The Captain's Surrender (Currents of Love Book 6) Page 2

  She smiled to herself. Better, but still lamented the change at times. Whatever inconvenience the age of the structure might cause, her heart thrilled every time she saw it in the distance after a long journey; and no storm could quell the singing of her soul as it reconnected to the land that bore her. No, this would always be her dream and greatest treasure. And she was about to lose it through stupidity.

  She caught herself a moment before her forehead slammed into the windowpane in frustration. A solution must exist. Turning her back to the window, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. Her mind began to rummage through all the information presented to her on her arrival but provided no additional insights as it wandered. How long she stood in her pose before a knock at the door jolted her back to the present, she wasn’t sure, but when she opened her eyes, they met the curious and somewhat disapproving gaze of her Aunt Lily.

  Returned from her life in France only a few weeks before, they’d both been surprised when Lenore arrived in Scotland. Though Lily sent the letter requesting Gavin’s visit, Lenore assumed her aunt was visiting and undertook the task for her sister who was much encumbered by an ailing husband. Arriving to find her more familiar aunt and uncle departed for an undetermined amount of time and the kind, yet estranged, Lily the sole inhabitant of Dailemor called for a significant adjustment in her plans.

  There was no denying Lily was a MacAllister. Her bright golden locks had faded only slightly with time and age and, despite the addition of a few lines here and there about the eyes and lips, her skin still held the radiant beauty which had dubbed her and her sisters the fairest flowers of the county in their younger years. Lenore inherited those selfsame features and counted herself lucky for it, though in her case it did her little good since the one man whose attention she’d always hoped to attract was the only one who seemed immune to her charms.

  Aunt Lily made her way to the chair beside the desk and began to clear away papers. “If you’re going tae insist on holein’ yerself away in here, ye can at least expect ‘at I’ll be bringing in yer meals an’ tea.”

  A maid appeared at the door, pushing a small tea cart. Lenore realized with a start what time it was.

  “Aam sorry, Aunt, Ah got distracted.”

  “’At much Ah gathered. Now, if ye please,” she indicated the chair Lenore had vacated, and began setting out the items from the tray with the help of the maid. “You’re adamant about nae tellin’ me why ye chose tae come here yerself rather than hae Gavin come tak’ a look at the information Ah sent.” Nodding to the maid, Lily watched the woman retreat and shut the door before she returned her attention to Lenore. “Min’ ye, Aam nae discounting yer ability tae handle things, however, ye might hae realized ‘at had this been an easy situation, Ah likely would hae continued tae deal wi’ it on mah ain.”

  The barely concealed admonishment stabbed at Lenore. Soon after her arrival, it became apparent that practical reasons existed for her aunt requesting Gavin’s presence rather than hers. In truth, had her aunt written solely to her brother, she might never have known of the situation, but her aunt sent a packet of letters to the family in general, allowing Lenore the ability to take first perusal. She perceived an opportunity and took it, admittedly doing so without fully informing either her mother or her brother. She disregarded the fact this intriguing aunt of hers had spent years as an independent business owner in the smuggling city of Dunkirk. If a list existed detailing all the qualities of an exceptionally educated and shrewd woman, Lily MacAllister doubtless boasted all of them.

  Struck again by the foolishness of her pride, she retreated into her well-worn, hollow excuse. “Gavin’s in nae position tae come tae Scotland right now,” she hedged, avoiding her aunt’s gaze but joining her at the desk for tea.

  “Ah understand th’ timin’ is by nae means ideal,” Lily acknowledged with a nod. “Ah would hae delayed sendin’ th’ information mahself had Ah thought a delay possible, but this situation developed rapidly an’ Ah was hopin’ fur yer brother’s assistance.”

  Lenore remained silent, sipping at her unusually bitter tea.

  “Unfortunately, you’re nae better able tae obtain some ay th’ records ‘at we need than Ah am,” her aunt continued before falling silent.

