A Laird for All Time (18 page)

“So you punish everyone around you for your pain, is that it?  Your pride, your ego!”  She faced him, hands on hips, her own anger rising over his stubborn refusal to face the truth.  “Well, they might suck it up, but I will not be treated that way.  It isn’t all about you, you know?  And I don’t have to stay here!  I can leave any time!  I don’t have to put up with a tyrant!”

“Run away, then,” he roared.  “Run away like ye did before!”

“Sometimes you deserve to be run from!” she yelled back.

“If ye dinnae want to marry me, ye should ha’ said so – I wouldnae ha’ made ye do it, but ye just left wi’out a word.  Do ye ha’ any idea how humiliating that was?  The Prince of Wales was there!” he shouted, poking his finger back at her.

“Now you’re getting to your real issues!  But it was all pride, Connor!”  She went
toe to toe with him.  “You didn’t care that she was gone for anything more than your pride!  You have let it rule your entire life.  You have already said that you didn’t love her, it wasn’t like you had your heart broken!”

“I dinnae, that’s right!  I
dinae love ye then!”  His anger was still running amok making him almost unaware of the words he spoke.  “I only married ye because it was what my father wanted.  I dinnae even meet ye until the previous day.  How could I have cared about ye?  Aye, ‘twas all pride, I’ll admit it.”

“Then?” Emmy echoed, hearing nothing past that one word.  All the hot air went out of her.  Similarly deflated, Connor sliced his hand through the air to halt her but she ignored him. 

“You said ‘then’.  That you didn’t love her ‘then’.  Do you love me now?”  He turned his back to her and faced the window, arms crossed in that same defensive posture he had used the first day she met him.  She ran her hand up his shoulder blades.  “Connor?”  Both hands slid under his arms, around the hard ripple of his ribs until she was hugging him from behind, resting her head against his back, relaxed against his tense body, her heart pounding forcefully between them.  “Do you, Connor?  Do you love me now?” she whispered with longing.

His hands clasped hers tightly for a moment.  He drew a breath as though he were about to speak but then exhaled heavily.  “Go get dressed and we will leave.”

“But, Connor…”

“Just leave me be, Emmy.”

Sighing heavily in defeat, she dropped her arms and moved soundlessly to the bathroom, closing the door behind her.  It wasn’t until she was washing her hair in the bath that she realized that he had called her Emmy instead of Heather.

He had called her Emmy.

What a horrid day!  The long periods in the carriage had been sickening and awful, but what had really made the day excruciatingly long was Connor’s absence from it.  When she arrived at the carriage, Ian, not Connor, had been waiting for her.  Ian had cheerfully explained that Connor had suddenly had to leave on urgent business in Glasgow and would be gone for several days.  He had asked Ian to aid Emmy in her medical pursuits.

Ian had filled their time in the carriage with pleasant chatter and anecdotes that Emmy regretted hadn’t done more to distract her.  Business in Glasgow?  She didn’t think so.  There was no doubt in her mind that Connor - that big, fat chicken - had run off rather than face her.  Perhaps he regretted suggesting that he loved her before he was certain of her feelings and he was avoiding her to allow her time to digest his revelation, but she doubted it.  It was more likely that he hadn’t meant it the way it sounded at all and he was afraid her feelings would be hurt. 

That thought caused her breath to catch.  God, she hoped not.  She was pretty sure he liked her beyond the physical, had even had cause to think that he cared for her…maybe more than he knew or wanted to?  It had only been four days, she thought realistically.  It was an impossibly short time in which to fall in love with someone.  Things like that took time.  Love at first sight wasn’t something she had ever believed possible before.  Just because it had happened to her didn’t necessarily mean he felt the same.

Oh, Lord, I love him, she moaned inwardly.  What a fool she was!  Had she truly fallen in love at
…well, almost at first sight with Connor?  He was completely wrong for her.  Truthfully, he was completely right for her but this was all wrong!  She was supposed to fall in love with a man she could live the rest of her life with and she had no intention of staying here in Ye Olde Scotland.  She needed technology, her career, Starbucks!

