by Karen Ranney
“There was that, but I don’t think she thought of it like that. Rowena and my father have not seen eye to eye since the accident. My father wanted the dukedom. If he was happy, perhaps Rowena would be.”
“But when Robert was shot at, they weren’t even at Castle Crannoch.”
“No, but I think if you look closer to Mary’s family, you’ll find her accomplice.”
“Thomas.”
She looked out the window. The day had been spent with the magistrate, a very somber gentleman who owned land to the north of Kilbridden Village. He hadn’t been overly impressed with either the Duke of Brechin’s title or Devlen’s wealth.
“How did you come to find Miss Sinclair, sir?”
“I asked in the village. I woke up more than one person, I admit, until I got an answer.”
Evidently, Thomas had driven his sister to her house, and waited outside while Mary carried out her plot. Devlen had easily overpowered him and given the other gun to his driver, with instructions to shoot if Thomas moved.
Now, the magistrate was taking Thomas somewhere to be held for trial.
“You’ll be here to testify, sir?” he asked Devlen.
“I will.”
The magistrate also arranged to have Mary’s body taken back to Castle Crannoch.
The man had had some training as a physician, and insisted upon inspecting the temporary bandage Beatrice had placed on her own throat.
“If she’d cut you any deeper, miss, you wouldn’t have survived the wound.” He’d wrapped her throat tightly and given her some precautions. She’d listened and nodded from time to time, trying to ignore the fact Devlen was glowering at her.
Robert was being so quiet every few moments she bent forward to look at his face. He was awake, but only barely. He looked tired, his face too pale. A few minutes later, he grew heavier in her arms, and she glanced at him to find him asleep. She couldn’t blame him. The day had been a long one with the interviews with the magistrate, and the inquiry about the shooting.
“Was Thomas responsible for pushing Robert down the stairs as well?” she whispered, not wishing to wake the child.
Devlen looked down at his cousin. “I’m afraid the incident on the stairs was a genuine accident. Too much haste, combined with a young boy in his stocking feet. The floors are well waxed.”
“Will there be any ramifications for you because of what you did? Will you be arrested?”
“For killing a woman who was going to kill you? No. Don’t forget, she’d planned to kill Robert as well.”
She nodded.
“I wouldn’t want you to be punished.”
“I shall not be.”
“Thank you for what you did.”
“I would have protected anyone in my care.”
Her eyes flew to his, but then she looked away, anything but try to interpret that stony stare.
“What about Felicia?” she asked.
“What about Felicia?”
“She came to see you.”
“And met you instead. Is that why you left Edinburgh?”
She glanced over at him. He didn’t look the least ashamed.
“I thought you weren’t seeing her anymore.”
He didn’t answer. “Is that why you left Edinburgh?”
She blew out a breath. “Perhaps.” She’d been angry and afraid, emotions that didn’t necessarily lead to logic. “I wanted to get away, to be safe.”
“And you didn’t think it would be safe with me.”
“I couldn’t stay there.”
“Because you thought I was still with Felicia.”
She looked away, and only then nodded. “Yes,” she said in the silence.
“I haven’t been with her since I met you. I’ve only seen her once, to give her a ruinously expensive diamond necklace.”
“She mentioned it.”
“You should have stayed in Edinburgh.”
She turned her head and stared at him. “I’m no longer your employee, Devlen. Don’t presume to tell me what I should or should not have done. I did what I thought was right at the time.”
“Forgive my impertinence, Lady Beatrice.”
“Is that your attempt at humor?”
“Believe me, I’m not feeling at all amused at the moment.”
The moments stretched between them, silent and uncomfortable.
“You could have asked me,” he said finally. “About Felicia. I thought we had that much trust between us.”
She didn’t speak.
Finally, several moments later, she spoke again. “Does it ever ice up so you’re trapped at the castle?” There, a casual question, one not containing emotion of any sort.
“No. There’s always a way down, even if it must be done on foot.”
The weather was growing colder, and a fine mist was falling. The fog was rising as they mounted the hill, their journey slower than usual.
Devlen didn’t speak again. She was forced to silence only because she didn’t know what to say. It was only too clear he was angry. No, not angry. Not even furious. He appeared encaged by rage. The wrong word might set him free. She wasn’t entirely certain she wanted to face an infuriated Devlen.
At the entrance to the castle, he exited the carriage first and reached in to take Robert from her, all without a word spoken. She was left to follow him, up the winding staircase and to the Duke’s Chamber. Robert still slept, but she wasn’t surprised.
Devlen left the room after placing Robert on the bed, leaving her to remove the boy’s shoes and tuck the counterpane around him. Later she would worry about undressing him properly. For now, she wanted to let him sleep.
The room was the same. The maid had straightened the bed and replaced the toweling, but otherwise the room looked as if they’d just left it and not been gone a month.
The pillows smelled of fresh herbs, and it was evident someone had beaten the dust from the four-poster’s drapes. The circular table near the window had been treated with lemon oil and the scent permeated the room. Everything was in readiness for the Duke of Brechin.
Home and safety. For the first time, Robert might feel a little of both.
