Unraveled By The Rebel

by Michelle Willingham

  Paul led her away from the crofters, and she adjusted the sleeping kitten in her arms. He saw the direction of her attention and asked, “What will you name him?”

  She shrugged. “I’m not sure. Do you have any suggestions?”

  A mischievous look came over his face. “My suggestions wouldna be appropriate, I fear.” He guided her deeper into the woods, until they were surrounded by trees. Several of the stouter limbs held a cloak of snow.

  “We had a wolfhound come to live with us once,” he continued. “You remember what I named him.”

  “Horse.” She’d nearly forgotten about the dog, after so long.

  “He was the size of one. When I was a lad, I tried to ride him, but the dog didna care for it.”

  The thought of Paul attempting to ride the animal amused her. “I don’t suppose he did.”

  Juliette studied the kitten and held him up. In a teasing voice, she suggested, “Should I confuse everyone and call him Dog?”

  His face softened. “Or you could call him ‘My Mind.’”

  At her confusion, he offered, “When he goes off mousing, you could say, ‘My Mind’s gone wandering off’ or ‘I’ve lost My Mind.’”

  She groaned at the thought. “That’s terrible.”

  “Aye.” His wicked smile warmed her, and she couldn’t resist one of her own. He tucked her arm in his as they kept walking, and his face softened for the barest moment. She found herself nervous beneath his gaze. “I havena seen you smile in a long time.”

  The way he was looking at her now spoke of a man who didn’t plan to remain only friends. Though he didn’t touch her at all, he rested one hand upon a thin birch, his body leaning close to hers. Fear bolted up inside her as the bad memories came roaring back.

  “I shouldn’t be out walking with you.” She adjusted the squirming kitten in her arms and started to turn away.

  “Wait,” he said. His voice held the commanding air of a man who did not intend to let her go. Then he paused and added, “Please.”

  He didn’t understand. He seemed to believe that if he kept pursuing her, eventually she would weaken. Before she could say no, he continued. “I didna ask you here to make you feel cornered, Juliette. But there are things that I would say to you, before you leave Scotland.”

  She didn’t want to hear any of it. Already, her skin was prickling with the knowledge that he cared for her. He wanted her, and she had nothing left to give him.

  “I wish you’d stay,” he said simply.

  “I can’t,” she insisted. Though she’d returned for her sister’s wedding, she needed to be back in London with her son. She could think of no greater joy than to watch Matthew grow up before her eyes. If it were possible, she’d have been his nursemaid. But then, ladies were not supposed to become servants.

  The kitten had sunk its claws into her sleeve, and she gently pried it away. “You really should take the kitten back, Dr. Fraser. We don’t have a home now, and I shouldn’t keep him.”

  “An animal doesna care where you live, so long as he’s loved.” Paul reached over to ruffle the kitten’s ears and took him from her.

  “It would be too difficult right now,” she admitted. And every time she saw the animal, she would think of Paul.

  “He wants naught but to be close to you,” Paul said, his dark blue eyes staring at her. “To sleep beside you and have you look upon him with a smile.”

  Blood rushed to her face, for she suspected he was no longer talking about the kitten. Before she could find the words to tell him no, he cut her off. “I remember what you said to me last night in the barn. But I also remember that we were friends once. And I’m no’ wanting to lose that.” His eyes locked with hers. He’d shielded all emotion from his gaze, watching her with a patience she didn’t understand.

  “Why?” Her palm clenched and unclenched, so afraid of what he was asking.

  “Because you’re worth waiting for.”

  The words were like salt against her wounded heart. If he knew anything about her past, he would never say such words. “I need to be back in London,” she reminded him. “And I don’t know if I’ll ever return.”

  Paul’s expression sobered. Then his eyes held a sudden knowledge that struck her hard. “You’re running away.”

  “N-no. I like it in London. I lived there for most of my girlhood.”

  He studied her for a long moment, as if he didn’t believe her. “And that’s where you would be happiest?”

