03 - Dreams of Destiny

by May McGoldrick

  Millicent looked over her shoulder at Ohenewaa’s calm demeanor. She wondered if the healer knew if this was the time.

  The sight of the carriage coming up the drive had Millicent out of the chair and running for the door. Mrs. MacAlister, the housekeeper, was beside her as she burst into the hallway. Baronsford’s steward, Mr. Campbell, reached the front door before any of the other servants and opened it as Millicent reached it.

  She knew Lyon had every person at Baronsford watching over her. She could not move without having a handful of people appear from nowhere to assist her. Millicent could not get used to this amount of attention. But as Lyon had warned her, it was for his peace of mind, and she would just have to resign herself to it.

  And Millicent did. It took great restraint not to run down the drive to meet the carriage. A touch on her arm told her Ohenewaa had joined her outside, as well. She placed her other hand on the healer’s—wanting to draw on the woman’s strength.

  “Finally,” she whispered. “You were right. She is here.”

  “Not yet,” she said quietly into her ear.

  Millicent’s heart sank. She looked at the oncoming carriage. She glanced over at Ohenewaa. “They did not bring her?”

  The healer shook her head calmly. Her lined face showed no expression. “But she is coming, on her own, and in her own time. Be patient.”

  The carriage came to a stop, and the door opened. Millicent stepped forward as her husband alone stepped out of it. The disappointment was plainly etched in his handsome features. He took her into his arms.

  “I am sorry, Millicent. Violet had already left before we arrived. But Truscott has gone on to look for her. He will find her, my love. I know he will.”

  Millicent laid her cheek against his strong chest, her hands clutching his back.

  “I know he will, too,” she whispered quietly. “Ohenewaa said that Violet is coming back. She is always right.”

  ****

  David started directly for Greenbrae Hall, as that was where Gwyneth had claimed in her letter that she was going.

  He didn’t bother with a carriage, but instead acquired a horse. Speed was his goal, and if she thought that he would arrange to have her trunk sent up after her, she was mistaken. David simply left everything with the innkeeper.

  The ride from Gretna Green took longer than he wanted. But in his state of mind, growing wings and flying would not give him the speed he would have wished for.

  Douglasses! Douglas women, he corrected. Here, it was happening to him for a second time. Emma…and now Gwyneth!

  He immediately pushed Emma out of his mind. He had been a naïve lad, he told himself.

  Greenbrae Hall was located next to Baronsford. He had resolved to see his family very soon. Emma was a part of the distant past, and he did not intend to let nd past disrupt his plans for the future. Both of his brothers had moved on with their lives. David was determined to do the same with Gwyneth.

  Her letter said she did not regret what they had done last night. She filled an entire page with beautiful prose about how he had made her feel. Any other man’s feelings would have been suitably mollified by such descriptions, but not David’s. The last words of her letter were what mattered to him. They could not do this again. She could not stay. Their lives were leading in different directions. There could be no future for them.

  Why in bloody hell not was the question he intended to ask Gwyneth as soon as he had his hands on her. And her plea not to come after her—not to make the situation more difficult than it already was—didn’t mean a thing to him.

  David had done his share of running away from what he wanted and from the conflict stemming from it. He had been a fool, of course. Emma’s eyes had been solely on Lyon. She’d been entertaining herself with him while waiting for her earl to arrive. David had seen what was coming, though, and ignored the signs. It had only been a matter of time.

  With Gwyneth, though, he was confused as hell. She’d always cared for him. He’d never thought there was any competition when it came to her affection for another. And their physical attraction was impossible to ignore. The sparks between them had ignited the moment they’d met in London. And last night, after everything they’d done, the way they’d made love was unlike anything either had experienced. Of that, he was certain. They were compatible in every way, and Gwyneth’s running away made no sense at all.

  There were still several hours of daylight left when he arrived at Greenbrae Hall. The handsome country house was still shut, though, and David was met by only the caretaker and the meager crew of servants who remained there when the family was away in London or Edinburgh.

  “We were not told of Miss Gwyneth coming as yet, sir,” the old caretaker told him, obviously flustered. “The housekeeper and the servants from the London house always come up before any of the family arrive. We’ve seen none of those folk. From what I was told, her ladyship and Miss Gwyneth had no plans of being here for another fortnight, at least.”

  “But Miss Gwyneth left a message for me that she was coming here. She came on horseback.” This much he was able to find before he’d left Gretna Green. “She should have been here by now.”

  Alone! Riding alone through the Borders country! She must have been out of her mind, David cursed silently.

  “Miss Gwyneth was coming with no escort, sir?” The man wrung his hands nervously. “Well, she has not arrived, yet. But what should we do? I’ve only a couple of lads in the stables. We could go out looking for her. Do ye know which road she was traveling? We…”

  “I shall take care of it,” David told the man. “I shall get help from Baronsford. We’ll find her.”

  And he would find her. Mounting up, David prayed that Gwyneth was still alive and unharmed, though, since he planned to strangle her as soon as he found her.

  ****

  Walter left Baronsford frustrated, but he came back to it a diffo p man.

