The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

  “What was he like?”

  Jamie seemed reluctant to say anything.

  “Jamie …?”

  “’E gamed,” Jamie said.

  “And what else?”

  Jamie was silent for a moment, then words rushed out of his mouth. “They say ’e was a coward, but I dinna believe it. ’E told my da no’ to beat me. ’E was good to me.” Tears hovered on the edge of his eyes.

  “And the present lord?”

  “’E is different,” Jamie said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “’E got rid of my da, but because Master Rory told him to.”

  Janet sat on a bundle of hay. It was obvious the lad’s loyalty was to the former lord, although it had been Neil who had freed him from a brutal father. Because Neil had replaced the boy’s protector?

  But if Neil’s cousin had been so wonderful, then why had his wife tried to escape him? And why had he betrayed her with Jamie’s witch?

  So many puzzles. Just as there were about the present marquis. Did Braemoor breed enigmas?

  “Did the … former marquis and the present one like each other?”

  “’Tis no’ fer me to say,” Jamie said.

  Then the answer was no. She would ask Neil about his predecessor. Mayhap she could learn something from him.

  The lad rose. “I ’ave work to do, my lady.”

  It was obvious that he felt acutely uncomfortable talking about his master. She would find out no more. But she had two other sources: the young maid who had served the marchioness, and Torquil. Of the two, Torquil would be the most difficult. Thus, it was important to have as much information as possible before approaching him.

  Trilby first.

  Because Neil had suggested it, she had asked Trilby to help Clara with the children. Janet knew that Lucy would never willingly give up being a personal maid to her. She had taken such pride in her elevation.

  She went up to the nursery. The lasses were awake with Clara and Trilby. So was Colin, who was raising himself by holding onto the chair. He was ten months old. He would be walking soon, getting into everything. She went over to him and he let go of the chair, raising his arms to her. There was so much trust in that gesture.

  She picked him up and held him close to her. She put her head next to his, feeling the softness of his hair. “My big lad,” she said, “I will keep you safe no matter what.” And no matter the consequences to her. He was probably safer here. Her own wounded pride had blinded her to that. So had her fear that the marquis had some ulterior motive in taking Lochaene. But even if he did, would it not be better for her son to be safe than to own an overextended debt-ridden estate?

  He squirmed from her embrace, and she looked into his eyes. Deep blue like hers. He looked so serious, as if he understood everything she said. Then he broke into a blinding smile. A charmer. He would be that.

  “Can we go for a ride on our ponies?” Rachel pleaded.

  They had about five hours before dusk.

  “I will ask the cook to bring you tea,” she said, “while I feed Colin. Then we will have a riding lesson.”

  “Really?” Annabella stared up at her, and she realized that she had not been as attentive as she usually was. She had allowed her own fears to reach out and touch them.

  “Really,” she confirmed. “I will be back for you in an hour.”

  She balanced Colin in her arms, aware of how quickly he was growing, and made for the door. “Trilby, can you come with me?”

  “Oh aye, ma’am,” she said, obviously delighted to be asked. Janet only hoped she would be as delighted in a few moments.

  She led the way to her room. “Can you get some mush and honey for Colin?”

  “Aye, your ladyship.”

  Janet took her son over to the window as Trilby left. She looked out all too often. Part of her hoped that she would see Neil Forbes, the Marquis of Braemoor, riding in. Another part feared what would happen when he did. Another kiss? Something greater?

  Where was he? What was he doing? And why did she care so much?

  She sat in a rocking chair and talked to Colin as she often did. “What do you think?”

  He looked at her inquisitively as if he understood.

  “Do you trust the marquis?”

  He gurgled.

  “That is not a very good answer.”

  Colin grinned.

  “Is that an aye?”

  Colin pulled her ear.

  “I want so much for you,” she said. “And your sisters. They will never be forced into marriage. But you, my son, will have no problem finding just the right bride.”

  He mumbled something.

