Scottish Brides Page 30

  How many hours had it been? She’d tallied them so carefully. Ten hours—and then one magical night. That’s all it had taken.

  Twelve

  “Who is he, Janet?”

  The voice came from the yellow parlor. She stopped and turned her head. Jeremy stood facing her.

  She looked at the chair that had been moved to the window. So, he had seen. He is your sister’s future husband. And my love. Words she would never say. Should she not have felt more shame? Instead, she felt empty inside, as if part of her was missing. The most vital organ. A heart? Or perhaps only that place where such things mattered. It was not important if Jeremy labeled her a whore at this moment.

  “You’ve been watching me all along, haven’t you?” From the look on his face it was evident he had not expected the question. How unfair of her. But it made perfect sense. How else had she escaped detection? He had always been kind. Too solicitous, perhaps, even to abetting her wickedness. How had he turned Harriet’s attention from her? By listening to his sister’s complaints? By playing whist during those hours when Harriet would have checked on her?

  “If you slip upstairs now, no one will know.”

  She stared at him. He was two years older than she, but she’d always thought of him as younger. A man barely out of youth, but there was something about him as he stood in the dawn light, something that had matured in the hours since she’d seen him last. Or perhaps it was only because she’d changed so drastically herself.

  “Why not sound the alarm, Jeremy? Tell Harriet what you know.”

  “Would it make you feel better to be punished, Janet?” His voice was too kind, and she blinked back the tears that came too easily to her eyes.

  “I suppose not,” she said. “Thank you, Jeremy.”

  He followed her to the stairs, stood at their base, and looked up at her as she mounted them. It seemed as ponderous as scaling the highest mountain. When she stopped and looked back, he returned her look. His face was somber.

  “If I can do anything for you, Janet, I will.”

  “Thank you, Jeremy.”

  “Will you let me know if I can aid you?”

  “Yes, Jeremy, I will.”

  He was talking of scandal, of course. If anyone would discover her actions this night, or if she was with child, she’d be sent away in disgrace.

  She opened the door to her room softly, closed it behind her, and sat on the edge of the bed, her arms wrapped around her waist. She rocked back and forth on the bed, the motion oddly soothing.

  He was to be Harriet’s husband.

  She knew she would die of this.

  “You’d be wise to stay away from me, old man.” Lachlan glared at Coinneach, then turned away and handed the newly repaired pipe to James, who screwed it in place. Lachlan had been working feverishly since he’d returned to Glenlyon, but the occupations of his hands had done nothing to quiet his mind. “Or if you must be a prophet, tell me if this thing will ever work right.”

  Silence met his anger. Just as well, for he wasn’t in the mood for a discussion. He was more likely to strangle the seer. Damn the Legend. Damn the penurious state of his clan.

  He turned and faced Coinneach. The old man was smiling, if the twitch of his beard was any indication. He’d long thought the old man kept his facial hair in order to look more like a wizard. All he needed was a pointed hat to appear the part. That, and a genuine ability to see into the future.

  “It doesn’t matter, you know. You and your damn Legend. We’ll find a way to survive without it.”

  The old man kept smiling.

  “You never did believe in it. But your people do.” Was there censure in Coinneach’s eyes? Lachlan turned away again and bent to retrieve another piece of pipe.

  “I’ll talk them out of it. They’ll never feel the lack.”

  “Aye, but you will.”

  “Don’t be getting cryptic on me now, old man.”

  “Why are you here, and your wife in England? Ask yourself that, Lachlan. It is your own foolishness that makes you miserable and will continue to do so. Not any of my doings.”

  Lachlan narrowed his eyes and wondered exactly how old Coinneach was. Too old to fight, certainly. Too old to imprison in the castle cellar.

  But the old man’s words were true. He’d watched her walk away and had done nothing. Instead, he’d felt rooted to the spot, relegated to a private hell of his own making. He’d felt suddenly and oddly angry—at her, for not being who she was supposed to be; at himself, for endangering his clan. Or had he simply failed Janet? That thought had kept him awake during the long morning, and had made his perusal of his home one of stark and terrifying honesty.

  The east wall needed to be shored up. The dark brick was shining white where the mortar crumbled. Glenlyon’s better furnishings had long since been sacrificed to a greater cause—that of the ’45—or simply survival since then. Their cattle were scrawny things; even their chickens had a gaunt look. Their only hope for prosperity had been for their laird to wed it, and he’d failed at that, hadn’t he?

  Because he’d gone and fallen in love with the wrong woman.

  The prophecy didn’t matter. He’d made his choice and made it for all the best reasons. She’d charmed and enchanted him and made him laugh. He wanted to know what she thought and the dreams she had. He wanted to touch her again, lie with her in a bed and spend hours loving her.

  What power did a Legend have when measured against this feeling?

  He threw the pipe down and strode from the cavern. To blazes with the Legend; he was going to get Janet.

  The second explosion, however, delayed his plans.

  She didn’t bother to answer the knock on the door, merely curled up in the middle of the bed and kept her eyes closed.

  “Janet?”

