Suffering The Scot (Brotherhood 0f The Black Tartan Book 1)

by Nichole Van

  Andrew caught her before she hit the floor, pulling her tight into his arms.

  Her despair shattered him, shredding his soul with agonizing shards.

  Could he truly condemn Peter to death?

  But . . . did he have any other choice? Laws existed for a reason. He had a duty to the other members of the Brotherhood. To society as a whole.

  Actions had consequences.

  Jane’s tears wrecked him.

  She clung to his arms, shoulders heaving, soundless as she soaked his waistcoat with her weeping. Of course she made no sound. His Jane didn’t do grand histrionics or noisy emotional displays.

  Her quiet, anguished suffering was all the more devastating for it.

  “I c-cannot b-bear this g-g-grief,” she hiccupped. “It is t-too m-much.”

  “Mo chridhe, I am so sorry,” he murmured into her hair, stroking her back. “I dinnae know what to do. I cannae negate the law. I cannae deny justice for Jamie and all the others. It would no’ be right.”

  She shook harder. “P-Peter is my entire w-world. M-my brother. H-he is the only p-person who loves—”

  . . . who loves me . . . Andrew finished the sentence for her.

  He is the only person who loves me.

  An aching knot clung to his throat, choking him.

  That was not true.

  “Not the only person, Jane.” He stroked her hair, kissing her head. He offered her the only truth he could. “I love you. I love you, too, mo chridhe.”

  She sobbed harder, clinging to him.

  How could he do this to her? How could he watch her shed her layers of prim behavior and encourage her to find herself, just to shatter her with Peter’s betrayal?

  How could Andrew hand her his heart and yet destroy her own?

  But . . .

  He couldn’t rescue Peter from the consequences of his ghastly decisions. He couldn’t send Wanleigh packing or swap Montacute for a kinder brother.

  But he could be her rock in the eye of the storm. His chest was broad enough for her grief. She clung to him, hands fisted into Jamie’s tartan, watering it with her tears.

  Her heartbreak was his own.

  But the harder she cried, the more she shook her head . . . back and forth, right, left. Finally, she shoved his chest, pulling on Jamie’s tartan.

  “No.” She shook her head again. “No!” She pushed away from him, staggering to her feet. “I will not accept this! I will not allow my brother to hang! I will not give up on Peter!”

  “Jane—” He stood.

  “No!” She backed away from him, face splotched and red from her crying. “I have f-fought my entire life for Peter. I gave up my childhood. I c-contorted and changed my very soul to keep us t-together.” She swiped an angry hand across her eyes. “Again and again, I gave in to every ridiculous d-demand Montacute and my m-mother threw my way just to ensure that Peter and I were not s-separated.”

  She continued to retreat, swiping at her cheeks.

  “Please, Jane, let me—”

  “No! What don’t you understand?!” She hurled the words at him. “Peter has always been my entire world! You cannot have him. I will not let you!”

  “Jane, this isnae only my decision—”

  “You can’t steal my whole world, Andrew! No, worse!” She jabbed a finger at him. “You cannot condemn my world to hang and then expect that I will have a heart left for you.”

  She gave one last angry swipe of her cheeks with clenched fists, surely pressing nails into her palms.

  “I reject your love, Andrew.” She nearly spat the words. “I will not accept it. My heart is too broken to ever accept yours.”

  “Jane—” He took a step toward her.

  She whirled and raced from the room.

  The slammed door reverberated behind her.

  The sound echoing that of his own soul shattering.

  29

  Andrew stumbled through the day, mind in a fog, the painful conversation with Jane a haunting refrain in his ears.

  It didn’t help that Montacute emerged from his room determined to make Andrew’s life a living hell. He made ducal demands and kept Andrew dancing in attendance until the dinner gong sounded.

  After their discussion in the library, Jane wrapped herself in brittle silence, her face an expressionless mask, her manners excruciatingly polite. Montacute, of course, had complimented Jane on her ‘impeccable’ behavior.

  Surely her inner turmoil was as chaotic as Andrew’s own.

  I reject your love.

