Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

Chapter Ten


Castle was a complete misnomer, Rowena thought as the cart rocked its way up the long drive. Yes, off to the right there were some ruins that might have been a castle once, long ago. The ducal residence was in fact a grand mansion built some time in the late seventeenth century that had somehow survived the wars between England and Scotland.

Its walls were grim and grey, as was the statuary decorating the corners and niches across its face. It had a slightly shabby look about it. Imposing, yes, but here and there brickwork showed through the stuccoed facade. And some of the statues were missing an arm or a bit of their drapery.

A place like this would be enormously expensive to keep up.

‘Have you been here before?’ she asked Mrs Pockle seated beside her on the cart. Drew and Pockle rode either side of them, like an honour guard.

The woman nodded. ‘My family lived on the estate. So did Pockle’s, but ne’er did I expect to go inside the house.’

She might not enter upon this occasion either, if the duke turned them away at the door. Rowena glanced down at her clothing. She’d worn her second-best gown and spencer. Fortunately, a governess wore subdued practical colours and dark grey was very nearly appropriate for mourning. They halted outside the front door. Drew helped her down from the cart. She eyed the imposing entrance askance. No sense in hesitating. She squared her shoulders and walked towards the front door.

Drew kept pace. As usual he wore Samuel’s coats and linen as well as snug-fitting doeskin breeches, and his boots were polished to a high shine that did not hide that they were neither new nor in the first stare of fashion.

But for all that the greatcoat was too tight across his shoulders and chest, he looked remarkably handsome. And to his surprise, she had told him so before they left.

He’d touched his cheek and she’d shaken her head. ‘I hardly notice it, you know,’ she had said. An odd look had softened his usually harsh expression, but he had turned away before she could interpret it.

Now he strode at her side, looking grimly purposeful, as if preparing to fight a dragon on her behalf. How could she not feel safe with such a strong, commanding man at her side? Yet it would not do to rely on him too much. He had made it quite clear he intended to hand off his responsibility for her at the earliest opportunity.

He rapped on the monstrous wooden door.

It creaked open, loudly proclaiming it needed oil. Something a good housekeeper would never allow.

An elderly footman looked at them with enquiry.

‘Mrs MacDonald to see the duke,’ Drew proclaimed and handed him her calling card. Or rather the card she had created from a flyleaf at the back of her woebegone journal.


With a muttered, ‘Wait here,’ the man shut the door in their faces.

Rowena raised a brow and looked at Drew.

He shrugged. ‘He didna’ say go away.’

So they waited. After five minutes, Rowena wondered if she should ask Drew to knock again.

She opened her mouth to do so, but the door once more protested on its hinges and swung inwards. This time, a butler stood at attention, wearing a black frock coat and a severe expression.

‘You are to come in,’ he said, and gestured for her to enter.

Relief slid down her spine in a whisper. It seemed the duke was not as unreasonable as his minions seemed to indicate. She stepped over the threshold and Drew followed her in. The butler, a man well into his sixties, with a few grey hairs pasted to his bald pate, took their coats. He looked at Drew and then at her. ‘Who else shall I say is calling, madam?’

‘This is Mr Gilvry, my man of business. Mr Jones is acquainted with him.’

‘Will you send someone to see to the horses?’ Drew requested. ‘And Mrs MacDonald’s driver and maid.’

The butler bowed. ‘Yes, sir.’ He walked to one of the doors leading off the great hall and opened it. ‘If you would wait here? I will inform her ladyship.’

‘Are you speaking of the duchess?’ Rowena asked.

‘Lady Cragg, madam.’

‘We wish to see the duke,’ Drew said.

‘The duke is indisposed.’ He whisked away before they could ask more questions.

‘I have no idea who Lady Cragg might be,’ she said to Drew.

‘Nor I. It is not a name I have heard on anyone’s lips before now.’

‘It seems odd that the duke would send someone who is not a family member to receive me.’

‘She could be a cousin. Or a companion to the duchess.’

Rowena frowned. ‘Is there a duchess? I wish I had been able to look him up in Debrett’s. Indeed, I should have thought to do so before we left Dundee. It just didn’t occur to me.’

