The Pursuit (4 page)

M
ELISSA
stared dreamily out at the countryside rolling past the open carriage, without really seeing any of it. The trip would take twice as long in a carriage, which was why she usually rode her own mount when she visited her grandfather. But she was too distracted today to care, which was also why she’d asked the uncle who was escorting her home to fetch a carriage for it, since distraction and riding a frisky horse didn’t mix well.

Who would have thought that a childhood fear, which she
knew
was silly but still harbored nonetheless, would be responsible for such an exciting outcome to an otherwise uneventful day? It began with meeting her Uncle Johnny’s two daughters for the second time—the first time had been on a trip to the Lowlands with several of her uncles three years ago. Johnny had been trying to get the care of them since they were born, but
their mother refused to give them up to him. She would only allow him to visit them in the Lowlands where she lived, and had never let them come to him until now.

But Johnny wasn’t the only one of her uncles to have such difficulties. Many of them had children spread out all over Scotland. They’d taken after her grandfather in that respect. But unlike their father, who had gathered all his sons to him for raising, not all of those sons were that lucky with their own bairns. Some of the women they’d dallied with were insisting on marriage before they’d give up their children. Others simply didn’t care that they would bear the stigma of bearing a child out of wedlock.

The mother of these two daughters was different still—she simply didn’t like Johnny any more than he did her. That they had produced a daughter between them was a matter of their both being too intoxicated at the time to remember that they couldn’t stand each other. That the same thing had happened again when he’d gone to visit the first daughter—and ended up producing another—was more of a surprise to them than to anyone else.

But apparently the woman was getting more lenient with the passing of years. Allowing her girls to come to the Highlands for the first time was proof of that, even if she had stipulated it would be for only a week. And Johnny, upon finding out that his girls didn’t yet know how to swim, had suggested that he escort Melissa
home so he could make use of the fine lake Kregora overlooked to rectify that fact.

Melissa had already offered to help with the swimming lesson, but she was appalled that it be done at Kregora. Most of her uncles didn’t know of her fear of that lake. It really was a silly fear, but it was one she couldn’t seem to shake. She’d got it into her head when she was a child that something big and nasty made its home down there, and the lake was so deep that no one had ever been able to swim to the bottom of it to say otherwise.

So she’d suggested they not wait and instead go to the little pond where she’d been taught to swim and had taken other of her cousins each summer. It might be a bit deep on the one end, but at least you could look down and
see
that there was only dirt and a few weeds on the bottom.

But to meet a man like Lincoln Burnett on such a simple outing—it still amazed her, and her reaction to him amazed her even more.

Johnny’s daughters had been quick to tell him about the stranger who’d stopped by while he was sleeping. He hadn’t been concerned.

All he’d had to say was “No harm done, or ye’d hae waken me, aye?”

Which was true enough. As for harm, Melissa couldn’t stop thinking about him. There was no harm in that, as long as she’d be seeing him again, but what if she never did? What if that one simple meeting was going to affect her husband shopping? Now she’d be comparing every man
she met to him. She knew she would. And they’d all be coming up short: not as handsome, not as tall, not as easy to talk to….

But she’d spent only a moment on those worries, because she
was
sure she’d be seeing him again. He’d said as much. And he’d seemed as taken with her as she was with him, so she didn’t doubt it.

In fact, she’d been wearing a silly grin ever since she met him. She was still wearing it as her oldest uncle, Ian One, drove her home the next morning.

She had six uncles with the name of Ian. Some people might find that strange, but her family didn’t. Considering they all had different mothers, and with the mothers doing the naming, the man these six had been named after hadn’t had much say in it. The numbers had been added to the names by the brothers themselves, to lessen confusion when they were all together. Most of the family used just the name alone—no number—if only one of the Ians was present.

“You’re verra quiet today,” Ian remarked halfway through the journey. “Worried aboot London?”

“Nae, no’ a’tall,” she assured him.

This Ian, being only one year younger than Melissa’s mother, was more like a father to her than an uncle. She wasn’t in the habit of confiding in him any more than she would her father, whereas her youngest uncle, Ian Six, who was only eight years older than her, was more like a
brother to her than an uncle, and in him she did confide quite frequently. She would have told him all about her meeting with Lincoln—everything that had been said, everything she’d felt—if he’d been home last night to hear about it.

But it occurred to her that this uncle, being the oldest of his brothers, might remember Lincoln from when he lived in the Highlands, whereas the others might not. And she had so many questions about the man, thought of only after Lincoln had ridden away yesterday, so many things she should have asked him but didn’t.

She didn’t know how long he was going to be visiting, didn’t know where he lived in England—even
if
he lived in England, though everything about him, including his accent, said he did. It would be the worst luck if he was there in the Highlands for a long visit with her leaving for London in a few days, and she could be gone for the whole of his visit and, even worse, come home just when Lincoln would be returning to England himself.