  She gave a nod without any hesitation at all. Though it wasn’t the place that drew her there. It was the sweet angel whose laugh had brightened her heart. And because there, she was safe from harm. “I don’t suppose I’ll see you again, will I?”

  He gave the kitten back to her. “Are you wanting to?”

  Color suffused her face, and she turned her gaze downward to avoid looking at him. If she let him see her eyes, he’d know the truth—that the loss of his friendship wasn’t at all what she wanted. But there was no choice, was there?

  “Be safe,” she said quietly. She had no right to lower the walls around her heart, not when she was incapable of making him happy. It would only hurt both of them.

  A thread of anger knotted inside her until she couldn’t help but stare into his dark blue eyes. It wasn’t fair. She wanted to go back to the beginning, to be the girl she’d once been. She wanted to be honest with Paul and confess what had happened, feeling the sanctuary of his arms around her.

  But admitting the truth would change nothing. She could not let him love her, nor risk her own heart. She held on to the kitten with one hand, forcing back the urge and strengthening her resolve to say nothing. No, he wouldn’t understand.

  She took a deep breath and bared one truth to him. “I will miss you when I go.” Before she could lose her nerve, she reached out and touched his roughened cheek.

  Paul stared at the snowdrifts for a long time, his mind in turmoil. Juliette wanted to return to London. The thought of living in the crowded streets was not something he relished. He’d accepted the necessity of living in Edinburgh during his medical studies, but he’d ached for his beloved Highlands.

  Here was where he belonged. Here, he was among his family and friends, and they needed him. So many had suffered from the evictions. Aside from his mother, the clan’s midwife and healer, Paul was the only man with medical knowledge to help them. Left with naught but superstitions and remedies passed on by their grandmothers, the crofters often did more harm to the wounded folk than good.

  A part of him believed that if he’d known how to stop the bleeding on the night of the raid, he might have saved Malcolm and the factor.

  He might have saved his father, if they hadn’t died.

  After he’d gone to live with his uncle, Donald Fraser, in Edinburgh, he’d vowed that one day, he would become a doctor. Although it wouldn’t bring back those he’d lost, Paul wanted to save the lives of others. He’d taken the knowledge passed on by his mother, intending to use it to prove he was worthy of acceptance into medical school.

  But then, his uncle had revealed a secret that had ripped the foundation of his life apart.

  His father had never spoken of his brothers, only saying that they were from Edinburgh originally and that he’d left to wed Bridget. Paul had never met his paternal grandfather, nor anyone from that side of the family. Not until he’d been sent away.

  When his mother had forced him to leave after his father’s death, he’d thought it was banishment. Now he wondered if she hadn’t been trying to mend her husband’s broken past. By sending Paul away, she’d given him the chance for another life. Yet, from the first moment he’d met his uncle, he had believed Donald Fraser despised him.

  “So, Bridget sent you to me, did she?” His uncle Donald rubbed absently at his salt-and-pepper beard. His eyebrows tufted above his eyes as if he were a bird staring at its prey. “How old are you, boy?”

  “I’ll be eighteen in a few months.” Paul straightened, trying to appear
older. Exhaustion weighed down upon him, for he hadn’t slept for more than a few minutes at a time on the journey south from Ballaloch. Most of the trip had been on a farmer’s wagon, with nothing to shield him from the rain. He’d spent days miserable in cold, wet clothing.

  “That would make you seventeen,” Fraser corrected. “Answer the question correctly, and don’t bother me with information that doesn’t matter.” His eyes narrowed upon him. “Your mother says they hanged your father for a crime you committed. Is it true?”

  “I killed no one.” Frustration and grief poured through him at the raw memory. “It was my friend Malcolm who wanted to raid.” His hands clenched into fists. “He and my father are dead because of Lord Strathland.” The bemused expression on his uncle’s face angered him even more. What reason did he have to smile when Paul’s life had come crashing down around him?

  “I suppose you think to avenge their deaths? Having all the wisdom of a lad who believes he’s a man.”