  His useless heart thumped and panged every time he replayed her words in his head.

  Half of him ached to agree with her. Peter had been young. More to the point, Andrew knew the young man. Peter might be impetuous and spoiled, but he wasn’t mean and cruel. He could grant Peter mercy, reclaim Jane’s affection, and bask again in the joy of her glowing eyes.

  But the other half remembered the horror of those days in the New Hebrides. The suffering. The catastrophic loss. The vow they had all made, over and over, to bring Jamie’s killer to justice.

  Andrew honestly didn’t know which half to side with. A decision had to be made. He was simply waiting until Rafe and Kieran arrived.

  It wasn’t until after dinner, when night had truly fallen, that the butler pulled Andrew aside.

  “Mr. Langston is nowhere to be found,” the man said without preamble. “I sent a footman with a dinner tray, only to find that Mr. Langston’s bed had not been slept in. I then made inquiries and realized one of the horses is missing from the home farm.”

  Damn and blast!

  Peter had fled.

  Andrew placed his hands on his hips, the sounds of Montacute’s languid voice carrying from the drawing room.

  Peter had a full day’s head start. He would be on a boat to heaven-knew-where before Andrew caught him now.

  Had the decision been taken from them?

  “This also came for you via the evening express post.” The butler handed him a letter. Its contents were brief.

  We arrive tomorrow morning.

  —Rafe

  Andrew stuffed the note into his pocket. His mind screamed at him to saddle his horse and take off after Peter. But there was no moon tonight and travel would be difficult.

  He had to wait for his friends to arrive.

  “I get tae bloody him afore we start asking questions,” Kieran said.

  “You can’t pummel a man without giving him a chance to speak,” Rafe replied.

  “Watch me.”

  “I thought you had become fond of Peter?” Rafe asked.

  Kieran shrugged, swallowing hard.

  Andrew was standing in the stable yard with his friends, waiting for his horse to be saddled and fresh mounts prepared for Rafe and Kieran. Early morning mist rose from the surrounding fields, threading through the trees.

  “How is Jane?” Rafe asked Andrew, pulling on his riding gloves.

  Andrew grimaced, adjusting his tartan sash. They all wore Jamie’s tartan this morning. “Poorly. Her heart is fair broken. She took tae her rooms early last night and hasn’t come out.”

  More to the point, after storming out of the library, she had not uttered another word to Andrew.

  Jane’s heartbreak would not ebb. Andrew felt it pounding against his own.

  “Do ye think she’ll ever forgive me for this?” he asked.

  A beat of silence.

  “I don’t know,” Rafe replied. “Peter is the only person who genuinely treats her like family.”

  “Aye.”

  Andrew knew it to be more than that.

  He is the only person who loves me.

  “Damn idiot lad to set all this in motion.” Rafe settled his hat further on his head.

  “Aye. He may not have kent all the consequences of his decision—”

  “He put a price on your life, Andrew.”

  “And that, even without the rest, is a hangable offense,” Kieran finished.

  Andrew huffed. �
�If it were only me that he offended, I could easily show mercy to the man. But we all know it’s much more involved—”

  “Bloody stupid lad,” Kieran spat. “Did he think we were too dumb tae ever figure it out? How could he have thought tae get away with this?”

  “She begged me to show Peter mercy,” Andrew said. “Justice will not save Jamie’s life, she said. But mercy will save Peter.”

  Rafe scuffed his foot. “That’s not an untrue point—”

  “Ye cannae be serious?” Kieran turned to him, eyes wide. “We have been seeking justice for years—”

  “Aye,” Rafe nodded, “but sometimes even justice has cruel consequences. I’m merely acknowledging that Jane has a point about mercy—”

  “Mercy?” Kieran all but spat the word. “Jamie died—” His voice broke. He clenched his jaw. “Where was the mercy in that? Where is the mercy for ma hurting heart? For Jamie’s kin mourning their loss? We deserve justice.”

  Andrew nodded. He did not expect Kieran to feel any differently.

  What were they to do?