“You wanted to see me?”
Rowena tried, and failed, to push hope away. But it was the first time since the accident Cameron had sent for her, and she stood on the threshold of his library dressed in one of her new purchases from London, a blue silk that flattered her complexion. She’d taken the precaution of coloring her lips a soft pink and adding drops to her eyes so they gleamed in the candlelight.
In the mirror she’d looked like a woman going to her lover.
“Mary is dead.”
“Yes, I heard.”
“You don’t seem overly affected by the news.”
She shrugged. “She was a good maid.”
“Is that all you have to say? She’s been with you for what, a decade?”
“Do you wish me to weep for her, Cameron? Doing so would hardly put me in a good light, would it?”
“I can’t remember you being this calculating when we first met, Rowena. But perhaps I was blind to your true character, being as besotted as I was.”
“Were you besotted, Cameron?”
She took a few steps toward his desk, wishing he wasn’t sitting on the other side. He used the sheer size of it like a barrier, a bulwark behind which to position himself. That was very well when he was addressing the staff, but hardly necessary when he was talking with his wife.
“I’ve decided it’s best if you return to London.”
She stared at him, disappointment rapidly overcoming any other emotion. “Why?” she finally said.
“Because I cannot bear the sight of you, my dear Rowena. Even the scent of your perfume renders me nauseous.”
She took another step toward him. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m much happier when you’re nowhere to be seen. London is far enough away, I think.”
“You can’t be serious, Cameron.”
>
“On the contrary, Rowena. I don’t believe it’s possible to measure the exact degree of my hatred for you.”
She took a step backward, almost physically affected by his words. The contemptuous look in his eyes made her suddenly wary.
“I spoke to the doctor, you see. At length, as a matter of fact. While you were in London. We had an interesting conversation, he and I.”
Her stomach lurched, and she placed a hand against her waist. She was going to be sick, she was certain of it.
“What I cannot comprehend was the reason for it. Did you hate me so much?”
“I love you.”
Her skin was so cold she could feel the heat of her own blood racing beneath it.
“You will never get me to believe that, Rowena. Not now, not ever.”
He emerged from behind the desk, wheeling himself toward her. She remained where she was, determined not to flee in the face of his hatred.
“What about Robert? Did you know about Mary, about what she and Thomas were doing? Let’s have a little honesty between us.”
“No, I didn’t know. I don’t like the child, but I wouldn’t harm him. And you, Cameron? Don’t tell me you’re unhappy she almost succeeded.”
“Unlike you, Rowena, there are certain things I won’t do in order to get my way. Killing a child is one of them.”
He studied her, such a disinterested glance she felt the coldness of it. It was over. Finally, it was over. She turned, intent upon leaving the room, the castle, and him.
Before she could leave, he spoke again. “Don’t ever come back, Rowena.”
She hesitated at the door, squared her shoulders, and forced a smile to her face. She glanced back at him once. “I won’t, you can be assured of that. But you will miss me, Cameron. Perhaps you’ll even long for me.”
“No, madam, on that score, you’re wrong. I would sooner wish for the devil himself.”
Devlen was determined not to be an idiot about Beatrice. However, he was very certain he was going to do just that, which is why he was intent on his errand.
Gaston was driving him, but before he got into the carriage, he ventured a question to the other man.
“Have you ever been in love, Gaston?”
The other man looked surprised at such a question. Just when he thought it wouldn’t be answered, Gaston nodded.
“I have, Mr. Devlen. It’s not a gentle emotion, for all that the books would have you believe.”
“On that I agree. It’s a damnable feeling, isn’t it? It gets a hook right into the middle of you and won’t let go.”
“Even when it does, sir, you remember the feeling.”
Devlen nodded. “Like being a salmon, Gaston. A salmon with a smile on his face.”
He entered the carriage and closed the door, staring back at the castle.
She needed to follow the magistrate’s instructions about that cut on her throat. Would she? She’d always have a scar. He was damned if all she thought of when she looked in the mirror every day was the memory of nearly dying for Robert.
He’d been a fool—he wouldn’t deny that. From the very first moment he’d ever seen her he’d been an idiot. A lustful idiot.
There was her window. If he threw a stone at the glass, would she look down?
He’d never been so confused, uncertain, and definite about a woman in all his life. She made him want to pull his hair out, wander around naked in his own home, and vow monastic celibacy all at the same time.
She couldn’t stay here. While the danger to Robert had been eliminated, the atmosphere still wasn’t suitable for Beatrice. She needed laughter and a touch of silliness. She needed to attend the opera and listen to music. He’d take her to his soap factory, and she’d sample the new scents. Or to the glassworks and let her see the new patterns.
Anywhere.
Instead, he nodded to his driver and got in the carriage.
Maybe he’d be better off simply riding down the mountain on a surefooted horse. The faster he was about his errand, the better.
“Devlen told me what happened. Please accept my apologies as well as my thanks, Miss Sinclair. I truly didn’t know.”
Beatrice turned, surprised she hadn’t heard Cameron’s arrival. She glanced at the bed, grateful Robert was still asleep. For his benefit, she left the room and stepped out into the hallway.
