Chapter Twelve

Alexander knocked on the drawing room door and Nicholas turned from the window, lines creasing his forehead.

He pointed towards the hallway. "Gwen told me ye wanted to speak to me?"

Nicholas rolled his eyes. "Did she now?"

Alexander shrugged. "Do ye want a drink?" He asked, trying to brush off the conversation he had just listened to.

They left the drawing room and made their way to the study. He headed straight for the side bar and poured them each a generous serving of whisky.

"Is it about the auction?" He asked innocently, handing Nicholas one of the glasses.

"What is your plan for my sister?"

Alexander choked on the sip he was in the middle of taking. Wracking coughs paining his chest and making his eyes water.

Once he finally was able to catch his breath, he eeked out, "Pardon?"

Nicholas sighed and slumped in one of the chairs near the hearth, sipping at his whisky. "Gwen has seen how ye two act when ye are together," he took another pull from his glass. "I have, as well," he confessed. "I dinna want to see her hurt, Alexander."

The pleading in his best friend's voice killed him.

"I ne'er would, Nicholas."

Nicholas nodded, as if finally believing him. "I ken. E'en if 'tis hard for me to admit. But I will state it now, if you e'er do, I will kill ye with my bare hands," he vowed, but a smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"I would expect naught else, brother." They lifted their glasses in salute and downed the remaining liquid. "Now, about the auction. I havena heard from Finlay yet regarding the auctioneer. I hope to hear soon."

"We will get that bastard Kitt. He is going to find out the hard way he messed with the wrong family."

Alexander smiled at Nicholas's reference to family. They were after all.

They had been before the war, during the war, and after still. That was something that wouldn't change. Even if it was a bit rocky for a time.

*

As far aslivestock auctions went, the turnout for the Campbell planned auction was fairly average.

Archibald Allen had agreed to host the auction and call the bids. More than certainly due to a nice purse promised by Finlay.

Finlay had not told him of such a cost, but Alexander kenned there was one involved. The man would not agree to such an endeavor for no compensation. And of course, his friend would not tell him about the cost due to his current circumstances. He appreciated that, but also felt like a leech for being in the situation in the first place. However, once he had his flock back and was making money again, he would pay back his friend ten-fold.

Nicholas, Malcolm, Gunn, and Finlay were all in attendance. Alexander scanned the room but did not see Kitt. Surely, he would put the sheep up for auction. The man didn't have a clue on how to care for them, so the sooner he got them off his lands, the better. Or at least that was what Alexander was thinking, but now that he didn't see him here, he was wondering if his thoughts were misdirected.

"What are ye thinking?" Malcolm asked as he leaned against the wall watching people settle into chairs and linger about. The auction was being held in one of the castle's outbuildings.

"I dinna see Kitt."

"I havena seen the livestock up for auction, but I canna imagine him no' putting them up."

Alexander sighed, pushing his hand through his hair. "I would like to think the same thing, but I am beginning to have my doubts. What if he doesna? Then what am I going to do?"

Malcolm clasped him on the shoulder. "He will. The plan is solid. Mayhap he sent a delegate. 'Twould make sense. If I were him, I wouldna want to show my face around here either," Malcolm said with a chuckle.

"Ye speak the truth on that," Finlay added from behind them.

Archibald banged his hammer on the podium that had been set up in the front of the room and a raised block.

The men turned their attention to the auctioneer and waited. Alexander's nerves were on edge. He felt fidgety. Nervous.

The first lot he had no interest in. Then it was a lot of hogs, chickens, piglets. It went on and on. Of course, he didn't bid on any of them. He had one sole purpose here, and it had not yet come up for bid.

He waited, and his impatience grew. What if the sod didn't list his flock? Would Archibald find it intrusive if he approached the podium and had a look at the lists?

"Easy, brother," Gunn warned. "Ye're tight as a fiddle and we can all see it. Dinna let him see ye want it so much."

Alexander looked around. "He is no' e'en here."

"Just because we canna see him doesna mean he doesna have some sort of presence here. We just have to be patient."

Alexander nodded stiffly, rolling his lips inward as yet another lot of hogs was announced. How many people were selling hogs for crying out loud?