  Light filtered through the trees. Andrew shifted his feet, eager to be off. At last, a pair of grooms led the horses out of the stable block.

  “We all know that this situation is not so simple,” Andrew said. “Attempted murder of a Peer is a capital offense. This means the charge would be referred to the assizes where it would be a public spectacle. Every part of our voyage would be examined frontwards and back. I’m not sure we can withstand such scrutiny.”

  “Aye, we seem to be caught between Scylla and Charybdis,” Rafe agreed, pulling himself into the saddle. “At the very least, the undue publicity would destroy everyone’s reputation by association—Lady Jane, the Earldom of Hadley, even Montacute himself.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that.” Andrew settled into his saddle.

  “Mark ma words, there will be justice for Jamie. I’ll find a way,” Kieran growled, heaving upward. “But we have to catch the scabby eejit first.”

  “Aye,” Rafe agreed. “It might be a lost cause at this point.”

  Andrew kicked his horse into a gallop, the others close behind. They would cut across his lands to the northern road.

  Wind rustled through the trees, sending a portent hum through the air. They tore over the wee bridge where Andrew had first met Jane and climbed the hill surrounding the old quarry.

  They were nearly past it when Andrew spotted the figure sitting on the ground near the quarry’s edge, knees drawn up, calmly throwing rocks over the cliff. A horse was hobbled away from the insecure rim, contentedly munching on grass.

  Andrew instantly slowed, recognizing the set of the man’s shoulders.

  “Well, that’s an anticlimax,” Kieran muttered.

  Peter swiveled his head, noted their approach, and then turned back to the quarry. He tossed another rock over the edge.

  They pulled to a stop beside Peter’s horse, all swinging down from their saddles.

  Peter remained impassive, keeping his back to them.

  “Och!” Kieran grumbled, waving a hand toward Peter. “I cannae bloody a man who doesnae present a fighting stance.”

  Holding out a staying hand to his friends, Andrew approached his heir, stopping well away from the dangerous edge.

  “You’ve found me. What will you do now?” Peter asked, head turned away from them.

  It was a fair question: what was he going to do now?

  “Would it do any good to ask why ye did it?” Andrew asked.

  “I dinnae care why he did it,” Kieran called behind Andrew. “I demand justice for Jamie and all the others.”

  Peter pitched his head to the side, registering Kieran’s words, but still keeping his back to them.

  “Why did ye do it?” Andrew repeated.

  Peter shrugged, shifting to be sitting sideways to the rim, face in profile to Andrew. “Do you truly care for an answer?”

  “Aye. I genuinely do.”

  The young man shook his head. “Shall I tell you of my indifferent father, his distant affection and hazy regard for me? I spent my childhood desperate for his love and felt the pain, over and over, of being unworthy of it. Jane would tell me that the old earl’s indifference was just a symptom of his person. That my father valued his station and position in society more than his spare heir. That I received no kindness nor affection because the old man had none to give.”

  Peter gave a bitter laugh. “And then I found those damnable letters, oozing pride and affection. He adored you, Andrew Mackenzie, his beloved grandson and heir.” He jabbed a finger at Andrew. “I was so jealous—”

  “Jealous? Of me?”

  “Yes, of you, Hadley.” Peter laughed, a caustic burst of sound. “The worst part? The old earl’s affection for you showed me that the man was capable of love. He just didn’t find me worth any.”

  Andrew winced.

  “And then you show up here, Hadley,” Peter continued, “with your rustic ways—which we all now know were an act—and you . . .” His voice drifted for a moment, chest heaving, swallowing back emotion. “. . . and you saw me. You believed in me, treated me like a brother. You understood that I needed a purpose, something of my own to feel satisfaction and pride in doing. I tried to hate you for it. I honestly did.”

  Peter tossed another rock over the cliff, a slightly larger one this time. A thin section of the edge sloughed away.

  Peter appeared unconcerned.

  Andrew couldn’t say he felt the same.

  “Do you hate me?” Andrew asked.

  A long pause.

  And then, so softly . . . “No, I tried, but I cannot. You have this wretchedly-annoying habit of being almost unbearably likable.”

