Forgetting the Scot

by Jennifer Trethewey

  Mudd and Pismire changed course and chased her. She tried to scream but she needed every ounce of breath to run. Her skirt dragged at her legs. Tree branches whipped at her face threatening to blind her. Pismire was right behind her, close enough she caught a whiff of his Godawful stench. He was laughing, too.

  In between demands for her to stop, Mudd hollered a stream of curses at her, at Pismire, at the trees, at Scotland. His last oath was cut off suddenly. Virginia kept running. She vaulted over a tree trunk. Pismire must have missed his footing. She heard him hit the ground with a grunt and a curse.

  Again, her mind warred, one side screaming: Make the most of his mistake. Widen the gap. Run. Run. The other side whispering: Turn around and see where he is. A sapling grabbed hold of her ankle. She pitched face-first into the leaf-covered forest floor. Then, the worst thing happened. She lost her spectacles.

  Instead of getting up and running, she searched for them. It was over anyway. Any second Pismire would drive his knife into her back. She’d lost ground. No escape. Even now the thumps of his footsteps were near.

  She closed her eyes tight and heard a fleshy sound followed by, “Eeeeeech.” More struggling. Tearing. Cracking. Another thump like someone tossing a sack of potatoes on the ground. Then…only labored breathing. Hers and someone else’s.

  “It’s all right now, mo chridhe.”

  A sob escaped her. “Magnus?”

  His large fuzzy shape bent down before her. He was breathing hard, but not nearly as hard as she. He helped her to her wobbly feet, her knees still shaking from fear and effort.

  “Here now.” Magnus placed her spectacles on her nose, and his beautiful face came into focus. His beautiful blood-spattered face.

  She reached a hand out. “Are you hurt?”

  He backed out of her reach. “Nae. Are you?”

  “I’m fine, now.” She glanced down at the motionless figure of Pismire, his head twisted at an impossible angle and a knife handle protruding from his armpit. She let out a yelp and stumbled backward. “Is he dead?”

  “Aye. The other one, too. Turn away. Dinnae look at them.”

  He’d killed them with his bare hands. The level of rage that had fueled him…it was frightening. But he’d saved her. She was alive because he’d saved her from these men, and she wasn’t sorry they were dead.

  Magnus yanked his shirttails from his trousers and wiped his bloody face. If she weren’t so traumatized by the dash for her life, she would have savored the sight of his trim waist and rippling stomach muscles. He let his shirttail fall, stained now with blood. “Did you recognize them?”

  “My husband’s men, Mudd and Pismire. Langley sent them to collect me, but Laird John made them go away.”

  “Your husband, who told the papers you’re a fraud, sent his men to fetch you? Either he’s a liar or his men are liars.”

  “That’s what Laird John said.”

  “Either way, those men meant you harm.” He examined his hands, scraped and trembling. “Sorry I had to…I would have liked to question them, but…I couldnae stop myself.”

  “It’s all right. I don’t think you had any choice. They were the ones who kidnapped me.”

  His soft brown eyes gazed down on her, so full of sadness, longing. A look she’d never seen.

  “Go back to the house now. I’ll see to the rest. Dinnae tell anyone about this or that you’ve seen me, love.”

  Love. He called her love.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

  “Walk to the house and dinnae turn around.” She hesitated until he said, “I will fix this. Trust me.”

  Chapter Seven

  She would be all right. Virginia was strong. Hell, those long legs of hers had almost outrun the animals that had tried to kill her. He would have preferred holding her, kissing her, or at the very least, escorting her back to the house, but he was covered in the blood of her enemies, and he couldn’t afford to reveal himself to Laird John just yet.

  Magnus draped the two bodies over Finbar’s back and took them far from his cottage to the abandoned slate quarry. He rolled the bodies off the edge and watched them tumble down the loose shards of gray slate, an act almost as satisfying as killing them had been. Later—much later—he would tell Laird John about the bodies. If the corbies had left any remains, he would bury them.

  On the way back, he submerged himself in one of the fish pools on the River Forss, a bend in the river where he’d always had success with a rod baited with as little as a wad of bread. Washing away the blood, he felt renewed, baptized, and absolved by the waters of the Forss, the river from which his ancestors had drawn life for a century and a half.

