“ ’Tis the ghost, Laird?” he said. “Where does it haunt? Does anyone know what it looks like?”
“I’ve never seen it,” Hugh said as he pushed open the door to the nursery, obviously uninterested and unconvinced by the ghost’s disturbance.
“That sounded rather alarming,” said Lachann.
“The wind.”
Even as Hugh said it, Brianna knew he was wrong, but she did not challenge his words as they entered the room.
The tub had not yet been removed, and it stood full of cold water, before the fire that had died down almost to naught. The dressing gown Hugh had given her lay draped across the bed, and the room had an air of intimacy Brianna had no wish to share with Lachann Sinclair.
She went directly to the window and pointed in a northerly direction. “It was there—just barely in sight.”
“ ’Tis a wonder you saw it,” said Lachann.
“I believe Mr. Kincaid was…wearing red. He was not difficult to see.”
“Ah.” He stepped back from the window and started for the door, subtly pausing to peruse the room. He made no remark, but Brianna felt her face heat with embarrassment. Without thinking, she slipped her hand into the bend of Hugh’s arm.
“Have you seen enough, Sinclair?” Hugh asked, and Brianna blushed at his choice of words. Lachann had seen more than enough.
“Aye, Laird. Thank you.”
They returned to the foot of the stairs near the main entryway, and Hugh called for Mrs. Ramsay to bring Lachann’s coat and to have one of the lads bring his horse to the front. He was clearly anxious to be rid of the man.
Perhaps so that they could be on their way to Killiedown?
Lachann could take her. Claire’s estate was not too much farther north of Stonehaven, and Brianna did not think Lachann would mind escorting her there.
Yet the thought of it was sobering. She was not yet ready to leave Glenloch. Of course she wanted to return home, but Hugh had indicated they would leave the day after the magistrate’s visit. ’Twas what she had prepared herself to do.
Besides, she could not go while there were unanswered questions about the customs agent’s death. And there was something unresolved about the ghost. Bree knew it had been trying to tell her something the previous afternoon, and she had decided to pursue it today. Perhaps she would finally understand the meaning of those hidden items and why the poor thing persisted in haunting Glenloch’s halls and rooms. She wondered why it had howled just now when they were in the nursery, and not shown itself to the master of Glenloch himself.
Lachann rode away, and Brianna returned to the library with Hugh. “What will you do about Mr. MacGowan?”
“Nothing. I just hope your Mr. Sinclair will locate him and deal with him.”
“My Mr. Sinclair?”
He took an iron poker in hand and prodded the peat in the fireplace. “He is clearly enamored of you.”
The willful streak that she usually managed to keep submerged, surfaced. “Do you think so?”
He did not turn to her, nor did he reply. Instead, he gave the fire far more attention than was strictly necessary, and Brianna realized he was bothered by the possibility that Lachann was attracted to her.
He muttered something low and menacing, and Brianna decided it would be best to allow the subject to drop.
“Where do you think Mr. MacGowan went?” she asked.
“I have no idea.” He finally stood and brushed off his hands. “Perhaps he’s decided to leave Britain on one of Captain Benoit’s ships.”
She sat down and gave him a questioning glance.
“He’ll know he’s wanted for murder, won’t he? So perhaps he’s already found a ship to take him to France,” said Hugh.
“He has connections there?”
“Only with Captain Benoit, I believe. But he might prove himself of value to the captain on that end.”
Brianna sat down. “Will you return to London now? I mean, after I go to Killiedown?”
He answered her flatly. “Not yet. I must stay here and decide what to do about the brandy trade before I go.”
He’d been irate before, and now he seemed so cold and indifferent that it was difficult for Brianna to reconcile this man with the one who’d so thoughtfully ordered a hot bath for her—in the nursery, no less, where its preparation would not disturb her sleep.
Bree could almost believe he’d been angry with Lachann Sinclair over her old friend’s flattering attentions. Perhaps even jealous. The very idea put her quite off balance.
“I’m thinking of leaving MacTavish in control of the business. He can write and cipher well enough to manage it.”
Brianna decided Hugh could not have been jealous at all, but merely out of sorts with all the recent complications he’d had to deal with. Once those issues were settled, he would be free to go.
“You seem to have been all the crack in Stonehaven,” he said suddenly. “What made you leave?”
“My aunt thought I should go to London for a season or two.”
“To find a husband.”
Brianna looked at him curiously, for his tone had changed once again. “That’s what she thought. That even though it would require staying with Lord Stamford for a few months of the year, I should have a chance to make as good a marriage as my mother had done.”
“And what did you think?” His eyes disarmed her, dark and speculative.
She looked directly into those eyes. “I fell in love. It was my first season, and Bernard Malham was the handsomest suitor any young lady could desire.”
His eyes flared with the use of that word.
Desire. She wondered if that was all there was between them.
“And yet you did not marry him.”
“Lord Stamford would not give his consent. He was uninterested in aligning any of us with an insignificant Northumbrian baron.” She swallowed, and lowered her voice. “And with my guardian’s refusal, my young man chose someone else.” She reached down and adjusted one of her new shoes. “At least he waited a few days before becoming engaged to her.”