  “Ah, love, one of these days you will know the agony and the joy of love.”

  Just then a knock came at the door.

  “Come in.”

  Trilby entered with a tray in her hands. “Would ye like me to be taking the lad, my lady?”

  “Nay, I will do it,” she said. “But sit and talk to me.”

  Looking none too comfortable, Trilby sat.

  Janet felt guilty—but not so guilty that she would not ask the questions she wanted answered.

  She held Colin and spooned mush into his mouth, getting much of it on her.

  Even while feeding her son, she looked toward Trilby. “Tell me about your former mistress.”

  A smile brightened her face. It was immediately obvious that Trilby had liked the marchioness.

  “She was an angel,” Trilby said.

  “But she ran away from her husband.”

  “If she did, she had reason. But I think …” She stopped.

  “What do you think, Trilby?”

  “I think she and the marquis … loved each other.”

  “Then why …?”

  “I do not know, my lady.” She shut her lips tightly.

  Mystery upon mystery.

  “And the current marquis?”

  “What about ’im, my lady?”

  Another stone wall. No one seemed to want to discuss the current nor the last marquis.

  “I want to thank you for being so kind to my daughters.”

  She blushed. “They are easy to like.”

  “How long has Torquil been here?”

  “Only since the marquis inherited Braemoor,” Trilby said. “He was a footman at first, but then became butler.”

  Trilby was busying her fingers with each other. She was obviously uncomfortable at the questions. “You may go, Trilby,” Janet said. “Thank you.”

  Trilby stood and bobbed. “It is good to ’ave a lady ’ere again.”

  Janet sat for a moment and played with Colin, even as her mind ran over the conversation. She discovered she knew even less than she had before. The puzzle was even more difficult to decipher.

  Nothing seemed to be as it appeared.

  Including the Marquis of Braemoor.

  Neil wondered what in the hell he’d agreed to. He was no hero. No knight. He had not the faintest idea how to find passage for Jacobite refugees.

  Subterfuge had never been his strong suit. He always met problems headlong.

  And now he was committed to something that could not only get him hanged but also destroy everyone around him. Including Janet and all the people at Braemoor.

  It had not even been the fact that Will was really Janet’s brother. He knew he had mentally committed himself to trying to get the children out even before he knew of the relationship.

  Why had he not considered the fact that he was probably incapable of helping them?

  He did not have the connections his cousin obviously had. He did not even know how to go about locating them. Who had helped him? And why?

  Burke had led him back down the path. He had put the blindfold back on, and Neil had not protested. He was pleased that Will—Alex—was cautious. It also gave Neil time to consider the enormity of the task he’d just undertaken.

  Ten children. And two wanted outlaws, one who could not be easily disguised. Even a beard would not cover the scar that r
an alongside his face. The lower part, yes. But there was no way of covering the upper part of the jagged scar. It would draw attention to him as if it were a brand.

  So any attempt to leave from a Scottish port, or an English one, would be foolish. That left a smuggler, leaving from some isolated beach along the coast. But how could Neil find a smuggler he could trust?

  He would return to Braemoor and go through all his cousin’s belongings. And the cache at the cottage. Mayhap he could find a hint. A name. An invoice for the brandy that he always had at hand. French brandy. Which meant it had been smuggled. But then there would be no invoice.

  Bloody hell.

  Mayhap he would go to Edinburgh. Visit taverns. Listen. Was there not an actress that he remembered being mentioned as one of his cousin’s many paramours?

  First Braemoor. Then Edinburgh.

  Satisfied that he had at least the beginning of a plan, he settled in the saddle and tried to relax.

  Impossible.

  He was on his way back to Braemoor.

  And he would lie again to the only person he had ever loved.

  Braemoor was dark when Neil returned. It was past midnight. Even the stables were closed. He dismounted and opened the doors. The noise was slight. He found an oil lamp and tinderbox. After several attempts, he lit the lamp and led the horse inside.

