The Pursuit by Johanna Lindsey
She had six uncles with the name of Ian. Some people might find that strange, but her family didn’t. Considering they all had different mothers, and with the mothers doing the naming, the man these six had been named after hadn’t had much say in it. The numbers had been added to the names by the brothers themselves, to lessen confusion when they were all together. Most of the family used just the name alone—no number—if only one of the Ians was present.
“You’re verra quiet today,” Ian remarked halfway through the journey. “Worried aboot London?”
“Nae, no’ a’tall,” she assured him.
This Ian, being only one year younger than Melissa’s mother, was more like a father to her than an uncle. She wasn’t in the habit of confiding in him any more than she would her father, whereas her youngest uncle, Ian Six, who was only eight years older than her, was more like a brother to her than an uncle, and in him she did confide quite frequently. She would have told him all about her meeting with Lincoln—everything that had been said, everything she’d felt—if he’d been home last night to hear about it.
But it occurred to her that this uncle, being the oldest of his brothers, might remember Lincoln from when he lived in the Highlands, whereas the others might not. And she had so many questions about the man, thought of only after Lincoln had ridden away yesterday, so many things she should have asked him but didn’t.
She didn’t know how long he was going to be visiting, didn’t know where he lived in England—even if he lived in England, though everything about him, including his accent, said he did. It would be the worst luck if he was there in the Highlands for a long visit with her leaving for London in a few days, and she could be gone for the whole of his visit and, even worse, come home just when Lincoln would be returning to England himself.
She couldn’t cancel her trip, however, even though she was now of a mind to. Too much planning for it had been done, and the expense of a suitable wardrobe. Besides, Lincoln’s visit might be a short one, and she could as likely further their acquaintance in London. He might live there. Och, why hadn’t she asked?
Ian couldn’t answer most of her questions, but he might at least know something of the man. She’d settle for anything at the moment, so she asked him directly, “Did you know Lincoln Burnett when he lived a few miles from you?”
“Burnett? Sounds American, or English.”
“Aye, he’s all o’er an Englishmon.”
“Ye’ve met him, then?”
“Yesterday I did,” she said. “He’s verra nice—and verra handsome.”
Ian chuckled. “And ye were obviously taken wi’ him. Are ye off tae London for nae good purpose now?”
Ian hadn’t been one of the uncles who’d scared off her recent callers. He was much more reserved as he approached forty, and he tended now to let a man prove his worth before he passed judgment on him. Or at least he withheld warnings and threats until he saw a real need for them. He could still be just as hot-tempered as his brothers, but he usually wasn’t first into the fray anymore.
“I only just met him, and we didna talk enough tae find out how long he’ll be visiting here. He could visit here often for all I’m knowing. I was hoping ye might remember him, is all, and could tell me a wee bit more about him.”
“Remember him from when? There’s ne’er been a Burnett living in our area that I can recall. There was a Linc, which could hae been short for Lincoln, I suppose, but that fool lad was as Scottish as you and me.”
“I’m only three-quarters,” she corrected him with a grin.
“Och, and he was only half, come tae think on it, which is neither here nor there, since he was a Ross, no’ a Burnett. A lassie might be coming home wi’ a new surname, but a mon tends tae be keeping the one he’s born wi’.”
“He claimed it was nineteen years ago that he lived here, though he didna say if he’d been back tae visit in all that time or no’. I was assuming he had relatives still living here, and that’s who he’s come tae see, but maybe his whole family moved away all those years ago and he’s only returned to look up old friends.”
“Hinny, I would hae been around twenty m’self nineteen years ago, auld enough tae know if any English lived nearby—unless he was an adopted son and still a bairn.”
“Nay, ten he said he was when he left here. Could he hae been the Lincoln Ross ye know, adopted and maybe returned to his real parents, which would account for a different surname now?”
“The age is aboot right, but if ye’ve a true interest in the mon, Meli, then pray ’tis no’ the Linc Ross m’brothers and I came tae know.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because that lad was as stupid as they come, stubborn beyond comprehension, and, tae boot, vengeful, all o’ which would be hard tae outgrow, I’m thinking. He wouldna take the beating he deserved and let it go at that. Had tae keep coming back for more.”
