The Heart Queen (14 page)

He said nothing as she clicked the reins of the cart and they started again. But he decided then to make a trip to her father’s old lands and see what he could find out. Perhaps bring some crofters, if anyone had survived Cumberland’s purges, back here.

In the meantime, they would stop to eat. Unknowing to her, he’d already packed some food in a corner of the cart. He hadn’t known how long they would be out.

He looked toward the sun. It was at least an hour since noon. They could eat when they rested the animals, then turn back toward the manor. He would spend tomorrow going with Tim to distribute seed and take a look for himself at the condition of the fields. He would also make it quite clear that if Janet chose to come, they would use horses, not a governess cart.

The sun was bright, the blue sky washed clean by a morning mist. It was a rare lovely day in the Highlands, and Janet felt herself relaxing as they neared the waterfall she’d seen yesterday. She had already surrendered the reins to Clara and now crooned a lullaby to a hungry Colin.

But as they neared the waterfall, she sat up in her seat and looked at it with fresh appreciation. The fall ran down a heather-covered hill, tumbling along over water-polished rocks. The sun’s rays caught the mist from water, forming an ethereal rainbow, and the pool looked as if diamonds had been spread over its surface.

She had not been struck by the rugged beauty of the hills yesterday, but perhaps because they had been partially veiled by the heavy mist—and her tears. But now the sight of the fall surrounded by purple heather and golden gorse lifted her spirits. She had lived here now for four years and she had seen very little of the property. She had never gone for a ride with her husband, and he had forbade her going by herself. Her few outings had included one trip to Edinburgh to see Cumberland, then a hunting party at the home of one of Alasdair’s friends. She’d hated every moment of it, and he’d told her how embarrassed he’d been at her lack of cordiality when she tried to shake off the advances of his friends.

But now she looked at Lochaene with different eyes. From the manor battlements, she’d felt Lochaene was her prison. Now it could be her freedom.

If she could rid herself of Reginald’s jealousy and now Braemoor’s interference.

Even though, she had to admit, it was helpful interference.

He had dismounted and moved over to the cart. “If you will give the lad to Clara,” he said, “I’ll help you down.”

“You take Colin,” she said. She held her son out to him. He stood there for a moment, looking uncertain; looking, in truth, as if she were trying to hand him hot coals. A look of panic darted over his face. Then he reached out and took Colin, holding him as if he was a piece of glass. Awkwardly. Clumsily, but with—she would swear it—tenderness.

Colin wailed, reaching back up for her. But she turned away, climbing down herself, then helping Annabella and Rachel as Clara stepped down on her own, clutching the basket holding the kitten.

Janet turned to take her son.

In those few moments, her son and Braemoor had apparently come to an understanding. Colin was gurgling, and Braemoor was looking at him with unabashed yearning.

But the instant he looked up to see her standing there, a curtain fell over his eyes and without a word he started to hand Colin back to her. Colin wailed again and held his hands back toward Braemoor.

“Traitor,” she whispered in Colin’s ear, hopefully in a tone too low for Braemoor to hear, but she left her son in Braemoor’s arms.

But Braemoor was distracted by Samson who promptly lifted his leg on Braemoor’s boot.

“Bloody hell,” Braemoor said. It was mildly said, but the effect was immediate. Rachel snatched the dog up and clutched him in her arms. “Please do ... do not hurt him,” she said, backing up, terror written all over her face.

Her timid Rachel was ready to do battle for the pup. Annabella was trembling. Grace placed her thin little body between Braemoor and Rachel.

Janet looked at Braemoor. Her husband would have killed the dog, and the girls knew it.

She took the few steps to stand next to Grace and looked at Braemoor. “He is just a puppy,” she said.

“I know,” he said in a voice so low that she barely heard it. His eyes had darkened to that particular color of onyx.

Grace didn’t move. She was used to her father who often preceded a blow with a calm, almost loving demeanor.

They were so brave. All of them. Not for themselves, but for a poor nondescript puppy.