Yes, he was everything she had ever wanted.  He was intelligent, caring and responsible.  He was funny and sexy and handsome.  Her thoughts warmed.  He made her feel challenged, made her think, made her feel like a goddess.  Connor brought out every extreme of emotion in her.  She had never felt such anger as that he roused in her but she had never felt such passion and contentment either.

She loved him!  Truly, honestly, deeply.

Now what?

Stay here?  Hah!  And did she even have a choice?  She wasn’t entirely sure what Donell’s point had been in bringing her here.  Second chances?  For Connor?  Most likely for Dory, if she had inferred correctly that Dory would not make it through her delivery.  That was most likely the tragedy he spoke of.  But second chances for herself?  Why did she need a second chance?  She had her life lined up and waiting for her.  But whatever mystical force Donell had employed to get her here could just as easily yank her right back without warning.  If that happened it would break her heart and maybe Connor’s as well.

But an hour of his love was better than none at all.  Take what you can get, wasn’t that the old motto?  Well, she was ready to embrace it completely, but that man, that aggravating man, had fled like a coward rather than face her and take it like a man. 

Emmy could break down his thoughts pretty well.  He was more vulnerable than he thought.  He had a fear of rejection that she had been able to read from day one.  His defenses were built from prideful humiliation rather than love and a broken heart, but clearly he feared that same shame happening again.  So he fought it.  He refused to allow the opportunity to present itself and he had taken himself off before she had a chance to reject him, probably never considering that she might return his feelings.  Men!

All she could hope was that he would soon overcome that impulse that had sent him off, and come back to share the love between them while they still had time.  Please, Connor, come back, she beseeched in her mind.  Before I’m gone. 

She only realized she had moaned aloud when Ian kindly offered to open the window.  Connor, it seemed, had warned him of her maleficent relationship with the carriage. 

“Thank you.”  She breathed in the cold air.  October was drawing to a close now.  Five days she had been here.  Emmy wondered if anyone had missed her yet in her time and concluded that, given she was still on her vacation, they had probably not.  But when that time was over, it was anyone’s guess what would happen then.  Missing person’s report?  Maybe they would think that she was dead in a ditch somewhere, taken by a serial killer and buried in the middle of nowhere.  Amnesia!  That would be interesting.

“Ye ha’ the strangest smile on yer face.”  Ian’s voice interrupted her morbid musings.  “What are ye thinking about?”

“I was just wondering what all my friends might be thinking became of me if I don’t come home soon,” she confessed.

“And that is amusing?” he questioned with a frown.

“My sense of humor can sometimes go terribly wrong.”

“Can I ask ye a personal question?” he asked at length.

“Sure.”

“What did ye say to my brother to make him leave like that?”

“Ha!  I knew it wasn’t a business trip!”  She felt very satisfied with herself.  “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing beyond what I ha’ already said - that he had urgent business in Glasgow he must attend to, but I knew that couldnae be true as no messages or telegrams had arrived recently.”  His eyes were inquisitive as he awaited her response.

“Did he seem angry at all?”

“Nay, I wouldnae say so, that I could understand.”  Ian shook his head, thinking.  “If I had to define it, I might say he was defeated in some way, but that is certainly unlike my brother.”

“Defeated?” she repeated.  Why defeated?  What had run through his mind?  “We did have a fight.”

“I know,” he shrugged and grinned.  “Everyone knows.  The entire castle can hear yer arguments.  It resonates.  Ne’er knew it could do that but then I dinnae think anyone has ever yelled like that in the castle before.”

“I’m sure that Connor has shown his temper plenty of times in his life,” she said drily.

“Surprisingly, no,” Ian contradicted. “I ha’ ne’er heard him yell.  He ne’er even shown anger, always that icy demeanor.  Connor has always been the sort to simmer in his anger.  When he is truly maddened, he is cold and fierce, and everyone stays out of his way, including myself.  I ha’ ne’er heard him roar that way in my lifetime.”