  Soaked to the skin, he slogged back to his cottage barefoot. Virginia was safe. For now.

  What was she doing at his cottage? As far as she or anyone else at Balforss knew, he hadn’t returned from Inverness as yet. He smiled. Of course, his Virginia wouldn’t believe he would let her leave without a last goodbye. She would go to his cottage to see for herself.

  He dropped his boots on the floor inside the door, and stripped off his wet shirt and trousers. He needed to eat, to think, to sleep. The flint took forever to make a spark. At last, the lint caught. He lifted the glass and lit the lamp. It was then he saw the book and the parchment with his name scrawled in a loopy feminine hand. He lay on his bed, naked and still damp with river water, to read her words.

  My dear M.

  Because you have given me back my life, I shall live it happily and freely in your honor. Remember me always for I shall never forget you.

  Your V.

  He clasped the letter to his chest. My V. My Virginia. Mine.

  Did that beautiful, daft, English woman actually think he could ever forget her? And did she think he would allow her to return to that viper pit, as she called it, without him? God, she was a braw wee bizzum. Nonsensical, like most English he’d known, with her doaty idea of giving away her money to Mrs. Pennyweather, whoever the bloody hell that was.

  She needed him. Now more than ever. She needed a man to vanquish whatever fiends lurked in the shadows of London Society. And he needed to be that man. Like today, he would cut down anyone who threatened her life, her happiness, her freedom. It was possible he had just dispatched her only threat, Pismire and Mudd. It was equally likely, her true enemy still awaited her in England. Langley. The Englishman will kill you, the Romany woman had prophesied. If that was what fate had in store for him, so be it. But he would be there for her until he breathed no more. He would make everything right.

  Laird John had denied him passage to England aboard Gael Forss. His reason for the ban was some nonsense about Magnus losing his head and getting hanged. Since when had he ever lost his head. Oh, aye. He’d killed those two, Mudd and Pismire, in a rage, but he hadn’t “lost his head.” He’d defended Virginia with the required force is all.

  No, more likely his uncle’s true reason for sending him away had more to do with Magnus’s heart than his head. Laird John thought he would feel less pain if he stopped seeing Virginia sooner than later. As if it would be easier for him to say goodbye in July than it would be in August. Laird John was too late to shield him from his own feelings. Had he sent him away after they rescued the women, his uncle might have spared him the pain. If he had sent him away before he’d spoken to Virginia, before he’d listened to her laughter, smelled her sweet perfume, felt her gaze on his face, then he might have succeeded. But nae. His uncle was too late. That ship had sailed. But not Gael Forss. Not yet.

  He would eat and think later. Right now, he needed sleep. Tomorrow, he would have only one chance. His success depended on the cunning of a fourteen-year-old boy.

  …

  Hercules wiggled in Virginia’s arms while Mr. Munro loaded the baggage atop the carriage. She and the tiny spaniel were witnessing a set-to between Lucy and Alex. Lucy insisted Hercules must accompany them on their journey to England. Alex thought it best for the dog to remain at home. T
he tall red-haired man and the raven-haired beauty were well matched. She had never seen two more stubborn people engage in such a furious test of wills.

  Flora and Laird John emerged from the house and flanked her. Laird John emitted a sigh of boredom as though he’d seen this show a dozen times or more.

  Bouncing a fussy Jemma on her hip, Flora said, “Lucy will win. She always does and Alex knows it. I dinnae ken why he bothers to argue.”

  “He needs to remind his wife he still has his bollocks.”

  “John!”

  “Well, it’s true. If a man doesnae stand up to his wife occasionally, he starts to feel like a gelding.”

  Flora leveled a dark look Laird John’s way, and he made a disagreeable sound deep in his throat.

  “Perhaps they enjoy crossing swords,” Virginia said.

  Flora and John burst out laughing. “You’ve got the right of it, lass,” John said.

  The argument reached a crescendo and came to a sudden end. A tight-lipped Alex and a victorious Lucy approached. Alex collected Jemma from Flora and kissed his mother.

