Bride by Stella Cameron Page B

happiness.’
    Justine's heart turned over. “What can he mean? Struan?” She looked up at him. “Does he mean he and Ella are in the habit of sneaking from their beds without your knowledge?”
    “I hardly think this is something you should concern yourself with, Justine,” Calum said, but she noted the way his brows drew together. “I'm sure Struan can deal with his own affairs.”
    “And I'm sure he cannot. Which is exactly why he needs me. Max, you will speak to me with complete honesty. Why have you and Ella become wild things? What would possess you to leave your beds while you assume your father is sleeping? Where do you go? This really is insupportable.”
    “What does the lady mean, Max?” the little girl asked. “Is she one o’ the ones ye told me about? Am I t'go find me da now?”
    “Hush,” Max said, his skin reddening.
    “But ye told me to fetch me da if one o’ them was t'come.” A small-boned creature, the child's smooth brow puckered. “Is she one o’ the ones wi’ bloody murder in her heart? One o’ the ones set on tearin’ out your da's liver and lights?”
    “Max,”
Justine, Calum, and Struan exclaimed in unison.
    “This lady is a friend,” Max said to Kirsty Mercer. “She's held in great favor wi’ Papa. And wi’ me. Away wi’ ye. Go tell Ella there's someone here she'll want t'see. And tell your mam we'll come t'the kitchen for porridge shortly.”
    Justine shook her head. Things had come to a much worse pass than she could have imagined. Now Struan's English barbarian son had become a Scottish barbarian. She must start work very quickly.
    As soon as Kirsty had scampered from sight, Max closed the door and approached the adults with a conspiratorial hunch to his shoulders. “Let me deal wi’ this, Papa. Ye carina expect the duke and Lady Justine t'understand the way o’ things here.”
    “Max,” Struan said, his voice loaded with warning. “I think you had better leave us and join Ella.”
    “Not until I've explained about the wild bands in the hills.” Justine met Struan's eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
    “That's why we leave the lodge at night—Ella and me, that is. Bands of wild clansmen come down from the hills in the dark. They've great claymores and clubs and all manner o’ fearsome weapons. The tenants are afraid o’ them. Ella's afraid, too, but I let her come so's she'll feel useful. I have my ways of scarin’ the wild ones away, y'see.”
    “Wild clansmen,” Calum said. “The same type of people bent on securing Struan's—your father's
liver and lights,
would that be?”
    Max nodded sagely. “The very same.”
    “Nothing has changed, I see,” Calum remarked. “I would suggest the boy spend long hours with a minister. Discussing the danger his deceit poses to his soul.”
    “He's eleven,” Justine snapped.
    “Quite,” Calum responded. “Old enough to know better. Kindly leave us alone, young man. If there is time, Lady Justine will greet Ella—before we leave for Cornwall.”
    “But—”
    “Go,” Struan said in ominous tones. “We shall speak about your behavior later.”
    “But—”
    “Go.”
    Max backed up until he thudded against the door, then rapidly exited the room.
    “He only does that when he's overset,” Struan said apologetically. “That's when he tells the stories. The lad means no harm.”
    “He needs a woman's guidance,” Justine said, already planning how she would read to Max from the Bible.
    “He needs a good whipping,” Calum retorted. “Now. This madness has progressed quite far enough. Justine, I will hear no more argument. As we travel, we shall discuss how best to explain your extraordinary behavior. We leave Scotland at …” His words trailed away. He stared toward the door.
    Justine turned to see Arran, Marquess of Stonehaven, looming on the threshold.
    Struan groaned, threw himself into a deep, scarlet, tapestry-covered chair, and buried his head in his hands. “A circus,” he