This Perfect Kiss (15 page)

“Lord in heaven, mum. He has people everywhere, searching every tunnel and crevice in the house, every shadow and beneath every rock in the parkland surrounding Blackthorn Castle. He has not discounted the possibility she may have been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?
”

“I heard him send for the sheriff. He wants Lord Leighton found. There be bad blood between the two brothers. One will kill the other to be sure.” She buried her head in her hands. “This be just too horrible, mum. And 'tis my fault. How can a child survive in the cold?”

“Do you know where Lord Carrick is now?”

“He be in the library, mum.”

Christel broke away from Mrs. Gables, found the library downstairs and knocked on the door. Lord Carrick called sharply to enter.

She found him, palms flat on the desk, leaning over a stack of papers. He had not shaved, the first thing she noticed. He wore his cloak as if he had only just come in from outside. Water had beaded on his shoulders, and the papers on the desk were wet. His tricorn lay on a chair beside the desk, tossed aside. A single lamp cast light on his hands and face, and he straightened as if to move away from light.

She hesitated as she spied two other men near the fireplace. “I was not aware you were in a meeting.”

“What are you doing here, Christel?”

“I only just found out about Anna. I came to help. . . . But—”

One of the men came forward into the light. He wore a tidy wig queued at the nape. His light brown eyes seemed cordial but attentive as he briefly inclined his head. “Stay, Miss Douglas. I am Sir Jacob Westmont, the provost.”

The provost was the chief magistrate in Ayrshire, one of the most powerful men in Scotland. He then introduced the sheriff. “We were told Leighton was at your cottage,” Sir Jacob said.

“She has nothing to do with Anna's disappearance, Jacob,” Carrick said.

Any softness she had briefly glimpsed in Sir Jacob's eyes was gone. “Are you willing to stake Anna's life on that?”

Lord Carrick's gaze touched hers. Her breath quickened. A muscle in his jaw clenched. “If she knew where Anna was, she would tell us.”

Sir Jacob considered her. “Are you in the habit of letting strange men spend the night at Seastone Cottage?”

“Enough, Jacob.”

Christel lifted her chin. “I have known Lord Leighton most of my life, Sir Jacob. He is not a stranger to my family. I was not alone at the cottage.”

She stepped aside to allow Sir Jacob and the sheriff to leave the room. Sir Jacob's cloak whipped against her skirts as he stepped past. When she blinked again, she found herself in Lord Carrick's gaze. The tightness in her chest compounded. For several seconds neither of them spoke. “The provost and the sheriff?” she asked.

“Jacob is here as a friend.” He began pulling on his gloves. “What are you doing at Blackthorn, Christel? Did you come alone?”

“Blue shod the mare. We returned the horse to your stable. You cannot believe that Leighton had anything to do with this.”

“You are naïve to think he was ever worthy of your loyalty. Stay out of business that does not concern you.”

The insult bristled over her nerves. But he was right. This wasn't about her or her feelings. The only important person in this entire ordeal was Anna.

“ 'Twas not my intent to defend your brother or myself,” she said. “Please tell me what I can do to help.”

He dragged his hat from the chair. “You can go back to Seastone Cottage.” He walked past her. “I will send word when we find her.”

If Leighton
was
responsible, she had harbored him. “Did I do this?”

“Go home, Christel,” he said simply.

W
hile standing in the foyer awaiting Smolich to bring her cloak, Christel heard the sound of voices, female, subdued by somber emotion, familiar. No one had lit the lamps. A wedge of light from an opened door down the hall spilled across the polished marble floor. Christel followed the voices and paused abruptly in the doorway of the drawing room.

No one saw her. Her sister, Tia, sat on the window bench, gazing out at the remains of a bleak day. Wearing dull yellow silk, she looked as pallid as her gown. Her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her head was bowed. The other two young women, with their white-blond hair and identical sober expressions, were silently working on needlepoint samplers. Lady Harriet, with one foot propped on an ottoman, sat on a plush blue damask sofa surrounded by pillows.

Grams
.

Christel and she saw each other at the same time.