  “Yes, Harriet.” She wished there was a lock on the door. The very last person in the world she wished to see now was Harriet. Especially since Harriet had a way of discerning misery quickly and would easily see that she’d been crying. She’d made no sound, really; the tears had simply leaked from her eyes. A broken heart had not required any effort on her part.

  There were some mornings when she’d stood at her window, watched the sun light the earth, turned north toward Scotland, and ached with longing. She would never be able to look homeward again, would never be able to bear the loss. Lachlan. Of course he was laird. She should have realized it. His speech marked his origin; the twinkle in his eyes, his daring. He had humor and wisdom, the body of a warrior and the face of an angel.

  When she was a little girl, she’d dreamed of being so many things. She’d wanted first to be a princess, then to be a mother, then to work with her father in the distillery. When she was older, she’d wanted to fall in love, had imagined that she’d felt that way once or twice. When she was twelve, it had been Cameron Drummond. A year later, his brother Gordon. But none of the longing looks the two boys had exchanged with her had prepared her for this moment, or for Lachlan Sinclair.

  Harriet’s husband.

  She clenched her eyes shut.

  “Are you sickening again?” Harriet spoke from beside the bed, but she still did not open her eyes.

  “I believe so, Harriet.” Please, go away and leave me alone. It was a prayer said in the depths of her mind, but it had no effect on Harriet. She only drew closer.

  “Have you slept in your clothes, then, Janet? How slovenly of you.”

  “Yes, Harriet.” Perhaps agreeing with her would speed her from the room. But it was not to be.

  “Or do you hide a greater sin, Janet?” A hand reached down and flicked at her skirt. “You’re nothing but a whore, aren’t you, Janet?” The words were said in such a pleasant tone that their meaning did not make sense at first. “All this time? Have you been a whore all this time?” The coldness of her contempt sliced through skin and nudged against bone. The horrible fact was that she had no defense for such words, nothing that would mitigate Harriet’s scorn. There was, aft
er all, nothing to say. She was guilty of all that Harriet thought. Worse, yet, she had sinned with the man soon to be Harriet’s husband. She had ruined herself. A glorious night, true, but the voice of her long-dead mother echoed in her ear, all caution and propriety. Had it been her Scots nature after all? Or unbridled curiosity, or simple recklessness?

  “Leave her alone, Harriet.”

  The sound of Jeremy’s voice was an odd comfort. It was surprisingly firm, even angry. Janet opened her eyes and sat up. Her gaze turned to Jeremy, who stood in the open doorway, sentinel against his sister’s condemnation.

  “It’s all right, Jeremy.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and brushed her hair back from her cheek.

  She had no time for mourning. Instead, she must be about the business of putting her future together. For the first time since Harriet had delivered the news to her, she was grateful she was not going to Scotland. It would be unbearable to see Lachlan day in and day out, all the while knowing that he belonged to someone else.

  This moment, however, must be gotten through. Somehow.

  Harriet looked from one to the other, like a terrier scenting a wounded rat. “What goes on here, brother?”

  “Janet was with me, Harriet; more than that, you need not know.”

  At another time, perhaps, the look on Harriet’s face might have been amusing. But not at this moment. Janet only wished herself far away from this place, from echoes of Lachlan, from the sight of his intended bride.

  She stood and walked past Harriet until she came to Jeremy’s side. She rose on tiptoe to brush a kiss against his cheek.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, “for your kindness. But it doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does to me,” he said, his eyes not veering from hers. “You need someone to protect you.”

  “What she needs, Jeremy, is to be banished from this house like the whore she is.”

  “No,” Jeremy said, moving to stand between his sister and Janet. He looked at his sister, and his expression was cold. “You do not understand, Harriet.” He turned to Janet and smiled. “I’ve asked Janet to be my wife, and she has agreed.”

  Thirteen

  “What do you mean, she’s not here?” Lachlan said. “And where might she be?”

  The man who answered the door was young and dressed in a uniform that evidently made him feel important. Perhaps that was the reason he looked down his nose at Lachlan. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that Lachlan had a bit of the barley odor about him again. And a few scorch marks, too. The explosion had been all stuff and fury, yet the effluence from it had been as cloying as before. But rather than taking the time for a dip in the loch, he’d mounted a fresh horse and set out on his way to Janet.

  Of all the miles he’d ridden, of all the times he’d come to England, all the border raids and nights he’d come to Janet, he dreaded this journey the most. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was tired, infused with a bone-deep weariness. It was that he felt like a blathering idiot. The minute she’d told him who she was, he should have swept Janet up in his arms and run with her for the border. But he had not, and that stupidity was going to cost him a bit of explanation. He had already thought of the words he might use, decided that it was time his pride bent a little. He’d thought that she might not make it easy on him, or might not understand that he’d only been flummoxed by her identity and the sudden thought that he would not be able to protect his clan. He’d imagined all manner of ways he might coax her to forgive him, but he’d never thought she might not be here.

  The servant backed away, preparatory to shutting the door in his face, Lachlan was sure. Instead, the young man found himself being hauled up by the collar, his feet dangling a few inches from the ground. It was not so much the sudden blanched color of his face that pleased Lachlan, but the quick spark of absolute terror in eyes that had just a minute ago been filled with contempt.

