Janet stood there. She looked lovely in a dark gray dress. Her eyes seemed even a clearer, darker blue. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid and her face was flushed.
“My lord?”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to move his body in front of his carefully arranged pile.
“That is not much of a greeting,” she said.
“How did you know about the cottage?”
“I found it when I was riding.” But her eyes blinked, and he knew that was not the entire truth. “I asked the servants about it. They said a woman named Mary lived here.”
“Aye,” he said simply.
“You were not gone as long as you said you would be.”
“I plan to leave again this afternoon.”
Her face changed subtly. He would have sworn she was disappointed. The realization both elated and dismayed him.
“I see,” she said.
“How are the children?”
“They love the ponies.”
He found himself smiling. “Good,” he said softly. “I hope they are not unhappy here.”
“They like it here. Torquil has been kind.”
“Torquil?” he said in disbelief.
“He can be very … sweet.”
“And Kevin? I see you must have twisted him around your very bonny fingers. You are alone?”
“You are back, my lord,” she replied. “There is no reason not to allow me to ride alone.”
“And when you found the cottage? Were you alone then?”
Indecision slid over her face. He almost had to grin. She was terrible at being sly.
“Aye,” she said after a moment.
“Poor Kevin,” he said.
“I did not think you intended to keep me prisoner.” Her eyes wandered back to the pile next to the fireplace, and the hole that was still uncovered. “What is that?”
“Nothing that concerns you,” he replied curtly.
Something flickered in her eyes, and he knew he had made a mistake. Janet was no timid woman. She had a spine of steel, and allowed herself to be controlled only because of her concern for her children.
“There is a British uniform there,” she persisted.
He shrugged.
“What would you be doing with a British uniform?”
“It belonged to the former occupants. Mayhap a lover.”
Her eyes did not waver from his. “Then what are you doing with it?”
“I thought I might let a tenant use the cottage,” he said. “I was looking around when I found the hole there.”
Her gaze met his squarely. He knew she knew he was lying. The air heated between them. An expectation clasped them in a silent embrace. He stilled, knowing how close he was to taking her in his arms, to whispering things that must never be said in her ear. He took a step back, trying to break that invisible bond between them.
Her eyes showed that she understood. She looked away, back at the pile, then walked over to it. She stooped and studied the different items. Then she looked back up at him. “A curious assortment.”
“I thought so, too,” he said carelessly. “They might have belonged to my cousin. He often affected different styles.”
“A rather contradictory man,” she said.
“You have been asking questions.”
“Aye.”
“I would think four children would keep you occupied.”
“They do,” she admitted with a smile.
He stood awkwardly, wanting so much to take her in his arms. Wanting to kiss her. Wanting to pull her next to him. Wanting to reassure her. Wanting to bring joy to her eyes by telling her that Alexander lived.
Her eyes searched his, even as her gaze flitted to the uniform for a moment. “Were you planning to take that somewhere?”
“I doubt if its owner is still around,” he said.
“Did the Black Knave disguise himself as a British officer?”
“I have no idea what the Black Knave did,” he said.
“And the woman who lived here? Did you like her?”
“Aye,” he said. “Though I did not know her well.”
“And your cousin? Did you like him?”
“Nay.”
“Why not?”
“I did not think he cared for Braemoor. And its people.”
“But you do,” she said. “More than you ever let anyone know.”
“I like success, my lady. And profit.”
They were dueling now, and despite the danger, he felt exhilarated by the exchange. She always made him feel alive.
“Is it not dangerous to have such items as those on the floor?” she asked. “Can they not endanger success? And profit?”
“They are not mine.”
“They are on your property.”
“So they are. I plan to do something about that.”
“You have no plan to use them?”
“Now, Madam, why would I do that?”
She was eyeing him speculatively. There was a gleam in her eyes that he had not seen recently. He liked it. And he feared it.
“There are many puzzling things about your cousin.”
“I did not think so.”
“Jamie adored him.”
“Jamie is an impressionable lad.”
“Trilby said she thinks the marchioness cared for him.”
“A silly lass’s impressions.”
“So lasses are silly?”
“Not all of them. No more than all men are fools.”
“It has been my impression that they are.”
“I am sure you are exempting present company.”
“Oh, I do not think you are a fool, my lord. I am trying to figure out exactly what you are.”
“A hard-working farmer, Countess.”
“Really?” she said, disbelief obvious in her voice. And meant to be obvious.
If only her eyes did not keep going to the British uniform. If the Black Knave appeared again, she would undoubtedly put two and two together.
“I hope you plan to see my daughters before you go. Their feelings will be wounded if you do not.”
Pleasure coursed through him. He could not remember when anyone had actually wanted to see him—other than Alexander, of course, and he had far different reasons than just thinking Neil was an admirable man.