  He had a new appreciation for the place when he returned. His eyes had been opened by his travels abroad. He noticed things he’d never seen before. He appreciated what before he had taken for granted. The quiet countryside, the good, solid people he had known for so many years. All of them were more precious than he’d ever thought.

  He now recognized the Borders…and Baronsford…as a corner of heaven, and he was tremendously grateful for the privilege the Pennington family had bestowed on him in asking him to manage their estate in the coming years.

  No longer was Walter a young man being driven to madness by thoughts of Emma, the one woman he could never have. Fourteen months away had given him a new view of women. The salons and ballrooms of Italy, France and Germany had cured him of his youthful infatuation. Time and distance had taught him to separate dreams from reality. He knew who he was now. He knew what he wanted. Walter had matured into a man with a purpose, and he was determined to excel in that.

  The old earl recognized Truscott’s growth, too. That summer he was given charge of running Baronsford, and Walter told himself he could not be happier.

  CHAPTER 12

  Irregular patches of white, tinted with the faintest hints of pink and gold, puffed and scudded across the multi-colored canvas. To one side, a halo emanated from the descending sun, the colors changing from deep reds and orange to violet and purple as the light bled across the darkening blue of the sky. A lone bird, her white wings spread wide, floated before the backdrop of colors. Gwyneth’s first conscious thought was that she had never known how many different shades could be captured in a single sky. She thought to ask David if he’d ever seen anything quite so beautiful.

  The realization that he wasn’t with her came with the feel of the hard ground against her back. Her head rested on a soft padding. Gwyneth’s body was stiff, as if she had been lying there forever, but she hardly felt rested. Snatches of what had happened pushed into her mind. The old abbey on the hilltop. Her decision to go up there to water and rest her mount. The horse startling and rearing up. The images be
came murky from that point. She did recall, though, a young woman bent over her, talking to her. Blue eyes, golden curls. For an instant she’d thought it was the ghost of Emma. But even in her faltering consciousness, she’d been able to recognize kindness and knew it could not have been her cousin, dead or alive.

  Gwyneth’s gaze wandered from the sky to the ruined walls of the abbey to the horse grazing on a patch of grass not too far away. She tried to lift her head to look for the woman, but her head began to spin and a sharp pain in her shoulder made her stay put.

  “So you are awake.”

  The voice was soft and Gwyneth detected an English accent. She turned her head, trying to locate the voice and saw the woman as she approached. Framed by the light of the descending sun, her face was difficult to see. Her clothes were not just worn but threadbare, but the same familiar halo of golden curls encircl her face.

  “You saved my life.”

  The woman shook her head shyly. “Your foot would have come out of that boot soon.”

  “Still…thank you.” Gwyneth tried to lift her right arm, but the pain in her shoulder again stopped her. She tried the other and was relieved that the joint moved. In spite of the pain, nothing appeared broken.

  “You have a good size cut on the back of your head.” The stranger crouched next to her. “Watching you now, it seems that you have bruised your shoulder, too.”

  “I know I would have a lot more than a bruised shoulder and head to worry about if you hadn’t helped.” This close, she had a much better view of her face. They were about the same age. Very pretty. But there was a sadness, too, in her expression. “My name is Gwyneth.”

  The blue eyes considered her for few seconds before she spoke again. “Violet. You were traveling alone?”

  “I was.” She used her left hand to push the hair out of her eyes. She looked around as far as she could see. “A wee bit foolish, now that I think of it. What about you? Are you traveling alone, too?”

  Violet nodded. “I was hoping to join the next group of vagrants passing through.”

  Her words went directly to Gwyneth’s heart. Their situations were so different. This young woman had no place or family of her own. Gwyneth looked away, trying to hide her dismay.

  “How long have you been waiting here?” she asked.

  “I arrived just as you rode up the valley.”

  She looked back at the stranger. If one ignored her ragged clothing, there was little difference in their manner. She remembered the stable boy’s clothing she was wearing herself. That made them similar in so many respects. She wondered if Violet was running away from someone or something, too.

  “Are you traveling south, then?” Gwyneth asked, knowing that many of the displaced tenants were going that way.

  Violet gave an indifferent shrug. “Or west. Where I go depends on the people with whom I cross paths.”

  “I was going north. A place named Greenbrae Hall, between here and Edinburgh.”

  “You are not too far from your destination. I believe I came by a place by that name not long ago. I think ‘tis not a half day’s walk.”

  “I believe you are correct.”

  The rough ground was digging into her back, and Gwyneth tried to roll onto her left side. A sharp pain shooting through her shoulder put a stop to that. Violet was immediately beside her, helping her to move a little. When she was settled a little more comfortably, the young woman pressed a wet cloth she was holding against the back of Gwyneth’s head.

  “The bleeding seems to have stopped. But I do not know much about your shoulder. Common sense tells me you should stay put, though.”

  Staying put sounded good at the moment. No one in Greenbrae Hall would be expecting her yet, anyway. She had lied to her aunt and promised to wait in Edinburgh at the home o one of Augusta’s friends until she arrived from England.