  Lachlan grinned broadly, showing all of his bright white teeth. “I know that your memory serves you better, now, doesn’t it, lad? Now would you like to tell me where she’s gone?”

  The man sputtered, but a voice behind him spoke up readily enough.

  “She left—that’s all you need to know.”

  He turned his head. A woman stood there, dressed in blue, her hair braided and arranged at the top of her head like a crown. Not one tendril was out of place. Her hands were folded at her waist, and she watched him without expression as he lowered the footman to the ground. She dismissed the servant with a hand gesture.

  Lachlan had seen pretty women all his life. This one was attractive, he supposed, but he thought first that she was too controlled. Not one emotion could be read in her soft blue eyes. Her smile was only a thin slash of full lips. He wondered if she disliked her prettiness, if she saw it as a curse where other women might have seen it as a blessing.

  “She’s left,” she said again. “Isn’t that enough?” Her voice was high-pitched and sounded as if she spoke through her nose. It grated on him.

  “Where is she?”

  She smiled again. He had no doubt who she was, any more than he doubted his very great good fortune at having avoided a union with her. Harriet. The name seemed to fit her.

  “Where did she go? I’ve a thought you know perfectly well.”

  “She eloped. With my brother. Who is shortly to be disinherited. If you find them, you might tell him that. And tell him that I’ve sent word to my father as to his actions. She may change her mind about marrying a pauper.”

  His laughter seemed to surprise her, but no more than his parting words. “It’s too late for that. She’s already married to me.”

  Even as Janet left the house where she’d spent the last seven years of her life, she knew she was making a mistake.

  What she had done the night before had not felt wrong, however the world might see it. Because of it, she could not quite see herself as ruined. Nor could she negate her feelings for Lachlan by entering into a marriage with another man, however much it might provide a future for her.

  True, her prospects looked dim. She could never return to Harriet’s employ, and she had few talents. Her schooling had been sporadic; her greatest skill had been that learned at her father’s knee. She could, she supposed, get a job as a shop girl or a tavern maid. But where would she live, and how until she earned her first coins? No, not just dim. The future looked bleak.

  “I cannot do it, you know.” She looked across the carriage at Jeremy. He turned from his survey of the countryside and looked directly at her. “I’d ruin your life pining for another man.”

  “I’d thought to get halfway to Scotland before you’d object.” His smile was rueful. “I’d even thought to get the marriage ceremony out of the way before you came to your senses.”

  When he leaned forward and clasped one of her gloved hands in his, she was even more bemused. “I’m a good sort, Janet. I would be a good husband to you.”

  She nodded.

  “But it’s not enough, is it?”

  She shook her head. “No, Jeremy.”

  “Well, I had a stroke of luck. You were so miserable, you would have agreed to anything.”

  She nodded. She could feel the tears well up again. “You mustn’t be nice, Jeremy. I’ll drown us both if you are.”

  He dropped her hand and leaned back against the upholstery. “What shall you do, then, Janet? How will you live?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, sighing. “Have you any friends who might need companions?”

  “Your future would be solved if you would marry me. Are you very sure you won’t?”

  “I’m very sure. But I thank you very much for the offer, Jeremy.”

  “It was my first, you know. Perhaps I shall become adept at it, become quite a man-about-town, flitting from lady to lady, asking from each her hand.”

  “Someone wonderful will no doubt accept,” she said, smiling wanly at him.

  “Someone wonderful already has.” His s
mile was soft and tender. “Unfortunately, her feelings are already engaged. Who is he, this idiotic man who hasn’t the slightest idea of what he’s missed?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Do you think I’ll challenge him?”

  “You mustn’t.” Her feeling of horror was genuine.

  “Thank you for that,” Jeremy said, smiling. “I’ll think myself a protector of a lady’s honor, then. If not her husband.”

  “I do thank you, Jeremy. It was very sweet.”

  “Ladies, I have found, Janet, do not like sweet. They prefer dashing or exciting, but certainly not sweet.”

  At that moment, a shot rang out. The carriage lurched as the horses reared and then raced forward a few feet before they abruptly stopped. Janet was thrown forward and braced herself on the opposite seat.

  A few shouts were heard, and then the carriage door opened. Lachlan, looking tired and dirty and extraordinarily surly, greeted her with a scowl.

  “I hate to disturb you, Janet, but there’s something that belongs to me in this carriage.” She’d never heard his accent so thick, the deep rumble of his voice carrying not only the flavor of Scotland but the hint of danger.

  “Another cow, Lachlan?”

  If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she would have missed that twitch of his lips that measured his amusement. As it was, it was gone just as quickly.

  “No, Janet,” he said, and this time his voice was softer, overlaid with a hint of something she’d never heard from him. Tenderness?

  He looked over at Jeremy and spent a scant moment seeming to take his measure. “She’s my wife, lad. I’m sorry, but she’s already taken.”

  “You said you’d not asked me to marry you, Lachlan.”

  “Silly woman, of course I hadn’t. I had already wed you by that time.” He reached in and pulled her easily to the ground. She sent one last look in the direction of the carriage. Jeremy leaned out the door.

  “Is he the one, Janet?”

  She nodded.