“What’d he do tae deserve a beating?”
Ian sighed. “’Twas as much Dougi’s fault, I suppose, for wanting tae be friends wi’ Linc. He took tae him right off, ye ken. They were the same age. And we all o’ us liked him well enough eventually, though he was still closest tae Dougi.”
“But what’d he do tae change that?”
“He picked a fight wi’ Dougi that Dougi couldna hope tae win. He’d grown much bigger than Dougi in the two years they were close friends, ye see. One punch and he broke Dougi’s nose. There was nae contest. He knew there wouldna be. He shouldna hae started that, but doing so, he shouldna hae been surprised when several o’ m’brothers who were present stepped in tae finish it for him. He’d known us all long enough tae ken that we dinna let one o’ ours get hurt wi’out the hurter paying a goodly price for it.”
“And he came back for more?”
“Aye, he was feeling wronged by then and wanting revenge. He was bloody well determined tae take us all on, everyone o’ us, and he didna care if ’twas all at the same time. You canna get much more stupid than that—or crazy.”
“They’re no’ the same person, Uncle,” Melissa said now, emphatically. “Lincoln Burnett is no’ like that a’tall. Really he isna.”
Ian chuckled at her. “Ye dinna hae tae convince me o’ that, hinny. I didna think it was him. If I ne’er heard o’ your Mr. Burnett when he lived here, there can be any number o’ reasons why, the simplest being he mun no’ hae lived here for verra long. Come and gone, as it were, afore anyone knew he was here. It wouldna be the first time the queen’s English subjects hae come tae Scotland tae find oot for themselves why she likes it so well here.”
Yes, a perfectly logical reason and most likely exactly why Ian had never heard of Lincoln Burnett. Besides, that foolish young Lincoln had been Scottish. Her Lincoln most assuredly was not. She didn’t give it another thought and went back to dreamily counting the minutes until she would again meet Mr. Burnett.
Six
LINCOLN knew that it wouldn’t be easy, sitting down to eat with his mother. He had avoided dinner last night with the flimsy excuse of exhaustion, and he rarely sat down to breakfast, since he wasn’t an early riser. But luncheon couldn’t be avoided and was as uncomfortable as he’d known it would be. Even with his aunt and cousin there to keep the conversation flowing, his own lack of participation in it was glaringly noticeable. Though he hadn’t counted on being so distracted that he wasn’t even listening to them.
That was brought to his attention when his cousin Edith, who rarely raised her voice, practically shouted at him, “Lincoln! Whatever has gotten into you?”
“Beg pardon?”
“You’ve only been asked three times,” she stressed. “If you’d take me for a ride this afternoon. This is my first time to Scotland, after all. I’d like to see a bit more of it than what the road up here offered in view.”
“I’m sorry, Edi. I just met someone yesterday that has been occupying my mind ever since.”
“A girl, I hope,” Henriette put in.
“Actually, yes.”
His aunt smiled brilliantly, drawing her own conclusions. “Wonderful! It’s perfectly all right if you find your bride before the season starts. Yes indeed, no reason to wait, and easy enough for us to plan a wedding while you’re escorting Edith about to all the parties.”
He nearly rolled his eyes. “I know absolutely nothing about her yet, other than her name. I only just made her acquaintance, Aunt.”
“When a man gets so distracted that his hearing becomes as impaired as yours just was, he’s already thinking of marriage,” Henriette insisted.
Lincoln blushed, not because marriage was mentioned and that hadn’t been on his mind, but because he hadn’t thought of it to begin with. He knew he wanted Melissa MacGregor in his life and not for only a brief time. Every time he considered a short affair while he was here, his instincts balked. “Short” just wasn’t going to do it for as much as he wanted her. Only a permanent relationship would satisfy the feelings she stirred in him.
