And she understood then, although the boy had no weapon in his hands. “He’s the one who shot you?”
At Jonathan’s nod, she now recognized the boy’s fear. After what he’d done, his life could be the penalty.
“I’m sorry for what I did,” the boy muttered, looking as if he wanted nothing more than to run away. “Dr. Fraser said… I could be finding ye both here. I came with a warning.”
“Warn us about what?” There was no trace of mercy in the duke’s voice. He pressed Victoria back a little further.
“Lord Strathland,” he admitted. “I thought ye were him, because I’d ne’er seen him afore. Not too many Sassenach here.” He gave a light shrug and took a step backward into the snow. “I was spying on his factor, Melford. He said he was sending someone to set fire to this house.”
“Why?”
The boy stared back at him, and in the child’s eyes, Victoria saw hopelessness. “He doesna want any of us here. If the Andrews family is gone, he can claim all o’ this land for his sheep.”
He pulled his ragged coat tighter, adjusting his cap. “I was wrong to pull the trigger, your lordship. And after all that, ye helped me mam when she was dying. Gave her something to take away her pain.” His brown eyes held a lifetime of regret. “I just thought… I could warn ye. That’s all.” He stole a glance behind him. “Best hurry afore they get here.”
Victoria moved to Jonathan’s side. “Thank you for warning us,” she said to the boy. On the kitchen table, she spied a bit of leftover bread and tossed it to him. He caught it and nodded his thanks before he left them.
“Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
Her husband’s expression had gone cold and hard. “I wouldn’t doubt it. I’ll talk with Dr. Fraser and gather up a group of men to search. If there are others bent on attacking us, we’ll see them before they arrive.”
“Send some of the crofters,” she said. “You don’t need to go with them.” Although his leg had mostly healed, he couldn’t run. The last thing she wanted was for him to be in danger.
But Jonathan wasn’t listening at all as he moved toward the stairs. “I don’t intend to be shot a second time, Victoria. I’m not as helpless as you might believe.”
She hadn’t meant to imply that. But the thought of him venturing out into the snow, to face a group of armed men, didn’t sit well with her.
“And what am I supposed to do here?” she demanded. “Gather the women together and wait for our house to be set on fire?”
He stopped walking and turned to face her. In his green eyes, she saw an unyielding resolve. “My footman Franklin has returned with a small staff. He’s awaiting us at Eiloch Hill, and it would be easy enough to send servants to fetch you.”
She started to protest. “I can’t leave. Not so soon.”
But he ignored her, touching her cheek. “And later, my men will take you, as well as your mother and sisters, to travel back to London. It’s too dangerous here.”
“And what about you?” Not only was it impossible for her to leave, but she didn’t want to imagine him at the whims of these men.
“I’ll stay with the others and put a stop to this fire, if that’s what they’re planning.”
She didn’t speak a word, for the idea of fleeing was beyond impossible. She’d only made it a few feet beyond the door and he didn’t know… God help her, he didn’t know what she’d endured the last time she’d traveled. But she said nothing about it, only met his gaze.
“I’ll follow your trail and catch up to you as soon as I can,” he promised. He reached out to her, kissing her swiftly. “With any luck, the boy is wrong and there’s no threat at all.”
“You don’t believe that.” Deep within, she sensed the danger rising around them.
He shook his head. “These men and women were already driven off their land once before. The earl never wanted me to gain that land, but he was in my debt and had no choice.”
Victoria gripped his hand in hers. “Be safe,” she pleaded. “Promise me.”
“I do.” His mouth curved in a faint smile. “Besides, I have a wedding night to claim.”
It was dusk when they rode out. Jonathan had loaded dueling pistols inside his topcoat, while several of the Highlanders carried torches. His leg ached mercilessly as he followed Cain Sinclair and Paul Fraser, but he made no complaint. All were grimly aware that the boy’s warning carried weight.
For the next hour, they split off into four groups, each searching the regions surrounding the Andrews land. Jonathan traveled north, along with Dr. Fraser who knew the land well.
