts looked as though they had been laid away for years, as though they meant a great deal to the old man. Nyssa took one of the kilts, then kissed Angus’s weathered cheek. Brat, not to be outdone, kissed his other cheek.

  Angus beamed, showing off a couple of missing teeth.

  When the pretty young women reappeared from inside Angus’s house wearing the kilts, their legs bare, there were some disapproving looks f