Thoughts of her had kept him up half the night, and before he finally fell asleep, he’d been thinking along the lines of buying her a cottage in England and keeping her as his mistress. But he’d been at a loss for how to broach the subject with her. It wasn’t as if he were in the habit of setting up mistresses. He’d yet to meet a woman whom he wanted to keep that exclusively to himself—until now.
But why the bloody hell couldn’t he marry her instead? Just because he bore a title and she didn’t? That was assuming she would marry him. He supposed he ought to be asking before he took it for granted that she would.
“So who is she, and when do we get to meet her?” Edith wanted to know.
“She’s a MacGregor from Kregora. I’m not quite sure where that is, though I believe some MacGregors live in an old castle a few hours from here.”
“Kregora is the name of that castle,” Eleanor explained, her tone hesitant, as if she weren’t quite sure whether to volunteer the information or not.
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she knew Melissa, but he refrained. As eager as he was to learn anything and everything about the girl, he’d rather hear it from anyone other than his mother.
“I’ll be riding over that way this afternoon if you want to join me, Edi.”
“Two hours just to get there, another two back? That’s much longer than I had in mind when I’m still a bit sore from four days riding in the coach. Tomorrow perhaps—if you can wait that long,” she added with a grin.
He couldn’t, and his expression must have said as much, because Edith laughed and added, “Very well, I didn’t really want to sit on a mount for that long no matter how rested I get for it. A simple tour about the surrounding areas tomorrow will suffice nicely.
“If it’s tomorrow for the tour, I might join you m’self,” Henriette said. “Have you enough mounts for the lot of us, Eleanor?”
“No, we keep only a few carriage horses in the stable since I don’t ride anymore, but I’ll arrange to have a few more suitable mounts available before tomorrow.”
“Splendid. Looking forward to it now.”
The conversation took another turn after that, allowing Lincoln to bow out of it once more. He was grateful that his mother had yet to speak to him directly—on any subject. She’d seemed about to do so several times, but she must have changed her mind.
Was she waiting for him to make an overture? Possibly, and very likely that would have him leaving here with nothing changed. He might have come hoping to put the bitterness behind him, but he hadn’t counted on how much added resentment would surface upon his seeing her here in the home she’d denied him.
It wasn’t lost on him, however, that the mount he’d ridden yesterday, a fine stallion suited for a man who enjoyed a good ride, she must have bought, rented, or borrowed just for his use. She’d thought of that even before he arrived. She’d also sent a servant to him before he left the house after lunch, to give him directions to Castle Kregora. He hadn’t had to ask.
She could merely have given the directions herself. But after his unappreciative response to her one disclosure there in the dining room, given hesitantly as it was, she was probably reluctant to face being ignored again. Yet she knew he needed those directions, and she saw to it that he got them.
Acting like a mother, seeing to his needs without being asked—God, he wished she wouldn’t do that. It was too late. She’d had nineteen years to supply what he really needed from her, but she’d never come close to doing that. Yes, he’d gone out of his way to avoid her, hadn’t answered her letters, but she could have found him if it had really mattered to her. She could have pushed her way past his defenses, could have brought him home….
Seven
LINCOLN found the lake easily enough. He’d been told to follow it as it wound through the countryside like a river. It was huge. And Castle Kregora sat on a high bluff that overlooked it and the mountains beyond.
He thought it odd indeed that Melissa would travel so far from home to swim in a tiny water hole, when she had such a magnificent lake in her own backyard, as it were. He could be glad that she’d done so yesterday, though, for whatever reason. He’d never have met her otherwise.
Just the mere prospect of seeing her again stirred up more excitement than Lincoln had felt in a very long time. One of the things he hadn’t been looking forward to this season was the fact that his aunt and cousin would find out that he’d become rather jaded. The endless rounds of socializing, gambling, and other entertainments the ton immersed themselves in had never held much interest for him to begin with, and after ten years of partaking from that cup he had finally concluded he must be a country boy at heart. Which was yet another reason he’d agreed it was time he marry.