  The only one who would be going to Greenbrae Hall would be David. She knew that in spite of what she had done, he at least cared enough to stop there and make certain she had arrived safely. She thought about the highwaymen she’d eluded on the main road, deciding that David could take care of himself if they tried to take him. She could not warn him, anyway.

  She tried to move her shoulder, which was stiffening up. This accident had knocked all of the bluster out of her. Her plan to show him how needless his interference was had become a lie. Still, she could not let David find her like this. Gwyneth looked up at the woman beside her hopefully.

  “Would it make a great difference in your plans if you were to travel with me to the north again?” she asked. “I know this is a great imposition, but a number of people will be greatly distressed if I do not arrive there. And to be honest, I do not know if I can manage it by myself at the moment.”

  Violet immediately withdrew her hands, and her back stiffened. “Others who can take you will surely pass this way.”

  “But what happens if no one comes tomorrow or the next day?”

  Violet got up quickly and moved away. Gwyneth fought the pain and forced herself to sit up. It took a moment for her head to stop spinning, but she could make out the young woman by the well. Seeing her hunched shoulders, she thought for a moment that Violet was weeping.

  Guilt quickly washed over her. Gwyneth’s request had lacked judgment. She’d been abrupt and careless. She had no right to demand anything of someone she had just met. Moreover, she knew nothing of the circumstances were that had driven the young woman out on the road where she was at the mercy of strangers. Her own insensitivity appalled her.

  While there were similarities in their apparent situations, Gwyneth realized how different their lives truly were. Though she might lose her inheritance if her writing were exposed, little else was wrong with her life. She was not ill. She was not poor. Her life was not in any danger. She shook her head. David was right in saying she know nothing about life’s hardships. What did it really matter if David thought any less of her? Very little, really.

  And yet, in contrast, here was Violet.

  Gwyneth tried to push to her feet. She had to do something.

  ****

  Because of Millicent’s delicate condition, Lyon insisted that they retire to bed early every night while they were at Baronsford. Although he never immediately fell asleep himself, he found he enjoyed the feeling of lying in bed, holding his wife and making certain she got her rest. Tonight was no exception.

  The clock on the mantle had not yet stuck midnight, though, when Lyon heard the footsteps in the hallway outside their bedchambers. A moment later, he heard the soft tap on the door. He tried to roll gently away from Millicent’s warm body without waking her up. Her hand, however, reached for his as soon as he moved.

  “Something must be wrong,” she whispered in alarm.

  “No, my love. A soft tap only means that, since Walter Truscott is not hee, Mr. Campbell is at a loss about some routine decision and needs to ask my opinion on it. Pounding on the door, accompanied by Mrs. MacAlister’s shrill voice, would mean something is wrong.”

  A pretty smile broke on her lips, and her eyes looked up sleepily at him. “I had no idea there was such deep meaning to the various knocks at Baronsford or I would have developed one for the two of us.”

  He smiled. “You need a knock when there is a door. There shall never be a door between us.” He brushed a kiss on her lips. “Now, go back to sleep, love. If there is any news, I shall awaken you.”

  “Hurry back,” she whispered before laying her head back on the pillow.

  Lyon tucked the bedclothes around her, and pushed a curl behind her ear. As another knock sounded, he glared in the direction of the door. He hated to leave Millicent alone even for a minute. The doctor who came down from Edinburgh each fortnight to check on her, Ohenewaa, his own mother—they all continued to assure him that his wife was doing wonderful with her pregnancy. They all scolded him for fretting too much. But Lyon did as he wished. Millicent was more precious to him than anything in this world. He would go to any l
ength to make certain she was well cared for.

  Lyon pulled on his robe and went to the door. He hoped that this was news from Truscott—specifically, that his cousin had found Violet. Pulling the door open, he was met with the steward’s face and another servant holding a candle. Campbell was obviously about to explode with some good news.

  “Are they here?” Lyon asked, going out into the hallway and pulling the door closed behind him.

  The steward actually rubbed his thin hands together. “He is here, m’lord.”

  “Who?”

  “Begging yer pardon, m’lord, but I gave my word not to say anything, but only to ask ye to come down to yer study.”

  “Campbell,” Lyon snarled. “Who is here?”

  “This way, if ye please, m’lord.”

  “I am in no mood for games at this bloody hour of the night,” Lyon growled fiercely, but the short, wiry steward did not appear bothered at all. Instead, he simply pushed the candle-bearing servant ahead of them down the hallway.

  With the exception of the watchmen outside, the rest of the household had long ago retired to their beds. Coming down the grand staircase, Lyon could not—for the life of him—imagine who would be arriving so unexpectedly in the middle of the night.

  It had to be someone that they knew, and reaching the ground floor, Lyon saw Mrs. MacAlister, wrapped in a blanket, disappearing with several servants in tow in the direction of the kitchens. It was someone Campbell had been happy to see. Someone who felt comfortable arriving unannounced. As Lyon reached the door of his study, the only one he could think of was Gibbs, his manservant who was now the steward at Melbury Hall. But the Highlander would never have left his new wife or his responsibilities in Hertfordshire to ride up here unless there was some trouble. And Campbell did not look like a man bringing news of trouble.