He let go a long, deep breath, and started to leave the room. But he stopped at the doorway and scratched the back of his head, turning around to ask her, “What happened between you and Roddington?”
Brianna was taken aback by the question. “Roddington? What do you mean?”
The bloody marquess had not left the district, and now Hugh could not get him out of his mind. He could not even begin to consider what might happen when the bastard learned that Brianna was alone at Killiedown, and he had no doubt that would happen. Brianna would renew her acquaintances in Muchalls and Stonehaven, with Sinclair and others. Word of her presence would spread.
Sinclair might be infatuated with her, but Hugh knew the man couldn’t protect her.
“I mean, what happened to make Roddington agree to marry you? I used to know the damned bounder fairly well—far better than I ever cared to. So I know that something must have occurred—some incident—that gave Stamford the leverage to make him marry you.” Hugh knew better than to ask this. He’d hated hearing about the baron who’d disappointed her, and knew that what he learned about Roddington’s actions was going to enrage him.
He kept to a prudent distance, staying near the doorway to ask the question, hoping the space between them would help him to keep his emotions in check. “Did he…Did he hurt you?”
She swallowed, and her brow furrowed slightly before answering. “Not seriously,” she finally replied.
“Not seriously? What did he do to you?”
She picked at one of her fingernails. “Hardly anything.”
“Brianna, what?” He found himself going to her in spite of his best intentions, and taking a seat beside her. “What did he do?”
She looked away. “Lord Stamford had taken us to a house party in Kensington. One evening after supper, he sent me to fetch one of his daughters from a parlor at the back of the house, but Catherine was not there.”
&n
bsp; “I assume Roddington was.”
She nodded, and paused before continuing. “I thought only to be courteous and exchange greetings, then quickly take my leave. But he would not let me go. I am not sure how he did it, but he cornered me. He got around me somehow and shoved me back against a wall and…and…”
Her voice quavered, giving Hugh more than just a vague impetus to make the ride to Dundee right now, to find the bastard, and to call him out. Better yet, to drag him into a boxing ring. Someone needed to interdict Rotten Roddington’s practice of seeking out the most innocent, vulnerable prey he could find, and teach him a lesson at the same time.
“Before I could stop him or even call for help, the marquess…He had one hand up my skirt and the other on my breast.”
Hugh saw red, but managed to keep a relatively calm, even voice. “Then I suppose someone came into the room and found you that way. Compromised.”
“Yes. Ruined, to use Lady Stamford’s word. She and two of her friends discovered us, and made such a fuss that half the party came running as though the house was afire. My guardian’s wife made it sound as though the marquess and I had had an assignation.” She looked up quickly, her features reflecting the anger and frustration she must have felt. “But nothing could have been farther from the truth! He squeezed me until I bruised…”
Hugh’s jaw tightened.
“And then he acted as if I were some sort of…of…”
She was too innocent to know the word she was looking for, and Hugh did not doubt that Stamford and his wife were every bit as guilty of putting her in Roddington’s path as the marquess had been for assaulting her. They’d sacrificed Brianna to their aspirations for a marital connection to the future Duke of Chalwyck, refusing the insignificant young man she’d loved.
“You are not that, Brianna,” he said quietly. “They victimized you, intentionally.”
She looked down at the edge of the thumbnail she’d torn away. “I know. But I should have known better.”
“How could you? Besides, you escaped their intrigues, did you not?”
“I could not marry him, Hugh. He is…” She shuddered. “There is something rather twisted about him. I had to flee, no matter what the consequences.”
And Hugh was ashamed to admit that he’d put her in exactly the same compromised situation her first night at Glenloch. ’Twas no wonder she’d run from him at her first opportunity.
Though he was not “twisted,” as Roddington was, Hugh feared he was not much better than the damned marquess.
They left the library and parted company awkwardly, with Brianna feeling relieved that they would not be leaving for Killiedown just yet, but puzzled by all that had gone unsaid.
Hugh left the castle to go into Falkburn to meet with Mr. MacTavish, and Brianna still could not shake the notion that he’d been jealous of Lachann Sinclair. And she sensed that he had not been pleased to learn that she’d fallen in love during her first season.
Feeling restless after the conversation in the library, Brianna went into his study and watched out the window as he came out of the stable, riding his gelding toward the Falkburn road. She wondered how long he’d known Roddington, and whether the marquess would have become as loathsome a father as Hugh’s had been. She shuddered at the knowledge that she might have become mother to his offspring, and thanked God that she had escaped that fate.
The intimidating portrait of the old laird glared down at Bree from its place of honor on the wall. She wished that her husband would dispose of it and all the others like it, just as he’d expelled Roddington’s odious presence from their house.
But he would not speak of his father, and even tried to behave as though he was unaffected by all the pictures of the loathsome man. Turning her back on the portrait as Hugh always did, Brianna left the room and retrieved her coat, then went outside to look at the north tower again. The ghost had surely been trying to show her something, and Brianna could not give up trying to figure out what it was.
