The Wicked Deeds of Daniel Mackenzie

the gift for riding.”

That was true. Daniel’s father Cameron had mentioned time and again what a natural seat Jamie had, and that the lad could be a champion rider if he chose. Beth was not terribly delighted with this news, hoping her son would be more interested in pursuits of the mind than the dangerous sport of horse racing.

“Jockeying is not for the faint of heart,” Daniel said. “Jockeys get hurt quite a lot, and sometimes can’t race anymore after.”

“I’ve fallen off horses lots of times,” Jamie said, undaunted. “Big ones. Broke my arm once, remember?” He held up the appendage, which looked perfectly straight and whole now. “Mama was upset, but I’m resilient. Like you, Danny.”

Daniel didn’t answer. Ingratiating himself with Ian meant ingratiating himself with Beth, so any encouragement of Jamie to dangerous sport was out.

Belle broke in. “That’s all very well for you, Jamie. But I have to study hard to go to university, because I’m a girl.” Belle was the quiet Mackenzie who preferred reading over all other activity. Her dolls and toys were lined neatly on her shelves and rarely played with. She did ride horses, but only because others made her go out and exercise.

“Ye won’t go to university,” Jamie scoffed. “You’ll get married. All girls do.”

“I won’t. I don’t want a husband to tell me what to do all day. I’m going to be a doctor and cure people of dreadful diseases.”

“Girls can’t be doctors,” Jamie said, though he sounded less certain.

“Yes, they can. Women go study in Edinburgh now, and in Switzerland.”

“I know, but I bet those women are really smart.”

Belle gave her brother a look of vast disgust, stuck her nose in the air, and swept past him. Megan hugged Daniel and said, “I want to get married when I grow up, and have lots of babies.”

Megan liked babies. She was trying to persuade her mother to have more of them. A baby brother, Megan said, would be so much better than an older brother. Older brothers were bossy.

“I’m sure you will, pet,” Daniel said. “A cute thing like you will have lots of men wanting to be your husband.”

Even as he said it, Daniel felt a surge of protectiveness. Megan was a pretty child, and in ten or twelve years, gentlemen would be flocking around her. They had just better be the right ones and treat Megan as though she were a queen, or Daniel would have something to say about it.

Megan kissed Daniel’s cheek. “I’ll marry you, Danny. Aunt Isabella says it’s common for cousins to marry.”

“Nah,” Jamie said. “If you breed horses too close to the bloodline, the foals start being weak or having something wrong with them. Same with people. We need fresh stock.”

“Horses aren’t the same as people,” Megan said, confused.

Daniel bounced her in his arms. “A bit of advice, lass. Never say those words to your uncle Cameron. His horses and his children are all the same to him. Now then, let’s be getting on with talking to your da. It’s important.”

The little procession went down the stairs, Jamie first, Daniel carrying Megan, and Belle bringing up the rear. Belle repeated stoutly that she would be a doctor and prove her brother was an idiot.

Daniel tapped on the study door before he opened it, but he knew Ian would have heard them coming. His offspring had not learned the lesson that children should be seen and not heard. Thank God.

Ian pushed aside his papers when the four came through the door, and rose to his feet. The three children cried, “Papa!” as though they hadn’t seen him for months instead of the few hours since breakfast.

Megan, Belle, and Jamie ran at him with open arms. Ian swept up the younger two, sat down on his desk chair, and dragged a second chair over for Jamie, who now considered himself too grown up to sit on laps.

Ian Mackenzie, the youngest of the Duke of Kilmorgan’s brothers, was a large man with auburn hair and whiskey-colored eyes. Those eyes could either hold keen intelligence or be as blank as a bleak moor, and could shift from one to the other as quickly as Ian could blink.

For now, Ian gazed at his children, meeting their eyes without worry. He connected fully with them, as he did with Beth, though much of the rest of the world was still somewhat remote for him. But Ian saw no reason to embrace the world when he could embrace his family instead.

Only when Ian had kissed his daughters’ cheeks, ruffled his son’s hair, and listened to them tell him incoherently about their lessons did he lift his head and deign to notice Daniel standing in wait. Ian gave Daniel a nod over the dark heads of his daughters.

“Hello, Uncle Ian.” Daniel gave him a fond grin. “I wondered if you could help me find someone. A mother and daughter who disappeared in the night. I don’t know their real names, or where they came from, whether they left London by train or coach, or whether they left at all. I need to find them, and I need to find them now. Do ye think you can help me?”

Ian considered the question slowly, as he did everything else, his gaze going remote while he contemplated.

He looked back at Daniel, a sharpness entering his eyes. “Why?”

Daniel shrugged. “I’m intrigued. You’d like the daughter, Ian. She can make machines, and I’d like her help making mine.”

Ian watched Daniel in silence again, pinning Daniel with his gaze, something he rarely did with anyone but Beth and his children. Whatever thoughts ran behind those eyes, Ian gave no sign.

Finally Ian looked away then back down at Megan, kissing the top of her head. He glanced back at Daniel, but didn’t focus on him again.

“Yes,” Ian said. 

Chapter 7

“Why do I have to be the countess?” Celine asked, pushing out her lower lip. “I still do not understand why you insisted we leave London, Violet. I’m not well.”

“I know, Mama. I’m sorry.”

Violet gazed out the window of their small boardinghouse flat, two floors above the street. Flaking plaster, exposed walls, and crooked shutters looked picturesque in this French seaside town, but the reality was cold and damp rooms with wind coming through cracks around the windows.

Though many people wintered in the cities of southern France, good for Violet’s trade, they did not come because it was terribly warm. About ten degrees warmer than England, yes, but hardly the tropics. Warmth was found farther south, in Italy and the Greek isles beyond.

“I liked being Madame Bastien,” her mother continued. “Madame Bastien was kind and helpful. The countess is such a haughty woman. Cool and distant. And the turban makes my head ache.”

“You do not have to wear the turban if you don’t want to.” Violet drew her shawl closer about her shoulders and turned from the windows.

Her mother sat in the warmest chair in the house, pulled next to the white porcelain stove. A knitted shawl wrapped her upper body, and she’d laid another over her knees. It was true that Celine easily took sick, and also that she must keep warm and well, because she was the real draw of their show.

“Why do I have to be the countess at all?” Celine asked fretfully. “It is difficult to remember to speak with a Russian accent all the time. They don’t come to see me because I’m a countess, or Russian, or whatever you’re having me be this time. They come for my gift.”

“I know,” Violet said.

Her mother was amazing. Her trances were real, Celine having no memory of what went on in most of them. She’d speak in a variety of voices, from the child who was her spirit guide, to men and women from all