Janet swallowed, the air passing with difficulty through a rather large lump in her throat. “I... I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why should you be sorry?” he asked. “
You
didn’t relieve yourself on my leg.”

His answer did not remove the combined anxiety for the puppy. “I sorry, too,” Annabella said.

“You can beat
me
,” Rachel offered in a small trembling but determined voice.

They were all looking at him. A muscle throbbed along his tightened jaw. He
did
look large and angry. For a moment, she wondered whether she’d been so wrong about him years ago. She had been wrong about so much. She did know she was not going to let him hurt either the dog or the children.

“I donna think I want to beat anyone,” he said. “Nor a pup.”

“Truly?” Grace asked in a strained voice.

“Truly,” he said. But he did not smile. In fact, she saw building anger in those eyes.

The lasses had not been convinced. She did not know whether or not she was. She had once believed Alasdair incapable of hitting a child. She’d been quickly disabused of that notion.

The fear of the children was palpable despite the softness of his voice and his words. Clara, several feet away, also appeared rooted to the ground, her arms clutching the kitten’s basket to her bosom.

The ghost of her husband was all too real.

Even Colin had started wailing.

She looked at Braemoor’s face, at the eyes that had darkened with anger.
And she knew
. Clouding out that anger in his eyes was vulnerability, helplessness. She realized then the anger had not been directed toward her or the children, but at whatever had turned them so fearful. And the vulnerability came because he had no idea how to cope with the immediate disaster.

In the past day, she’d learned that the young man whose uncertain sincerity had so appealed to her had turned into a competent, forceful lord, one becoming accustomed to getting his own way and not above using raw power to accomplish his aims.

But now he was faced with a situation he had no idea how to handle, and his gaze held an appeal, and a muscle ripped along his tightened jaw. Her heart shifted, opened just a crack. She would never trust him with her heart again, but she knew she could trust his words here and now. She leaned down, picked up Samson and stroked him. The small animal had caught Rachel’s fear and was trembling.

“It is all right,” she said soothingly.

Rachel’s stiff back, obviously ready to accept a blow, slowly started to relax. Grace reached down and took Annabella’s hand. Clara shifted and loosened her grip on the basket.

It was as if a tableau had been unfrozen.

She saw Braemoor swallow, then made a small bow. “I must ask pardon. A gentleman should never swear in front of ladies. I hope you will all accept my apologies.”

“But... your boot?” Grace managed.

“My boot has seen far worse, I assure you, lass,” he said. “I was just startled, ‘tis all. I am not accustomed to being around so many fair young lasses.”

Colin had stopped wailing and was now looking at the marquis with interest, his hunger evidently temporarily forgotten.

“I think you can put Samson down,” Braemoor said. “I have no intention to do harm to him.”

Her gaze met his. The appeal was still in them and she saw something else as well.
Pain? Even bafflement that she and four children would believe him capable of hurting them or a puppy
.

How deeply ingrained was the fear Alasdair had built in them all. She wondered whether the girls would always flinch when a man came close, or exhibited even the slightest expression of anger.

Even she, who had known him, had experienced a moment of fear. Not for herself but for the others.

And he had seen it.

Neil struggled to control the fury roiling around inside him.

He’d seldom seen such stark fear in faces so young. Seeing it in Janet’s eyes had been like a fist in the gut. But in the faces of the children, it was almost too much to bear.

He wished the Earl of Lochaene still lived. He would have pulverized the man.

The wee lad squirmed in his arms. He was small, and Neil feared he might unintentionally hurt the bairn. And yet the boy felt good in his arms. Especially when he smiled.

Some of his anger faded at that grin. He sighed. It was foolish to waste his energy on a dead man. Campbell had gone to his own judgment. But he did wish the man a particularly agonizing afterlife.

It was painful to realize that he’d caused fear in bairns, and in Janet as well. She’d been uncertain whether he might hurt either the lasses or the pup. What in the hell had Lochaene done to her? To his own children?

He felt an unexpected moisture on his arm and looked down. He’d just been watered again! This time by the bairn.

Janet apparently saw it, too, and regarded Neil’s shirt with dismay.

