Julia London - Seduced By A Scot

But first things first. Nichol said goodbye to the wench, hired a lad to act as his groom, then rode out to explain to Mr. Garbett and Mr. Cadell his plan to mend this rift between families once and for all.

As he suspected, his plan was welcomed by everyone, with the singular exception of Mrs. Garbett, whose thirst for vengeance apparently knew no bounds. She believed that Miss Darby should not be allowed to enjoy the privilege of marrying well, but faced with the prospect of her husband’s ward being returned to them, reluctantly agreed to the scheme.

By week’s end, Nichol and Gavin, his groom, were provisioned for several days of travel and on their way to a manor near Aberuthen to retrieve Miss Darby.

By noon the following day, they’d reached their destination. Fragile flakes of snow were whispering down from the sky, scarcely visible in the light of a weak sun that peaked in from between the clouds. The lad was shivering in his saddle, even though Nichol had tossed him his plaid to drape over his coat. “Still with me, Gavin, are you?” he called over his shoulder.

“Aye, sir.”

“We’ll be there soon enough,” he assured him as they rode out of the small village of Aberuthen, armed with Garbett’s directions to the Rumpkin abode. A half hour later, they arrived.

Nichol had expected the house to be something on par with the Garbett house, but was unpleasantly surprised to find a much smaller house, one that could scarcely be called a manor, and one that looked in serious need of repair. It had a single vine-covered tower at one end, and a house appended to it shaped like a box, as if the builder had struck out to build a castle, and had changed his mind in favor of a smaller house midway through.

A weak trail of smoke rose from only one of four chimneys, and Nichol could see at least four panes of glass had been broken and replaced with wood. He and Gavin came off their mounts and stared up at the house. No one came to greet them. Not even a dog.

Gavin looked at Nichol expectantly.

“Aye,” Nichol said to the lad’s unspoken question. “I’ll see if I can rouse someone, then.” He handed the reins of his mount to Gavin and nodded in the direction of a stable or barn—another dilapidated building. “Feed and water the mounts. There is food in the bag for you, aye? Eat. Warm yourself. We’ll ride out as soon as all is settled here.”

With the leads of the two horses in hand, Gavin trudged off in the direction of the building.

Nichol pulled his greatcoat around him and looked again at the house, taking in the yellowed weeds that grew under the darkened windows. Had it been abandoned? That would be an unwelcome twist to his plan. With a grimace, he started for the door.

On the doorstep, he used the brass knocker three times with no response. He had about decided that the house was indeed empty when he heard the sound of someone fumbling on the other side of the door, which was followed by the door suddenly swinging open. A man, holding a lamp aloft, peered at Nichol. He was wearing a dressing gown over a sleep shirt that was stained with spilled food. The man was obese and stood with his legs braced wide apart, apparently to hold his girth aloft. He had not been shaved, and long scraggly hair floated about his head and shoulders. Even more hair sprouted from his ears.

Nichol had to swallow down his surprise—it was nearly two in the afternoon and the man looked as if he’d been roused in the middle of the night.

“Come for the lass, have you?” he asked gruffly.

Nichol couldn’t say how he’d guessed it. “Aye, I have.”

The man stuck out his hand, palm up. “I’ll have the money first, then.”

Diah, but it would appear that Garbett’s cousin was a boor. “May I come in? It’s rather cold.”

The man grunted. He stepped back and bowed with mock deference as Nichol swept past him into a hall crowded with cloaks and boots and stacks of peat, of all things.

The man closed the door, then shuffled into a room just off the hall.

Nichol followed, but he felt a wee bit as if he was entering at his own peril. The room, a dining room, was disgusting. It reeked of spoiled food and dog feces, which, when Nichol glanced down, were scattered about the floor. Uneaten food had been left to rot in bowls around the table, attracting flies even in the cold. Two dogs lay at the hearth. One of them, a long-legged lanky thing, lazily pushed himself up and wandered over to have a sniff of Nichol before returning to his place at the hearth.

Nichol glanced around him and asked, “Has your housekeeper died, then, Mr. Rumpkin?”

“Amusing,” the man said. “Has my cousin sent you to entertain me, or to compensate me for keeping the bampot ?” He held out his hand again.

Nichol withdrew the pouch of coins from his coat and put them in Mr. Rumpkin’s outstretched palm. Mr. Rumpkin, in turn, set aside the lamp, opened the purse and dumped the coins onto the table, quickly counting them, and biting into one to assure himself it was gold. When he was satisfied, he pointed to the stairs across the hall. “She’s up there, she is. Barricaded herself in.”

Nichol could scarcely blame her. “How long?”

“Two days,” he said gruffly. When Nichol didn’t respond due to his surprise, Rumpkin glanced up at him. “ Och, donna look at me in that manner! I sent food up to her but she’ll no’ touch it.”

No doubt she’d feared contagion of the plague. Nichol couldn’t believe Mr. Calum Garbett had sent his ward to this hell, of all places. His conscience demanded that he remove the lass from here as quickly as possible. “Which room?”

“The tower,” Rumpkin said grumpily, and heaved himself into a chair at the table, picked up a spoon, and resumed eating whatever was in a bowl there.

Nichol turned away before he gagged. He stepped out into the hall, over a block of peat, then jogged up the stairs and paused on the landing. There was only one door to his left. Sitting outside the door was a tray of food that had been covered with a cloth.

He strode down the hall and knocked firmly on that door. “Miss Darby, please do open the door. I am Mr. Nichol Bain and I’ve been sent by your benefactor, Mr. Garbett.”

Several moments passed before he heard movement. He waited for the door to open, glancing around that dark hall to perhaps identify the source of the odor he smelled up here, and was abruptly startled by the crash of what sounded like glass against the other side of the door. Had the lass just hurled something at the door?

Nichol put his hands to his hips and studied the door, thinking. He stepped forward, knocked a little more softly. “Miss Darby...lass. Mr. Garbett has sent a proposition for you that I am confident you will want to hear. He should like to see you removed from this...place as soon as possible, aye? Open the door. Please.”

Silence.

He braced his hands on either side of the door. He had not anticipated having to convince her to leave. He would think she’d come bounding out of the room, her bags packed, grateful for the opportunity to flee. “On my word, what I have to tell you is better than anything you will find here.”

He heard the scrape of something heavy against the floor and realized she was pushing something that sounded like a heavy piece of furniture against the door.

“I warned you, I did,” came the man’s voice from behind him. Nichol glanced over his shoulder. Mr. Rumpkin had come up the stairs with a bottle in one hand. He put that bottle to his lips and took a long swig before saying, “Bloody heathen, that one.”

Nichol turned back to the door and decided to try authority. “Enough of this, Miss Darby, aye? Your benefactor is quite eager to arrive at a solution for you, and what he proposes will surely satisfy you. But you must open the door to hear it.”