Alone. She was so alone. And she could lose the children.
If you need a friend …
How could she go to Neil? He had made promises before, then had abandoned her. How could she trust anyone who would do that?
Or could he be a part of some devious plan? He had shown up so unexpectedly.
But as she explored her alternatives, she kept coming back to his offer. She detested the idea. She could barely stomach it. How could she ask him for help? The very idea ripped through her pride.
Think of Colin, Grace, Rachel, Annabella. Think what would happen to them if their uncle gained control over them. In just the past few days, their smiles came faster. The wariness was fading from their eyes.
Pride should be nothing compared to their welfare. At least, it was a chance.
Or should she call on the solicitor first? Mayhap Reginald was bluffing.
Yet every time she reviewed the situation she saw little hope. Could she afford the time?
She went up to the room occupied by the lasses. She had offered to replace her husband’s great bed with smaller ones, but her daughters had clamored to sleep together. They felt safer that way. They were up, eating their morning meal. Colin gurgled happily at seeing her, and she lifted him up in her arms.
The lasses looked up at her with hopeful eyes. “Can we go to the fair?” Rachel asked.
Janet looked toward Clara, whose face flushed.
“There is a fair in the next village. Kevin said he would take us if your ladyship approves.”
Janet raised an eyebrow. “Kevin?”
“Aye, my lady,” Clara said, her blush deepening.
Janet smiled. She remembered how she had felt with Neil, how her heart had pounded and her soul soared. He had been so unlike any other suitor. Quiet yet full of depth. Or so she had thought. She jerked the thought from her mind.
“When?”
“Tomorrow after he finishes his chores.” Clara stared at her hopefully.
“Can we go?” Annabella asked again. Her arms were full of kitten. “Pleathe.”
“Yes, Mama, please,” chimed in prim Rachel.
Janet hesitated.
Clara’s face fell, and Janet understood she wanted to be with Kevin. Janet tried to decide whether that was good or not. How much protection should she give Clara? How wise was she in the ways of young men? How wise was any woman?
Janet looked at the girls. “I will think about it. In the meantime, would you like to go to the vicar’s and borrow a book?”
“Oh aye,” said Rachel blissfully. She was the little scholar among them.
“We will take the pony cart,” Janet said.
“Can I drive?” Grace asked.
“I was hoping you could care for Colin,” Janet said, knowing how much Grace liked playing mother.
“Can we take the puppy, too?” Rachel said.
“I think both of them need some rest,” Janet replied gently.
“But the vicar will like them.”
“Some other time,” Janet said, thinking of the horror of the pony cart with a baby, kitten and puppy.
The prospect of an outing made the bairns’ eyes sparkle. They all liked the vicar, Timothy McQueen, who somehow managed to annoy no one, partially because he lived in his books and demanded little of his parishioners. He had helped her in little ways, secretly loaning her books she hid from her husband.
That was as brave as he got. He was in midlife with a mother to support and was totally dependent on Lochaene for his living. He had survived by asking nothing of her late husband. The only time he had ever gone against Alasdair, she thought, had been regarding the books and even then with a promise from Janet never to let her husband know.
Despite his timidity, he was a good man, and Janet liked him. She knew he wanted to be braver, to fight for his congregation, but somewhere in time he had lost his will to fight. Just as she had.
He was in his garden when they drove up. His face broke into a smile when he saw them and he went over to the pony cart, taking Annabella and swinging her to the ground, the the same for Rachel. Grace handed Colin to him, then clamored down on her own.
“And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he said, beaming at Janet.
“I hoped to borrow some more schoolbooks,” she said, knowing that he taught the village children in addition to presiding over the church. “Rachel races through them.”
His slightly moist gray eyes regarded her somberly. “Trouble?”
“Aye, I think so.”
“My mither has some pastries inside,” he told the lasses. “She will be verra happy to have someone to eat them.”
The three hesitated. “Go on,” she urged them, and took Colin in her arms. They did not need more prompting.
Once they had disappeared inside the small house, Timothy led her into the church and they sat on a bench. “What is it, my lady?”
“I think Reginald is going to try to have himself declared guardian of the children,” she said.
He looked distressed. His loyalties were going to be tested again. She felt guilty at asking him, but she had to know. “I have heard rumors,” he admitted.
She swallowed hard. She had hoped he would say something else. Hoped against hope. “Could the court do that?”
“They will do what the Duke of Cumberland wants them to do,” Timothy said sadly.
“I cannot let Reginald and his mother control my son.”
He shrugged helplessly. “The good Lord will protect you.”
“The Lord left Scotland years ago,” Janet said bitterly.
“You must have faith, my lady.”
“I will take my son away first.”
“And the lassies? They need you.”
“If I’m dead?”
His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“I think someone tried to kill me last night.” She quickly told him about the figure on the parapet.
“Could ye have seen a shadow?”
“Nay.”
Distress crossed his face. “I do not know how to advise you, my lady. Do ye not have someone to turn to?”