  A lengthened pause ensued, followed by Lily shifting in her seat, drawing Lenore’s attention. To her surprise, the older woman’s cheeks held the hint of a blush along their upper curves.

  “Aunt Lily?” she inquired, “Is somethin’ wrong?”

  Lily set down her teacup with a sigh. “Nae wrong, but Ah hae tae tell ye somethin’ an’ worry you’ll tak’ it th’ wrong way.”

  Lenore set her cup beside her aunt’s and sat straighter in her chair, focusing all her attention on the woman.

  “You’ve got th’ MacAllister pride, that’s fur certain,” Lily chuckled, then sighed. “Ah hoped you’d come around by now an’ Ah could tell ye more as an anticipation ay yer wishes than an imposition ay mine.”

  “Aunt Lily, what are ye on about?”

  “Ah sent another letter tae Gavin, requesting him tae come.”

  “What? But Aunt Lily—”

  “Here, now, lassie,” the woman soothed, patting the air in Lenore’s direction and making her aware she’d begun to rise from her seat. “Ah waited as long as Ah could tae send it, an’ now I’ve waited as long as Ah could tae tell ye, but ye ought tae ken now ‘at Gavin is sendin’—”

  A knock at the door interrupted the announcement.

  “Ay course today would be th’ day we get interrupted,” Lily grumbled, lifting her palms skyward as she tossed a curt verbal acknowledgment at the door.

  The maid entered, making a small curtsy before addressing Lenore. “The Baron of Tyrsdale is here tae speak wi’ ye, Miss.”

  Lenore and her aunt let out equal groans of irritation.

  “Forget th’ tea,” Lily murmured as she stood and set the teacups on the cart. “Ah should hae brought th’ whiskey.”

  Smiling despite her lingering upset, Lenore nodded at the maid. “Very well, please tak’ th’ cart tae th’ hall, ‘en see him in.”

  The maid curtsied and retreated, Aunt Lily following on her heels.

  “We’ll continue th’ conversation at dinner, ‘en?” her aunt inquired from over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

  “Aye, Aunt Lily.”

  “Miss. MacAllister,” a nasal voice draped in boredom hailed Lenore as she returned to her seat behind the desk.

  Rolling her eyes, she took in a breath and plastered a smile to her countenance before turning to acknowledge her new visitor. “Baron. What can Ah dae fur ye?”

  A man on the cusp of his thrities but appearing much older sauntered through the door, his exaggerated style and bearing placing him at odds with the simple grandeur of the setting. Paler than a ghost in the snow, except for the red splotches on his cheeks and nose, and the purple smudges under his eyes, the young Baron displayed his excesses like a calling card.

  Lenore harbored a dislike for the man since their childhood. His family estate neighbored hers, but no neighborly sentiment existed between the two. Recognized among the area children as a spineless bully, he often traipsed through the MacAllister estate as though he had every right to. On one such occasion, Lenore stooped in the field collecting roots to bring back to cook and would have been overlooked if she hadn’t completed her work and stood without taking note of her surroundings.

  Tyrsdale jumped on the opportunity to distress her, knocking her basket from her hand, and starting an argument over some trivial excuse she couldn’t remember. What she remembered, to her embarrassment now, were the frightened tears his actions prompted, and the way he trapped her in place, jumping from side to side to block her when she tried to run back home. Providence spared her the trial of finding out how long Tyrsdale could entertain himself at her expense, however, when an older boy ran up behind him, took him by the collar and sent him sprawling.

  Daniel Langdon. A small sigh t
hreatened at the memory. Gavin invited the Langdon boys to holiday with them that summer. Gavin and the other Langdon brothers ran up on Daniel’s heels and completed his work, chasing Tyrsdale in the direction of his own family grounds, but Daniel stayed behind to help her right the basket and walk with her until the other boys returned. Arguably the best and worst day of her young life, given the consequences.

  Tyrsdale’s parents packed him off early to his boarding school soon thereafter. Rumor had it, once he gained a modicum of independence, he renounced his Scottish connections to the best of his ability without jeopardizing his inheritance. Whatever the actual events, Lenore couldn’t recall seeing him above once or twice more during her visits to Scotland.