  “Come to me, my little man,” Lucy said, gathering Hercules. “We’re all going to England to see Grandpapa.” She kissed Laird John and then Flora. “We’ll be back before you miss us. You’ll see.”

  Alex and Laird John clasped forearms in a fierce grip. They had a moment of silence before Laird John said, “You take half my life with you, son.”

  “Dinnae fash, Da. I’ll see us all safely home.”

  Jemma reached for her grandfather’s nose. “Bumpa.”

  “You be a good lassie.” Laird John tickled Jemma under the chin, eliciting giggles and more squirming.

  “Will ye no’ get in the carriage? Ian’s like to miss the tide if ye dinnae hurry,” Mr. Munro called, putting an end to the goodbyes.

  She turned quickly to Flora and John. “You took care of me all these months. I can never thank you enough.”

  Flora brushed her cheek with the back of her hand. “Write often and tell us how you fare.”

  “You have become dear to us, a nighean,” Laird John said.

  The big man was as strong as the stone walls of Balforss, yet there were tears in his eyes. She marveled at him. The Laird of Balforss commanded respect and admiration from his tenants because they knew he would always be fair with them, he would always protect them, this rare man who wielded his power with a careful hand. A steel exterior with a gentle soul, that is how she would always remember Laird John.

  On the way to Thurso Harbour, Lucy sniffed and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “I never expected it would be so difficult to part with them.”

  “It won’t be for long.”

  Lucy’s dimpled smile returned. “You’re right. And won’t it be glorious to visit London again? All the shops and the concerts. Of course, the Season has ended, but there’s still so much to see and do. With luck, we’ll see my friend, Jemima—Lady Ellington, I mean. Remember I told you about her?” Lucy leaned toward Jemma sitting in Virginia’s lap, “I can’t wait for you to meet your grandpapa and Nounou Phillipa. They are going to love you.”

  And what kind of reception would Virginia get from Aunt Mina? She’d never written back. No doubt her aunt thought her a fraud, as well.

  Won’t she be surprised?

  Virginia and Lucy stood on the docks, watching members of the crew carry traveling trunks containing personal belongings up the gangway to the ship. Gael Forss had been refitted to carry legitimate cargo and paying passengers. This was to be its maiden voyage under the new name. Rather than stolen arms and questionable merchandise, the cargo bays held, among other legitimate goods, barrels of salt herring, Declan’s whisky, and the bounty of Balforss.

  Alex had been right. Gael Forss looked altered somehow. No longer sinister. Still, Virginia’s arms and legs trembled uncontrollably. She glanced up and down the docks, searching for a tall bearded figure with dark hair and broad shoulders.

  “He’s not here, darling,” Lucy said gently.

  But he was here. She’d seen him yesterday. Why hadn’t he come to the docks?

  Lucy put a stop to Virginia’s useless anguish. “Ian. I want you to meet Lady Langley.”

  Ian Sinclair strolled down the gangway. Upon reaching them, he removed his hat and bowed low. “I’m honored to have you aboard Gael Forss, Your Ladyship. The last time I saw you, there was no time for introduction.” He smiled a crooked smile very much like his brother Alex but far more charming. Captain Sinclair was probably very popular with the ladies.

  “Ian was a captain in His Majesty’s Royal Highland Regiment. Now he’s captain of a ship.” Lucy straightened his cravat. “Not as dashing as your uniform, but you’ll do.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Captain Sinclair.”

  “Thank you, though I should say I’m captain of Gael Forss in name only. Mr. Purdie will be Sailing Master while I learn the ropes, as they say.”

  “There he is,” Lucy said.

  A young man, about fourteen, Virginia would guess, with unruly blond hair, feet too big for his body, and an adorable chipped-tooth smile, swept a courtly bow Lucy’s way.

  Lucy returned a curtsy with equal grace.

  “Your servant, Miss Lucy.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Peter.” Lucy addressed him as though he was nobility. “You look very smart in your new coat.”

  He beamed at her compliment. “I thank you, Miss Lucy.”

  “I remember you,” Virginia said, stepping forward.

  Peter bowed again. “Your Ladyship.”

  “Miss Caya told me it was your cleverness and courage that led to our rescue. You risked your life for us. My eternal thanks.” She had an urge to embrace the boy.

