by Julia London
Cailean and Ellis walked on, both of them curious about a broken windowpane Mr. Brock had yet to repair.
“Who all has come to Scotland?” Daisy asked curiously as she walked along with Rabbie behind them. “Miss Kent, naturally, and I assume her mother.”
“Aye, her father, too,” Rabbie said. “Her uncle, Lord Ramsey.” He brushed a twig aside with the toe of his boot. “Her lady’s maid, Miss Bernadette Holly, and a few servants.”
“Bernadette Holly,” Daisy repeated. “That name sounds very familiar, but I can’t say why.” Her eyes suddenly widened. “Yes, of course! She is the daughter of Mr. Theodore Holly,” she said, and then turned her head and pulled on her earlobe. “She was involved in a bit of a scandal,” she said lightly.
“Aye, so I’ve heard,” Rabbie said.
“You know of the elopement?” Daisy asked.
He nodded.
“Ah. Poor thing. She must have loved him dearly to be compelled to elope. I recall there was some talk of a child, too, although who can say if that is true?”
A child? Rabbie managed to shrug and remain stoic, but that bit of news stunned him. She had a bastard child? Where was the child? He couldn’t imagine she’d be here, attending the mouse, if she had a child...would she?
The idea of a child filled his thoughts on the return ride to Balhaire.
At Balhaire once again, Cailean went to speak to their father about his ideas for the smuggled cargo, and Rabbie retired to the rooms he used when at the castle. He lay on his bed, staring up at the fraying canopy. Something had shifted in him, he realized. His universe, so narrow and closed not two weeks ago, had tilted.
The difference was that he didn’t feel the need to die. What was different was that he realized, with painful clarity, that he wanted what Cailean and Daisy shared. What Vivienne and Marcas shared. He wanted a wife he loved and children he adored. He still wanted all the things he’d assumed he’d have with Seona. He was only beginning to understand that those desires had not died with her, and that those desires were still alive in him—weak and neglected, but still alive.
Somehow, that idea that Bernadette might have a child in the world somewhere had helped him to understand it. He was not appalled or put off by it, not in the least—he didn’t know if it was even true. But it made him curious, made him think about having a child. He could imagine it, and it surprised him that he could, given how bleak his thoughts had been for so long. And yet, lying there, he could imagine being a father, a husband, a lover. He could imagine all those things that he thought were dead to him.
Unfortunately, he could not imagine those things with Avaline Kent, and the conflict in him raged.
When it came time for supper, Rabbie dressed in his plaid, uncaring who might object. And in fact, when he entered the great hall, Cailean’s dark brow rose. But he said nothing.
There was quite a lot of commotion when the Kents arrived—it seemed that Lord Kent never grew weary of hearing himself speak, and particularly liked to start the moment he walked into a room. In they all trooped, Lady Kent in a drab gray gown, Miss Kent in blue. Lord Kent and his brother had already had a wee bit of whisky—they boasted of the fine stock they’d purchased from the Buchanans—and began firing questions to Rabbie’s father about this or that.
Rabbie looked to the back of the hall, waiting for Bernadette to make her appearance. Drinks were poured, Lord Kent greeted Cailean like a long-lost brother.
Still, Bernadette did not come. A slight panic rose in Rabbie. He made his way to his fiancée, who was speaking quite gaily to Aulay.
“Feasgar math,” Rabbie said, interrupting.
She made a sound of surprise. Her lashes fluttered nervously, and the color in her cheeks suddenly rose. “Good evening,” she said, and curtsied. “I was just telling your brother that we almost lost a horse! Can you imagine?” she asked, and turned back to Aulay to continue her story.
When she had finished—it did seem to Rabbie to wind around the point a wee bit long—he said, “If I may, Miss Kent?”
“Please,” Aulay said briskly, gesturing to Rabbie, and quickly walked away.
Miss Kent watched him go, then looked up at Rabbie. “Yes, sir?”
“You have come without your maid, aye?”
“Bernadette? Oh, yes, unfortunately. She’s unwell.”
