Page 28 of To Defy a Highland Duke

After this house party ended, he’d give his staff an increase in wages. They’d earned it, except for the spy in their midst. He’d had no time to ferret out that rat as yet.

Will cleared his throat. “Yer Grace?

Facing him, Keane took in the man’s bowed head, furrowed forehead, and the way he crushed his cap in his work-worn and calloused hands. “I ken the cottage is gone, but I’ll pay the rents. And I can still farm the lands and oversee the livestock. And we dinna need to stay here. We can camp—”

His wife winced, then quickly schooled her plump features.

Keane didn’t blame her. Camping outdoors during a Highland winter was not something even a hardened warrior would relish. He’d permit no such thing.

Glancing about the chamber, Will swallowed. He paused as his gaze came to rest on his sons, who’d greedily tucked into the fare and now chomped, happy smiles bending their mouths.

“I’ll see to the rebuildin’ of yer cottage, Will. Ye needna fear on that account.” Keane understood how hard it was for this proud man to accept charity. “’Tis the laird’s responsibility, and ye and yer family are welcome to stay here until ’tis finished.”

Toby and Eric exchanged excited looks before digging into their food once more.

Alice offered a shy, appreciative upward arc of her mouth. “I could help in the kitchens, or wherever else ye might need an extra hand, laird.”

Will bathed her with a doting smile. “Aye, nae one makes rumbledethumps as good as my Alice.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Dunlap would be grateful for the help,” Keane said, glad to have settled the matter of where they’d stay during the rebuilding of their cottage.

Will shifted his feet back and forth. “I’m indebted to ye, Yer Grace.”

Keane clasped the man’s blackened hand. “Ye’ve always been an exemplary tenant, Will. Ye needna fear I’ll turn ye and yer family out for aught that wasna yer fault.”

Eyes red-rimmed and his face smeared with soot and sweat, Will looked at his wife and lads. He swallowed, and Keane didn’t miss the sheen of tears in the burly Scot’s eyes. “Thank ye, laird.”

Rage simmered beneath the calm mien Keane presented to the Martins and his bedraggled staff as they rushed about with warm water and linens for the guests who’d assisted in fighting the blaze, including the Kennedy brothers and Bryston McPherson.

The fire hadn’t been an accident.

Coming in from the barn, Will had seen a well-dressed man throw two burning wads of some sort onto the thatched roof. He’d shouted at the bastard, and the coward had thundered away on horseback. Will had barely been able to see his wife and sons to safety before the ceiling collapsed.

From Will’s description of the man and his mount, Keane knew precisely who the arsonist was. By God, Lorne would pay, and this time there’d be no reprieve for the despicable rotter. Just what his punishment would be, Keane hadn’t decided.

Banishment first sprang to mind. He would do it too, but he wouldn’t put it past Uncle Bothan to hide his wayward son.

Keane had ordered extra patrols around the castle grounds and sent men to warn the crofters to be extra diligent. He’d also assigned guards to monitor the remaining cottages. Given Lorne was a slimy craven, he’d not risk getting caught by trying such a stunt again. Not soon, in any event. He might, however, hire riffraff to undertake nefarious tasks on his behalf.

Keane held no doubt the fire was revenge for booting his cousin’s vindictive arse from Trentwick, and the unfortunate Martins had paid the price.

“I’ll bid ye goodnight then.” Keane nodded and let himself out of the room.

Two footmen, each bearing pails of water, trod carefully along the corridor. No sooner had they passed than another pair of footmen, each carrying stacks of towels, rounded the corner. Following them, a bleary-eyed maid toting a basket of soaps yawned behind her hand.

Summoning a sympathetic smile for the weary servants roused from their slumber, he opted to bathe in the loch a few hundred yards from the castle. That was one less bath they’d need to prepare before returning to their beds.

“Might I trouble you for a towel and soap?”

“Of course, Yer Grace,” Ned said, handing over the towel atop his stack.

Maggie passed him a small square of soap. “Made just last week, sir. ’Tis scented with heather.”

“Thank ye,” Keane said. “Seek yer beds as soon as ye are able.”

There was no way in hell he’d climb into his bed reeking of smoke and layered in grit and ash. At least the snow had stopped, and tomorrow’s festivities could commence as planned. His men had constructed a bonfire earlier in the day, and it sat ready to light during the Hogmanay revelries.

He descended to the first level, his thoughts migrating to Marjorie once more.