She wanted to say nay. She had thought about this moment since her encounter with Reginald. “There may be someone,” she said cautiously. “I do not know how to get word to him.”
His face cleared. “I can see to that,” he said.
“I do not want to get you in trouble,” she said. “But I do not know who to trust at Lochaene.”
“I do have a few people I trust,” Timothy said, “and ’tis little enough to do. I regret …”
“Please do not,” she said. “I know my husband threatened to discharge you and that you care for your mother. I know how … persuasive he could be.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “The lasses have fared well with ye,” he said. “I would not like to see that light in their eyes quenched.”
Janet bit her lip. “If I can write a note …”
“Aye. And ye must have a sweet, too.”
She swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“Can ye rely on this person?”
“I do not know,” she said. “But I know no other way.”
“Who is it?”
She hesitated, but he would know when he had the message. “The Marquis of Braemoor.”
His eyes widened. “A powerful friend.”
“In truth, I do not know if he is friend or no’, but I have nowhere else to go. All my father’s friends died at Culloden.”
He nodded. “He will get your letter within three days.”
Neil rode over to the new properties. They had been seized from a Jacobite after the Battle at Culloden and came to Braemoor as the dowry of Rory’s wife. Neil had half expected Cumberland to take it back after Rory’s death and his wife’s flight, but the Black Knave had not been seen since Rory’s disappearance and the duke had somehow attributed that fact to Rory. It had been tragic that the marquis had died in the crown’s cause, but Neil had been pe
rmitted to keep the properties.
There had been no one left to farm the newly acquired properties. All had been killed or driven from the land. Neil had been too occupied with events at Braemoor to do anything about it, but now that Jock was beginning to share his enthusiasm he felt he could start buying sheep and cattle. First he had to comb every part of the land, decide where cottages should be built and what land should be planted.
The manor house had been burned. There was nothing but a pile of stones. Much of the land was rock and unfit for farming. He saw several crofts, but they were little more than hovels. He wanted something better for his tenants.
Satisfaction surged inside him. He’d felt Jock’s excitement when he’d come back after talking to the tenants. Ten young men, all of them bachelors, had agreed to move. Two of them wanted to marry but hadn’t had the means until now. They’d lived in already overcrowded crofts.
After talking with each one, he’d caught their own anticipation of having chances they never thought to have. Most had believed they would be cleared from the land. And, if not, the younger sons had little hope to make a living from the land. They had thought to leave Scotland as so many others had.
The land was mountainous and good for little except grazing. But it was very good for that. Streams meandered the land and rock fences were already in place. Craggy mountains framed the horizon, and the hills were purple with heather. He spent one night on the ground. He woke at dawn and watched the sun rise over the mountains. He wished Janet was there beside him, watching the pink rim turn into gold. Saddling his horse, he wondered whether she would always accompany him in his thoughts.
He wondered how she was faring. As a young widow, she should have a choice of suitors.
He forced her out of his thoughts, knowing that she would not stay banished, then saddled his horse. Another day and he would be back at Braemoor. It was not home, though. He did not think it would ever be home. There were too many bad memories there.
As he rode his horse into Braemoor’s stables, he noticed an unfamiliar horse there. He unsaddled his own mount before Jamie, one of the stablelads, came to rub him down. He paused a moment to watch the boy, thinking how much he had grown in the past year. Rory had asked him to look out for the boy, who had been abused by his father. One of Neil’s first acts as marquis had been to buy an indenture from the father, then banish the man from Braemoor.
“There’s an unfamiliar horse here.”
“Aye, my lord,” Jamie said. “A messenger came for you two days ago. “He has been staying in the great hall.”
“He did not leave the message?”
“Nay. He said he was told to wait for an answer. He has been working here with me. He comes from Concarnie.”
Concarnie was near Lochaene.
Without more conversation, he strode quickly to the tower house. He was met there by Torquil, his butler and valet, though Neil seldom had need for the latter. He preferred taking care of his own person, including shaving. But Torquil had needed a position and had been unwilling to take charity.
He was a thin man who looked gloomily over the world. He rarely smiled. And he always muttered as he went about his duties. Now he met Neil at the door, his nose wriggling with indignation. “There be a lad to see ye. He says he has a letter for ye, but he willna leave it with me.”
He nodded. “Jamie told me.”
Torquil snorted and any other time, Neil would have smiled. He knew how protective Torquil was of his position in the household. And of Neil himself. In truth, Torquil had a kind heart and siphoned off food to give to those who needed it. Then he roared about missing food. Everyone pretended they did not know of Torquil’s small kindnesses. It was a gentle game to let Torquil believe he was truly feared and regarded as a crotchety guardian of his master’s interests.
“It is all right,” Neil said. “Where is he?”
Torquil glowered. “He’s been sleeping in the great hall. He came not long after ye left. I dinna know what to do with the ruffian,” Torquil said.
“You did right,” Neil said. “Is he there now?”
“Aye. He did work some in the stable this morning,” Torquil said grudgingly. “Said he wanted to earn his keep.”