Unwell? “What’s wrong, then?”
“A headache, that’s all. Oh, there is your sister! Will you excuse me? I should like to thank her for the wedding cup she sent me.” She walked away to where her mother was standing with Vivienne and Aulay, leaving Rabbie to stand alone.
Bloody hell if she had a headache. Rabbie glared at the entrance to the great hall. She was avoiding him, and a rush of fury rose up in him so swiftly, he could scarcely contain it. He glanced at the mantel clock. He had an hour and a half before the supper would be served, and walked out the door without looking back or saying a word to anyone.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BERNADETTE WAS DETERMINED to tell Avaline the truth about what had happened between her and Rabbie. She fully expected to be turned out for it, and she was prepared for that—or as best she could be, realizing she’d have no choice but to retreat to Balhaire and hope for mercy there. But it hardly mattered if she was banished to wander the Highlands for the rest of her life—she couldn’t live with herself after what she’d done. She couldn’t watch Avaline stand at the altar with Rabbie and swear fidelity for the rest of her life, knowing she’d betrayed her. She couldn’t listen to Avaline take her vows to marry him, knowing what she felt in her heart about him.
Bernadette was determined, but when she’d returned to Killeaven the afternoon of her tryst, Avaline was feverish with excitement. “Lady Chatwick and her husband have come,” she said with great verve as she took Bernadette by the hand and pulled her into her room. “We are invited to dine tomorrow night! Should I wear this?” she asked, holding up a gold gown and embroidered stomacher. “Or this?” She next held up a blue mantua.
When Lady Chatwick—or more properly, Mrs. Mackenzie—and her husband had called at Bothing with a proposal of marriage all those months ago, the woman had mesmerized Avaline. Bernadette had not had the pleasure of making the lady’s acquaintance, but Avaline assured Bernadette several times over that Lady Chatwick was a beautiful woman full of grace and poise, and “wore a smile for everyone, down to the lowest stable boy. You should have seen her.”
Avaline had been so enthralled with Mrs. Mackenzie that she’d not seemed to understand her father had agreed to marry her off to a Highlander she’d never met. She chose instead to think of all the ways Lady Chatwick was superior to any other woman she’d ever met and professed that she hoped one day to be just like her.
“They say Chatwick Hall is quite grand, but that Lady Chatwick prefers the smaller dowager house for her family, for it’s very quaint and cozy,” Avaline had declared after that initial meeting.
Bernadette wondered who they were. “I believe the correct address now is Mrs. Mackenzie,” she’d patiently reminded her.
“Well, of course, that’s correct now,” Avaline had said. “But she’s really a lady. She married for love, you know. She defied everyone.”
Bernadette didn’t know who everyone was, either, or if Avaline had heard the irony in praising Mrs. Mackenzie for marrying for love when she herself would have her marriage arranged for her by an unfeeling father.
Yesterday afternoon, as Avaline studied her gowns, she’d said, “I wonder what clothes Lady Chatwick will wear this evening. Do you suppose she’ll don plaid? She’s always so stylishly dressed. My mother said her modiste is French and she uses only fabrics from Paris.”
“Avaline, there is something I must tell you,” Bernadette had said, uncaring what Lady Chatwick wore.
“What is it? Oh, I nearly forgot! Do
you think you might arrange my hair as she wears it? She has long tresses pinned just so,” Avaline said, using her own long hair to demonstrate.
“I will try—”
“Goodness that reminds me!” Avaline said suddenly. “Stay here, darling—I must mention something to Mamma before I forget it entirely.” She’d skipped out of her room, leaving her gowns in the piles on the floor where she’d dropped them when she’d twirled to the mirror to have a look at her hair.
And so it had gone. On those rare moments Avaline and Bernadette were alone, Avaline chattered like a flock of starlings, her glowing admiration of Lady Chatwick uppermost in her thoughts, followed only by thoughts of the garland her mother wanted her to wear in her hair on the day of her wedding, and what she meant to do with the north sitting room, as her father had agreed she might have a bit of money to change things about at Killeaven.