"Sold!" The smack of Archibald's hammer was wearing on Alexander's nerves. "We have one final lot, a late entry."

Alexander snapped his head up and scanned the room, looking for Kitt. His hopes fell as he still didn't see him in attendance.

"I will start taking bids for this lot of three hundred prize-winning sheep."

"Those are mine," Alexander declared. A lot of the townsfolk kenned what he was trying to do. His sheep were well-known and none of them would bid against him on this. Or at least he hoped not. "One hundred pounds," Alexander stated above the crowd, who watched him curiously. He knew they were well aware of his brother's shortcomings. Christopher had been and remained an embarrassment, but he was still his brother and he still loved him. Even if he was the reason he found himself in his current situation.

Alexander held his breath, hoping no one would bid against him. It wouldn't be Kitt, since he wasn't here. And Alexander was certain ye werena allowed to bid on your own lot.

"One hundred and fifty pounds."

Alexander whipped his head around to the sound of the voice that called out. It was not Kitt, but it also wasn't anyone he recognized.

"Do ye ken who that is?" Finlay whispered.

"Nay. Do ye?"

Finlay shook his head.

"Do any of ye ken who that is?"

An echo of nays rose up from the group. "No one is taking my sheep," he whispered. "Two hundred pounds!" He called out.

"Three hundred pounds," the unknown man countered.

"Hell's teeth!" Alexander swore. The man was definitely not a local. Otherwise, he wouldn't be trying so hard to outbid the duke of said lands. "Four hundred pounds." Mayhap that would be enough of a jump to deter the man.

The man twirled the end of his brown mustache as he studied Alexander.

Alexander returned the look, his eyes narrowed as he assessed the man.

"Eight hundred pounds," the man called out with a sneer.

The crowd began to whisper amongst themselves as they watched the exchange.

"Bloody hell. The louse just doubled the bid." He pushed his hands through his hair, knowing what he had to do. "One thousand pounds."

Was the man laughing at him?

Alexander pushed off the wall, but Gunn grabbed his shoulder. "No' here, no' now. Keep your wits about ye. Dinna let him ken that he is getting to ye."

That was much easier said than done.

"One thousand, five hundred pounds."

Alexander felt his blood rush to his face as he fisted his hands. It would be satisfying to introduce the sod to his blows.

"Easy, remember the goal," Gunn said, his voice calm and even.

Taking a deep breath, "'Tis easy to say when 'tis no' your wallet." He looked towards Archibald. "Two thousand pounds."

The crowd's attention focused on him and then shifted to the moustached man in the back.

Archibald looked to the stranger, his brows raised in question. "Going once, twice—"

The man smirked, looked Alexander right in the eyes and called out, "Three thousand pounds."

Gasps went out from the crowd as their eyes volleyed between the two men.

The urge to jump the crowd and throttle the man continuously outbidding him was almost overwhelmingly strong. But no matter how much he wanted to do that, he couldn't.

He drew in a deep breath, his jaw clenched as he ground his teeth in anger.

"Four thousand pounds," he challenged.

"Going once," Archibald announced.

Alexander glared at the man, who finally put his hands up and shook his head, giving a sarcastic bow to Alexander before turning on his heel and leaving the auction.

"Sold to the Duke of Argyll for four thousand pounds."

Alexander paled. His sheep. They were once again his. But he didn't have four thousand pounds to give. He approached Archibald to pick up his pay ticket.

The auctioneer handed him a piece of paper instead. "The lister wanted to work with the winner personally. His address is inside."

Alexander flipped open the note and as expected, saw Kitt's name signed at the bottom. But he did not expect the note contained within.

We have much to discuss, Argyll. We shall speak soon.

He crushed the paper in his hands. "Bloody bastard," he spat.

"What is it?" Malcolm asked.

"He knew. He was playing a game the whole time."

"Who? What?"

"That bloody bastard set me up. He knew all along I was going to go to whatever lengths I could to win the bid. I am certain that man was a pawn in Kitt's game."

"How can ye be so certain?" Finlay asked.

He shoved the note to Finlay. "Because Archibald handed me this instead of the pay note.

*

The walls ofMillwool castle seemed to close in around Clarissa. The men had been gone most of the day. She had wanted to go to the auction, but both Nicholas and Alexander insisted she stay here with Gwen.