Neil kept a smile to himself. A gleam of approval glinted in Torquil’s eyes despite his disparaging “ruffian.”
Neil merely nodded and went into the great hall. A lad was at the great table, eating a plate full of stew. At the sound of boots, he raised his head, then scurried to his feet. “Ye are the Marquis of Braemoor?”
“Aye. You have a message for me?”
The lad, no more than sixteen, reached inside a torn, worn wool shirt and took out a sealed letter. “From the vicar in Concarnie,” he said.
He’d expressed the thought earlier that Concarnie was near Janet. Neil took the envelope, tore the seal opened and glanced to the bottom of the letter. Janet Campbell. Not “Countess of Lochaene.”
“Go back to your meal,” he told the lad.
He went out the door, past Torquil’s inquisitive face and up the stairs to his own chamber. He wanted to read the letter in private, even as he wondered why Janet had chosen this means to send it. Why not a messenger direct from Lochaene?
He remembered her face, pale and thin. Her eyes, which he’d remembered as soft and full of wonder, had been cautious, wary. The softness was there only when she spoke of the children.
He reached his room, poured himself a drink of brandy from the bottle he always kept there, then sat down at the table. He fingered the parchment for a moment before starting to read. He could almost feel her reluctance in the first sentence, and it sent streaks of pain through his heart.
You said if I ever needed a friend …
I do fear that I need help. I am asking for it not for myself but for four innocent children. I will understand if you consider it not your business. But mayhap a simple word from you to Lord Cumberland may help safeguard the future of my son and his sisters.
His stomach tightened as he read on. He sensed how desperate she must have been to send the letter. Damn the Campbells of Lochaene. Damn their souls to hell.
“Torquil,” he roared.
Torquil, who’d obviously been hovering nearby, appeared at the door.
“I am leaving again. I will stop by Jock’s cottage, then be gone at least four days, mayhap more.”
“Ye will eat first,” Torquil said. “I have already set a place for ye.”
In the dining room, no doubt. Neil had never felt comfortable supping there. In fact, he had never been included at the table when the old marquis had ruled. He always took his meals with the clansmen in the great hall. It had suited him well enough.
But now—mostly to pacify Torquil—he took his meals in lonely splendor in the family dining room. A misnomer if there ever was one, he thought. The old marquis, now dead nearly two years, had hated his second wife—Rory’s mother—nearly as much as she had hated him. She had, in truth, hated her husband enough to tell him that Rory was not his son.
Even now, Neil recalled the shouts and screams, the brutality. God, he had hated it. Sometimes he felt the room still echoed with those bitter voices, the raw accusations.
“My lord?” Torquil asked again. “Your supper?”
“Aye,” Neil said, knowing the man would nag him until he did. He went into the dining room where a place was set at the end of a very long table.
Torquil gave what was for him a smile and hurried from the room. Neil sighed and poured himself a glass of wine. He did not like the delay, but Torquil was right that he needed to eat. Torquil was, in truth, usually right.
He had found Torquil months ago when, on an odd whim, he went back to his mother’s family home some seventy miles away. Even as a lad, he had remembered the desolate falling down wreck of a home on the edge of the sea. His mother was an only child, and she had died in madness. When her father died, there was not enough left of the estate to save. The land reverted to the crown for
taxes. But no one had wanted the damnable thing. The castle had been a drafty, mean place and the land too poor to grow or graze anything. Locals said it was even haunted and they kept away from it.
It was probably the castle that had driven his mother mad, he’d thought when he’d visited there. He had wandered up steps to the tower where she had lived until one day she threw herself out a window, or so they said. That had been more than twenty years ago. Her father died six months later with no more issue, and word passed that the castle was haunted. No one had lived there since.
He had wandered through the wreckage, trying to remember. But all he could recall was his silent mother sitting in a chair, rocking. He remembered being told he was fortunate that a kinsman would take him in as a companion for his own son.
He recalled riding away. He had turned back and seen his mother’s face in the window. That was the sum total of his memories of this place.
As he was about to leave this second time, Torquil had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He had once served the family as a groom, he said. He was nearly sixty, thin to the point of emaciation and dressed in little more than rags. The clothing was clean, though, and his lined face clean shaven. He said he was the caretaker, and he was allowed to live in the stables in exchange for looking after the property. He had been doing just that for the past two decades. Probably, he added honestly, everyone had forgotten about the estate. And him.
Neil had taken an instant liking to the man who looked as if he had not had a decent meal in as long as he’d cared for the property. It was unusual for Neil to accept someone so readily, yet he had found himself asking if Torquil would like to come to Braemoor.
And so Torquil had gone with him to Braemoor. He kept entirely to himself, but was as reliable as the sun appearing in the sky each day. He had started as a coachman but soon moved into the house when the former butler had become ill. He soon became indispensable, but never said anything of his past life or even memories of the last family he served. When Neil asked about the past, he mumbled that it was too many years ago, that time had jumbled his mind.…
The Heart Queen Page 6