And never let her outta me sights again, Donnan added to himself.
“I agree that she is not safe with Lord Nibley,” Hammilton said, sounding resigned. “But we must tread carefully here, Donnan. He is a powerful man who has experienced much tragedy in his life. I do not doubt that many of his actions over the last few weeks have been motivated more by fear than sense. Do not judge him too harshly.”
“I’ll judge him as I like, Nicholas, and I’ll judge him rather harshly if those actions mean that Bernadine is so afeared of him that the lass is writin’ to me beggin’ for escape,” he bit back.
Wincing at the malice in his tone, he immediately followed with, “I’m sorry. Ye dinnae deserve me ire. I am exhausted and worried about the lass. When can we leave for Harrow House?”
“At first light,” Lord Hammilton replied, rising from his chair. “I trust you have brought reinforcements?”
“Aye,” Donnan said, nodding as he too vacated his seat. “They’re a few miles away in a secluded field, waitin’ for me signal.”
“Well then I suggest you send that signal. Meet me back here when the sun has risen, and we will ride together to Harrow House. Do you…” Lord Hammilton paused, looking at Donnan’s mud-splattered legs, his kilt with a large rip in his side. “Do you need a bath? Perhaps some borrowed attire?”
“Nay, Nicholas. Fashion is the least of my concerns right now.”
* * *
Bernadine had been unable to sleep or eat for days since Guinevere had smuggled her letter out of Harrow House. She knew that Donnan would jump straight on his horse to get her, but his arrival time was subject to the whims and fancies of the Scottish and English weather systems, neither of which were known for being particularly kind to travellers no matter the season.
She had tried reading to pass the time, but stories did not hold her attention. Guinevere had given her needles and yarn, so Bernadine had taken to the seat in front of the hearth and spent the last four days feverishly knitting the world’s largest blanket. As she stitched, her mind ran rampant, going over every possible situation that could follow Donnan’s entry into her home. That is, if he was able to gain entry.
Her father had, in possible, grown even more agitated in the last few days, as though he knew what was about to occur. Guinevere had insisted no one had followed her to the post office, that she had taken a circuitous route to ensure she would lose any of the footmen or maids that Papa sent after her.
“There is no way he knows anything, my dear,” Guinevere had assured her at least five times in as many days. “I promise. He is simply agitated because he is beginning to realize how irrational he has been. I am sure it is the guilt that is making him this way. Take heart, my dear. Maybe he will set you free before Donnan comes!”
Bernadine did not believe her former governess. She knew her Papa was agitated because of her, because despite being locked away, she had not ceased in her love of Donnan, her desire to return to Scotland. She was open about both of these truths whenever her papa deigned to visit her, and each time she spoke of Donnan, of Scotland, of love, each time she begged her papa to let her go, the frown that had been paced on his face since her return only deepened.
“Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?” he had asked her the day before. He’d only just sat down to tea, but after Bernadine began talking of Donnan, he rose, nearly upending the tea tray in his rush to get away from her. His hurtful words had been shouted from the doorway of her room, just before he had slammed the door shut and locked her in, the key turning in the lock a sound she had come to dread.
Her papa had not visited her today, allowing Bernadine’s mind to run free with worries. She had dropped three stitches and was about to give up on the whole knitting endeavour when a knock sounded at her door, a soft knock that could only be done by feminine hands. Guinevere had told her she would signal if and when Donnan arrived, and Bernadine knew that this was the signal.
A moment later when Guinevere’s soft voice floated through the door. “Bernadine,” she whispered. “He’s here.”
Donnan is here.
Bernadine felt a smile lift her cheeks for the first time since returning home. She walked toward the door, pressing her ear to the wood. She knew the chances were slim that she would be able to hear Donnan’s voice through the thick wood, but she had to try. She had missed his brogue keenly, that way he had of speaking to her that was so reverent.
To her shock, as she leaned against the door, Bernadine found that she could indeed hear voices. Though she was at the back of the house, Donnan and her father’s arguing could be heard all the way through the many rooms and hallways that separated them from her.
“Guinevere?” Bernadine said, hoping the woman was still at the door. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the woman clear her throat and whisper “Yes?”
“What is going on? Why are they fighting?” she asked, though she knew the answer before she asked the question. Donnan was no doubt demanding her release, and her father would not let her go. Bernadine wished she was down there to mediate between them, to keep tempers from growing truly heated. She felt so useless speculating on the goings on from behind a locked door.
“Your Scot has brought Lord Hammilton with him,” Guinevere told her. “I imagine to appeal to your papa, since no doubt he is not inclined to listen to your Donnan.”
Well done, Donnan, Bernadine thought, praising her lover for his quick thinking. Hammilton was indeed the perfect person to make her father see sense. Perhaps with him there, her father would not be so quick to anger. Though, the shouting she was hearing suggested otherwise.