“You don’t think he was mad when he bellowed right in my face then?” she asked in disbelief.  “Because from where I was sitting, he looked pretty pissed.”

“Pissed?”

“Pissed.  Annoyed,” she clarified.  Ian grinned again.

“I rather like that one.”

“We all do.”  It was hard not to smile at Ian, and Emmy didn’t even try to contain the amusement they shared.

“Ye’re a rare corker, Emmy.”  Ian, like Dory, had taken to calling her by the name she preferred.  She wasn’t sure if he believed her but was sure that Dory must have said something to him.  Generally he was too good-natured to make a fuss.

“And, you see, there is one I am not used to,” she teased.  “I gather it means I’m pretty funny?”

“Verra much so,” he agreed.  “I do so enjoy hearing ye speak.  There is always an element of expectation involved, waiting to see what will come next.”

“Glad I don’t disappoint.”  She twisted her lips self-mockingly.  Nothing was more enjoyed than the spectacle of the class clown.

“Ne’er, ne’er,” he replied, honestly oblivious to her self-disdain.

“So when do you think he’ll be back?”

“I would think nae more than a day or two from now.”

Five days later, Emmy’s overactive imagination had developed dozens of scenarios for the cause of Connor’s continued absence.  The boat had sunk in the middle of the sound with all hands lost, he had been mugged, murdered, hit by a train
…

She had been unable to find Donell or any trace of him.  She had even taken the despised carriage into Craignure to the inn to find him.  Jimmy, the innkeeper, admitted that he hadn’t seen the old man since the previous week.  It seemed the sometime busybody had fled Mull much as her laird had.  Finally, when visiting patients and reading books were no longer enough to distract her, she had begged Ian to find him and bring Connor home. 

Dutifully, Ian had packed a bag, taken the ferry to Oban and boarded the train to Glasgow.  As requested, he sent regular updates via telegraph to keep Emmy informed to his progress, but two days later he hadn’t found Connor yet in any of his regular hotels or clubs.  Ian had found the estate manager, and Mr. McAllen however, and conveyed to Emmy the information that neither man had been aware of the laird’s supposed presence in Glasgow.  Defeated, Ian relayed that he was returning to Duart.

“What the hell are ye doing?”  Ian stared down at his brother, his laird, in disgust. 

Ian had left Glasgow unable to think of where his brother could possibly have gone.  Concerned, he had made his way back through Inverary to Oban searching for signs of his brother along the way.  He was beginning to consider that
one of the horrible possibilities Emmy had regaled him with might be true when, while he was waiting for the ferry, he noticed his brother’s sailboat docked in Oban harbor.  A quick word with the crew had sent him to a place he hadn’t thought to frequent in more than a decade.

Though the brick building was discreet enough from the street, it housed the largest brothel in Oban.  Ian had never known his brother to come here and surely ne
ver expected to find him drunk, and wallowing in filth with a pair…aye, a pair! of Sally Loaman’s best girls.

Ian reached down into the pile of sleeping bodies and pulled his brother roughly out of the tangle of female arms and legs, shaki
ng him forcefully.  “My God, ye reek of alcohol and perfume, Connor!  What were ye thinking?”

Connor’s head lolled to the side as a slur of unintelligible words emerged from him.  Ian snorted in repugnance, draped his brother’s arm across his shoulders and half led, half
carried him from the room.  “Ye’re utterly blootered,” Ian muttered.  With some doing, he managed to get Connor into his waiting carriage and down to the docks, where the crew helped him to drag his brother below decks and deposit him on the bed.  Given Connor’s size and weight, it was an effort to do so, but not as much as being close to him.

“I feel as if I should be
hauldin’ ma breath,” one of the crew grumbled as they had hauled him below.

“He’s fair reekin’,” another agreed.

“Ne’er seen the laird in such a state,” yet another added, and they all nodded.

The crew returned above
, and Ian dropped down in a chair and considered his brother’s state.  “Now what?” he wondered aloud.

