"Au contraire," Haldoran said with a hint of mockery. "Your granddaughter was known throughout the army for her bravery. She earned the nickname Saint Catherine for her nursing work."
"I'd heard that," the laird said. "It made me think she might be strong enough to rule Skoal, even though she's female."
Catherine disliked being spoken of as if she were not present. Luckily, Michael caught her grandfather's attention by saying, "From what I've read, the islanders trace their ancestry to the Vikings and Celts, whose women were known for courage and independence. With such blood in her veins, it's not surprising that Catherine dared the battlefields."
"You're interested in history?" Not waiting for a reply, the laird began expounding his opinions about early Britain while Michael listened with apparent interest.
Catherine gave Haldoran a quizzical glance. "I haven't gotten over my surprise at finding you here. Did you know last spring that we were cousins?"
"I knew you must be of Skoalan descent, perhaps William's daughter, but I wasn't sure, so I thought it better not to speak." He accepted a glass of sherry. "However, when I returned to London I visited Edmund Harwell and said I'd met a charming officer's wife with island eyes. He confirmed your identity."
She remembered how disconcerted he had seemed the first time they met. Island eyes again. Had he concealed their kinship because of discretion, or because he did not want to alert a possible rival for Skoal? The uneasiness she had always felt with him intensified. Under his amiability, she sensed a kind of disdain, as if he felt superior to the mere mortals around him.
A footman entered to announce dinner. Davin Penrose unobtrusively stepped behind the wheelchair and pushed the laird into the dining room. As steward, he must work with her grandfather constantly, which would require tact as well as competence. The more Catherine saw of him, the better she liked him. She also liked his blond wife, Glynis, whose droll sense of humor was reminiscent of Anne Mowbry's.
"Catherine, sit at the other end of the table," her grandfather ordered. "Melbourne, you sit next to me."
She silently obeyed, realizing that he was giving her the position of hostess. Haldoran was seated on her right. She gave him a quick glance, wondering if he resented the laird's mark of favor. She couldn't read through his polished surface. As the first course was served, she said quietly, "My grandfather seems to want to set us against each other. I'm sorry."
His brows arched. "Well, we are in competition, aren't we? Only one of us can inherit Skoal."
She gave him a level look. "Before three days ago, I'd scarcely heard of the place. It must seem unfair to you that I have appeared from nowhere with a claim to what you must have believed would be yours."
He shrugged. "My expectations were not long-standing. Until last year, I assumed Harald would inherit. I must admit that the sheer feudal whimsy of being Laird of Skoal appeals to me, but that is offset by the dreary responsibilities that go with the title. The island is also hopeless for serious hunting. I shan't repine if Uncle Torquil prefers you."
It was a persuasive disclaimer. She wished she believed it. She swallowed a spoonful of lobster soup. "Exactly how are you and I related?"
"My grandfather was younger brother to your greatgrandfather," he explained. "The island has few opportunities for younger sons, so my grandfather embarked on a very profitable career as a privateer. He used Skoal as a base during his active years, then retired to an estate in Hampshire and became so respectable that he was made a baron. However, he also kept a house on the island. I was born here and I visit regularly."
"So you are also a Penrose, and you know the island well." She finished her soup, feeling somewhat revived by the food.
He gave her another wide, unreadable smile. "Since we are cousins, you must call me Clive."
She nodded vaguely, though she really did not wish to be on terms of intimacy with her newfound cousin.
The Reverend Matthews, who was sitting on her other side, asked if she had ever met the Duke of Wellington. Everyone was interested in the hero of Europe, so the duke provided a safe, neutral topic for general conversation.
Catherine was eating a sliver of poached sole when Haldoran drawled, "Speaking of dukes, Melbourne, I understand that Lord Michael Kenyon, younger brother of the new Duke of Ashburton, was billeted with you in Brussels. I've some acquaintance with the duke. What is Lord Michael like?"
She choked on her fish. It seemed impossible that the question was innocent. Perhaps Haldoran was toying with her, waiting for the best moment to expose her deceit. Her helpless gaze went to her partner in crime.
Michael calmly broke a piece of bread. "Kenyon was a rather quiet fellow. Since he was busy with a new command, we didn't see much of him."
Haldoran said, "Quiet? I'd had the impression from his brother that Lord Michael was a rake, the family disgrace."
Michael's fingers tightened around the stem of his wineglass, but he kept his voice even. "Perhaps he was. I really couldn't say." He smiled at the vicar. "After all, the traditional choices for younger sons are the church or the army. I assume that the saints go for the church."
Matthews chuckled. "Even among men of the cloth, saints are in short supply." To Catherine, he said, "Will you be visiting the island church, All Souls? The crypt dates from the seventh century, when the first place of worship was built by missionaries from Ireland."
The vicar would want to be on good terms with her, since his post was held at the mercy of the laird. The prospect of having such power over a man's livelihood made her uneasy. Luckily, Mr. Matthews seemed kind and conscientious. Catherine tried to convey her approval in a smile. "I'd love to visit the church."
The laird gave a sharp nod. "You need to see the whole island. Tomorrow Davin will take you and your husband about. The sooner you start learning about the place, the better."
From the corner of her eye, she saw Haldoran's lips thin. She wondered if her grandfather was treating her as the likely heir in order to provoke Clive. She wouldn't put it past the old devil. It was far too soon to assume she would be his choice, and she suspected that premature gloating would be fatal.
After she and the constable set a time for the next morning, Haldoran said, "When you're done with the tour, stop by Ragnarok for tea. The setting is quite dramatic."
"Ragnarok?" she said, startled. "Isn't that the Nordic version of Armegeddon?"
"Exactly-the twilight of the gods," he said with cool amusement. "A melodramatic name for a house, but my grandfather wanted to honor the island's Viking past."
"Tea should bring the melodrama down to the mundane. We'll call tomorrow." She got to her feet. "Since the meal is over and I'm at the end of the table, I suppose it's my duty to give the signal for the ladies to withdraw so the gentlemen can have their port. Alas, I have no idea in what direction to withdraw."
Everyone laughed, and Glynis Penrose and Alice Matthews rose and led her to the drawing room. It was a relief to be with the women, who were both pleasantly down-to-earth. As they took seats, Glynis, the steward's wife, said candidly, "It's good to meet you, Mrs. Melbourne. Speculation has been running wild ever since your grandfather revealed your existence. It was feared you'd be a grand society lady with no use for folk like us."
"I am merely an army wife," Catherine replied as she settled into a chair. "There's nothing grand about me. But I feel as though ever since we reached Penward and met George Fitzwilliam, everyone knows more about my business than I do."
"It's like that in small communities," Alice Matthews said placidly. "But Skoalans have good hearts. With your island background, you'll soon be accepted."