The sound of quick, sharp footsteps on marble echoed in the great hall on the other side of the door. ‘I suspect all is about to be revealed,’ Drew said.

* * *

‘Dear Mrs MacDonald, it is my pleasure to welcome to you to Mere, despite the sadness of the times.’

The woman who entered, holding out her hands and offering a gentle smile to Rowena, was in her sixties, with crimped grey hair beneath a black lace cap. She was wearing deep mourning. For the recently departed duke? She was followed in by Jones, the lawyer. He must have set out for Mere at the same time they had. Why had he lied about going to Edinburgh?

‘Thank you,’ Rowena said, clearly taken aback by the effusive welcome as she let the woman take both her hands in hers, but her frowning gaze had fixed upon Mr Jones, who bowed and smirked.

‘I am Lady Cragg,’ the other woman said. ‘Also a distant relation to your poor husband. You know Mr Jones, of course. Please, do sit down.’

Rowena sank into the offered chair. The woman looked pointedly at Drew and then recoiled as she took in his face. He should have worn his scarf. Her gaze wandered over his too-small coats and shabby boots, and her lip curled in a sneer. He met her gaze with a glower. ‘Andrew Gilvry, my lady. At your service.’ He bowed.

‘Please, do be seated, Mr Gilvry.’

This was a woman very much used to obedience and a woman very much in command of the situation. A strange prickle ran across the back of his neck.

Drew sat to the right and a little behind Rowena, offering his support, but making it clear she was in charge. After pulling the bell rope, Mr Jones sat on a gilt chair a few feet from Drew.

‘I wish to speak to his Grace,’ Rowena said, gathering herself once more.

‘Sadly, he is indisposed,’ Lady Cragg said calmly. ‘He was laid low by the death of the late duke, and I, as his only living relative, am charged with looking after his affairs until his doctor indicates he is well enough to face the world.’

Rowena frowned. ‘I understood that there was no direct heir to the dukedom. That there were some doubts—’

‘All doubts have been resolved,’ Mr Jones said. ‘Even now the late duke’s will is in probate.’

‘That is the reason I wish to see the duke. I understand that my husband, Mr Samuel MacDonald, left the duke as executor to his will. So far, Mr Jones has been able to give me very little information about my husband’s financial affairs. While the duke is kind to provide me with a house, I really prefer my independence. So I have come to sort out my affairs.’

Nothing like attacking a problem head-on, Drew thought with admiration.

‘I understand your anxiety, Mrs MacDonald. Indeed I do. You must understand there have been many petitioners coming forward seeking financial redress of the duke. A most distressing time for all. Clearly as family, you have more claim than most, hence the offer of a house until matters could be resolved. Am I to understand that you are rejecting the duke’s largesse?’

Drew looked to see how Rowena would receive what was obviously a reprimand. Her face was pale and her expression worried. His anger pushed to the fore. ‘Mrs MacDonald has no wish to discommode anyone, Lady Cragg,’ he said. ‘But the house is most unsuitable for a widow of her standing. Not only is it in the middle of nowhere, but it is practically in ruins.’

It was pushing it a bit, but he could not sit by and see her bullied.

Lady Cragg turned her gaze on Drew. While her smile was pleasant enough the brown eyes were shrewd and calculating. ‘Ah, yes. I understand from Mr Jones that you are the man who brought Mr Samuel back to Scotland and that you are acting as Mrs MacDonald’s man of affairs.’

She made it sound sordid. Had the Pockles said something to Weir about them spending a night together alone after all? He glared at her. ‘I am. And it seems to me, that as a member of Mere’s family—’

‘Your defence of your client is commendable, Mr Gilvry,’ Lady Cragg said. ‘And I wholeheartedly agree with your sentiments. I don’t know what Mr Weir was thinking when he suggested that cottage. Likely it was the only vacant property available. I was appalled at Weir’s description when he returned yesterday. You must understand that our lives have been at sixes and sevens here at Mere for some weeks now.’ She bowed her head slightly. ‘I apologise for his mistake.’ Her smile was tight and a little forced. ‘Please, Mrs MacDonald, do forgive us, and may I welcome you to reside at Mere Castle until the duke is able to meet with you. You may be sure that appropriate arrangements will be made for your future. The duke is not one to avoid his obligations.’