“Do you think the boy was telling the truth?” he asked Fraser.
The doctor drew his horse to a stop, staring at the land surrounding them. “Aye, I don’t doubt it. Even after the crofters were driven off the earl’s land, he wanted them to move away to the coast. He thought they’d become fishermen.”
“But you don’t believe that’s an option.”
Fraser turned to look at him, and the man’s dark eyes held such veiled anger, Jonathan was startled to see it.
“I don’t, no,” he said abruptly. “Strathland treats these men like sheep to be herded away, as he wills it. It doesna matter that these families have been here for generations,” he said. “All that matters is profit.” He drew his horse closer to Jonathan’s, nodding for them to change directions. “They’ve said you offered them a place on your land. In exchange for Miss Andrews as your wife.”
He stiffened. “It wasn’t quite that mercenary. I asked her to wed me, and she agreed. I’ll take care of her and her family until Baron Lanfordshire returns.”
A rueful smile crossed the doctor’s face. “And leave the crofters to do as they will?”
It reminded him of the conversation he’d had with Victoria. It angered him that they expected him to act as caretaker for these men and women. “I’ve given them a place to build their homes. It’s enough.”
Fraser stared out at the clouded horizon while the wind swept across the fallen snow. “Is it?” Without waiting for an answer, he spurred his horse onward, turning back toward the house.
Jonathan rode behind the man, searching for any sign of people gathering. As they drew nearer to the house, the scent of the air shifted.
Smoke.
“Son of a bitch,” Fraser grumbled, urging his horse faster. “They waited. The goddamned bastards waited until we went searching.”
The sound of chaos and screaming filled the air as they neared the Andrews house. Jonathan rode past the men and women, ignoring the flames that had taken hold of the house. Dimly he was aware of Sinclair and Fraser gathering the men and women away from the conflagration, but he saw no sign of Victoria.
Damn them all, had they left her inside? He dismounted and hurried toward the house, wincing against the pain of his leg.
“We can’t find her.” Lady Lanfordshire ran to Jonathan’s side, her eyes filled with tears. “We’ve been searching everywhere, but there’s no sign of Victoria. She won’t leave the house.” Sobbing, the woman said, “Please, you must help her.”
Jonathan was already taking off his coat. He untied his cravat and wound it around his nose and mouth, ducking into the smoke-filled house. Though the house shouldn’t be burning so hot with all the snow, the reason became clear soon enough. Someone had broken a window and tossed a torch into the parlor. The drapes and furniture were on fire, the heavy smoke filling up the room.
“Victoria!” he called out. “Where are you?”
There was no answer. He listened hard for any answer at all, but she didn’t call out to him. One by one, he searched the rooms, shouting her name. But still, there was nothing.
He didn’t know if she’d tried to leave the house, but time was running out. The crofters were trying to extinguish the flames, but to no avail. He had to find her before there was no escape.
The smoke thickened, making it more difficult to breathe. His heartbeat raced, for the last thing he wanted was
to become a widower this night. If he had to bodily drag her out, he would save his wife from burning.
Quickly, he climbed the stairs, repeating his shouts, searching for her. Her room was empty, but he spied a bundle of fabric. Without really knowing why, he forced the window open and tossed the fabric outside. It might be her raw materials or possibly some sewing, but he doubted if she would want to lose it.
It was then that he heard a slight noise coming from the wardrobe. Throwing the door open, he found her wedged inside, her knees drawn up. Her face blanched when she saw him, and she was trembling violently.
“I-I tried,” she whispered. “But my legs wouldn’t work. The smoke—”
He didn’t waste time arguing with her but lifted her into his arms. “Close your eyes,” he demanded. “Hold tightly to me, and don’t open your eyes. No matter what happens.”
She did, and her grip around his neck was so hard, she clung as if he were the only person who could save her. With his arm under her knees, he was unsteady on his feet. His leg had healed slightly, but carrying his wife was another matter entirely. Though he tried to take her down the stairs, excruciating pain radiated through his thigh.