“Are you able to make out much of what they are saying?” Bernadine asked, splaying her hands flat on the wood to draw her ear infinitesimally more fully on the wood. She could still hear muffled shouts, but she could not discern the actual words being yelled.
“No, but I—” Guinevere started, but her voice was overpowered by one that had haunted Bernadine’s every waking moment these last few days. Donnan. He was calling to her, sounding frantic.
“Bernadine! Bernadine, where are ye, lass?” he called, his voice sounding much closer. Bernadine could hear the echo of steps, indicating he must be climbing the stairs to her.
She thought he was nearly at her door when a grunt sounded.
“Get away from her at once! You’ll go near her over my dead body!” Bernadine heard her father cry.
“Guinevere, get back from that door! No one goes in there, do you all understand me?”
“Lord Nibley, be reasonable!” Lord Hammilton cried, and Bernadine could hear the sound of whispers and boots squeaking on the floor as the men ascended the stairs, walking away from Bernadine. Was Donnan with them?
“Donnan?” she whispered, louder than she dared. She waited, hearing a sharp intake of breath.
But it was only Guinevere who spoke, telling her, “Do not trouble yourself, my dear. I am certain they will work things out. Lord Hammilton will calm your papa down and all will be well, soon. Just you wait.”
But Bernadine could tell that though Guinevere tried to imbue hope in her words, even she did not believe them.
I am doomed, Bernadine realized, pushing back from the door and turning around.
She made her way back to the chair at her hearth, picked up her knitting, and, rather than stitching, began to cry into the soft woollen blanket. The fabric quickly absorbed her tears, its fibers scratching her face as she burrowed deeper into it. Her sobs had her bent over double, and eventually she gave into the posture, curling herself into as small a ball as she could manage in the hopes that doing so would comfort her.
But the only thing that could have comforted her at that moment was an embrace from her love, who, at that very moment, was barely restraining himself from tackling her father to the ground.
Chapter 26
“Come, Lord Nibley. You must see how unreasonable it is. She is your daughter, not a prisoner! She does not deserv
e this kind of treatment,” Lord Hammilton said, his agitation obvious.
The conversation had begun pleasantly enough, or as pleasantly as a conversation between a father, his best friend, and his daughter’s former captive and current lover could go.
They had entered the house with little fanfare, since Lord Hammilton had insisted on being admitted first before Donnan entered.
“He’s far less likely to explode if he sees me first,” was his reasoning, and Donnan thought it a sound enough plan.
Hammilton had used his time alone with Lord Nibley to glean what he could from the man of how he was feeling, of his reasons for locking Bernadine away.
“He’s angry, but I do believe he can be reasoned with. The guilt is clear in his eyes. He knows what he has done is wrong; he just does not know what other options he has. If we can make him see his options, I think things can go in our favor,” Lord Hammilton had whispered to Donnan as he let him into the house.
Donnan had been quiet, letting Lord Hammilton do the talking as the men sat down to tea and biscuits in the library. Donnan had neither appetite nor thirst, but he accepted that the English always needed a buffer when difficult conversations were to be had.
Nibley was clearly shocked at Donnan’s presence, but he did not lash out at him, did not tackle him or hurl any insults his way, which Donnan took to mean that the man was at least interested in hearing out just how egregiously he’d treated his daughter for the last week and a half.
But though Lord Hammilton was patient and kind with his words, the more he spoke about Bernadine, the more Donnan could see the fire in Nibley’s eyes, his mouth working like he had words he could not keep in much longer.
And when Lord Hammilton suggested that perhaps Bernadine ought to go back to Scotland, Nibley finally exploded, leaping from his chair and muttering curses and profanities the likes of which Donnan had only heard in the very worst taverns.
“She goes back to that country over my dead body! Dead, do you hear me? I’ll die before she leaves this house. I don’t care if I have to keep her locked in her chambers for the rest of her days. It’s a far sight better than releasing her into the care of an animal!” he spat, stalking toward Donnan and leaning in, trying to intimidate him.
But for all the man’s fierce words and posturing, he was no match for Donnan, a warrior and laird who had killed men with nothing but a dirk and his own brute strength.
Donnan rose from his chair, smiling slightly when Nibley stumbled back in response. He was a head taller than the old lord, broad where the man was lean, and he could see Nibley’s eyes widen when he took in the full sight of Donnan before him.
To his credit, he recovered quickly, his mouth taking on its previous grimace as he continued his verbal assault. “You do not love my daughter. You took her as captive and are playing games with her mind, games that make her think her place is up north with you rather than here with her family. But with time, she will come to see the truth: that you are no more capable of love than an insect. You cannot love her, cherish her, take care of her as we, her family, can. As I, her father, can. I refuse to release her into your care.”