That took the wind out of their sails to be sure and the worry out of Rowena’s face. ‘You are very kind,’ she said.

It was just too easy. ‘What sort of arrangements?’ Drew asked.

The gimlet eyes returned to his face and she visibly repressed a shudder of distaste. ‘I do not believe Mrs MacDonald will require your services any longer, Mr Gilvry. The remains have been identified as Mr Samuel MacDonald’s. Mr Jones is undertaking the probate of his will along with that of the duke’s...’ She frowned. ‘You are not a lawyer, I understand?’

‘No, I am no’ a lawyer,’ he said. ‘I stand as a friend and an advisor—’

‘I am sure Mrs MacDonald will be more than happy to leave legal matters in Mr Jones’s capable hands?’ She looked at Rowena, who in turn looked at Drew.


‘What about the matter of the date of Mr MacDonald’s death? There has been some importance placed on this issue in our conversation with Mr Jones. And with Mr Weir.’

Lady Cragg waved a dismissive hand. ‘Mr Jones was following my instructions, I am afraid. Our concern was the interment, the carving of the stone. A date is required.’

He glanced at Rowena, who was looking at her open-mouthed. ‘I gave Mr Jones the date. He said he needed proof.’

Lady Cragg raised her iron-grey brows at Mr Jones, who gave a little cough behind his hand. ‘A misunderstanding, I’m afraid. I was confusing the date with that of the duke. A most unfortunate lapse. I do apologise. Your word is not being questioned.’

He gaped at the smarmy young man, who shrugged.

‘May I have a moment alone with Mrs MacDonald?’ Drew asked.

‘Certainly,’ Lady Cragg said. ‘I will arrange for tea to be served in the parlour, Mrs MacDonald. Ring for a footman to show you the way when you are done here. Mr Gilvry, you have been of great service to our family. You will attend Mr Jones in his office when you are ready to leave and you will be recompensed as is only right.’

She got up and swept out.

Jones bowed to Rowena. He looked at Drew. ‘I will wait outside in the hall.’ He also withdrew.

Drew frowned. ‘They seem very...accommodating.’

Rowena rose to her feet and paced around the room. ‘Almost a complete about-face.’ She looked at him. ‘Do you think I should trust them? Lady Cragg seems very nice. Very open. The date is no longer an issue and they are my husband’s family...’

Did being family make Lady Cragg worthy of trust? He wouldn’t trust his own family. Not anymore. But his responsibility ended here. He had done what he set out to do and they were accepting his verbal account. ‘If you feel comfortable, then it seems my presence is no longer required.’

She took a deep breath and gave him a smile that was gentle and quite endearing. ‘I do thank you for your help. And your patience.’ She coloured and looked away. ‘Perhaps, once this is settled and I have returned to Edinburgh, you might wish to call.’

Stunned, he stared at her. He had not expected her to wish to continue their acquaintance, not after the way he had treated her. His heart gave an odd little lurch. A pang of longing. Desire heated his blood.

But when he left here, he was going to seek out Ian. And once he found him, he wouldn’t have a future. ‘I don’t think—’

‘No. No, of course not. You have your own affairs to consider. It was foolish of me to ask.’

Now, why the hell did she sound so embarrassed? And even a little distraught.

She held out her hand. ‘Then I must wish you goodbye, Mr Gilvry. And thank you for all your help.’

He bowed over her hand. ‘My pleasure, Mrs MacDonald.’

An empty space filled his chest and, with a sense that he was leaving something very precious, he strode out quickly, in case he did what he really wanted to and disgraced her before her family by taking her lovely mouth in a punishing kiss.

Feeling strangely hollow, he found Jones waiting in the corridor outside the drawing room, too far away for him to have been listening to the conversation inside the room, yet he looked relieved when Drew appeared, as if he had not been sure of the outcome of his discussions with Rowena.

Was there some meaning to that worry?

‘This way,’ Jones said. ‘We’ll go to my office in the east wing.’