Jonathan gripped the banister hard and slowly lowered her to her feet. “My injured leg isn’t quite stable. I thought I could carry you out, but I’m afraid it won’t allow me to.” Her eyes remained closed, and he put his arm around her waist. “I will help you to get out of this house,” he promised. “But I’ll need you to walk with me.”
She held him tightly, keeping her face against his chest.
“You can do this,” he promised. “I won’t let go.”
She nodded, and he kept both arms around her. Around them, the smoke had grown thicker, the flames stretching toward them. “We’re almost there. Keep walking.”
She was coughing hard, and his eyes burned through the haze of smoke as he led her out the door. The icy weather contrasted sharply with the heat of the fire, and he saw her flinch when she stepped into a snowdrift.
“Remember when you threw that snowball at me?” he asked, guiding her away from the house and into the snowdrifts. “I never imagined you would do such a thing.”
“You made me angry,” she managed.
“I deserved it.” The snow was making it more difficult to walk, and Victoria’s pace had slowed. Ahead, he spied a coach, with her sisters climbing inside. Beatrice wept at the sight of them, and only then did she join her other daughters in the coach.
Cain Sinclair and Paul Fraser were ushering the crofters toward Jonathan’s land. Both were mounted on horseback and heavily armed. Though no one knew who had started the fires, it might have been one of the men disguised among the crofters.
Jonathan started to guide Victoria toward the waiting coach but realized there was not enough room for both of them. “Do you want to go with your family or stay with me?”
“I w-want to be inside,” she whispered. “Anywhere but here.”
“I could send you with the others in the coach,” he suggested. “I’d find you later.” It was evident that she would have difficulty traveling this night. Though she hadn’t gone into hysterics, he could see the panic tensing her features.
“Stay with me,” she pleaded. Her grip tightened around his waist, as if she couldn’t bring herself to let go.
Behind him, the fire raged. Although the crofters had tried to put it out, the interior continued to burn. Black smoke billowed into the air, and he had no doubt that within another few hours only the stone exterior would remain.
“Please,” Victoria begged. “Just take me somewhere close by.” Her body was trembling, and he gripped her tight.
“I’ll find something.” He called out to Cain Sinclair, waving until the man hurried forward.
“Is there another shelter nearby?” Jonathan asked. “Someplace closer than Eiloch Hill, where I could bring Victoria until morning?”
Sinclair’s gaze met his, and then passed over Victoria. “Aye. If she canna make it as far as your house.” His somber look revealed that he was well aware of Victoria’s difficulties. “You can take shelter at my house,” Sinclair offered, pointing up into the wooded hillside. “It’s half a mile from here, up the hillside.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew an iron key. An ironic smile crossed his face. “It’s not what you’d be wanting for a wedding night, but you can build a fire and stay warm. I’ll send the coach back for you, come the morning.”
Jonathan took the key and nodded his thanks. To Victoria, he whispered in her ear, “Can you make it to Sinclair’s house?”
She didn’t answer, but he saw no choice for them. “Is there another horse?”
Sinclair shrugged. “There’s a mule, but she’s a stubborn lass and won’t do much of anything.”
“I need to get Victoria out of this snow, and I’d rather not have her walk any farther than she has to.” Truthfully, his own leg was plaguing him. Half a mile seemed like an endless distance, but he doubted if the mule could carry both of them.
The man stared for a moment, as if assessing whether or not it would work. Then he shouted in Gaelic to his younger brother. Within moments, the boy was coaxing a brown mule toward them. Jonathan lifted Victoria upon the animal and took the reins. He uttered his thanks to Sinclair and the man passed him a torch to light the way.
“Follow the path up the hill and through the woods. Ye shouldna have any trouble findin’ it.”
Jonathan nodded to Sinclair as he returned to the others. “Come on, then.” He lightly patted the mule’s flanks. Victoria was stiff, her body so rigid, he knew how terrified she was.