This time, she approached the building much more closely, climbing past the snowdrifts to look into the ruins. There was a hollow space inside the old pantry, but Brianna could barely see into it, for precious little light penetrated through the cracked walls. She backed away and skirted around the snow-covered shrubs, then went to the opposite side of the ancient room. Peeking in through a gap in the stone wall, she was finally able to discern some shadowy forms in the ruins, but could not see clearly enough to make out any of the objects inside. She doubted there was anything notable there.
Shivering with the cold, Bree retreated into the castle, wondering once again if the ghost’s intent had not really been to show her something specific. Perhaps it only meant to make her to stop and think, as she had done before, when she’d found Hugh’s drawing of the sailboat.
Bree hung up her coat and went upstairs. She stopped in the nursery to retrieve her shawl, but took the plaid blanket from the croft instead, folding it and draping it around her shoulders.
Then she went to Amelia’s room.
She had not thought there would be any reason to return there, for she had no use for any more of Amelia’s clothes. But the ghost had led Brianna there more than once. If Glenloch’s ghost wanted her to reflect upon something…What could it be?
Hugh’s jealousy during lunch?
He had been jealous. It was quite clear that he hadn’t enjoyed learning that Brianna had been sought-after in Stonehaven, or that her first love had been denied. She was not sure what it meant, but she felt an unexpected inkling of hope.
He might not want her to go at all.
It was worse than troubling to realize that she did not wish to leave, either. Not that she felt attached to Castle Glenloch. It was Hugh. She wanted to stay with her husband, wherever he might be.
Brianna felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. Perhaps Hugh had only been acting in a territorial manner with Lachann, as a stallion would do around other males when his mate was near. It might have been a purely instinctual reaction. And yet she did not want to believe it. He cared for her more than he wanted to admit.
Perhaps his reticence was because of Amelia, Bree thought as she stepped into the woman’s room. It was entirely possible that Hugh had loved her, and she’d betrayed him with her suicide.
If Brianna’s heart could have dropped any further, it would have done so then. The pain of being moved from one home to another when she became the inconvenient poor relation paled compared to what Hugh must have felt at Amelia’s death. She remembered finding the locket that had been lost—or perhaps hidden—down the side of the dressing table. Slipping her hand into the narrow gap between the table and the wall, she drew it out, took the pendant in hand, and opened it.
She ran her thumb over the edges of the locket and the miniature of the young man, snagging it on a tiny catch at the bottom of the oval. The front of the pendant swung open. Behind it, Brianna found a small lock of hair. ’Twas the same light brown hair as the man in the picture.
She sat on the ornately sculpted chair in front of the dressing table and gazed down at the locket, wondering who the young man was, and how important he must have been to Amelia. A lock of hair gave every indication that he was more important than her husband.
It must be a significant find, since the ghost had shown it to Brianna. But Bree did not know what to make of the revelation, or what to do with it.
Hugh was relieved to be away from the castle. Away from Brianna and everything she made him feel. Life was so much simpler when he was not wasting his time comparing himself to Roddington, or worrying about her safety when he eventually left her at Killiedown. Alone, without protection.
Good Christ, could he even leave her there alone? If he allowed himself to face the truth, he would have to admit it was no longer what he wanted. Before he’d known who she was, he’d asked her to stay at Glenloch with him, at least for a while. Now he feared he might want Brianna to stay with him always.
Yet that wa
s a disaster in the making. She would eventually hope for a real future with him, with all the trappings of an actual family. Births, christenings, ponies, school holidays. Hugh knew he would be no more successful in providing her with children than he’d been with Amelia.
Besides, she’d been quite clear about her desire to return to her aunt’s manor. Until their lunch with Sinclair, Hugh had not given much thought to the life Brianna must have led in Kincardineshire, of all the young men—besides Sinclair—who would have fallen in love with her. And he couldn’t even begin to think about the followers she’d attracted during her London seasons, or the man she’d loved and lost.
It was the ultimate irony that Hugh was bothered by her pining for a man who had not fought for her. Hell, it did more than bother him. It infuriated him. First, because the idiot had caused her sorrow, and second, because Hugh hated knowing she’d loved someone else.
What a fool he was.
“Laird! Good day to ye,” called Osgar Tullis, who was sweeping the cobblestone walk in front of his public house.
Hugh dismounted and tied his horse at the post. “Send someone for MacTavish, will you, Tullis?”
“Aye, Laird.”
A very odd idea crossed Hugh’s mind as he went into the tavern, and he found himself unable to ignore it, even when MacTavish arrived. Tullis joined them at the table, and Hugh checked to see if MacGowan had been seen in the vicinity since his disappearance. If the innkeeper in Stonehaven was correct and he was en route to Dundee with Roddington, their coach would have passed nearby. Might even have stopped to allow a passenger to leave.
MacTavish shook his head. “I heard naught of him.”
“I saw no lights up in his cottage last night, Laird,” said Tullis.
It would have been reassuring to have some guarantee that the blackguard had gone all the way to Dundee. Just because there had been no sign of life at his cottage did not mean the man wasn’t lurking about somewhere.
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