“I will make it a point to do so.”
“Are you leaving in the dead of night again?”
That was exactly what he was planning. But Janet was far too suspicious now. “Nay,” he said. “At daybreak.”
“How long will you be gone this time?”
“I am delighted you care,” he replied, avoiding the question.
“You flatter yourself, my lord. I merely was wondering when we might return to our home.”
“As soon as it is safe,” he said.
She tipped her head and looked at him as though she saw right into his heart. “I thanked you for the ponies. I did not thank you for your protection.”
“I did not explain it well,” he said uncomfortably.
“I did not want to accept it,” Janet replied.
Neil wished they would return to dueling. She was looking altogether too bonny, too approachable. He wanted her to be bristly again.
Tell her. Damn that voice.
He stepped forward. She was so close, he smelled the scent of roses that hovered around her. Light and seductive.
“Ah, lass,” he said. “’Tis hard to be near you without …”
“Without …?”
“Doing something we both will regret.”
“Why would you regret it?”
“Because there can never be anything between us. You will go home and raise your children and marry again.”
“I will never marry again,” she said.
“Not ever?” he said, his hand touching her arm.
“My marriage was not of the kind I wish to repeat.”
“Not all men are like Alasdair Campbell.”
“Are they not?” she asked. “Mayhap not as purposely cruel, but I have seen little to admire in them.”
“What of your father and your brother?”
Her face softened. “My father did want what was best for me. He was not sure of Alasdair, but I …”
“You?” he prompted when she hesitated.
“I wanted … children. I fell in love with his children. And I wanted someone to care about.”
A lump caught in his throat. “And you got four of them,” he said gently. “They are all very bonny.”
“I want them safe. Most of all,” she added intensely, “I want them to be safe. And to be among people who love them.”
“They will have that. I swear it.”
Her eyes searched his for a moment and heat coiled inside him. He wanted her so badly. He wanted to feel her skin against his hand, her warmth mixed with his. How much longer could he endure this without reaching out his hand? And when he did, they would both be lost.
He forced himself to turn back to the clothes. He went to the woman’s dress, took a knife and cut the skirt from it, then wrapped the items in material. She watched every movement.
He felt her eyes even as he stopped and covered the hole again and brushed it over with dirt. She had already seen it. There seemed no sense in ignoring it. That would make it even more obvious.
“Why is it in the floor?” she finally asked.
“Mary was eccentric.”
“Truly?” she asked wryly.
“She did not trust anyone,” he felt compelled to add.
He saw doubt written on her face. He saw the questions in her eyes.
“Tell me about your brother,” he said. He had not wanted to ask the question, but he needed to know more about the man who was going to trust his life to him.
Her face softened. “He was strong and brave and handsome. I thought he was a god. He loved to tease me but he was also my champion. He did not want me to marry Alasdair.”
One sign of good judgment.
“I wanted to name my son Alexander, but Alasdair said no son of his would carry a traitor’s name.” She bit her lip and turned away.
You swore to Alex you would not tell her.
She will never forgive you if you do not.
“We had best go if I am to see the lasses ride their ponies.”
“Aye,” she said.
She went through the door. She had, evidently, decided not to ask more questions about the clothes. She knew he had them, though. He hoped to God he would not have to use them.
He followed her out, tied his bundle to his horse, then went over to her and put out his hands to help her mount. She stepped lightly into his locked hands and onto the saddle.
“It may not be wise to return here,” he said, then instantly realized those words would probably prompt her to do just that. “You do not want to do anything that might affect your children.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, Janet, it is not. I would not threaten you. It is friendly advice. Cumberland’s men are still combing the country for refugees and outlaws. I would not like to see you caught in his net.”
She looked down at him. Damn, but her eyes were wide and dark and lovely, even when clouded by the uncertainty that made her look vulnerable. And she was vulnerable. He had been tossed around like a piece of flotsam himself. He knew exactly how it felt not to have an anchor. A place to belong. A home.
He reached up and put his hand on hers. “I will get you home soon. I swear it.”
Her mount took several dancing steps, obviously ready to get back to the stable. The movement took his hand from hers.
He had already said too much this morning. He had felt too much.
He went to his own horse and mounted, then paced the animal into a trot, then a canter, never looking back to see whether she stayed apace.
Janet was silent on the way back. She’d wished immediately she could retract her question about whether his suggestion about her staying away from the cottage was a threat. She had regretted it the instant she’d seen a muscle jerk in his jaw. It was unfair. She kept trying to think the worst of him, so she would not remember how much she had once loved him. He seemed to have little interest in renewing that bond despite a kiss here and there. And she’d needed some shield so she would not make a total fool of herself. She’d used anger. She always used it.