  Rafe snorted. “Aye, it’s our trial to bear as his friends,” he muttered too low for Peter to hear.

  “So I ask you again, Hadley, what will you do with me now? Drag our family name through the filth of a public trial? Take the law into your own hands and execute me yourself here and now?”

  Peter punctuated his comments by tossing a much larger stone into the quarry, deliberately clipping the edge, causing more of it to fall away.

  Execute me yourself?

  The sheer unexpected audacity of his questions stopped Andrew’s breathing for a moment.

  “Why are you here, Peter?” Andrew asked instead.

  Peter snorted, slowing rising to his feet, kicking a few more stones into the quarry. Andrew longed to tug the young man back from the edge, ensuring his safety.

  He stayed planted in place.

  “I thought you would be on a boat bound for New York by now,” Andrew continued.

  “I intended to be.” Peter turned to face Andrew. “I rode to Dover and was going to board a ship to Calais and, from there, to America. Start a new life.”

  Silence.

  “But . . .” Andrew prompted.

  “But . . . I arrived in Dover at an inopportune time. A ship had sunk overnight in the channel. A crowed was gathered in the harbor, awaiting news.” He paused. “There were no survivors, in the end. The wailing of the women and children over their lost loved ones, the grief and pain . . .”

  Ah. Andrew thought he understood.

  His heir’s face washed with emotions: horror, misery, heartache.

  “I didn’t mean to harm so many people.” Peter dashed an angry hand across his eyes. “I was stupid and rash and young, but that doesn’t excuse my decisions. I did intend to harm you.” He stabbed a finger at Andrew. “Of that, I am one hundred percent guilty. I can live with that particular guilt. But the deaths of so many others, of the lives ruined because a father never came home . . .” His eyes filled with anguish. “That I cannot forgive myself for.”

  “Nor should ye!” Kieran spat from behind Andrew.

  Andrew shot his friend a silencing look, hoping to stem Kieran’s bloodthirsty need for vengeance.

  Peter clenched his fists. “I tried to run away, but as I watched the women sobbing on the wharf, I rea
lized I would never be free. The deaths of all those people will haunt me until I die. I’m not the boy I was at seventeen, cocky and arrogant.” He waved a hand in Andrew’s direction. “I figured throwing myself on your mercy and the mercy of the courts would be easier than living with my conscience for the rest of my days. I deserve to hang for my actions. I truly do. So . . . do with me what you will.” Peter glanced back at the quarry’s edge, a speaking glance.

  Almost a dare.

  Take your vengeance, his look said. Toss me over the edge and no one will ever know I didn’t die an accidental death. No one would contest the word of an earl.

  Andrew looked back and forth between the edge and Peter. Such a simple solution. Jamie and the rest would be avenged. Jane would have closure, and Andrew could potentially win her back.

  But . . .

  Andrew shook his head. Such a solution did not give him even a moment’s pause.

  Easy answers were a child’s way out.

  Andrew had become an adult long ago.

  There was a better way here.

  “Come, Peter,” he beckoned.

  Notching his chin higher, Peter crossed the few steps separating them.

  Andrew grabbed the younger man into a rough hug, slapping him hard on the back. For his part, Peter stood stiff in Andrew’s arms, mutely accepting the offered affection.

  Andrew pulled back, keeping a hand around Peter’s elbow. “I’m proud of ye for doing the right thing.”

  Peter blinked. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “You’re a good lad, for all that. I forgive ye for trying tae have me killed.”

  Peter sighed. “I truly dislike how ridiculously likable you are, you know?”

  “I ken that. But don’t go offering me praise quite yet. Me forgiving ye doesn’t change the result of your actions. I am by no means the only wronged party in all this. There will have to be consequences, but I am willing tae work those out if others agree.” Andrew grimaced, taking a step back and motioning behind him. “Kieran? What say ye?”

  Kieran clenched his teeth, but Andrew saw the anguished acceptance in his friend’s eyes.

  Kieran swallowed.

  And then swallowed again, Adam’s apple bobbing.