  The animal was exhausted. Neil took his time in rubbing him down, cooling him even though he hungered for his own bed. He could call Kevin, but he did not want to do that. The lad deserved his sleep.

  He finally felt his mount was cool enough to water and feed. After he completed that chore, he quenched the light and left. He would go to the cottage at first light, before the rest of the household was up. If he found nothing there, he would turn to Rory’s old apartment.

  He strode to the tower house and opened it. Even Torquil was apparently abed, but then he’d had no idea that Neil would return tonight. He went into the great hall where a fire was always kept ablaze. He lit the lamp, then made his way into his office.

  It was a comforting room for him. It contained a desk, his ledgers arranged in a neat pile, and books on agriculture lining the bookshelves. He sat down and looked over the ledger for the months when his cousin was lord. Rory always passed the bills to Neil to pay until Rory’s wife assumed that role. There was a period of time, then, when he was not sure what payments were made and to whom they were made.

  He went through the month when he did not pay those bills. He had looked at them after Bethia and Rory had disappeared, but he’d found nothing amiss. Now he looked again. There was nothing out of the ordinary for a marquis who was known to gamble and spend large amounts of money for clothing.

  One draft made him pause. It was not in Bethia’s small writing, but in Rory’s bold hand. A draft for a hundred pounds made out to an Elizabeth Lewis. Neil had noted before that despite Rory’s reputation as a spendthrift and wastrel, he had seldom tapped the Braemoor accounts.

  Elizabeth Lewis. Could that be the actress in Edinburgh whose name had been connected to Rory’s?

  It was a starting place.

  He continued his search but found nothing else. His mind was beginning to dull, in any event. The devil take it, but he was weary. How long had it been since he’d slept in a bed? Four days? Five? The days were starting to blur together.

  Neil closed the books, took the lamp, and went upstairs. He paused at Janet’s door. How he wanted to knock and tell her that the brother she thought dead was alive. He could almost see the joy spread over her face.

  Was Alexander right? Would she try to rush to his side?

  Undoubtedly.

  He knew her that well now. So, apparently, did Alexander.

  She would want to see him and risk everything to do so.

  He’d never had any family he cared about. But he had loved. He knew what it meant to lose someone.

  Tell her.

  He’d sworn to her brother he would not. Not until Alexander was safely away.

  Damn Alexander!

  But he understood. Alexander had already lost everything. He had committed himself to those children, to getting them away safely. He did not want to compromise their safety, nor that of his sister. He was doing the noble thing.

  Or was he?

  Neil knew damn little about being noble. He was beginning to find out it could be bloody painful.

  He had lifted his hand to knock at her door. Now he let it fall and turned toward his own room.

  “His lordship is back,” Torquil said when Janet went down for breakfast.

  Pleasure surged through her even though she realized she had not yet had a chance to question Torquil.

  “Has he had breakfast yet?”

  “Aye, my lady,” Torquil said. “He has already left to go for a ride.”

  The pleasure died a quick death. He had not even waited to say good morn to her. She wished for a moment she had not tarried upstairs with her daughters and son as they drank hot chocolate and Colin had smeared his face with jam.

  Mayhap she could catch up to him.

  It was a bright, beautiful day.

  She looked down at her dress. It was sturdy enough to ride in.

  She took a sweet from the side table. “I do not think I will have breakfast this morning, Torquil,” she said. “’Tis too fine a day to stay inside.” Before he could register disapproval, she was out the door, hurrying to the stable.

  She felt inexplicably happy. Mayhap because she had lost some of her suspicion of the marquis. An enigma, yes. A monster, no. He couldn’t fool an entire household.

  Kevin and young Jamie were cleaning out stalls.

  “I wish to take the mare,” she said.

  “Do ye wish me to go wi’ ye?” Kevin said.

  “Nay. The marquis is back,” she said as if he had indeed consulted her about his return. “So you need not worry about accompanying me.”

