A Borrowed Scot (23 page)

“She did it just to annoy me,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because Amanda is sly, selfish, and spoiled. She doesn’t care about anyone else except for what they might give her in the way of attention or gifts. If she sees something she wants, she gets it.”

“Evidently, even if it means stealing it.”

She nodded.

“Why her antipathy toward you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Have you ever met someone who took an instant dislike to you for no reason? Or for no reason you can determine?” She glanced up. “Or has everyone been charmed by you from the first moment they met you?”

“Hardly,” he said. “My brothers were the charming ones. I was the wayward brother.”

“I’d ask you about them, but you’ll get that look on your face.”

“What look?” he asked, frowning at her.

“That one,” she said. “The look that says you aren’t ever going to talk about your past. That Virginia is a closed topic I should never bring up or be curious about.”

He studied her for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision.

“My grandfather built Gleneagle to look exactly like Doncaster Hall,” he said suddenly.

She blinked at him, surprised.

“Exactly?”

He nodded. “Down to the wallpaper,” he said.

That’s why she’d felt so many conflicting emotions from him, including an overarching sadness.

“No wonder you miss Gleneagle,” she said. She tilted her head and regarded him. “What do you regret, Montgomery? In the balloon, you said everyone regrets something. What’s your regret?”

He studied her in silence for a moment but didn’t answer. A moment later, he was gone, turning and leaving the room without speaking another word.

She stared at the open door, wondering if she should follow him. Instead, she opened the connecting door to her suite, closed it silently, and retreated to her chamber.

S
he wanted to talk to the dead. The moment she’d made the remark, Montgomery knew exactly why. The same reason he found himself imagining Alisdair, James, and Caroline. Sometimes, being with them was easier than missing them so acutely.

He always found himself telling her more than he’d intended. If he’d stayed with her, he’d have wrapped his arms around her, shelved his chin on the top of her head, and told her things he had no business telling anyone. He might even confess to his past.

Or he could love her again, a not-uncommon action around Veronica.

The moment he felt sated, the need built again. Perhaps he should just carry her around with him, kiss her when he wished, and feel the silky softness of her skin against his, her hands sliding over his body. She was learning him, and doing so with such delight and eagerness, that one look from her aroused him.

On the way out the door, Ralston stopped him.

“Your Lordship,” the majordomo said, bowing slightly.

He clamped down on his impatience, turned, and faced the other man. “What is it?”

“The sheep need to be moved, Your Lordship.”

“Then move them,” he said.

“It isn’t as simple as that, Your Lordship, I understand,” Ralston said. “I believe you need to pick a location where they should be moved.”

“What do you think I know about sheep?”

“Your Lordship, you’re the only one to make the decision.”

“Pretend I wasn’t here,” he said. “Who would make the decision in my absence?”

“Mr. Kerr, sir. He has always done so since his first day at Doncaster Hall. But I believe Mr. Kerr has left, sir. On your orders.”

He bit back an oath. “Edmund is a solicitor. What does he know about sheep?”

“Mr. Kerr has always served as the steward of Doncaster Hall, sir,” Ralston said.

“If, for some reason, Edmund was unavailable, who would make the decision then?”

Ralston looked confounded by the question. “Your Lordship, Mr. Kerr has always been available.”

Of course, he would have to have the one solicitor in all of Scotland and no doubt the British Empire, who was so determined to fulfill his duty, he didn’t miss a day.

“There’s also the matter of cleaning the river, Your Lordship.”

He braced his back against the doorframe and folded his arms. After his confrontation with Veronica’s relatives, he was dangerously close to the limit of his tolerance.

“Cleaning the river?”

“The river narrows, sir, on this side of Lollybroch. If the rocks and boulders aren’t removed every spring, the river could dam and back up, flooding the land. We make a party of it, Your Lordship. Invite the inhabitants of Lollybroch to assist us.”

“When does that take place?”

“Normally before now, Your Lordship,” Ralston said. “Many details were delayed to accommodate Mr. Kerr’s journey to America.”

“How fortunate he found me,” he said dryly.

“A revelation of his character, sir, that he could do so with such assiduousness.”

“What does that mean?”

Ralston looked uncomfortable again. “Did you not know, sir? Mr. Kerr is a Fairfax. He would have been in line for the title had it not been for your grandfather.”

As Montgomery stared at him, Ralston continued. “His mother was a Fairfax. The title is allowed to travel through the women of the family, but only after all the male heirs have been considered.”

“My grandfather.”

Ralston nodded.

“Are you certain, Ralston?”

“About Mr. Kerr’s ancestry? Of course, sir. The 10
th
Lord Fairfax paid for his education because he was a Fairfax.”