“Lord Nibley come now. Don’t you see how miserable she is?” Lord Hammilton said, tentatively laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Lord Nibley immediately shook of the hand, turning to his friend with a glower.
“And how would you know if she is miserable, Nicholas? Hm? Do you have some special powers of cognition, something that allows you to read her mind?” Nibley laughed bitterly at his own joke.
“No,” Lord Hammilton replied, looking tired. “She wrote Donnan a letter explaining her misery. That is how I know.”
At this, Nibley’s smirk dropped, and he looked visibly shocked. “A letter? But…but how could she…”
“The ways are not important, My Lord,” Donnan said, choking out the man’s title. “What is important is that you are slowly sucking the life out of my love, and I’ll not have that. She is far too beautiful and good to wilt under yer care. Release her to me and I’ll make sure she’s looked after as she ought to be. It’s clear yer incapable of doin’ so.”
The room was silent for a few seconds after Donnan spoke. Lord Hammilton looked shocked at how forward, how unflinchingly honest Donnan had been. They had agreed he would stay mostly silent until Hammilton gave him the signal to do otherwise. However, after riding for four days almost nonstop and worrying about the lass for twice that long, Donnan had held his tongue long enough.
He no longer cared to tiptoe around Lord Nibley’s feelings, his obvious madness. Donnan knew they would not reach a conclusion to the conversation that suited them both. Nibley thought him a villain, and Donnan would not be able to disabuse him of that notion. He would have tried, for Bernadine’s sake, but he knew a lost cause when he saw one.
I must focus on gettin’ the lass back, he thought as he glanced at Nibley. The time for reconciliation had clearly passed. Lord Nibley was opening and closing his mouth silently, at a complete loss for words, the anger on his face heightening with every sputtered gape of his mouth.
But of course, the silence could not last. Nibley regained the power of speech, though his sentences were far shorter when he graced them with the sound of his voice again.
“No. You will not take her. Never.”
He said these words with his eyes trained on Donnan’s , squinting in a glare that was so dark and serious that Donnan knew he meant every word. Just like he knew that there was no way the man would allow him to leave the house with Bernadine at his side.
It was a good thing he had a back-up plan, then.
A warrior always comes prepared.
* * *
Bernadine was still curled up in her chair when she heard the sound of the lock in her door clicking open. She associated the sound with her father, which was why her whole body was tense, bracing herself for his presence as the door opened.
But the man standing in her doorway was not her father. It was one of Donnan’s men, one she recognized from her original journey up north, back when she had been nothing more than a captive and Donnan had been nothing more than a kidnapper.
“Seamus?” she asked, stepping toward the door.
“Aye, Miss Nibley, it’s me,” he said, bowing his head at her in greeting. “It’s a right pleasure to see yer bonny face, but I’m afeared we’ve no time for pleasantries. I’m here to get ye out of these chambers, ye see,” he said, brandishing a length of rope from behind his back.
Before she had time to react, Seamus was walking into the room, passing by Bernadine on his way to her window. He yanked the thing open, breaking the hinges with his strength. Bernadine had little time to be shocked, for a moment later Guinevere entered the room.
“Oh, thank goodness he was able to undo the lock!” Guinevere said, her hand on her heart. “I had no idea which of those keys would work,” she said, gesturing to the ring of keys that Bernadine could now see where dangling from Seamus’ sporran.
“How did he…” she asked, pointing at the ring.
“I took them from James. The poor thing handed them over without much of a fight. He’s been so cowed since your father yelled at him last month. I fear we won’t have him in our employ much longer,” Guinevere said, shaking her head as she walked further into the room.
“Now, is there anything you want to take back with you to Scotland? We will be leaving rather shortly, so I’m afraid it will be a rather expedited packing session.”
Bernadine stared back at her former governess, her mother figure, wondering how the woman was staying so calm. She felt as though butterflies were erupting in her stomach, turning her queasy and dizzy in equal measure.
This was all happening so quickly. One minute her father, Donnan and Lord Hammilton were arguing and she was crying, and the next she was about to escape? It was too much to handle, too swift a change in emotion. She should have felt relief, knowing she would soon be reunited with Donnan, but at that moment, all sh
e felt was sadness.
“What about Papa?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“I believe in time he will come to see the error of his ways. He loves you, Bernadine, so dearly and so much that it has clouded his judgment. I do not wish for you to leave him like this, but there is no other choice. If you are to go, you must go now,” she said.
“Aye, lass,” Seamus agreed, turning away from the window. “The rope’s ready. Gather anythin’ ye’ll need and then we’ll need to be leavin’. I dinnae want to get caught abscondin’ with ye if I can help it.”
Bernadine nodded, her eyes clouding with tears as she looked around her chambers. There was a novel on her bedside table, one she had lost interest in days ago. Her boudoir held all her cosmetics and hair accoutrements, but those were hardly important. All Bernadine really wanted was the woman standing in front of her.
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