  Once he inherited his title, a circumstance which came to pass five years ago, he disappeared, only reappearing a few weeks ago intent on reviving a long dormant feud between his house and hers. Observation alone provided the rationale for Lenore, but local gossip reinforced her thoughts. Evidenced by the softness of his build, the excess of his fashion, and the effort put forth by an over-starched collar to keep his head upright on his drooping shoulders, the man had gorged himself on his inheritance and now, feeling the pang of lack, had returned home in search of the nearest easy target for plunder, which happened to be the MacAllister estate of Dailemor.

  She monitored his approach, muscles tensing in opposition to the unstated threat. He halted in front of the desk, tugging a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his glistening upper lip as he leaned heavily on an ornamental cane.

  “I should think that would be obvious,” he responded dryly. “You realize it’s only as a courtesy I’ve allowed you time to review the property records, and my patience wears thin.”

  “A courtesy, Baron? In point ay fact, is it nae mah right tae review documents concernin’ mah estate?”

  “Your right?” Her neighbor burst out laughing, setting Lenore’s blood to boiling. “Your estate? You jest. If it were your brother addressing me, I might have to concede that point, however, since he has shown no interest in this estate and no one else is available to contest my claim—”

  Lenore ground her teeth. “Ah beg yer—” but he continued on with his statement as though she never uttered a sound.

  “There really is no purpose in my continuing to delay the correction to the property title.”

  “Aam sorry, Baron, but nae correction need be made. This estate belongs tae th’ MacAllisters.”

  He heaved a weary sigh and plopped himself into the chair across from the desk, ignoring the fact Lenore still stood. Propping an ankle on his knee with the help of a hand tugging at his pant leg, he wove his fingers together, resting his hands across his flabby middle. “Must we really beat this horse to death, Miss. MacAllister?” he intoned. “I can appreciate the depth of deception your family must have raised you in—”

  “Deception?”

  “Especially given the fact that neither my father nor grandfather contested the current arrangement, but the fact remains this property was unlawfully obtained from my great-grandfather and the time is long past for setting things to rights.”

  Lenore took in a breath, setting her hands flat on the cool top of the desk. Somewhere down the hall the creak of the front entry sounded. “Mah aunt an’ Ah are both happy tae review th’ pertinent claim on th’ land, but as yet ye hae only provided us wi’ copies ay unknown origin, an’—”

  “This, again?” He let out an exasperated sigh and heaved himself to standing, spying the whiskey decanter on the sideboard and shuffling his way in that direction, turning his back to Lenore. “This is precisely why your brother ought to be here if your family holds any true objection. You women cannot seem to muster the understanding that without the ability to go into the recorder’s office, you have no choice but to rely on copied documents.”

  Lenore shook, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Unable to retain a calm demeanor, she burst into motion, flying around the desk in her neighbor’s direction, darkly wishing for some sharp object to thrust into that hunched back of his. She contented herself with grabbing hold of his sleeve, wrenching him around, and snatching the crystal tumbler from his hand before shoving him aside. The whiskey sloshed out of the tumbler, splashing in a misshapen arc across the floorboards as a wide-eyed Tyrsdale stumbled back.

  “Ah understand th’ restriction,” she growled. “An’ hae requested yer assistance in visitin’ th’ clerk. Surely ye comprehend mah apprehension at yer continued refusal tae—”

  “Your apprehensions are not my concern,” he snapped, regaining enough of his composure to level a glare at her. “Allowing you this concession has wasted enough of my time, I won’t further delay things with your misguided diversions.”

  “Ah fail tae see how requestin’ verified—”

  “I understand now why my forebears put off dealing with this issue,” he interrupted with a beleaguered sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But in my opinion no good comes of allowing you MacAllister women to run rampant with your delusions of...”