  Kevin looked none too sure, but he nodded. “I will saddle her.”

  As he went for a sidesaddle, she walked past the stalls, finding the gelding that had been missing these past few days. “Where have you been, laddie?”

  But he was no more help than anyone at Braemoor had been. She waited impatiently as Kevin finished saddling a mare, then offered his hands to give her a lift up into the saddle.

  “Thank you,” she said as she hooked her knee around the saddlebow. Before he could offer another objection, she pressed the mare into a fast trot, then a canter. She knew exactly where she was going. She did not know why or how she knew. There was just something about that cottage in the woods that beckoned to her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Neil rode out early, hoping to avoid Janet. He was not ready yet to look her in the face and not tell her about Alexander. He was not ready, either, to recall—and possibly repeat—the kiss they had shared, the passion that had flared between them. There was, he admitted sadly, a limit to his self-control.

  He needed to get some items from the cottage before traveling to Edinburgh. He would then be gone for several weeks. He would go by Lochaene. He would ensure Janet’s safety, even if he had to evict the current members of the household. Being in such close proximity to Janet was obviously not a workable solution. Particularly when he was keeping information from her.

  For someone who liked stability and normalcy, Neil felt everything was spiraling out of control. He no longer had a firm hold on any part of his life. He was risking everything for an outlaw. He could not control himself around Janet. He was ready to risk Campbell ire by tossing out Janet’s Campbell in-laws. He could be sacrificing everything he’d wanted to build here at Braemoor. He was putting all these people, or at least their futures, at risk.

  He rode to the loch and watched the sun rise over the rugged hills. Was he waiting for a revelation? He’d never been a religious man. Bloody hell, he’d been the opposite. Man made his own fate, he’d always thought. He was beginning to reconsider that view.

  The questions would no
t go away. Was he doing the right thing in any of this? He could only go by instinct. What if his instincts were wrong?

  The biggest question was whether he should tell Janet about Alexander. What if her brother was right? What if she rushed to him, risking her life and that of the children? Or even worse, placed her in an agony of divided loyalties. He knew about that.

  But not telling her, not giving her a choice, was taking away her dignity. He knew that, too.

  He could try to bring Alexander here. But that would place all his tenants and servants at risk as well as Janet. She would lose everything—children, estates, perhaps freedom—if Cumberland ever discovered she had helped an outlaw.

  Damn the man. Neil wished Alexander had never asked for his help. He wished like hell he wasn’t Janet’s brother.

  Neil turned away from the loch. He intended to retrieve some items he might need from the cottage. When he had first discovered them, he had thought to destroy them. Something had stopped him then. A premonition, mayhap. Except he did not believe in premonitions.

  He turned back to Braemoor. He rode to the path that led to the cottage. He would take the British uniform, the mustache and theatrical paints he had found. He did not know what he might need, but Rory had apparently found them useful. Mayhap he would, too.

  He reached the cottage, grateful that no one ever approached it. Part of the reason, he knew, was that many of the tenants had regarded Mary, the past owner, a witch. He opened the door and went inside. A cup, apparently used by Burke, remained on the table.

  A faint aroma of flowers seemed to hover in the air. Mary’s herbs, he supposed.

  He closed the door and strode over to the hidden place next to the fireplace. He brushed away the dirt, then pulled up the board that covered the cache of clothing and disguises that remained there. He took out the British uniform, then found the box of paints. A wig. A mustache. Eyeglasses. Balls of cotton.

  He squatted, putting his weight on the balls of his feet, then piled the items together. He suddenly realized what a poor spy he was. He had nothing to wrap them in. He could hardly strap a British uniform onto a horse. Bloody hell.

  He looked around the cottage, and his gaze settled on a dress. He seemed to remember it had been someplace else the last time he had been here. Neil decided it might be wise to lock the door while he was rummaging in contraband. He started for it just as it opened.