So, instead of seeing what was happening, she only saw scenario after scenario running through her head about what could be happening.

She and Gwen sat in the parlor and waited for their return. She had tried to occupy her mind with a book, but it just sat closed on her lap. She couldn't concentrate on the pages every time she started to read, so she finally gave up and had taken to wringing her hands instead.

"Clarissa, ye must relax." Gwen said over the rim of her teacup.

She shoved the book aside and stood, moving to the window to see if the men were on their way back. "I canna, Gwen. My nerves are all on edge. What if Alexander doesna get this sheep back? What will happen to him? To Millwool? To his people? To his sheep?"

"Woah," Gwen set her cup and saucer on the table and joined her at the window and put an arm around her shoulders. "Ye are worrying overmuch on this. Alexander is too smart to let that wee troll win this."

Clarissa giggled at the nickname Gwen gave the American.

"He is a wee bit trollish, is he no'?"

Gwen squeezed her into a hug. "Aye, he is. And he isna worth us wasting time thinking or talking about him. Alexander is a powerful duke. He will win this battle easily."

She sighed, her eyes focused on the path that led to the outbuilding where the auction was being held. She couldn't see the building, but there had been people traveling the road all day.

"Come," Gwen urged, tugging gently on her arm. "Have some tea and we will wait for the men to return. They shall no' be much longer, I presume."

She took one last, long look at the path, and acquiesced.

"Nicholas and I saw ye and Alexander in the garden yesterday."

Clarissa's face flamed as her eyes shot to Gwen's.

"Ye seemed to be enjoying yourselves," she added with an impish smile.

A sudden lump had formed in her throat. Though Gwen was well aware of her feelings for the Duke of Argyll, Clarissa's mind raced to the time she had spent with Alexander there. They had not kissed, regretfully, but also thankfully since they had been seen. But there were a few intimate moments.

Her cheeks set aflame as she tried to choose her words wisely. "Aye, I was going for a stroll in the garden, and he wanted to give me a formal tour. He caught me just as I was going out the door."

"Hmmm, seems quite coincidental, do ye no' think?" She asked innocently.

Clarissa shrugged, plucking at a piece of lint on her skirt. "I thought it was verra kind of him."

"Aye, I agree. Did ye like it?"

Her eyes shot to Gwen. "Like what?"

"The garden," she said, a brow lifted in amusement. "I mean, ye did say he was giving ye a formal tour, did ye no'?"

She nodded. "'Twas lovely."

"Hmph."

"Why are ye making that noise? Do ye no' believe me?"

"Och, aye. I believe ye. The garden is verra nice. Nicholas and I have strolled through it as well. But," she paused dramatically. "It did seem like more was going on when ye sat upon the bench."

"Ye saw us on the bench?" Clarissa's stomach dropped. Nicholas must be furious. Would he take it out on Alexander? Work against him in the auction? Surely not. That would be much too childish.

"Ye looked cozy."

Clarissa buried her face in her hands. "Oh no," she said through her palms.

Gwen joined her on the settee and clasped her hands. "Och, dinna fash. I believe Nicholas is seeing that ye two have genuine feelings for each other. Ye only need to give him time," she dropped her voice. "If I am being honest, I think he is having a hard time grasping the reality that his younger siblings are of marrying age. He doesna want to let ye go. Ye being the first just makes it that much harder."

Relief flooded through her at Gwen's words. Was Nicholas coming to terms with whatever was happening between her and Alexander? Could that even be possible? She could only hope. She wished her brother would see Alexander as she saw him. Strong, loyal, trustworthy. He had always seen him as a brother, and they had supported one another in the war. Now, her brother needed to support him at home.

Voices sounded below and Clarissa and Gwen shared a glance before jumping out of their seats and rushing downstairs.

Without thinking, Clarissa rushed to Alexander and clutched his hand in hers. "How did it go? Did ye get your sheep?"

Alexander looked at her, and then down at their entwined fingers, before meeting her gaze once again. Then his eyes shifted behind her and when she followed his gaze, her brother stood there, arms crossed, brows furrowed.

She snatched her hand from his, backing away. "I am sorry," she apologized. "I—"