  “Strathland will pay for what he did, aye.”

  Fraser studied him from head to toe. “You haven’t two coppers to rub together, and you’re naught but an uneducated Highlander. How could you ever be anything except dirt under the earl’s feet? You’re nothing and never will be.”

  The mockery sent Paul’s fury over the edge. He grabbed Fraser’s shirt and shoved him against the wall. “Don’t be talking to me like that. I will bring him down. I swear it, on my life.” His blood thundered through him at the taunt. He didn’t care if no one believed it but him.

  “If you attack him with that sort of rage, it will cost you your life.” Fraser pressed him back gently, straightening his coat. “You haven’t the first idea of what it takes to bring down a man of his rank.” He lowered his voice, and it held an edge Paul had never guessed. “Unless you put aside your anger and learn.”

  The words quieted his anger, offering him a pathway of hope. “What do you mean?”

  “You want him gone from Scotland, am I right?”

  Paul nodded, letting out a slow breath. If the earl abandoned his property there, they could live in peace with no one to tell them how to live. “I do.”

  Fraser walked over to a bookshelf containing leather-bound volumes. He reached inside and pulled one out. “Killing Strathford won’t make him go away. His heirs will only rise up and grow stronger. A man of his power will yield only to a greater power. And you, lad, have no power at all.” His uncle handed him the book. “Can you read?”

  Paul nodded, for his father had taught him since he was a lad. “Well enough.”

  “Good.” He pointed to the shelf of books. “Your education will be the gateway to power. Learn quickly, and you can change yourself.”

  He might have suspected his uncle would try to fight his battles without fists. Paul didn’t believe it for a moment. What good were books and learning when it came to Strathland, who could twist the law into what he wanted?

  “Why should I? I could wait a few months, return, and burn his home to the ground.”

  “The coward’s path,” Fraser chided. “And what then? You’ll go back to herding sheep until they bring you to trial and hang you. Just like your father.”

  Before Paul realized what had happened, Fraser grabbed his shirt and slammed him against the bookcase. His head knocked against the wooden shelf, and he saw stars for a moment. “And here I thought you were smarter than that.” His uncle eyed him with distaste.

  “I am smart,” he gritted out, tasting blood on his lip. “But books willna avenge my father’s death.”

  Fraser released him. “Go back to Scotland, then, if that’s what you want. Kill the earl, and waste your life. I won’t grieve for the loss of a brainless lad.”

  “I canna let it go,” Paul insisted.

  “Don’t you understand, lad? Dying is easy. Wouldn’t you rather he suffered for his sins? Would it not be a greater punishment for him to live in the same poverty he put you in?”

  Paul hadn’t considered that, but his uncle’s words made him hesitate.

  “If you were a more intelligent lad, you’d know that patience would bring a greater fall to the earl. As it is…” His uncle lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “You’ll hide away in Edinburgh for a few months, return to Ballaloch with a loaded pistol, and end both your lives.” He shook his head, his mouth curling with a dark smile. “Because you’re too eager to act now, instead of learning how to truly bring down your enemy.”

  He wove another picture with his words: “Imagine Strathland suffering through a winter with no food. With not a coin in his pocket, debt-ridden, until his heirs inherit nothing. He’ll have to sell off any unentailed land, possibly the property in Scotland. Or he’ll abandon it to live in a dirt-ridden hovel in the city, bemoaning his lack of coin until he drinks himself to death. That would be a more fitting revenge. To bring him down where he belongs.”

  Paul’s earlier rage had died down, and the image of a fallen earl was more welcome than a dead one. Strathland had never known hardship. He’d never gone to sleep hungry, the empty ache in his stomach making it impossible to rest. He’d never shivered beneath a thin coverlet or worn patched shoes in the deep winter snows. Not the way Paul had.

  “What must I do?”