Kregora certainly wasn’t what one would expect of a centuries-old castle. It was in excellent repair for one thing, including all the outer defense walls. The inner courtyard they surrounded likely bore no resemblance to what it once was, today filled with numerous workshops—carpenter shop, smithy, bakery, and the like—but also stone cottages, very much a little village.
Melissa probably lived in one of those cottages, or at least nearby. He asked at the stable where he might find her. He was directed inside the main keep to do his asking of the laird, who was home. And there was his next surprise. You simply couldn’t tell from outside that going inside the castle would be like walking into a country manor, replete with all the many rooms one would expect to find in a manor house.
He was asked to wait in an empty parlor. It didn’t take long for Lachlan MacGregor himself to show up, owner of Kregora and current head of this small branch of the MacGregors.
Lincoln was tall, but the MacGregor was taller. Somewhere in his mid-forties, barrel-chested, thick-legged, he might be likened to a giant by most people. He was handsome for all of that, and he wore a very friendly look as he held out his hand and introduced himself. Lincoln did likewise, though he didn’t include his title, viewing it more as armor, which he didn’t need to don here.
“What brings ye tae Kregora, Mr. Burnett?”
“I’m looking for Melissa MacGregor. I was told you could direct me to her,” Lincoln replied.
“And why would ye be looking for her?”
“I’ve come to ask her to marry me.”
He shouldn’t have chosen that reason, when any number of other reasons would have done, for why he was there. And he’d managed to surprise the MacGregor, though the older man masked it quickly enough. They were no one’s business, after all, his intentions, with the exception of Melissa and perhaps her parents. And stating them didn’t even get him pointed in the right direction sooner, as he’d hoped.
“Let’s go tae m’office, where we’ll no’ be interrupted,” Lachlan suggested.
“There’s no need for me to intrude on your time, sir. If you could just direct me to Melissa—”
“In good time, lad. Ye’ll be telling me first why ye’ve decided ye want tae marry m’daughter.”
“Your daughte
“Aye, and if ye werena aware o’ that, then ye dinna know enough about m’daughter tae be asking for her—yet. But be at ease, mon, I’m no’ denying yer suit. We’ve a need tae talk about it though, ye’ll agree.”
Lincoln nodded with a good deal of embarrassment and followed Lachlan to his office. Of all the rotten luck. He’d thought the mention of marriage would cut short any delays, or at least point out the seriousness of his visit, which should have got him into Melissa’s presence more quickly, without any more detours along the way. But considering whom he’d mentioned it to, it merely made him look foolish.
Like the parlor they’d just left, as well as the entry hall, Lachlan MacGregor’s office was paneled in thick wood, with no trace of the outer stone walls visible to remind that they were in a castle. The single window in the room had been enlarged from the original, and framed in wood to boot. It was a comfortable room, the furniture thickly-padded, the dark tones of brown, green, and black well suited for a man’s domain. Yet Lincoln was anything but comfortable.
For someone who had only recently decided it was time to marry and only just decided on whom to marry, he hadn’t exactly given much thought to what to say to a prospective bride’s father. But having put his foot in his mouth already, he was certainly off to a great start. Bloody hell. He wasn’t used to being at such a loss on how to proceed.
The older man helped immensely, though, as soon as they were seated, by simply asking, “So when did ye meet our Meli?”
“Yesterday.”
Lachlan’s new look of surprise turned rather quickly into a round of laughter. When he wound down, he said, “Ye’ll have tae be forgiving me. ’Tis no’ often I meet a mon who knows what he wants quite that quickly.”
“I trust my instincts, sir,” Lincoln said in his defense. “But perhaps I should explain. I had decided to take a wife, was going to actively search for one this social season in London. So the thought of marriage was not really on the spur of the moment, as it has been much on my mind recently. And having met Melissa, I concluded that I really don’t need to look any further—that is, if she’ll have me. However, I didn’t mean to imply that I want to marry her immediately. Actually, that would suit me well enough, but I realize that a period of courtship is in order first. I merely intended to state my goals today and to assure her that my suit is honorable.”