A Borrowed Scot (27 page)

However he tried to fit her into the role of selfish, manipulative murderess, she refused to fit. She was, however, impulsive, obstinate, passionate, and secretive.

Secretive? Or protective?

He remembered the look on her face when her uncle had ridiculed her, the pain quickly covered by an expressionless mask. She’d looked the same that morning, when he’d asked her why she’d been at the distillery the night before.

He’d hurt her.

Damn it.

She’d hurt him.

Damn it.

He closed his eyes again, but images of Veronica were still there. Veronica, staring at the ruin of her home. This morning, at dawn, when he’d loved her. Every time he loved her. All the past weeks when she’d been obstinate and relentless in poking and prodding at him until he felt his heart creak open.

You’ve been a fool
.

A woman’s voice, one he hadn’t heard in nearly two years. Once, he would have said he’d forever be able to identify Caroline’s voice. This time, however, she sounded too much like Veronica.

Damn it, Montgomery. You’ve been an idiot.

Either brother would have made that comment.

A good five minutes after Robbie asked the question, Montgomery answered him.

“I need to know why my wife left,” he said.

Thankfully, the smith remained silent.

What the hell could Robbie possibly say?

Chapter 28

T
he rain slowed their progress to Inverness, the storm growing so fierce that Veronica signaled the driver to pull off on the side of the road and wait it out. An hour later, they were on their way again, the stormy skies giving way to a lovely day. Fortunately, that section of road was paved, so they didn’t have to contend with muddy ruts.

According to the coachman, the Highland Railway ran regularly between Inverness and Perth, a journey of some four hours. She’d planned to stay at an inn tonight, but in Perth, not Inverness. With the delay, they might well be traveling through the night.

At the moment, however, she wanted to stand in front of a roaring fire and savor a cup of hot Darjeeling tea. She closed her eyes and could almost feel the heat warm the tip of her nose. Perhaps a little toast as well, or Cook’s scones. They’d turned out to be almost as good as her mother’s.

Thankfully, Elspeth was a good traveling companion. The other woman was not disturbed by the storm, lightning, or even hunger.

“Have you a large family, Elspeth?” she asked.

“I’ve four brothers and three sisters, my ma and dad, of course, and Old Mary, plus a score of nephews and nieces. Although there might be even more as it’s been a year since I’ve been home.”

“A year?” she asked, surprised.

“It’s a fair distance from Perth, Your Ladyship.” Elspeth glanced away, obviously embarrassed. “And the fare by train . . .”

Unspoken was the comment that the cost was beyond what Elspeth could afford. Perhaps it was time Veronica investigated how much the servants at Doncaster Hall were paid. She added that to her mental list of things to discuss with Montgomery.

If Montgomery ever talked to her again.

She’d thought there might be hope for her marriage. Instead, she knew it was doubtful he would ever feel anything but lust for her. Once, that might have been enough. Now, she wasn’t so certain.

They arrived, finally, in Inverness, only to discover they’d missed the most convenient train. The next was not due to leave for another three hours.

“Will you go back to Doncaster Hall?” she asked the coachman.

He shook his head. “I can wait here for you, Your Ladyship. Otherwise, you’ll have to hire a carriage to take you home.”

She nodded, then handed him some of the money from her reticule. “Will you need more, do you think?”

He glanced down at his hand. “This is very generous, Your Ladyship. I’ve friends here, plus Mrs. Brody has given me a list of supplies she needs.”

“I doubt I’ll be longer than a day or two,” Veronica said.

They arranged for him to meet her at the station tomorrow, and the following day if she wasn’t on that train. At that, he touched the brim of his hat, nodding to her, and left.

After an hour of waiting on an uncomfortable wooden bench, they were escorted to the first-class car and told they could wait there until the train was due to leave. She couldn’t help but wonder if the deference afforded her was because of Elspeth’s reference to her as Your Ladyship within the station manager’s hearing.

“Tell me about Kilmarin,” she said. Thinking of Montgomery only made her sad and angry in turn.

“What would you like to know, Your Ladyship?”

“Anything,” she said.

Elspeth frowned. “It stands on a hill, Your Ladyship, and it’s quite a large place. I’ve never been inside, but you can see it from just outside Perth. Everyone knows about Kilmarin. And the Tullochs. Everyone near Perth, that is.”

“Tell me about the Tullochs.”

“I always thought I’d be married to a Tulloch, but my heart only saw Robbie, come to visit a relative, and one glance was all I needed.”

Elspeth’s face glowed with love.