Bernadette was miserable. It was impossible to take her aside and speak to her in confidence. And yet the clock was ticking, and Bernadette felt every stroke of it thrumming in her head.
The next day, when they were all to pile into that awful coach bound for Balhaire and supper with the Mackenzies, Bernadette begged off. “I am unwell,” she’d said to Lady Kent and Avaline.
“Unwell!” Lady Kent said, stepping back. “A contagion?”
“A rather excruciating headache, that’s all.” Bernadette pressed her fingers to her temples. It wasn’t exactly a lie—she had a headache, which, she supposed, was to be expected when one did not eat or sleep.
“Oh, but you must come, Bernadette,” Avaline complained. “You’re much better at speaking to Mackenzie than I am.”
That only served to make Bernadette feel worse. “Please, darling, go without me.”
Avaline pouted.
“Of course you may stay behind,” Lady Kent said. “Avaline, you can’t rely on Bernadette to always speak to Mackenzie on your behalf.”
Avaline complained, but it was decided—the Kents would go on to Balhaire without her.
When it came time for them to depart, Bernadette stood in the drive next to Charles and Renard as the coach pulled away with all the Kents stuffed inside of it. As he coach swayed and bumped down the drive, Charles said, “Well then, Miss Holly, what crime have you committed to be left behind?”
“I begged,” Bernadette said, her gaze still on the coach.
Charles laughed. “Then you are free to join us. Fancy a game?” he asked.
Bernadette looked at him, then at Renard. “A game?”
“While the cat’s away,” Renard said, and looked her up and down. “If you have a purse, you may come to the servants dining hall at half past seven.” He strode for the door but paused there and looked back. “We don’t play parlor games, Miss Holly,” he warned her. “Don’t bother to come if you aren’t prepared to lose.” He disappeared inside.
“Is this what you all do when we are at Balhaire?” Bernadette asked Charles.
“What else is there?” Charles asked with a shrug. “There’s nothing to divert us for miles and miles, except perhaps wondering what those two are about.” He pointed up on the hill. Two riders were ambling by. “They come round to have a look several days a week. What can they possibly think to see?” he asked. Then to Bernadette he added, “Well then? Are you prepared to lose, Miss Holly?” He winked.
She shook her head. “I feel as if I’ve already lost and was banished to the farthest reaches of earth.”
He chuckled and said, “Suit yourself, then.” He turned on his heel and walked into the house, apparently eager to get to the gaming.
Bernadette stood a moment longer, watching the riders as they moved on, disappearing over the rise in the hill. The sight of them made her restless. She felt prickly in her own skin.
She returned to her room and tried to read from a book of poetry, but the language was too flowery and sweet and vexed her. She attempted to mend a gown she’d inadvertently torn, but her mind was elsewhere, and she took out more stitches than she made.
She at last she decided she would walk, and donned her boots.
A quarter of an hour later, Bernadette strode along a familiar path. Clouds were gathering, and it felt as if it might rain. She tried to clear her thoughts, but she couldn’t keep from imagining that supper at Balhaire. She simply couldn’t keep the memory of how he’d touched her from her mind. When she did think of it, her blood began to heat, and inevitably, she would feel ill with guilt and grief.
Since Albert had disappeared, Bernadette had not been so beguiled. Was there another word for what she was feeling? No, that was precisely the thing. He had lured her in somehow. How strange that at first she’d seen nothing but his cold demeanor. And then his pain. And the way he’d looked at her, then had touched her. It was stunning, really, for Bernadette had been so bloody careful since her humiliation. She had moved with great care through each day to avoid any situation that might give anyone pause, to keep talk of her to nothing. She’d gone full circle now, from the woman who never gave anyone reason to mention a breath of scandal, to one who had plunged headlong into it. She was tortured by what she’d done, and yet, she couldn’t stop thinking of him, couldn’t stop tamping down feelings about him that stubbornly rose to the surface.
It was as if she had no capacity to control her own thoughts or emotions.