After the past few days, after talking to the servants, she knew she had nothing to fear from Neil. He was trying to protect her. And her children. And they were more important than her own life or future.
But he was also keeping something from her. His explanations about the clothes at the cottage made no sense. How did he know they were there? And what would he want with a British uniform? If he had merely meant to destroy them, he could have burned them there.
There was a great deal more to Neil Forbes, the Marquis of Braemoor, than she’d ever thought. It was obvious that he had secrets he planned to keep.
But the air was fresh and clean and she decided not to pursue those thoughts.
She quickened her pace until she rode at his side. He cast a look at her with those serious eyes that had always so appealed to her, but then he turned away until they reached the road to Braemoor. Then he gave her a rare grin and pushed his mount into a gallop. They raced down the road. The wind was blowing against her face, and the sun was shining down on them. The mare stretched under her and Janet felt the strength and power and the wonder of being in control of her.
She felt as if she were seventeen again. And in love. Racing him as she had eight years ago.
Everything had seemed possible then.
He was riding a gelding, she a mare. But her smaller animal easily kept pace with his. She leaned down, and the horse seemed to sense her urgency. She quickened the pace, drawing several feet in front of Braemoor.
She threw her head back and laughed. How she did love to ride. How she missed it at Lochaene. She also loved the competitiveness of racing Neil. Not Braemoor. Neil.
Their horses were neck and neck when they reached the stone fence that led into Braemoor. Neil slowed to a walk. She followed and waited as he dismounted and came over to her. He opened his arms and she slid into them. His hand caught hers. “You ride as well as ever.”
She found herself smiling up at him, taking pleasure in being so close, in the way he looked at her.
She could not force herself to move away, not even as she saw Torquil coming down the stairs, a document in his hand.
“Your lordship. A letter from Edinburgh.”
He let go of her. She watched as he took it, studied the seal for a moment, then opened it. His mouth tightened as he read it.
“Neil?”
He took her arm in a protective gesture and led her inside the tower house. There was a rigidity to his posture, a tightening of his lips that alarmed her. He so seldom showed any emotion.
Once inside, he led her into his office.
“Reginald has filed a new complaint against you, accusing you of his brother’s murder. This time the physician said it is possible. A maid said she heard you threaten to kill him. They are asking for a warrant.”
She felt all the recent pleasure drain from her. “He must have bribed them.”
“Aye, ’tis possible. He is asking again for custody of his brother’s children.”
“No!”
“It will not happen,” he said. “But Cumberland is back in Edinburgh and he wants this answered. Your brother-in-law has apparently aroused other branches of the Campbells and the king owes much to them.”
She felt the blood drain from her face.
“The Forbeses have as much power as the Campbells,” he said. “But Cumberland wants to see both of us in Edinburgh. He knows you are here.”
“My dear brother-in-law,” she said bitterly. “He is probably accusing me of bewitching you now.”
A twinkle came into his eyes. “He would not be far wrong, my lady. But he also
underestimates me.”
Janet knew at that moment she had never stopped loving him. She had tried. God help her, she had tried.
She had not succeeded.
He did not return that feeling, but even with the sick feeling in her stomach at Cumberland’s message, she felt safe for the first time in a very long while.
“When do we go?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t want them to have any more time to stir up trouble.”
“What about Braemoor? Your plans …”
A shadow crossed his face. “They will have to wait.”
“And the children?”
“They will be safe here with your Clara and our Trilby,” he said. He hesitated. “Can you do without a maid? If so, we can ride horseback. It would be far quicker.”
“Aye,” she said. He would be risking much for her. She realized that. She also realized he had done that from the beginning. The Campbells were powerful, perhaps the most powerful family in Scotland. If they took on Reginald’s cause …
He knew the risks, too. She saw it in his face. She had never asked him about his hopes but in the past few weeks, she’d learned they were rooted in Braemoor. How could she ask him to risk it all?
For the children.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
“You are welcome, my lady,” he said, the side of his lips slipping upward. “Although it might well be premature.” Then he moved toward the door. “I would very much like to see the lasses ride their ponies.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Neil waited as Janet went up to fetch her daughters. In minutes, they came skipping down the stairs, three little stepping stones.
All three of them curtsied before Neil. He bowed formally to them, and Annabella giggled and looked at him coquettishly through black lashes. That one was going to be a real flirt, he thought with amusement.
“I am most pleased to see you again,” he said, truly meaning it.
Annabella beamed up at him. “We are pleathed to see you, too,” she said. “I love my pony,” she said.
“Can you ride her?”
“As good as mama,” she said, then wrinkled her nose. “Almost as good.”
The Heart Queen Page 29