Virtue and Valor: Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series by Collette Cameron Read Free Book Online

Harcourt paused to watch a pretty maid hurry by, a coy smile on her lips. Harcourt’s gaze trailed her gently swaying backside until she disappeared around a corner.
    Yancy cleared his throat. “The travellers?”
    An unrepentant Harcourt shifted his attention back to him. “And, according to Sethwick’s cousins—”
    “Gregor and Alasdair McTavish?”
    “If they are the two blond giants, then yes. I cannot keep his family straight.”
    Harcourt cast another swift glance around. “In any event, as I was saying, according to Sethwick’s cousins, his scouts have seen a great deal of activity between the Highland travellers and the Scots.”
    “So? The black tinkers typically trade with the residents near their camps. I saw at least half a dozen Scottish Highland gypsies in the bailey when I arrived.” Yancy shrugged and another piece of straw floated to the floor. “There’s nothing unusual in that.”
    Harcourt’s expressive eyes darkened, and he rested a shoulder against the wall. “Therein lays the mystery. The local Scots are indeed bartering and trading with the tinkers. So why, then, are Clauston clansmen lurking about?”
    “Clauston? They’re remote Highlanders.” Yancy stared at Harcourt, and then frowned. “What are they doing this far south? The Claustons live at least five or six days’ hard ride from here.”
    Harcourt gave a knowing smirk. “I’ll wager they aren’t after baubles or here to have their fortunes told or palms read.”
    A trace of scorn colored his last words.
    “I wouldn’t scoff if I were you, Harcourt.” Yancy leveled the duke a sharp look. “Many Scots, other than the gypsies, also claim to possess the second sight, including Sethwick’s sister, Seonaid.”
    Harcourt’s expression sobered. “True enough. I met her earlier. Took one look at me and said, ‘You should consider drinking less coffee, and cold tallow candles are wonderful for treating eye injuries.’ Then she smiled sweetly and swept from the room.”
    “You don’t say? How irregular.” Seonaid had never so much as hinted she discerned a thing about Yancy. Perhaps he was unreadable.
    Harcourt shuddered, puzzlement crinkling his eyes. “Wholly unnerving, that. I don’t like being read like a book, and that candle business . . . quite bizarre.”
    “Indeed.” Hands clasped behind him, Yancy rocked back on his heels, deep in thought.
    An extended silence reigned as he contemplated the information Harcourt had imparted about the gypsies. As for Harcourt’s musings, well, who knew exactly what went on in that fair head of his? The man was an enigma.
    “I expected the Blackhalls and the MacGraths to be lurking about.” Yancy pulled on his earlobe. “After all, they’re causing the disruption with your cousin’s clan, and MacHardy’s barony encompasses their lands.”
    Hell, the entire bumblebroth made his head ache. He rubbed his forehead while staring at a portrait of a fierce-looking Scot on the opposite wall. “This may be more complicated than I’d anticipated.”
    He’d have to extend his visit. That, he didn’t object to at all; he’d have more opportunities to court Isobel.
    MacHardy, on the other hand . . .
    An uncouth Scot, nothing like Sethwick and his kin, MacHardy had earned a reputation as a troublemaker and a whoremongering cheat. A foul one too. From the stench lingering about his person, his substantial flesh and clothing hadn’t encountered a droplet of water in a goodly amount of time.
    The baron laid odds far too often in White’s betting book, gambling on every ludicrous wager from the knot of a lord’s cravat to the feather or ribbon colors adorning a lady’s bonnet. Once, he had placed a bet as to the number of whiskers on Lady Clutterbuck’s many chins.
    There were five.
    The man was a corkbrained buffoon. His tendency to dispute his losses had gained him the reputation of a hotheaded Captain Sharp. Yancy hadn’t a single doubt the baron had fired early during the