Why was it some people loved easily and well, while others had to struggle at it? Some people didn’t suffer any hills and valleys in their relationships but experienced, instead, a calm ocean.

She felt passion for Montgomery, but would she ever feel placid? She sincerely doubted it. Parts of his character rubbed against parts of hers, and the friction was sometimes annoying, often exciting, but never peaceful.

“Everyone for miles around is a Tulloch,” Elspeth said, smiling. “It’s like being a Fairfax,” she added. “If you aren’t a Tulloch, then you’re married to one.”

“What do you mean like being a Fairfax?”

Elspeth smiled. “Well, not everyone, Your Ladyship. Just everyone at Doncaster Hall. Robbie’s uncle was a Fairfax. Most of the maids have a connection to the family. Even Mr. Kerr.”

“Mr. Kerr?” she asked, surprised.

“His mother was a Fairfax. Didn’t you know?”

She shook her head.

Elspeth suddenly sat up straight.

“Your Ladyship,” Elspeth said, peering out the window with a very odd expression on her face. The view was of the interior of the station. Not a particularly pleasant vista, but little to alarm the girl.

“What is it?”

“Lord Fairfax just entered the station,” she said. “He doesn’t look happy.” She turned to stare at Veronica. “And my Robbie’s with him.”

A dozen thoughts tumbled into Veronica’s mind, none of them coherent.

“Are you very certain, Elspeth?”

Elspeth nodded.

She clasped her hands together so tightly they hurt.

A few minutes later, the door at the end of the car opened. Montgomery stood there, taking up all the space. Behind him was Robbie, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Montgomery stepped aside, and Robbie entered the car. Veronica stood, moved to the front, allowing Robbie to sit beside Elspeth. At the moment, blessedly, the car was empty except for the four of them.

“Wife,” Montgomery said, his gaze locking on her face. To the casual observer, his face might have appeared expressionless. She could feel his rage, however. Not to mention that his blue eyes were as cold as shards of ice.

“Husband,” she said, in a tone equally frigid.

Montgomery stood with feet apart, hands clasped on either side of the doorframe. Steam from the engine tugged at his jacket, tousled his hair.

“We need to talk, you and I.”

Conscious of the curiosity of the couple behind them, she made her way out of the car, consenting to go only as far as the landing. No one was boarding at the moment, but the location wouldn’t remain private for long.

Montgomery didn’t speak, annoying her even further. She was truly tired of his silences, tired of his eternal, ever-present, restraint.

She folded her arms, determined to be as stubborn.

Montgomery had more practice at stoicism, however.

She unfolded her arms and glared at him. “I didn’t try to kill you,” she said.

“I’m willing to be convinced.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m not willing to convince you. Think what you want.”

“Why did you leave?”

Her eyes widened.

“Did you expect me to stay at Doncaster Hall after you accused me of trying to kill you?”

“You didn’t deny it.”

Words failed her as she stared at him. If she’d had something handy, she would have thrown it at him.

“I didn’t deny it,” she said, slowly as if he were devoid of wits, “because I couldn’t believe you said it. Now I shall. No, Montgomery, I didn’t try to kill you.” Each word was enunciated slowly, so he would have no problem hearing and understanding it.

She turned and would have left him had Montgomery not grabbed her arm and held on. “Where the hell are you going?”

“Anywhere. Anyplace. Anywhere you aren’t.”

“Veronica,” he said softly, “I knew the moment I said the words that I was wrong.”

Only slightly mollified, she turned to face him.

“How could you think that of me?” she whispered.

“I didn’t,” he said, slowly pulling her close. “Forgive me,” he said, brushing a light, almost passionless kiss over her lips.

“It was a horrid thing to say.”

“Yes, it was,” he said.

Still, she wasn’t ready to forgive him. She pulled back.

“I’ve put up with a great deal from you,” she said.

One of his eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“Your eternal silences, for one.”

“You’ve had your share of silences, Veronica. You didn’t tell me about your parents, the fire, or Amanda.”

She thought about that statement. He was correct.

“I don’t talk to anyone about my parents,” she said, looking down at the landing. “It’s been two years, but sometimes, it feels as if it were just yesterday. If I talk about it, it’s real, and I don’t want it to be real.” Her gaze flew to his. “Is that why you don’t talk about Caroline?”

Was that why Montgomery remained silent? Because the loss of her was as real and new to him as her sorrow for her parents?