Connor groaned loudly but offered no o
ther input.  “Serve ye right if I dumped ye over,” Ian muttered, rising to grab a bucket of water and a towel.  Taking them to the side of the bed, he stripped his brother to his smalls and proceeded to wash the worse of the stink from him.  Connor protested flinging his arms about feebly before passing out once more.

Ian had never seen Connor in such a state of drunkenness before.  When Co
nnor drank, he was always lucid and controlled, and Ian had to wonder how much alcohol he had consumed to get to this state of excess.  What made him do it?  And to go to Sally’s!  Ian shook his head, knowing that something had happened yet, from Emmy’s recounting, it hadn’t seemed anything so extreme to prompt this crude behavior from his brother.  He wondered how different Connor’s version would be.

“Where am I?”  A gruff voice spoke from the bed more than two hours later.  Ian looked up from his book to see Connor propped up on an elbow
, rubbing his face thoroughly with his free hand. 

“We’re docked in Craignure,” he offered only.

Connor scratched his growth of beard.  “What time is it?”

“Should
ye nae be asking what day it is?” Ian asked sarcastically.

“It should be Tuesday, I believe, unless time has gotten away from me.”  Connor glared at Ian.  “Why are ye looking at me like that?”

Since it was Tuesday, Ian could only wonder how his brother had managed to know it.  He had been too muntit to mark the time.  “How long were ye at Sally’s?” he asked curiously.

“Assuming it is Tuesday, I just went there last night.”  Ian’s brows shot up in surprise. 

“Then where ha’ ye been the six days before that?  I know it wisnae Glasgow, because I had already searched for ye there.”

“Ye went looking for me?  Why?” Connor grumbled in irritation.

“Ye went wi’out word for five days when ye’d said ye’d be gone but a day or two,” Ian pointed out.  “Ye’ve ne’er done that before, and everyone was beginning to worry.  Even Aunt Eleanor.”

“I am sure no one realized I was gone.”

“If ye think that, then ye’re a fool!”  Ian stiffened against Connor’s harsh glare.  “Aye, ye heard me, a fool!  Emmy has been out of her mind wi’ worry, thinking ye’ve drowned, or been sold to a band of gypsies, or been gutted and turned on a spit for a tribe of hungry cannibals.”

Connor grunted in acknowledgment of Ian’s grin.  “She told me she does that.  She called it a worst-case scenario,” Connor murmured and lay back, running his hands over his face again.  “I feel like a horse has sat on my head.”

“An ass anyway,” Ian said.  “Ha’ ye spent the last six days in this state?”

“Sailing,” Connor confessed.

That took Ian aback.  He had assumed that his brother had been in the condition that he found him in for the entire week.  “Nae here?  Where were ye?”

“Aye, we actually went all the way to Liverpool,” Connor covered his eyes against the bright sun coming through the porthole.  “Thought I might get some supplies for the winter and some gifts for yer bairns.  God, I need a drink.”

“Ye smell like ye’ve already drank a keg or more,” Ian scoffed, “and slept wi’ every lassie at Sally’s.  She’s going to kill ye, ye know?”

Connor didn’t have to ask who Ian meant. 
“I may have drunk the ocean, but I dinnae bed anyone.  I wanted to; I planned to, but in the end…” Connor sighed.  “Ach, mon, gi’ me a drink.”

Finally obliging, Ian poured a glass of whisky and gave it to his brother, watching as he swished a large dram around his
mouth before he swallowed.  “Ah, that’s better.”

“What’s gotten into ye
, brother,” Ian asked.  “I’ve ne’er seen ye like this before.”

“Her,” Connor grunted as Ian chuckled.

“Finally caught by Cupid’s arrow, hmm?”

“More like his cannon.”  Connor knocked back the remainder of the drink and dropped back down in fatigue, pulling the pillow over his head.  “That woman will be the death of me!”

“C’est l’amour,” Ian sighed mockingly and laughed when Connor threw the pillow at him.  “Come, brother, what has ye up in arms?  Love is a beautiful thing, yet ye act as if ye ha’ the plague.  Ye should be rejoicing to ha’ found such a woman to love. Emmy is an extraordinary lass.”