She couldn’t cancel her trip, however, even though she was now of a mind to. Too much planning for it had been done, and the expense of a suitable wardrobe. Besides, Lincoln’s visit might be a short one, and she could as likely further their acquaintance in London. He
might
live there. Och, why hadn’t she asked?

Ian couldn’t answer most of her questions, but he might at least know something of the man. She’d settle for anything at the moment, so she
asked him directly, “Did you know Lincoln Burnett when he lived a few miles from you?”

“Burnett? Sounds American, or English.”

“Aye, he’s all o’er an Englishmon.”

“Ye’ve met him, then?”

“Yesterday I did,” she said. “He’s verra nice—and verra handsome.”

Ian chuckled. “And ye were obviously taken wi’ him. Are ye off tae London for nae good purpose now?”

Ian hadn’t been one of the uncles who’d scared off her recent callers. He was much more reserved as he approached forty, and he tended now to let a man prove his worth before he passed judgment on him. Or at least he withheld warnings and threats until he saw a real need for them. He could still be just as hot-tempered as his brothers, but he usually wasn’t first into the fray anymore.

“I only just met him, and we didna talk enough tae find out how long he’ll be visiting here. He could visit here often for all I’m knowing. I was hoping ye might remember him, is all, and could tell me a wee bit more about him.”

“Remember him from when? There’s ne’er been a Burnett living in our area that I can recall. There was a Linc, which could hae been short for Lincoln, I suppose, but that fool lad was as Scottish as you and me.”

“I’m only three-quarters,” she corrected him with a grin.

“Och, and he was only half, come tae think on it, which is neither here nor there, since he was a
Ross, no’ a Burnett. A lassie might be coming home wi’ a new surname, but a mon tends tae be keeping the one he’s born wi’.”

“He claimed it was nineteen years ago that he lived here, though he didna say if he’d been back tae visit in all that time or no’. I was assuming he had relatives still living here, and that’s who he’s come tae see, but maybe his whole family moved away all those years ago and he’s only returned to look up old friends.”

“Hinny, I would hae been around twenty m’self nineteen years ago, auld enough tae know if any English lived nearby—unless he was an adopted son and still a bairn.”

“Nay, ten he said he was when he left here. Could he hae been the Lincoln Ross ye know, adopted and maybe returned to his real parents, which would account for a different surname now?”

“The age is aboot right, but if ye’ve a true interest in the mon, Meli, then pray ’tis no’ the Linc Ross m’brothers and I came tae know.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because that lad was as stupid as they come, stubborn beyond comprehension, and, tae boot, vengeful, all o’ which would be hard tae outgrow, I’m thinking. He wouldna take the beating he deserved and let it go at that. Had tae keep coming back for more.”

“What’d he do tae deserve a beating?”

Ian sighed. “’Twas as much Dougi’s fault, I suppose, for wanting tae be friends wi’ Linc. He
took tae him right off, ye ken. They were the same age. And we all o’ us liked him well enough eventually, though he was still closest tae Dougi.”

“But what’d he do tae change that?”

“He picked a fight wi’ Dougi that Dougi couldna hope tae win. He’d grown much bigger than Dougi in the two years they were close friends, ye see. One punch and he broke Dougi’s nose. There was nae contest. He knew there wouldna be. He shouldna hae started that, but doing so, he shouldna hae been surprised when several o’ m’brothers who were present stepped in tae finish it for him. He’d known us all long enough tae ken that we dinna let one o’ ours get hurt wi’out the hurter paying a goodly price for it.”

“And he came back for more?”

“Aye, he was feeling wronged by then and wanting revenge. He was bloody well determined tae take us all on, everyone o’ us, and he didna care if ’twas all at the same time. You canna get much more stupid than that—or crazy.”

“They’re no’ the same person, Uncle,” Melissa said now, emphatically. “Lincoln Burnett is no’ like that a’tall. Really he isna.”

Ian chuckled at her. “Ye dinna hae tae convince me o’ that, hinny. I didna think it was him. If I ne’er heard o’ your Mr. Burnett when he lived here, there can be any number o’ reasons why, the simplest being he mun no’ hae lived here for verra long. Come and gone, as it were, afore anyone knew he was here. It wouldna be the first
time the queen’s English subjects hae come tae Scotland tae find oot for themselves why she likes it so well here.”

Yes, a perfectly logical reason and most likely exactly why Ian had never heard of Lincoln Burnett. Besides, that foolish young Lincoln had been Scottish.
Her
Lincoln most assuredly was not. She didn’t give it another thought and went back to dreamily counting the minutes until she would again meet Mr. Burnett.

