The Capture of the Earl of Glencrae by Stephanie Laurens

mother . . .” Angelica was sincerely shocked. “That must have been painful.”
    He held her gaze, after a moment said, “Mirabelle wasn’t exactly maternal—she never saw me as anything other than a pawn in her game, and children notice things like that. Even as a young boy I didn’t trust her, but you don’t need to pity me for that—I had clan all around me, and no one could have had better care.” He paused, then added, “The right sort of care—I wasn’t spoiled. I was just one of a dozen of us who ran wild through the summers and always had dozens of adults watching out for us. That’s what clan is, what it’s for. We’re all family.” He exhaled. “Which brings me to the next development in Mirabelle’s tale.
    â€œWhen she gave up all hope of claiming my father’s regard, she tried to reclaim me—more or less from the clan. I was twelve at the time. She hoped to make me her puppet so that when Mortimer died—he being so much older than she—she would be able to control the clan, and the clan’s purse-strings. So she tried to draw me back under her wing, and discovered she couldn’t. Mirabelle was from the lowlands and didn’t understand—had never tried to understand—how the highland clans work. When she suddenly tried to own me again, the clan closed around me and wouldn’t give me up. No one openly opposed her, but whenever I was home from school, she could never find me—I was always out, about, never where she could catch me, drag me into her sitting room, sit me down, and try to control me.
    â€œAfter a while, she stopped trying. I—we all—assumed she’d finally accepted her lot. She’d never made the slightest effort to be a part of the clan—to be the laird’s lady in any real sense. She looked down on the clan and had no one as a friend to help pass the years. She grew even more bitter, more resentful and withdrawn.” He paused to draw breath. “Then, when I was twenty and home from university, I fell and badly hurt my knee. I was laid up for weeks, a captive, and Mirabelle tried once again—this time to turn me directly against my father.”
    He paused. Angelica wondered if he knew his eyes had turned not just cold but to a shade that fully justified the description “ eyes like ice .”
    â€œI don’t know how far she would have taken things, because I cut her off—corrected her mistaken impression that I harbored any ambition to accede to the title before my father died an entirely natural death—as soon as I understood her direction. She was at first utterly disbelieving, then furious, but there was little she could do. I warned my father and those around him, and that was largely that. Once I recovered, as soon as I could I left for London and for the next five years spent much of my time down here. When I went home, I spent my time with my father, with clan, and out and about the estate. I already knew much of what I would need to when the earldom passed to me, so there was little reason to stay in the highlands for any length of time.”
    He paused, then leaned forward; resting his forearms on his thighs, he refixed his gaze on her face. “That’s all necessary background, but the events that led to my present predicament—and the reason I need your help—start here. During the period I spent largely in London, the seasons turned bad, the crops failed, and times grew hard for the clan. In ’23, my father came to London for the first time in over thirty years to ask for my blessing for a deal he’d worked out to save the clan. I listened, and I agreed with his scheme.”
    His gaze fell to his hands, hanging between his knees. “The scheme hinged on a goblet my family has had in our keeping for centuries. The tale of that goblet is unconnected to the present situation, and other than