You need to pay more attention to your inheritance, sir. Being a Lord Fairfax of Doncaster is a great honor.
Edmund’s words spoken to him in London. All the solicitor’s endless harping at him made sense now.

Edmund no doubt thought he would have been a better heir.

“Will you be inspecting the stable, sir, and the changes made to the stalls?” Ralston asked.

“Must I?” he asked.

Ralston wore a look of commiseration. The man knew, only full well, that it was more interesting working on his airship than being the 11
th
Lord Fairfax.

“Set up a time, Ralston,” he said, resigned to his duties. For the moment, however, he would escape to the distillery.

Chapter 24

H
er aunt, uncle, and cousins left within the time limit Montgomery had given them. Neither Veronica nor her husband was at the door to bid them farewell. No doubt, at the first opportunity, Aunt Lilly was going to send her a scathing letter detailing all of Veronica’s foibles, failings, and flaws. When that was done, Aunt Lilly would waste no time regaling everyone she knew with tales of the abysmal treatment she had received at the hands of her niece, that ungrateful chit.

Nothing she did, from this time forward, would ever be enough to make up for the disaster of the last three hours. Her aunt would never forgive her for exposing Amanda as the thief she was, and Uncle Bertrand would never forget the slight to his dignity.

How sad that she could feel nothing but relief.

She stood at the window of the Oval Parlor, watching until the carriages slipped out of sight. A few minutes later, Mrs. Brody arrived in the doorway.

“They’ve gone, Your Ladyship.”

She nodded. How odd, she felt as if she’d aged twenty years in the past day.

“I had Cook prepare baskets for their journey to Inverness.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brody,” she said faintly. “I never even thought of it.”

Mrs. Brody smiled, the expression having a touch of compassion to it. “It’s my duty, Your Ladyship.”

Duty. What was her duty?

She ate dinner in her sitting room but found she hadn’t much of an appetite. After dismissing Elspeth for the night, she readied for bed, turned off the lamp, and stared up at the ceiling. If it were possible to will oneself to sleep, that was exactly what she did, only to wake three hours later, wide-awake.

Perhaps she should look in the Tulloch Sgàthán. What if it remained blank again? Worse, what if it showed her a future filled with misery?

She rolled to her side, wishing she’d opened the drapes before she’d settled for the night. The room was too dark, the mantel clock shrouded in shadow. After leaving the bed, she walked through her suite in the darkness, stopping at the connecting door to Montgomery’s room. Perhaps he was asleep. She leaned her forehead against the door, feeling the wood cool against her forehead. She doubted she’d sleep for the rest of the night, but her inability to do so was not reason enough to wake him.

Still, she rapped on the door.

When he didn’t answer, she pushed down the handle and peered inside. Montgomery wasn’t in his bed. Either he was taking one of his nightly walks again, walks he never discussed, explained, or even admitted. Or he was still working.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she dressed, deciding to wear only one petticoat. Anyone abroad at this hour would not be concerned about her attire.

The night was cool, with a hint of chill in the air, as if the child of spring relinquished its winter parent with reluctance. A waning sliver of moon, as delicate as a fingernail, sat high in the sky. She halted as she left Doncaster Hall, staring up at the heavens.

When she was a little girl, her mother had told her the stars were angels looking down on the earth.

“Pick one,” her mother had said, “and choose your guardian angel.”

“I want the brightest, Mama.”

“Then you shall have it, my darling daughter.”

She looked up at the sky and said a prayer for her parents. Instead of a star, what better guardian angels could she have than the two people who’d loved her so much?

She took the path along the river, but Montgomery was nowhere to be found. Crossing the lower half of the glen, she headed for the arched bridge. From there it was simple matter of keeping the distillery in sight. A flickering light in the back of the building told her Montgomery was, indeed, working.

Halfway to the bridge, she wished she’d worn her heavier shoes. She could feel each individual pebble through her slippers.

She halted in the middle of the path, startled by a sudden sensation that she wasn’t alone. The distance between the distillery and the house wasn’t all that great, but it was sufficient to make her feel isolated. With the trees so close, and deep caves of shadow facing her, unease skittered over her skin.

How foolish. She was at Doncaster Hall, not in some unknown place. All she needed to do was shout, and someone would come running. Even at that hour, people were working in the stable or the smithy or the other outbuildings not far away.

Was the rustle of leaves simply the wind? Or was someone standing there, watching her?

Her imagination was furnishing the sound of soft footfalls behind her. Or was someone truly there, following her? She’d brought nothing with her, not her reticule, or anything she could use as a weapon. She hadn’t even wanted a lantern, since the light would alert others she was going to the distillery.