The part of Christel that had been strong cracked like glass exposed to cold for too long and dropped into a kiln. “Grams . . . ,” she heard herself whisper, aware of the subterranean stirrings of her heart.

Everyone's head snapped up, as if they'd been expecting a messenger bearing ill tidings, and all eyes fell on her.

“You!” Tia was the first to find her tongue. She came to her feet. “This is your fault. Lord Carrick and Leighton were arguing over
you
.”

Already on her feet, Lady Harriet pointed the tip of her cane at Tia. “Enough, Tianna Faye. We've had enough venom spewed without adding yours to the pot.” To Christel she said, “You merely brought their long-standing enmity for one another to a head a little earlier than it would have eventually arrived. Come,” she said, as if nine years and an ocean had not divided them.

With a last glance at her sister, Christel followed her grandmother out of the room. Clearly familiar with Blackthorn Castle, Lady Harriet escorted her to a smaller, cozier room, where a fire burned in the hearth. The dark velvet draperies had been pulled against the drizzle. Heavy furniture gleamed in the firelight. Gold-bound classics, maps and sea charts filled the polished teak bookcases that lined one wall. A globe framed by an ornate wooden trestle sat near the desk and gave some evidence that the masculine owner of this room was a seafaring individual. The faint familiar essence of tobacco, whiskey and a hint of sandalwood touched her senses. She closed her eyes.

“I do not think his lordship will care if we use his private study,” Lady Harriet said as she shut the door. “This is the only other room I can tolerate in this drafty castle. At least 'tis warm.” At that moment, she seemed to run out of words. Then she snorted. “You look exhausted, child. Come closer into the firelight. Let me see you.”

Her throat tight, Christel moved nearer to her grandmother. Lady Harriet was shorter than Christel, but one never felt her lack of size when sharing the same room. Quite the opposite. Her grandmother had always been a giant in Christel's mind. She was shocked, seeing Lady Harriet's physical frailties.

“Do not look at me as if I am in the grave, young woman,” Lady Harriet snapped. “I was ancient when you left. I am no more so now.”

Christel touched Grams's powdered cheek. “You look wonderful.”

Grams tilted Christel's chin in the light, then lovingly cupped her cheek in her palm. The gesture was faint and lasted no longer than a second, but Christel felt it to her core. “And you look like one of those tragic heroines from those silly blue books I used to catch you and Saundra reading. I wish it had not taken
this
to bring us together, but here we are. On neutral territory. 'Tis better, I say.”

Lady Harriet stepped backward to observe her granddaughter. “Your hair has only grown to your shoulders. Do not tell me it has never grown out. I have never heard of such a thing.”

“I cut it, Grams.” Christel wiped at the moisture beading in the corner of one eye. “You know how I dislike all that long hair in the way.”

“Posh! You and Saundra loved long hair. How many hours did you both spend brushing each other's hair? Before you went and cut it all off to purchase those silly gold slippers.” Grams lowered herself into the chair next to the hearth. “I heard that you arrived with Lord Carrick on the
Anna
. You have met the child then?”

Christel turned away in the pretense of studying the books and to reframe her thoughts. Or to contain them. “The first time I met Anna she asked if I was an angel. She told me that her mother had said an angel was coming to watch over her and her papa. I feel responsible—”

“Nonsense.” Grams's soft voice penetrated Christel's grief. “Have ye not watched over your cousin's husband, gel?”

Christel turned.

“Your uncle told me that after the disastrous conflict at Yorktown, you sat at Carrick's side while he lay unconscious from his wounds.”

Christel looked at Grams with wet eyes. Her grandmother merely sniffed. “Did you think I made no effort to keep up with your life for all the years you were gone?” she said. “You are my granddaughter, every bit as important as Saundra and Tia.”

The last of Christel's composure fled. Her throat tightened. She could no longer contain the horrible swell of tears.

Grams patted her knee. “Come sit beside me for awhile.”

“Oh, Grams . . .” Christel dropped to her knees beside her grandmother and let the soft, leathery hands cradle her head.

“You loved him when you were a child, I know.” Grams's whisper reached Christel's heart and held.