  “Watch those who are wealthy. Learn from them, and discover their weaknesses.” His uncle gestured toward his house. “I am not a poor man, though I was like you once. Did your father ever tell you about me?” There was a sudden narrowing of the man’s eyes, as if he were hiding secrets.

  Paul shook his head. “I ne’er knew he had brothers. He didna talk of you at all.”

  His uncle Donald shrugged. “Kenneth was the youngest of three brothers. We grew up in this house.”

  Paul was startled to hear it. He’d never guessed that there was any money at all on his father’s side of the family.

  “You’re probably wondering why Kenneth turned his back on us. Our father threw him out when he wanted to marry your mother. He was hot-headed and lashed out, saying he’d never come back or have anything to do with us.”

  “Then why would my mother send me to you?” Paul asked.

  “Because your mother was wiser than Kenneth. She knew that you were all that was left of us. One day, this will all come to you. If you prove yourself worthy of an inheritance.”

  The grandfather he’d never seen had turned out to be a viscount. Even now, the revelation stunned Paul.

  Kenneth Fraser had never behaved any differently, tending sheep like the other crofters. Though Paul knew the Frasers were from Edinburgh, his father had never gone to visit his family. Now, he understood why—because his father was trying to hide his grandfather’s title.

  Bridget had known, and that was why his mother had sent him away, after his father had been executed. Not only to keep him safe from Strathland’s men, but to reveal the truth.

  “Ye’ll learn to be a gentleman,” Bridget had told him. “Your father ne’er wanted that life, but you should leave Ballaloch to see the world. Donald will teach you what you need to know.”

  He hadn’t cared about manners or learning to be a gentleman and had told her so. But Bridget had insisted, and now he knew the reason.

  A title. Wealth. Both would irrevocably change his life. Any other man would be grateful for the money, but Paul was too aware of his kinsmen who had endured freezing nights with naught but a tent and a fire to stay warm.

  God above, he didn’t want the title. What right did he have to hide away in Edinburgh, dining with silver and crystal, when his friends and kinsmen were here suffering? He wanted to remain the man he was, bent upon vengeance against the earl, determined to bring down Strathland’s wool empire. The only reason that title had value was because it gave Paul the chance for a future with Juliette.

  For so long, he’d dreamed of walking in the glen beside her. Of courting her and seeing her smile. If he let her go to London now, there was no chance for them.

  Paul walked through the snow, his foo
tsteps crunching upon the surface. All his life, he’d been a man who believed in fate. From the moment he’d laid eyes on Juliette, he’d known that she was meant to be his. And if he had to choose between following her to London or living here without her, there was no question of where he would go.

  He trudged back to the rows of tents, his breath forming clouds in the winter air. Although the snowfall was lighter on this side of the glen, it was still bitterly cold. He passed by campfires and hoped that one day there would be warm houses instead of threadbare tents.

  As he walked up the hillside, the grim memory of his father’s death lingered. The trial had been a farce, with all of the people agreeing with whatever Lord Strathland wanted. His father had been hanged on this hill, for a murder he hadn’t committed.

  All to save his only son’s life.

  Paul stared down at the glittering snow. Never had he forgotten how his father had died. And though he’d longed to fight back, to put a bullet through the man’s head, his uncle had talked sense into him. Heated revenge would only end in his own death.

  Money and wealth equaled power in the earl’s world. That was the way to bring down Strathland—not with midnight raids or stealing supplies, though he’d done his share of both in the past year. Paul refused to feel guilty about stealing grain to feed children who were hungry. If the earl hadn’t driven them off their land, they would have had stored supplies to last them through the winter. Instead, Strathland’s men had stripped the gardens, taking whatever food they’d wanted.

  No, it was better to bankrupt the earl. In that case, London might well be the best solution to Paul’s dilemma. He could educate himself about the wool business, learning how to bring the earl to his knees when no one would buy his fleeces. Strathland’s fortune rested upon the sale of wool. Without it, he would lose everything.

  Paul could make a place for himself there, perhaps as a private physician to a nobleman. In doing so, he could also be close to Juliette.