Suddenly, she wished she’d waited for Montgomery to return to Doncaster Hall.

She thought of running but decided against it because of her slippers and the darkness. She could barely see the path before her. Although her heart was racing, she kept her pace sedate, trying not to look over her shoulder.

As she climbed the steps of the arched bridge, she placed her right hand against the stone, grabbing her skirts with her left. At the top, she stopped, daring herself to turn around. Only the shadowed landscape met her eyes. No one followed her. No stranger hid, watching her. Or, if someone did, it was with such stealth she couldn’t discern a shape from the bushes, trees, and the winding path leading back to Doncaster Hall.

Her skirt swung around her, the fabric catching on the rough stone. She jerked it free, caught a movement out of the corner of her eye, but when she looked in that direction, nothing was there.

She was allowing herself to be frightened by the wind.

Resolved to be more courageous, she approached the distillery.

“Montgomery?” She hesitated at the door and called his name again. When he didn’t answer, she took a tentative step inside. The light she’d seen earlier had been extinguished. Was he standing there in the dark, waiting for her to leave?

“What are you doing here, Veronica?” he asked from behind her.

She jumped, her heart nearly bounding out of her chest.

“Have you been there all this time?” she asked, wondering if it was Montgomery she’d sensed earlier.

“What are you doing here?” he asked again.

Surrounded by shadows, kilted in night, he might have been a creature of myth and magic, a Highlander come to exact revenge, a brownie intent on mischief.

The idea of going in search of him had been so reasonable, standing in her bedroom. Now, it felt idiotic.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said.

“Thank me?”

His voice was icy, devoid of emotion. How did he do that? How did he bury himself so completely behind his restraint?

“I realized I hadn’t. Thanked you, that is. For believing me.” She took a deep breath. “Thank you for marrying me. You saved me from being a poor relation in my uncle’s household. For that, I will be forever grateful.”

He didn’t respond. Perhaps she should kiss him, instead. They’d had no difficulties communicating when they loved each other. Earlier, in that very building, they’d shared an elemental passion.

“You’ve been very kind,” she said, finally, feeling inept and more than a little foolish.

“I haven’t been kind,” he said. “For God’s sake, Veronica, don’t label me with that.”

“Montgomery,” she said, taking a chance, “if you’d share your grief, perhaps the burden of it might be lightened. I know I felt better for telling you about my parents. Grief shared is sometimes more bearable.”

She took a step toward him, then another. “People aren’t meant to feel such pain as you feel, Montgomery.”

“Perhaps pain is payment, Veronica,” he said softly.

“What have you to pay for? What could you have done that is so terrible?”

His hand reached out, fingers brushing the edge of her jaw. “Perhaps it’s better if you don’t know, Veronica.”

She half expected him to leave her, to stalk away in the darkness, silent, arrogant, immovable. Instead, he took a step toward her, his hands resting on her shoulders. With a gentle tug, he pulled her toward him. She stepped into his embrace, resting her cheek against his chest.

She wrapped her arms around him and curved them to lie flat against his shoulder blades. She was so close she could feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing. If it were possible to do so, she would have inhaled his sorrow, rid him of it, and given it another home in which to live. Anywhere but in Montgomery’s heart.

For long moments, they remained locked together in the darkness, holding one another.

Perhaps she’d been right to seek him out after all.

“You should go,” he said finally, stepping back and releasing her.

“Will you come with me?”

“I have to go over some last-minute preparations. I’m taking the airship up tomorrow.”

“May I go with you?”

“No,” he said. “I’m testing the navigation baffle.”

“Is it dangerous?”

He didn’t answer, only reached out and touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

“Go back to Doncaster Hall,” he said. “It’s chilly, and you’re not dressed for walking at night. I’ll be there when I can.”

She turned and reluctantly left him. The journey back to Doncaster Hall was made easier by the thought Montgomery was within the sound of her voice.

Later, she awakened to the touch of his hands sliding over her skin, long, fluid strokes measuring the curve of her waist, her breasts. Without a word spoken, he seduced her, bent his head to capture a nipple between his lips, drawing softly.

Her heart opened. Her blood raced. Her body heated. She placed her hands on his hips, raised her head for his kiss, and urged him into her. As dawn lightened the room, they moved together, each seeking comfort, each receiving it.

Her hands slid from his back to fall lax on the mattress. Inside, her body thrummed, a beat fast and sure, echoing pleasure even as it faded. Her heart slowed, and her breath eased, the drawstring around her lungs relaxed.

She cherished the weight of his body against hers.

Those silent moments at dawn felt almost like a vow, a ceremony more blessed than their wedding.