He followed the lawyer along a series of passages and down a flight of stairs. The office he entered was small, with a window overlooking the stables. Its shelves were lined with law books and ledgers.

Jones pulled out a metal box from the bottom drawer of a plain wooden desk and unlocked it with a key from the chain attached to his fob. He drew out of it a leather pouch that landed on the table with a heavy thump. ‘For your trouble. There’s enough gold here to carry you far from here. Back to America if you wish.’

Drew’s jaw dropped. ‘What the devil is this for?’

‘Your reward for bringing Mr Samuel home.’

Guilt was a sour taste in his mouth. ‘I need no payment for doing my duty.’

‘Then take it as payment for your discretion.’

If Drew had been uneasy before, something in his head was sending messages of alarm. ‘Mrs MacDonald—’

‘She is no longer your concern. You can hardly expect Mere’s relative to acknowledge any sort of connection with the Gilvrys of Dunross.’ Jones gave him a narrow-eyed stare. ‘Any sort of connection.’

A warning. That Rowena was above his touch. Weir or Pockle must have given voice to suspicions. Jones was buying him off. ‘Stuff it,’ he said crudely.

Jones looked startled, then shrugged. ‘As you wish.’ He swept up the pouch and locked it away again. ‘I’ll have a footman see you out.’ He reached out and pulled at the bell on the wall behind him. The liveried footman had clearly been waiting nearby, since he appeared almost immediately. ‘Good day, Mr Gilvry. Jeremiah, please escort Mr Gilvry to the stables.’ He gave Drew a look that contained an element of triumph. ‘You will find your horse ready and waiting.’

He walked out.

Outside in the corridor, another footman was also waiting. He fell in behind Drew as he followed Jeremiah out of the house and across the stable yard. They weren’t taking any chances. What, did they think he would steal the silver?

Not that a couple of pampered footman could stop him if he decided he wanted the silver. But he didn’t. He just wanted to be on his way. To be rid of the sickening emptiness in his gut that accompanied the understanding he would never see Rowena again. He recognised the feeling. Loss.

He’d had the same one when he’d said goodbye to his family six years before. And again when he’d realised just how permanent Ian had intended that parting to be. Well, Ian was in for a shock. And it would give Drew a good deal of satisfaction to see it in his brother’s face when he met his end.

He mounted up and his escort saw him out of the gate.

He focused his mind on the form that shock would take and not on the distance he was putting between himself and Mere Castle.

* * *

The suite of rooms assigned to Rowena were at the far end of the west wing. They were sumptuous indeed. A sitting room adjoined the bedchamber to which was also attached a dressing room with a truckle bed for her maid.

Luxury, indeed. She had not lived in such fine surroundings since she’d left her father’s house after his death.

‘I hope you have found Pockle to your satisfaction,’ Lady Cragg enquired after showing her around her apartments. ‘She is the only maid I have available at the moment. We keep minimal staff here at Mere.’

‘I can’t say I have had much of an opportunity to judge,’ Rowena replied. ‘We were separated from the Pockles after the first night of our journey.’

‘Separated?’ Lady Cragg’s voice rose in shock. ‘You were left alone?’

‘No. Mr Gilvry was with me.’ She blushed at the sight of the other woman’s horrified countenance.

‘Oh, my dear.’ Lady Cragg’s voice faded. ‘Think of your reputation. Of Mere’s good name. Never speak of it again.’

‘Very well,’ Rowena said. ‘But—’

Lady Cragg raised a hand. ‘Pockle tells me you do not have attire suitable for mourning. It must be attended to at once. We should not wish to show any lack of respect, either for your husband, or the duke, should we?’


‘Certainly not,’ Rowena said, as expected.

‘In the meantime, you will keep to your rooms if you do not mind. We have guests at Mere who would be shocked if... Well, you do understand, do you not?’

The question was purely rhetorical.

Lady Cragg smiled. ‘In the meantime, do, my dear Mrs MacDonald, make yourself comfortable. I am sure you need to rest after your journey. I will have supper sent up to you later.’

‘When will I meet the duke?’