She waited until Cameron followed her to answer him.
“I don’t care about your apology or your thanks, Mr. Gordon. All I care about is that Robert is safe. Can you promise me that?”
“I can see why you fascinate my son so much, Miss Sinclair.”
“I don’t know how to respond to that comment. Do you expect me to be flattered?”
“You don’t hesitate to speak your mind while at the same time insisting upon being very female. And yes, I promise to protect Robert to the best of my ability, Miss Sinclair. Not for your sake or mine, but for his.”
She walked down the corridor, wondering if he would follow her. He did, his manipulation of the wheelchair done gracefully.
“My son may be enamored of you, Miss Sinclair, but he’s ruthless, all the same.”
When she didn’t comment, he continued, “How do you think he created his own empire? With a please and a thank-you? He’s accustomed to getting his own way, to doing exactly what he wants.”
“Is there a reason you’re telling me this?”
“I feel a curious responsibility for you, Miss Sinclair, especially in view of all you’ve suffered on our behalf.”
“I would think you’d be proud of him.”
“I am, but I’m not blind to his faults. My son is stubborn, opinionated, aggravating, talented, generous, loyal, and the most irritating human being I’ve ever loved.”
“He’s determined, Mr. Gordon,” she said, turning and facing him. “As determined in his way as you are in yours.”
One eyebrow rose, an expression so similar to Devlen’s that she smiled.
“Just how am I determined?”
“You could have easily died in the carriage accident, I understand. Yet you survived.”
“On the contrary, Miss Sinclair. I was barely injured.”
He smiled, an expression so odd she felt a trickle of ice slide down her spine.
“Do you know what it’s like to love, Miss Sinclair? To love so desperately you would surrender your very soul?” He glanced at her. “Ah, I see you do. People can twist the force of that love into something else, something distorted and possibly evil.”
Slowly, he drew the lap robe off his legs. All this time she’d thought he was paralyzed, but there were only neatly hemmed trousers beneath his knees. Nothing else.
“My wife did that.” He stared at himself, his smile mocking. “She instructed the surgeon to amputate both my legs, even though there was no need. I might have lost a few toes, or had to use a cane perhaps, but that was the extent of my injuries.”
She stared at him, horrified. “Why?”
“Why does one cage a bird, Miss Sinclair, but to hear it sing? We don’t think about the bird’s freedom, only our own gratification.”
She held on to the doorjamb.
“My wife believed I was interested in other women. Are you up to hearing a confession? I was not a faithful husband. But I hardly think I deserved this punishment for my sins.”
She shook her head.
“All this time, I thought she was somehow behind the incidents involving Robert. She was capable of it.” He rolled to the end of the hall, stared out the small window at the vista of mountains in the distance. “I thought she wanted Robert to die to absolve herself of her great crimes. She would present me with the dukedom as if it could make up for the loss of my legs.”
Speech was beyond her. She’d never heard of anything more horrible. She’d been right all this time to think the atmosphere at Castle Crannoch malevolent.
Beatrice opened her door, suddenly wanting to be away from Cameron Gordon.
“He
’s left, you know.” He glanced at her. “Devlen’s left the castle.”
“Has he?” She folded her hands together, determined not to betray any of her emotions.
“You can still catch him, if you try.”
“I doubt he wants to see me again.”
“Love should always be given a chance, Miss Sinclair. Real love.” With that, he wheeled himself down the hall. In her mind, he’d always been an object of pity. Now she saw him as he was, a man altered by circumstances but not yet felled by them.
She walked to the window, staring down at the entrance to the castle. Devlen’s carriage rounded the corner of Castle Crannoch and disappeared from sight. From here, she couldn’t see the serpentine curves leading down to the valley.
How strange that anyone would begin a journey at the edge of nightfall. The sun was setting, the dying rays touching remnants of snow, and casting the world in a golden glow.
She might catch him. If she were brave enough.
The road curved back on itself in at least three places. The area closest to the castle was too high and too perilous to climb, but halfway down, embankments jutted out beside the road. By cutting across the retaining walls, she could shorten the distance. If she could make it past the first long curve not long after Devlen’s coach, she had a chance of reaching him before he made it to the bottom.
She left the cloak behind since it would only weigh her down, and raced for the stairs. Sunset colored the steps of the castle orange and red, and she blessed the fact night had not yet fallen. Even so, she would have taken the chance.
Beatrice took a deep breath, and began to run. She fell once, when slipping on a patch of ice, but picked herself up and raced for the curve. In the distance, she could see Devlen’s coach.
Dear God, please don’t let him leave. Don’t let him leave me.
She made it past the first curve, nearly falling again, but managing to find her balance as she skidded to the edge. Finally, she made it to the second curve, and without stopping to think, to reason, or to be afraid, she put one leg over the edge and said a quick prayer that the ground was stable and not covered with ice. A few scrub bushes aided her descent, and she held on to them as she made her way past the last curve. She was now almost even with the carriage. Either Devlen was traveling uncharacteristically slowly down the road, or she was blessed by Providence.