L
INCOLN
knew that it wouldn’t be easy, sitting down to eat with his mother. He had avoided dinner last night with the flimsy excuse of exhaustion, and he rarely sat down to breakfast, since he wasn’t an early riser. But luncheon couldn’t be avoided and was as uncomfortable as he’d known it would be. Even with his aunt and cousin there to keep the conversation flowing, his own lack of participation in it was glaringly noticeable. Though he hadn’t counted on being so distracted that he wasn’t even listening to them.

That was brought to his attention when his cousin Edith, who rarely raised her voice, practically shouted at him, “Lincoln! Whatever has gotten into you?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You’ve only been asked
three
times,” she stressed. “If you’d take me for a ride this afternoon. This is my first time to Scotland, after all.
I’d like to see a bit more of it than what the road up here offered in view.”

“I’m sorry, Edi. I just met someone yesterday that has been occupying my mind ever since.”

“A girl, I hope,” Henriette put in.

“Actually, yes.”

His aunt smiled brilliantly, drawing her own conclusions. “Wonderful! It’s perfectly all right if you find your bride before the season starts. Yes indeed, no reason to wait, and easy enough for us to plan a wedding while you’re escorting Edith about to all the parties.”

He nearly rolled his eyes. “I know absolutely nothing about her yet, other than her name. I only just made her acquaintance, Aunt.”

“When a man gets so distracted that his hearing becomes as impaired as
yours
just was, he’s already thinking of marriage,” Henriette insisted.

Lincoln blushed, not because marriage was mentioned and that hadn’t been on his mind, but because he hadn’t thought of it to begin with. He knew he wanted Melissa MacGregor in his life and not for only a brief time. Every time he considered a short affair while he was here, his instincts balked. “Short” just wasn’t going to do it for as much as he wanted her. Only a permanent relationship would satisfy the feelings she stirred in him.

Thoughts of her had kept him up half the night, and before he finally fell asleep, he’d been thinking along the lines of buying her a cottage in England and keeping her as his mistress. But he’d
been at a loss for how to broach the subject with her. It wasn’t as if he were in the habit of setting up mistresses. He’d yet to meet a woman whom he wanted to keep that exclusively to himself—until now.

But why the bloody hell couldn’t he marry her instead? Just because he bore a title and she didn’t? That was assuming she would marry him. He supposed he ought to be asking before he took it for granted that she would.

“So who is she, and when do
we
get to meet her?” Edith wanted to know.

“She’s a MacGregor from Kregora. I’m not quite sure where that is, though I believe some MacGregors live in an old castle a few hours from here.”

“Kregora is the name of that castle,” Eleanor explained, her tone hesitant, as if she weren’t quite sure whether to volunteer the information or not.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she knew Melissa, but he refrained. As eager as he was to learn anything and everything about the girl, he’d rather hear it from anyone other than his mother.

“I’ll be riding over that way this afternoon if you want to join me, Edi.”

“Two hours just to get there, another two back? That’s much longer than I had in mind when I’m still a bit sore from four days riding in the coach. Tomorrow perhaps—if you can wait that long,” she added with a grin.

He couldn’t, and his expression must have said
as much, because Edith laughed and added, “Very well, I didn’t
really
want to sit on a mount for that long no matter how rested I get for it. A simple tour about the surrounding areas tomorrow will suffice nicely.

“If it’s tomorrow for the tour, I might join you m’self,” Henriette said. “Have you enough mounts for the lot of us, Eleanor?”

“No, we keep only a few carriage horses in the stable since I don’t ride anymore, but I’ll arrange to have a few more suitable mounts available before tomorrow.”

“Splendid. Looking forward to it now.”

The conversation took another turn after that, allowing Lincoln to bow out of it once more. He was grateful that his mother had yet to speak to him directly—on any subject. She’d seemed about to do so several times, but she must have changed her mind.

Was she waiting for
him
to make an overture? Possibly, and very likely that would have him leaving here with nothing changed. He might have come hoping to put the bitterness behind him, but he hadn’t counted on how much added resentment would surface upon his seeing her here in the home she’d denied him.

It wasn’t lost on him, however, that the mount he’d ridden yesterday, a fine stallion suited for a man who enjoyed a good ride, she must have bought, rented, or borrowed just for his use. She’d thought of that even before he arrived. She’d also sent a servant to him before he left the
house after lunch, to give him directions to Castle Kregora. He hadn’t had to ask.

She could merely have given the directions herself. But after his unappreciative response to her one disclosure there in the dining room, given hesitantly as it was, she was probably reluctant to face being ignored again. Yet she knew he needed those directions, and she saw to it that he got them.

Acting like a mother, seeing to his needs without being asked—God, he wished she wouldn’t do that. It was too late. She’d had nineteen years to supply what he really needed from her, but she’d never come close to doing that. Yes, he’d gone out of his way to avoid her, hadn’t answered her letters, but she could have found him if it had really mattered to her. She could have pushed her way past his defenses, could have brought him home….