The woman paused, her expression altering into lines of sorrow. ‘The duke is much affected by all the bad news. Prostrate upon his bed. Perhaps when you are appropriately gowned? Believe me, you will see him at the earliest opportunity.’

She bustled out.

Rowena sat down in the armchair beside the window that looked out over the formal grounds. To her surprise, a small boy of about five, bundled against the chilly air, was skipping along one of the walkways trailed by what she could only assume was a nurse. The duke’s child? Or perhaps he belonged to one of the visitors. The nurse caught him and swung him around before carrying him out of sight.

Rowena stared at the long drive leading out to the gate. No sign of Drew. He would be long gone by now. She would have liked to have discussed in more detail his impressions of Lady Cragg and the duke’s household. For example, why was Lady Cragg so evasive? So set on her having gowns made before she saw the duke? Still, it was no secret that the grandest families set a great deal of store by the proprieties and she certainly didn’t want to do anything that would set up the duke’s back. Not before she had a chance to air her concerns.

But she was going to miss Drew. Both his company and, if she was honest, the unbelievable pleasure she had experienced only once.

She closed her eyes to ward off the pain she felt around her heart. Because it was nonsense.

* * *

Someone was watching him. He could feel their gaze like a knife piercing a layer of skin between his shoulder blades.

It wasn’t the first time he had been hunted.

And his discomfort had nothing to do with the regret he’d felt at leaving Rowena; that was a hollow ache in his chest. It would fade. Eventually. And besides, he wouldn’t have to suffer it long, once he carried out his intent.

But this other sensation was annoying. The sensation of being watched by a predator. And since there were neither bears nor wolves nor large cats in Scotland, there was only one other alternative. Men.

He rose up in his saddle and looked about. Hills and rocks, scattered pine trees, clumps of gorse rising from the snow. All could serve to hide a man who did not wish to be seen. Footpads? One look at his nag and mean dress and no self-respecting thief would be interested in such poor pickings.

Though there were a great many in poorer case than he was. He’d seen that in the streets of Dundee. But his size and obvious strength should act as a deterrent. And if it did not, he had his pistol.

Something rustled in the gorse off to his right.

He brought his horse’s head around to face the danger as his right hand went for the pistol in the holster on his saddle. His heart hammered a warning in his chest. His gaze narrowed, inspecting the gorse for signs of movement, then wandered up the hillside to the line of trees not far distant. Holding the horse steady with his knees, he slowly undid his coat buttons for ease of access to his knife.

Nothing.

He turned to continue down the road. A man stood in the road five yards ahead, a rifle levelled.

A man he recognised. One of McRae’s smuggler friends, the one he had thought of as their leader, Morris.

The rifle barrel jerked. ‘Get off the horse,’ the smuggler called out.

Drew weighed the odds of riding away without taking a bullet. Not good. Not with a rifle, if the man knew how to use it. He swung down out of the saddle and put his hands up.

More men rose up from behind the gorse and heather on each side of him, their pistols cocked and levelled. It seemed he’d made the right choice.

Drew cursed as the men closed in on him.

Morris wagged the rifle and grinned. ‘Now, there’s blasphemy for you.’

‘I’ve verra little coin,’ Drew said. ‘And only the clothes on my back and the horse. It’s no’ a verra good horse, but you are welcome to it.’

‘It’s not what you have that McKenzie cares about. It’s what you Gilvrys already cost him.’

Drew gave him a level stare. ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’

‘Edinburgh. O’Banyon,’ the man said, as if those two words held all the information he needed.

Ian. It had to be some underhanded dealing his brother was involved in. ‘I’ve not been in Edinburgh in six years. I have never heard of O’Banyon.’ He started lowering his hands.

‘Hands up,’ the man said. ‘Take his pistol,’ he ordered.

One of the other men sidled up to him and took his gun. Drew dropped his hands and let them hang loose at his sides, aware of the knife nestled against his spine beneath his shirt.

‘There’s also the matter of Geordie.’

At Drew’s blank look, he grinned, revealing two missing teeth. ‘The man you killed at McRae’s.’

‘You don’t blame a man for defending his lady, surely?’