Christel thought she had grown up and moved on with her life. She thought she had forgotten the foolish emotional side of her that had reared itself so unmercifully. “How did you know? I told no one.”

“I think most who knew you could see how ye felt. Dear me, lass, he was always trouble for you. Your uncle did you a favor taking you to Virginia before ye got your heart broken over his marriage to Saundra.”

Put bluntly, Christel had made a spectacle of herself. In truth, she no longer knew how she felt. Except she felt helpless and angry. Helpless for Lord Carrick. Angry that she could not do more to help him.

Where would a confused girl angry with her father go?

“I will not believe Leighton has taken Anna,” Christel said.

“Who is to say? Leighton was like a father to that girl while Carrick was off fighting the king's war. He may not have taken kindly to being told to stay away from the child.”

“What happened between Leighton and Lord Carrick, Grams?”

Lady Harriet inhaled a deep breath. “Saundra happened between them. Leighton was here. Carrick was not. And when he finally did return, he was . . . scarred. The war had changed him. No one was prepared for the scandal that followed his defeat at Yorktown. Saundra least of all. Two months after his return, she came to me, begging me to help her leave Scotland with Anna. I would not. At the time, I did not know she was four months gone with child.”

“Come home now. Please. I am in desperate need of a friend.”
Christel closed her eyes. “Four months?”

“Shortly afterward, she lost the child and her health began to fail. Carrick was taking Anna and leaving her the night she walked up into that tower. Leighton blames Carrick for her death.”

Christel glanced up, her eyes full of tears. “What do you believe?”

“That Leighton was the father of the child she carried. I suspect Carrick knew that and will take that knowledge to his grave.”

Christel folded her hands tightly in her lap. For a long time, she was unable to speak.

“I truly believe that for all her faults, Carrick loved Saundra,” Lady Harriet said. “I understand why he has chosen to leave Blackthorn Castle. But 'tis human nature to come back to what is most familiar. He needs to heal. He can only do so here.”

A deep inhalation strained Grams's bodice. “And I have no doubt Anna will return safely to her father when she is hungry enough,” she said, a staunch believer in the power of positive thoughts. “ 'Tis cold outside. The child has no place else to go for food and shelter.”

Except perhaps somewhere familiar to her, where the fire was warm and she could eat her fill of strawberry jam with her scones.

T
he early evening air was cold and thick as pease porridge by the time Christel and Blue reached Seastone Cottage. She was glad for the heavy gloves and bonnet that Heather had found for her that morning.

Christel could see no farther than the cold landscape of her yard, which was dappled with chunks of snow that had slid from the roof to form mounds on the ground. The air smelled heavily of seaweed, and the crash of waves on the beach was louder than normal tonight.

No one greeted her at the door, and as she ran inside, she felt a strange silence engulf her. Removing her cloak, she hurried into the kitchen to hang it near the hearth—only to come to an abrupt stop.

Leighton stood near the fireplace. His blond hair hung loose and wet over his nape and ears. His wet frock coat was spread over a chair. “She is upstairs with Heather,” he said.

With his white shirt, buckskin breeches and jackboots, the man's appearance was as stark as his expression. But not nearly as severe as Christel's anger. She spun on her heel and started for the stairs.

“I did not kidnap her, Christel.” His voice trailed after her as she ran up the stairs to the bedroom he had occupied a few nights before.

Heather was coming out of the room, an empty tray balanced against her hip as she turned to shut the door. She startled. “Mum!”

“How is she?”

“The Lady Anna be a wee bit bumped and bruised when Leighton found her on the beach. I be looking for more blankets.”

“Thank you, Heather.”

Christel stepped around her and into the room. Anna was sitting up in the bed, wrapped in blankets, her hair soaked. She was talking to Dog, lying with his head on her lap. She and Christel saw each other at the same time. Anna grabbed a gulp of air, her big blue eyes swelling with tears.

Christel rushed to a seat on the edge of the bed. “Are you injured?”

Anna wiped the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Only a little when I try to walk.” Gulping over sniffles, she wrapped her arms tighter around Dog. “He fell on the rocks, Miss Christel.”