The Virgin of Clan Sinclair by Karen Ranney Page A

actions, Ellice?” He waved his hand in the air as if to erase his words. “No, let me rephrase that. I want you to explain your actions.”
    Macrath indicated the nearby chair, but Gadsden shook his head, evidently preferring to stand. When Macrath seated himself behind his desk, the other man leaned against a bookshelf, folded his arms and looked supremely unconcerned.
    Why should he worry? He’d done the proper thing. A dastardly man would have compromised Lady Pamela in the stables. No, Gadsden had been suffocatingly proper, disappointingly so.
    She’d been prepared to be even more of an adventuress, but he didn’t give her the opportunity. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her.
    All she’d done was make the situation even worse, since her manuscript and her bustle now rested in the compartment of his carriage. However was she going to retrieve it?
    “Ellice?”
    She blinked up at Macrath, realizing he was waiting for an answer.
    “I felt the need to go to Edinburgh,” she said. Would Macrath take that as enough of an explanation?
    Evidently not because he leveled that stare at her and asked, “Why?”
    “To see Mairi.”
    He didn’t respond, merely turned and looked at Gadsden. “Mairi is my sister,” he said.
    “And who is she?” Gadsden asked, glancing at her.
    “She’s a sister as well,” he said.
    The words bloomed in her chest, choking off her breath. She’d never expected Macrath to claim her like that, especially in front of a stranger.
    She was not going to cry now.
    “Then I should consider myself fortunate to be an only child,” Gadsden said.
    Annoyed, she looked at him. What a horrid thing to say. But then, Donald had been as cruel when he was hurting.
    Had she wounded him somehow? Was his heart more tender than it appeared?
    “Why did you need to see Mairi?” Macrath asked. “Couldn’t you have sent her a letter?”
    She stared down at her clasped hands. He would never understand the truth.
    Drumvagen was a magnificent house but it was a prison, inhabited by jailers who dictated her every move. She couldn’t leave her room without being assailed by people who wanted her to talk more or less, walk faster or slower, tell them what was on her mind or hold her thoughts. Between Brianag and her mother and even dear Virginia, she could not simply be , and that lack of freedom had made her do something rash and impulsive.
    She was never rash and impulsive. She was docile and agreeable. She was invisible. People could probably see through her, she was such a nondescript person.
    Ellice stared at the front of Macrath’s carved desk.
    What could she say about Drumvagen that wouldn’t offend him?
    The door suddenly flew open and a wide-eyed maid stood there, breathing fast.
    “Oh sir, Brianag says to come quick. Something’s wrong. There’s blood.”
    I f the weather had been better, Ross would have left Drumvagen, rather than be an intrusion into what was a private matter.
    He removed his sodden clothes and dried himself, dressing in the clothing he’d retrieved from the carriage. Tomorrow he’d be home, and grateful for it. As it was, he’d been gone for two weeks, time enough to be about his duties.
    Because of the condition of Drumvagen’s mistress, and the subsequent involvement of the housekeeper, a woman with a reputed skill at nursing, dinner was a tray in his room brought by a trembling housemaid.
    He thanked her and ate, unconcerned that the fare wasn’t the equal of that found at Huntly. Few great houses employed a cook the equal of his, or had such massive farms from which to obtain its food.
    For a time, he contemplated the storm, grateful that he’d changed his plans as it raged across the sky like a child having a tantrum. Perhaps it was a testament to how soundly Drumvagen had been built that the house didn’t even tremble beneath the worst of the thunder, only sat impervious adjacent to the sea.
    Because of the cliff, there was no danger of ever being swamped by the