‘Your lady, is she? Then, where is she now?’

He gritted his teeth. Of course, Rowena wasn’t his in the sense the smuggler meant. ‘She employed me to see her safe to her destination. And I have.’

‘Sandy, take charge of that there sad-looking beastie. You—’ he grinned at Drew ‘—start walking. That way.’ He pointed up the steep valley side. ‘It seems there’s more than McKenzie who wants a slice of your hide. And is willing to pay handsomely for it, too.’

‘More than one? Who would the other be, then?’

The man shook his head. ‘Not your business, my lad. On ye go.’

Could Ian have heard about his return? It was possible. Did that mean his brother intended to finish the job he had started six years ago?

* * *

The next morning the skies over Mere were clear. Having nothing to do while she waited for her new clothes, and needing some fresh air, Rowena slipped down the servants’ stairs and out into the gardens. As long as she avoided any guests, who were unlikely to be abroad at so early an hour, she couldn’t see how a walk in the grounds could cause any problem. Since her cloak was black, she wouldn’t be offending anyone’s sensibilities even if she was to encounter someone.

And if she just happened to run into the duke, that would not be such a bad thing. If only she knew what he looked like.

According to Pockle, the park stretched for miles, but since it was covered in snow, Rowena confined herself to the formal gardens she had seen from her window.

She toured the rose garden, laid out with fine gravel walks between the beds. Not that there were any flowers or leaves to be seen. It was simply a matter of stretching her legs and getting some fresh air into her lungs. It was something she always insisted on for her pupils, winter and summer.

As she turned a corner of the leafless hedges that formed a maze, she saw two men deep in discussion in the parterre. Mr Jones and someone she did not recognise. The duke? If she could be sure it was he, then she might consider approaching him, but if it was not the duke, it would be highly embarrassing. And Mr Jones would have no hesitation in reporting her to Lady Cragg.

The men were deep in conversation and had not noticed her. It would be rude to interrupt, so she slipped into the maze where she found a stone bench. She would sit here until they were gone and then return to her room.


The sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel on the other side of the hedge brought her to her feet.

‘He seemed a decent enough man,’ Mr Jones’s voice said.

She should not be listening. It was extremely rude. She started to move deeper into the maze, away from the men.

‘A pity about the scar, though.’

They were talking about Drew. She couldn’t help it; she stopped to listen.

‘His face won’t matter where he’s going,’ another voice said. A deep voice with a strong Highland burr. ‘You are sure McKenzie’s men have him?’

‘They do, my lord,’ Jones said. ‘I spoke to their leader this morning.’

‘They know they are to take him to Edinburgh and put him on the convict ship leaving for Botany Bay next week? He survived my efforts to be rid of him once. He won’t do so again. They are to let McKenzie know he’s to leave the rest of them to me.’

Who did he mean by the rest of them?

‘And Mrs MacDonald?’ Mr Jones asked.

Rowena stifled a gasp with her gloved hand. She tiptoed closer to the hedge, which despite its lack of leaves was tangled and woven and so wide she could not see either man with any clarity.

‘I’ve already advised Lady Cragg on the matter. Get her married off to a relative of Mere’s and furnish him with a nice competence. I’ll provide the land in America. There can be no possible objection to such generosity.’

Really? No objection?

The sound of gloved hands rubbing together filtered through the hedge. ‘With all legal concerns put to rest, I’ll expect those who owe allegiance to Mere to support me against Gordon, when he speaks in the House in the new year.’

‘Have no fear of that, my lord.’

What legal concerns was he talking about? What possible harm could she do to a duke? The footsteps crunched away. Rowena sat down to wait until she was sure they had gone.

Marry her off? Send her to America? Why on earth would they think they needed to do that? All she was asking for was what was rightfully hers, so she could go about her business. Indeed, she wasn’t even sure there was anything left from her husband’s estate. Who was this other man who had spoken with such authority, dishing out orders as if he was in charge? At first she’d thought he must be the duke. But Mr Jones had called him my lord, not your Grace.

But she could not worry about that now, not when she knew the smugglers had captured Drew. She had to find him before they put him on board a ship bound for Australia.