Page 13 of A Stranger’s Promise

“Why Culzean?” Alistair set the conversation back on track. “I fail to—”

“It’s a bit of a situation, if you must know,” Nicholas cut in. “And really, why let that grand castle of yours simply rot? You can host a house party with far greater ease than I can. Having it all at Culzean is quite the tidy solution.”

“For who?” Alistair grated, but then his attention snagged on the word ‘all’. He lifted a brow. “Having it all at Culzean?”

Nicholas laughed. “We’ve talked about this before,” he replied, dancing around the issue.

An indirect answer from Nicholas didn’t bode well—especially where women were involved. “Say it, Nicholas,” Alistair ordered. “Have done.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just a few guests for a month or so. The rest won’t even arrive until the, uh, spring ball.”

There it was. The dark, treacherous water lurking under the fresh hay. “Spring ball?” Alistair queried in a low, dangerous voice.

Nicholas shrugged, unperturbed. “A celebration of completing Culzean’s renovation. What worthier cause than that? And may I remind you, that you owe me.” He stressed the words with a lazy grin.

“How so?”

“That card game last summer, at the Gordon’s wedding party.”

Alistair didn’t break his stare. “Do you refer to the card game…that I won?”

You? Nicholas mouthed the word, lifting both brows as if in surprise.

Alistair studied him in an attempt to gauge whether or not his response was genuine. With his consummate acting skills, it was often difficult to tell.

The baronet clapped his palm to his forehead in embarrassment and grinned his widest yet. “Did you win, Alistair?” he asked in astonishment. “Zounds, you did, didn’t you? What a merry blunder. I was certain you stood in my debt. I fear it’s too late to change plans now. I’ve contrived to make a right jolly celebration of it.”

Alistair opened his mouth, prepared to share his own opinion on that score when Nicholas raised a staying hand. “But before we discuss it further, perhaps you’d care to hear how it all came about? Lady Cassilis had a hand in it,” he quickly added.

At the mention of his stepmother, Alistair surveyed his friend in a sudden new light. “Pray tell what does this concern then?”

“It was during a game of Hunt the Slipper at Lord Brexley’s ball,” Nicholas replied with a devious twinkle in his eye.

Alistair leveled him a look. The only version of Hunt the Slipper that Nicholas ever played involved copious amounts of wine and women. “You were drunk then,” he said bluntly.

“At least, Lady Cassilis thought so.” Nicholas chuckled, but then his expression sobered. “She claimied she’d soon find the proof she sought, at last, the ‘irrefutable proof’.”

The ‘irrefutable proof’…his father’s dying words.

Alistair crossed to the window and looked out over the snow. Obsessed with building the grandest castle in Scotland, the old earl had bankrupted the Cassilis estate. His solution? Legitimize and make Alistair the heir, thus saving his legacy with his son’s self-made fortune. Alistair had always known Lady Cassilis would eventually strike back and contest the will. It had only been a matter of time—even though the courts had assured him the old earl had provided solid proof of his legitimacy and his claim stood unshakable. He’d found his legitimacy astonishing, especially after the manner of his upbringing. It was no small wonder Lady Cassilis did, as well. Yet, irrefutable proof? Now? After almost four years from the day when he’d received a letter from Foster, the Cassilis piper, informing him that his father had requested his immediate presence—at his deathbed.

The mad gallop through the wind driven rain that night had proven fruitless. The old earl hadn’t wished to make peace with his estranged, eldest son as Alistair had hoped.

Exhausted and wet to the bone, Alistair had burst into his father’s chamber to find him with Lady Cassilis at his side.

Even now, Alistair could feel the heat of his father’s gaze as he’d rasped in a labored whisper, “Save the castle.”

“The castle?” Alistair had asked.

But the harsh old man had turned to his wife and clutched her arm. “The piper keeps the proof, the irrefutable proof that Alistair is my legitimate heir. The castle. Save the castle.”

The shock that rolled over Alistair was dispelled by the venomous look his stepmother directed at him. Her face twisted into a mask of fury that would live forever in his memory.

“You have outwitted me for now, with this false evidence of your mother’s marriage,” she spat. “But I know better. She was a mere scullery maid. I’ll find this irrefutable proof and set this travesty to rights.”

“Perhaps Lady Cassilis convinced the old piper to finally speak, aye?” Nicholas’ deep voice cut through his memories.

Alistair looked at his friend. “Foster knows nothing of the matter.”