All those weeks, she’d pecked at him like a chicken, an annoying chicken, who’d insisted he spread his heart open for her to examine it. Just when she was about to apologize, he said something that threw her into confusion.

“Guilt is the reason I don’t talk about Caroline,” he said.

“Guilt?”

The landing where they stood connected two railway cars. The window showed the car ahead filling with people. This was neither the time nor the place for such a confrontation, but she didn’t say a word or move to return to the car.

“Is that the price you’ll extract, Veronica, to forgive me for my words? All my secrets?”

She studied him for a moment, understanding Montgomery more in the last five minutes than she had in the last five weeks.

“No,” she said, her answer evidently surprising him. She didn’t want to peck at him anymore. “No, Montgomery, keep your secrets.”

He studied her for a moment, then said, “Caroline was my sister-in-law. James’s wife. I wasn’t in love with her. I loved her like a sister. I had since I was a boy. We grew up together, you see. Her family lived down the road from Gleneagle.”

He glanced toward the station. The billowing steam, excited chatter from the passengers, and a variety of mechanical noises should have made conversation difficult. Yet, strangely, she could hear him easily.

“My brothers went to war together. James died first, at Fort Donelson. Alisdair was next, a year later. By the third year of the war, I was the only one left of my family. Caroline was home, at Gleneagle, trying to keep everything together.”

He speared one hand through his hair, glanced down at her. “My brothers went to war to keep everything just as it was. None of us knew, at the time, that life would never be the same again.”

He folded his arms, leaning against the other car, his gaze fixed, again, on the distance. She knew, however, he wasn’t looking at the interior of the Inverness Station but at the past.

“I received two letters from Caroline when I was in Washington. She tried to tell me how things were at Gleneagle. I told myself she was used to being sheltered and viewed any deprivation as a hardship. I knew she was grieving for James, and I thought she was craving attention.”

He moved restlessly, finally meeting her eyes.

“She was like that. She lived life fully. She laughed often and cried often. There wasn’t any middle ground for Caroline.”

He looked away again. “I didn’t know she was starving.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“I didn’t want to return to Gleneagle. I didn’t want to go home, and I did so grudgingly, months after I should have. When I did, it was to find Caroline dead. Gleneagle was gone. The house had been razed, put to the cannon, and the fields set on fire. The Army of the Potomac had leveled my home because it was owned by a family who’d fought for the South.”

He unfolded his arms, standing with feet braced apart, his hands at his back. “After that, I didn’t much care what happened to me,” he said. “The Balloon Corps was disbanded, I was assigned to a regiment. When the war was over, I eventually went home to Virginia. That’s when Edmund found me.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“There’s nothing in Virginia but memories, Veronica. Memories of my culpability, my pride, my guilt.”

“Why didn’t you come back when she wrote you?”

“My airships,” he said, his smile self-deprecating. “At first, I was enthusiastic about the idea of being able to use them in war, to show the generals how intelligence could be gathered behind enemy lines without endangering anyone. Then I got caught up in the politics of it. There was talk the Corps was going to be disbanded. I spent weeks arguing with people, writing letters to the generals I’d worked with, trying to convince anyone, attempting to get funds for the Corps. In the end, it didn’t matter.”

Silence stretched between them, but when he would have escorted her back into the car, Veronica shook her head, placed her palm against his jacket, right over his heart.

“How do you know you could have saved her if you’d returned to Gleneagle?”

“What do you mean, how do I know?”

“Every day, for months, I replayed the night my parents died. If I’d insisted on going with my father to save my mother, I might have saved both of them. If I’d awakened, checked the lamps, made sure the stove wasn’t overheated, then perhaps the fire would never have happened. I don’t know, Montgomery. Perhaps we’re only supposed to deal with what we know, what’s already happened, not pretend it might have been different.”

“Life isn’t a choice.”

She smiled. “Yes, it is. What would you choose, Montgomery? To see only bleakness and despair? Why shouldn’t we choose a little joy, a little happiness?”

“That’s not life, Veronica.”

“Oh, Montgomery, it
is
life, just not the one we’ve known for the last few years.”

He looked startled by her words.

“I wouldn’t take away what’s happened to you, Montgomery. I know that sounds cruel, but it’s made you the man you are, the kind man you are. You treat others with dignity and respect. You planned financially for me so I would never be in the same position as Caroline. I understand that, now. Yet, at the same time, what’s happened to you has made you stand apart from life, to be uninvolved. Your life will happen whether or not you participate in it, Montgomery, I know that only too well.”

She dropped her hand. “Is Caroline a vengeful ghost?”