“I said, let’s be off,” he told the mule, urging her forward again. The wind was picking up speed, blowing through his coat, and he realized that his wife barely had anything to cover her gown. Jonathan took off his coat, trying to put it over her.
“I’ll be all right,” she protested, but her shoulders were still trembling. He ignored her, knowing she needed the warmth.
Once again, he took the reins and tried to drag the mule forward. When she didn’t cooperate, he asked Victoria, “What is the animal’s name?”
“I don’t actually know. She’s not used to anyone riding her. I think Mr. MacKinloch used her to help plow the garden.” She shivered and gripped the edges of the coat.
“Move along then, damn you.” He tugged at the animal’s bridle and was encouraged when the mule took a step forward. “It appears I’ve discovered her name.”
There was a trace of a smile on his wife’s face, and he used the animal for support, as they trudged toward the hillside.
“I don’t think that’s truly her name.”
“She responded to it.” He sent Victoria a wry look. “Are you all right?”
Her smile faded away as she seemed to remember her surroundings. “Not really. I’ll be glad when we’re inside. You must be freezing.”
“We’ll build a fire once we’ve reached Sinclair’s house.”
She gave a nod, but as he led the mule up the hillside, Victoria glanced back at the house. The fire had died down, and although the stone structure remained, the roof and interior were ruined.
“I don’t understand why someone would do this. We’ve done nothing wrong at all.” Tears rose up in her eyes, and she let them fall, her arms wrapped around the mule’s neck. She shut her eyes, and at a closer glimpse, he saw that her body was trembling again.
“Hold on,” he ordered. “We’ll have shelter soon enough, and when we do, we’ll talk about it.” But her desolation went deeper than sorrow about the house. From the look on her face, it was as if a part of her had gone up in flames.
“H-hurry,” she begged, keeping her eyes tightly shut. Her face was so pale against the firelight of the torch, he wondered if she was struggling not to faint. Even her breathing had quickened, as if she were fighting against panic.
He didn’t speak throughout the rest of the journey, but led the mule through the woods, hoping the house would be
easy enough to find.
Within another few minutes, he spied it. The mule kept stopping, but when she caught sight of the wooden house, the animal’s pace quickened as if she was also eager to be out of the cold.
Jonathan helped Victoria to dismount and unlocked the door, handing her the torch. There was an immediate relief in her demeanor, and she eagerly went inside while he saw to the mule. He guided the animal into the lean-to and settled it down for the night with water and feed.
When he returned to his wife, she stood within the interior of the modest dwelling. It was dark and cool, except for the torch that she’d set upon the hearth.
“We’ll need a fire,” he said. She helped him gather tinder while he stacked the peat. His hands were numb from the cold, but he managed to light the fire with the torch, feeding more tinder and bricks of peat until there was a small blaze.
Victoria had gone quiet, staring into the light. She took off his coat and settled it over his shoulders, sitting beside him. Her mood grew pensive and quiet. He couldn’t guess what thoughts were going through her mind at the moment, but he didn’t press for answers. Instead, he warmed his freezing hands and feet before the fire, simply taking comfort from her presence.
“It’s gone now, isn’t it?” she whispered. “The house, I mean.”
He nodded. “In the spring, we’ll try to rebuild.”
She drew up her knees, and stared into the flames, her breath forming mist. “I always… thought I would live in that house until the day I died. I couldn’t imagine leaving it.” She stretched out her hands to warm them but didn’t look at him. “I feel lost right now.” Glancing around her, she studied the interior of Sinclair’s home. “This is the first time I’ve been in anyone else’s house in over five years.”
It was small, with only one bed and a trundle beneath it. One iron pot rested near the hearth, and although the dwelling was clean, it held an austerity, as if no one had bothered to make it into a true home.
“I knew Mr. Sinclair was poor, but I didn’t realize it was this bad,” she whispered. “He has hardly anything at all. We should have paid him more. He has a younger brother to take care of.”
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