Page 41 of The Devil Wears Kilts
Munro’s head shot up from the tabletop. “What? That’s from Ranulf? He’s bought a house? In London?”
“Aye. That’s what he says.”
“Why, in God’s name?”
“Let me go on, will ye? To continue, ‘Rowena has declared that she means never to return to Scotland. I may therefore be here for longer than we’d anticipated, until such time as I can persuade her otherwise.’”
“‘Persuade’?” Bear echoed, scowling. “Put her arse into a coach and drive her home, is more like.”
“Evidently not.”
“I wonder what Lach’ll have to say about that. Yesterday he complained that Winnie didnae send him a letter.”
That was interesting, Arran decided. “Wasnae he complaining that she wrote him every day?”
“Aye. He said she was too full of girlish glee, and now he wants to know what she’s up to that keeps her from writing.”
“She’s up to refusing to come home. Tell him that, and see what he does.”
“I’m nae certain I want to know.” Bear grunted. “Ran wants a love match, but poor Lach’s caught between his chief and a lass who’s been chasing after him since she could walk.” He shook his dark, disheveled head. “If Ranulf’s nae dragging her home, then what’s he up to?”
Arran perused the rest of the letter, three sides of closely written instruction, then sat down heavily at his brother’s side. “He’s gone mad.”
“What else does he say?”
“That Berling’s in London, along with the Campbells’ grandson, that we should remain here, and that some lass named Charlotte is full of herself and needs a lesson or two as to why she shouldnae scold a MacLawry.”
Munro’s brow furrowed. “Charlotte. Isn’t she the other Hanover lass? Jane’s sister or someaught?”
“I dunnae know. I didnae pay that much attention to it all.” Now Arran was beginning to think he should have paid quite a bit more attention to what was happening in London. “Does any of this make sense to ye?”
“Nae. Let me see it.”
Arran handed Munro the letter, watching as his younger brother read through it with much the same expression of confusion that he’d likely worn himself. “Did ye notice how many times he names this Charlotte?” he asked
“Aye,” his brother returned. “More than he mentions Rowena.” Bear pushed to his feet and handed the letter back. “Well, that settles it.”
“Settles what?”
“I’m going to London.”
Bloody hell.“Ye are not. Ran says we’re to stay here.”
“Someaught’s afoot down there, and half the bastards we’re looking out fer here are doon there. Ye can stay behind.”
Arran took a breath. “Bear, ye need to stay here. I’ll go.”
“And why should ye be the one to—”
“He says Rowena’s embarrassed by us. Who’s more ‘us’ than anyone?”
Bear frowned. “I can behave.”
“Ye gave her a saddle for her eighteenth birthday. And I’d wager the reason ye were still to bed at nearly noon is that ye’re sharing a pillow with Flora Peterkin. Or is it Bethia Peterkin? If ye cannae keep yer own affairs straight, ye cannae expect to be of help to someone else. Especially not Ranulf.”
“Fine, then.” Bear slumped back into his chair. “Ye’d best see this straightened oot, Arran, or ye’ll find me riding down on yer heels. Or I’ll put a wee whisper in Lachlan’s ear and turn him loose.”
“I’ll see to it.” And he would also see who this Charlotte lass was, and discover why Ranulf couldn’t seem to stop talking about her even when he clearly had more trouble than he could wish for on his hands.