She was, against all good judgment, smitten with that beast of a man. “Rabbie,” he’d said, his gaze so earnest, the need for her to say his name so evident in his expression. “I am Rabbie.”
Bernadette paused and closed her eyes a moment, recalling in vivid detail those moments under the hanging tree again...
And then quickly opened her eyes and walked on, furious with herself for having allowed her feelings to tumble so far down this path. Even in her wildest dreams, even if Avaline found reason to end this engagement, Bernadette couldn’t be with Rabbie—she couldn’t marry anyone, really, because when she’d lost her baby, she’d lost the ability to bear children. All this wishing and hoping and imagining were for naught. She was harming no one but herself.
“For heaven’s sake,” she muttered to herself. What was she doing? Why was she continuing to torment herself with these thoughts?
Rabbie would marry Avaline at the end of the week and Bernadette was a damned fool for having believed she could have stopped it. Moreover, she likely would be gone before any wedding could take place, banished to Highfield, where her father would surely beat her for what she’d done, if not worse.
When the path reached the sea, she turned right as she normally did. She wouldn’t find Rabbie above the cove today, of course not. He would be at Balhaire with his family, all of them gathered to greet the Kents.
She trudged up the hill, her gaze on the sea. The darkest clouds were gathering in the distance, and the sea was turning rough. She’d have to turn about soon. She dipped her head to pull the hood of her cloak over her head, and when she glanced up, her heart leaped to her throat—Rabbie was standing on the cliff. More precisely, on the path directly in her line of sight.
And he looked rather perturbed.
What madness had brought him here, when he ought to be dining with his fiancée and their families? Bernadette was suddenly, inexplicably angry, and ran up the path to him, her chest heaving, her breath strangled with her ire. “Have you lost your mind?” she demanded hotly. “Why are you here?”
“You ought to be at Balhaire,” he said irritably.
“No! I won’t attend—”
“Why no’?”
“Oh, God, this is disastrous! What if someone comes looking for you? You shouldn’t be here, Rabbie! Someone will see you—”
“I donna care if they do—”
“Yes, you do!” she retorted. “And if you don’t, I certainly do! Please, for the love of God, go to Balhaire where yo
u belong!”
“Tell me why you didna come,” he demanded.
She was going to be sick. Bernadette could feel the bile rising up, mixing fear and guilt and pure elation that he’d come. She was thrilled and mortified—angry and confused that he was not with Avaline, but likewise relieved that he was not. What was she to do with him?
She stared at him. He was wearing the plaid the Scots had once worn, the hem of it lifting with each gust to reveal a powerful thigh. His weight shifted to one hip, his arms folded across his broad chest.
The mere sight of him was disturbingly arousing.
God in his heaven, she was as mad as he was.
“You’ve no’ answered me, lass. Why will you no’ attend?”
“You know why.”
“No, I donna know why,” he said gruffly, then dropped his arms and began to move down the path toward her.
“The better question is ‘why are you here?’ Avaline will be arriving at any moment.”
“She’s arrived.”
“For God’s sake, you are to be wed, you’re to start a new life. This is absurd!”
“This is what you want,” he said, nearly upon her. “As do I.”
“I don’t want this!” she insisted, but her words sounded false to her own ears. “You don’t understand,” she said, her voice trembling now. “I am standing on the edge of utter destruction, Rabbie. You stand on the edge of ruining a young woman’s life. Is this...this infatuation worth that?” she asked pleadingly. “You need to be with her now! We both must rid ourselves of the madness that has gripped us!”
He put his hand on her elbow and drew her into him. He shoved his fingers into her hair, pulled her head back and kissed her hard.
Bernadette splintered.
She rose up on her toes and gripped his arms as she returned his kiss with a ferociousness that felt quite unlike her. He was suddenly holding her so tightly that she could feel the thud of his heart against her chest. “I want you, Bernadette,” he whispered into her ear. He roughly ran his palm over her hair while his gaze searched her face. “Aye, I do, I want you, and you want me. You betray your mistress. I betray a memory. We are both of us traitors, then, we are, but let’s no’ betray each other.”