  Lenore’s fingernails scratched across the tumbler as her temper rose, heating her blood until it tinged her vision red. Tyrsdale must have realized his error in continuing to speak. He clamped his mouth shut, sending an assessing glance over his shoulder toward the door as he backed away from her.

  She moved toward him without a clear plan, but if he thought he could put off her concerns yet again and walk out, well, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

  Chapter 3

  The royal hues of highland heather swayed a gentle salutation as Daniel crested over the hill on his mount, overlooking lush Scottish moors and the silhouette of Dailemor. Pausing a moment to take in the landscape, he admitted to himself the calm of the journey and the vast open peacefulness of the moors were indeed an improvement over the cluttered and crowded streets of the port cities he frequented. Not even his family home of Heathermoore and its lazy country surroundings boasted such tranquility.

  A calm overtook him in the open expanses which he foolishly hoped might last, already knowing the futility of it. He journeyed alone on horseback and each night as he prepared to stay at an inn, those familiar feelings returned. Small voices warning him against those around him, the tension in his muscles preparing for the next canon or musket shot despite no such weapons in the vicinity. The permanence of enclosure each night as the inn door closed behind him, his freedom shrinking down to the confines of his room. Every day brought the same tug-of-war. A blissfully free ride followed by all the demons which chased him, catching up to him as he sank into sleep.

  Drinking deeply of this final breath of fickle freedom, he let it out on a sigh and prompted his horse forward for the remainder of the short ride to the estate. A groom came out to meet him as he neared the front entry. Handing the man the reins, he noted a carriage also in the drive. The thought of interrupting a visit and being forced to socialize clamped painfully about his lungs and his irrational mind toyed with the idea of recalling his mount and retreating.

  “Ye must be Captain, Lord Langdon,” a feminine voice called from the direction of the door and Daniel turned to witness a woman roughly his mother’s age and almost as lovely round the corner of the home with a basket draped over her arm.

  “Captain Langdon is sufficient,” he approached and offered a bow. He inherited his father’s title some years past, but still found it difficult to respond to. “I hope my reputation does not precede me.”

  She raked an assessing gaze over him as he moved, wise blue eyes sharp with caution. At his words, a small smile emerged to brighten her visage, but faded to a cordial nod in a blink.

  “Taller than a church steeple an’ hair blacker than a moonless night, ye Langdons hae a distinct look tae ye.”

  The thick brogue fell pleasant on Daniel’s ears. It had taken him years to realize how diligently his brother-in-law worked to hide his natural speech, but the ladies in Gavin’s family took less interest in perfecting the
ir accents. He found he quite liked the sound, as long as he understood most of what they said. He prepared an acknowledgment but hesitated when the woman who greeted him took a step toward him, eyes searching his. For a moment he thought she might see straight through to the dark recesses of his soul.

  “An’ eyes stormier than th’ winter sea,” she murmured. “Gavin was right tae send ye here.”

  Stiffening, Daniel blinked away the momentary spell to address the woman he realized must be his hostess. “Countess Dubois?”

  “Lily is grand enough fur family,” the hint of a smile returned. “Please come in. There are a few things Ah ought tae make ye aware ay during yer stay.”

  Daniel followed the Countess into the old castle keep. The original walls surrounding the castle and forming a courtyard had long since crumbled into remnant piles of rock scattered here and there around the manor with portions re-purposed by subsequent generations to build out additional wings. The complete disorder and randomness of the design always appealed to Daniel. Fond memories surfaced of his few visits here as a child and youth. The place offered an unending labyrinth of exploration for inquisitive children.

  The massive hearth of the original keep yawned tiger-like in greeting, calling to memory both the terrifying roar achieved in the flue by angry storm winds and the impressive glow of a Yule log ablaze for days. Tapestries, consoles, and chairs lined the walls attempting to block the constant chill, and a series of rugs quilted the flooring with the same task. Daniel pitied whoever assumed the chore of maintaining those rugs. On either side of the main room extended doorways opened into the newer wings. Daunting as the place was, the atmosphere in this home came closest to that of entering his own family home.