“Do not look that way, lass. Even I know that bairns do not know whom they are wetting any more than that misbegotten animal.” In fact, rather than anger, he felt an odd tenderness at the thought of such complete innocence. He’d never held a bairn before, had never been the recipient of such a guileless contentment. He tried a smile to put her, and the children, at ease but he knew it was a poor excuse of one. He had damned little practice at it, and he knew immediately he was not succeeding. Hell, the children still looked frightened half to death.

Janet lowered the puppy to the ground, and Samson went running back to Rachel. As she straightened, their gazes locked for a moment. Janet gave him a long, level look, then something lit in her eyes, the eyes he remembered so well. The ground seemed to tremble under them for a moment, or mayhap his legs were none too steady. Eight years had passed and yet his tongue was as tied as the day he had met her. He felt the same leap of his heart, the same sudden recognition.

Then she reached out and took the lad, and he immediately missed the feel of him.

“I have to feed him,” she said. “Clara will look after the children.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do not trust them with me?”

“I can tell you are not used to children.”

“Nay, you are right there,” he replied wryly.

“I thought not,” she said. “What have you been doing these past years?”

“Serving my cousin,” he said. Feeling the necessity of destroying that intimacy they’d just shared, an intimacy neither of them could afford, he added, “and fighting Jacobites.”

“For the English king.” It was not a question.

“Aye.”

“My brother died at Culloden. Could it have been by your sword?”

Pain twisted inside him. He had not met her brother, only her father whom he had admired and liked. “I canna say, my lady. ‘Tis possible.”

“And now you are wealthy and can ask favors of Cumberland and take what you wish. How did that happen?” She’d heard rumors about the poor cousin who had become the Marquis of Braemoor, but there had been few details.

“Donald died of wounds at Culloden. My cousin inherited, and he too died in the service of the king. Cumberland appreciates that kind of loyalty.” The latter wasn’t true. Cumberland appreciated nothing from Scots. But the lie served him at the moment.

“How?” she said.

“The Black Knave is said to have killed him.”

She wondered how she had not heard that particular piece of information. It must have happened at the time that Colin was born, when her son was the center of her world. She’d heard of the Black Knave—everyone had—but in this household he’d been considered the worst type of villain. A murderer. A thief. A traitor.

Then she caught his wording. “Is said?”

He shrugged. “It could not be proven. But my cousin had gone after the Knave, and his body was found on a beach. Cumberland believes that he might have destroyed the Knave since no one has heard from him since the night my cousin’s body was found.”

“And murder is a reason for gratitude?”

“If it is a traitor to the crown, aye.”

He flinched at the look in her eyes. And yet he knew he could never reveal the entire truth about the Black Knave.

The lad in her arms fidgeted, and she shifted the weight. “I have to feed him,” she repeated in a cool voice and turned away.

Colin squirmed in her arms. He was ready, she knew, for a fit of temper. She turned around and headed away, toward privacy beyond the hill. She felt Neil’s gaze going straight through her.

She also felt her breasts throbbing with milk. Most women in her position hired wet nurses. But she’d wanted to nurse her own child and Alasdair had not objected. He had, in fact, been pleased. Where he was often vicious toward his daughters, he’d doted on his only son. And it had given him a new threat against her. Taking away her son.

She had only recently started to wean Colin with gruel mixed with honey. Another few weeks and he would not need her in this way. And, despite the discomfort, she would miss it. There could be no other feeling like this.

Reaching a spot out of sight, Janet found a stone to sit upon. She shifted Colin on her shoulder, holding him close to her for a moment. She was trembling. How
could
she feel anything for Braemoor when he’d just told her that he had killed Scotsmen at Culloden? Possibly even her brother.

She remembered the day a messenger had arrived at Lochaene, telling her of his death. Alasdair had not gone to Culloden despite Cumberland’s orders. He’d claimed that duty demanded that he stay and guard this land that lay to the west of Cumberland. It was nothing but cowardice. She also remembered his words when she was told her brother was dead: “One less Jacobite.”