Amanda Scott by Highland Treasure

much as she blames—” He glanced at Duncan, cleared his throat again noisily, then muttered, “It don’t matter what she thinks. She’s just a foolish woman.”
    Duncan got up and set his mug on the big table with a bang. “You are trying my patience,” he snapped. “Tell me what you know about Breck, and I’ll go.”
    “I know he’s in the district,” MacCrichton said, capitulating, “but I’m speaking God’s truth when I say I don’t know where he is. You might find him on Rannoch Moor, for he has friends there, and his mother. I cannot think why you came to me.”
    “Then I will tell you,” Duncan said grimly. “I’ve come because I heard that he expects to receive a large sum of money this trip, more than usual and enough to begin yet a new movement in France. Perhaps here, as well. Whenever men mention that unusual sum, MacCrichton, your name comes up. Now, what about it?”
    MacCrichton turned pale. Then, even as Duncan began to doubt his sources, he leapt to his feet, and just as quickly as his color had fled, it returned, reddening his face with anger.
    “My name,” he cried. “What the devil would my name have to do with anything?”
    “Look, I’m just telling you that—”
    As if Duncan had not spoken, MacCrichton went on furiously, “If I had money to give someone like Breck, would I not have paid what I owe to the Crown for my pardon? I’ve only till Candlemas to produce two thousand pounds, and that sum is nowhere as great as the sort of money you’re talking about. Do I look like a bloody philanthropist? For that matter, do I look like the sort of man to entrust my money to a chap like Allan Breck?”
    “You fought for the same cause,” Duncan reminded him.
    “Aye, and I know what manner of man he is. Don’t forget that until a year ago I was in France myself. Had I known the whereabouts of such a sum, and wanted to donate it, would I not have asked him to fetch it then, when the movement was stirring and in sore need of funding? Use your head, damn you!”
    At first, MacCrichton’s diatribe shook Duncan’s belief in his connection to Allan Breck, but the more he protested, the less uncertain Duncan became. He could not doubt that something in what he had said had shocked the man. Nor could he doubt MacCrichton’s sudden fury, but he did not seem to be directing that fury at Duncan. Waiting until he was certain the other man meant to say no more, Duncan said quietly, “Might Mistress Maclaine have knowledge of Breck’s whereabouts?”
    “Ask her,” MacCrichton growled.
    His quick agreement made Duncan wonder if he was eager to shift the focus of the questions away from himself to Mary. Still, Breck had visited Maclean House on more than one occasion. Perhaps the lass did know where he was.
    “Send your man to fetch her back here then,” Duncan said.
    MacCrichton gestured to his henchman, and Duncan noted with satisfaction that Bannatyne followed the man into the stairwell to make certain he went up and not down. Bannatyne was a good man.
    “Have some more ale,” MacCrichton said with a sigh. “I’ve no quarrel with you. In point of fact, I feared when I saw you that you had come for the lass.”
    “Why would I do that?”
    MacCrichton shrugged. “She was close to your brother. I thought you might feel some responsibility toward her, and I did not think she had told you about our intention to marry.”
    “Did she tell anyone?” Duncan’s tone was sarcastic.
    “Oh, her people know we intend to marry. They will be surprised to learn we are doing so at once, I suspect, but the lass wanted the security of a home of her own. We were to wait until spring, but when her kinsmen decided to journey into Perthshire for the winter, she grew lonely and tumbled into my lap, so to speak.”
    “True love, then.” Duncan heard the edge in his voice and said no more. He did not want to reveal his feelings about Mary Maclaine to this man.
    MacCrichton had heard the edge, for he