“Emmy?”  Connor raised a brow.  “She has got ye believing it, too?”

“Dory has already told me that she knows that Emmy is nae Heather.  She willnae tell me how she knows, which has its own frustrations, but she is certain,” Ian told him.

“And ye believe her?”

“I believe them both.”  Ian poured himself his own glass of whisky and sat back down.  “Emmy just doesnae seem the sort to take a farce to such an extreme.  She’s a bonny lass in and out.”

“Aye, she is,” Con
nor admitted finally.  “I’ve ne’er met anyone like her.”

“Everyone in the house has been saying that about her,” Ian informed his brother.  “There’s just something about her that is
…beyond us.  For example, she knows so many things I ha’ never imagined knowing, much less a woman.”

“Dinnae
let her hear ye say that,” Connor muttered.

“Aye, and there’s another thi
ng!”  Ian pounced.  “She doesnae act like a woman does, ye ken?  She refuses to be told what to do.  Women offer opinions and hope a man might keep it in mind when making his decisions and choices, but Emmy expects us to or tries to make us do what she wants.”

“Why do ye say that?  What has she done?”

“She wants to have the telephone installed at Duart and…” he pulled out the conjunction, “she expects to ha’ a ‘public phone’, that’s what she called it, put in Lochdon, Craignure and wherever else she thinks might need one so folks might telephone in case of emergency.  She said it just like that.  She said if ye are going to be the laird and be responsible for all these people, they shouldnae ha’ to wait for a messenger to get help.”

“Lovely,” Connor grumbled and lay back once more.  Bossy, she was!  But the idea was sound and, as he had told her before when they were discussing the suffrage question, he
respected her for her reason and logic.  It was a sensible idea.  “She’s probably right, too.  She has a keen intelligence.”

“Oh, I agree, but I dinnae
want to tell her that!” Ian chuckled and drank.  “What a corker she is.”

“Aye, she is,” Connor sighed and tried to ignore the pounding in his skull.  He had fled Duart for just those reasons.  Emmy, aye, Emmy, was having a greater affect on him than he had imagined possible.  It had gone beyond wanting to simply try his hand at marriage again.  He had considered matrimony based on companionship in bed and out of it
…as a way of keeping her close by. 

Looking back, his desire for sport and camaraderie was naïve.  Connor knew he could not uphold that standard indefinitely.  Each day he was with her, he wanted more, more of her, more of them.  He wanted to lie beside her each night, touch her constantly, burrow his way under her skin and become one with her.  He wanted the challenge and emotion of her.  He wanted to possess her and, indeed, wanted to be possessed by her
.  There is where the problem had arisen.

He was vulnerable to her.  She had taken his defenses and beaten them to the ground
, though she seemed unaware of her victory, and had yet to wield the power she now possessed.  Emmy could flay his heart open easily with a single word or action.  Even though he wanted her to stay with him always - he did accept that truth - she did not seem to have the same hopes.  She spoke of ‘when she left’ and ‘when she got home’. 

Duart was not her home.  She did not view them the way he did, which meant that she might one day decide to go, leaving him and his heart ripped and broken.  It might be the end of him.  He did not want to retreat to the hole he had recently crawled from.  He liked who he had become with her, with her help. 

Connor had thought long and hard on these things during the past week and then, like the fool Ian had accused him of being, had determined to purge her from his mind with the body of another.  He had sat at Sally’s for hours trying to drink himself into going through with it and had even taken the girls upstairs to have it done, but in the end he had known that Emmy was all he wanted.  He could use other women, but he would be deceiving himself as well as her.  He couldn’t go through with it even as drunk as he had been.

He loved her.  He wanted Emmy as his wife and mate for all his days.  It was a terrifying truth that had taken him all these days to accept.  If he confessed it to her, she would hold his life
in her hands.  She would have the power to destroy him because when she left him, it would not only mean a blow to his pride, but the devastation of his soul.