  Red patches appeared on the boy’s cheeks from her attention. “It is my infinite pleasure to serve you, Your Ladyship.” His voice broke, and he gave an embarrassed laugh.

  Virginia dipped a low curtsy. “And it is my profound honor to meet you, Mr. Peter.”

  Peter, seeming to be at a loss as to what to do next, looked to Lucy. She arched an eyebrow and tipped her head toward the ship. Remembering his call, he said, “If you ladies will please follow me, I will show you to your cabins.”

  A cry came from the street. “Your Ladyship! Your Ladyship! Wait! Please, wait!”

  A slight young man dressed like a banker sprinted toward Virginia, one hand holding his hat in place, the other holding a valise high in the air. “Your Ladyship! Wait for me!”

  Peter stepped in front of Virginia as if shielding her from an attacker. He even shouted in his lowest register, “State your business, sir!”

  The young man skidded to a halt, removed his hat, and bowed. He remained bent over, panting and gasping for air, sputtering half-finished phrases of, “Thank God… Just in time… Got your letter… Came from London.”

  Virginia experienced a vague sense of recognition. “It’s all right, Mr. Peter. I think I know this man.”

  At last, the man recovered enough to right himself. “Thomas Snowdon at your service, Your Ladyship.”

  “Of course. You clerk for Mr. Begley. You received my letter, then?”

  “Yes. Mr. Begley sent me to deliver the money you requested in person, as I remember you very well and can…can…”

  “You can verify that I’m not a fraud?”

  Snowdon’s face fell. “Oh. You heard about that?”

  “It’s several weeks late,” Lucy interjected dryly, “but, yes, news does reach the Highlands, Mr. Snowdon.”

  “Forgive me.” Virginia made hasty introductions, then added, “I don’t wish to rush you, but as you can see we’re about to sail for London.”

  Snowdon looked longingly at Gael Forss. “You don’t suppose I could join you?”

  Peter straightened. “First-class packets are two guineas. Second class, half a crown.”

  “Is there a third class?” Snowdon asked.

  “Not aboard Gael Forss, sir.”

  Snowdon looked d
ejected and gave an embarrassed laugh. “A little rich for me.” He opened his valise and withdrew a purse. “Well, em, here’s the twelve guineas you asked for. I’ll need you to sign a receipt.”

  Virginia withdrew two guineas from the purse and handed them to Peter. “I’ll pay for Mr. Snowdon’s berth. It’s the least I can do after he’s come so far.”

  Snowdon’s face lit up with relief. “Thank you, m’lady. Thank you, indeed.”

  “Boatswain’s calling,” Peter said. “Follow me.”

  She took one last scan of the docks for Magnus’s familiar figure. He’s out there. He sees me. I’m sure of it. She put on a brave face for him, then turned and followed their party aboard.

  Peter gave Lucy, Snowdon, and Virginia a tour of Gael Forss with undisguised pride in the work he and Ian had done to transform the pirate ship into a commercial trade vessel. She hadn’t thought she could experience a moment of comfort aboard the hell that had been her prison. To her amazement, she shared the boy’s excitement. After all, she had been a part of the debacle responsible for his boon.

  The pirate ship had fallen into the hands of the men of Balforss, uninvited and unwelcome. But the enterprising Scots had accepted it as a windfall. More certain of their inability to fail than their ability to succeed, they had charged into the new venture like warriors with swords drawn. How could anyone doubt the unassailable confidence of these Highland men?

  The captain’s quarters at the ship’s stern had been refitted from one large cabin to two smaller cabins and a map room that doubled as a dining room for guests and higher-ranking crew.

  “Mr. Ian—Captain Sinclair, I mean—he sleeps in this one, and I sleep in here.” Peter opened a narrow door revealing his berth with room enough for only one man to turn around. It was, however, ingeniously fitted to maximize the tiny space. On the aft wall, a set of drawers, cupboards, bookshelves, and clothing hooks. Above the storage, a sleeping pallet. Above that a small leaded glass window to let in the daylight. “It’s my design.” Peter puffed out his narrow chest.

  “My goodness, Mr. Peter. You are indeed as clever as Miss Caya described you.”