Marshal and the Heiress

by Potter, Patricia;

  “For how long?” he said. “I know you too well, love. As soon as Alistair’s petition is approved, I plan to leave Scotland—just a step ahead of my creditors.”

  Barbara stood there stunned. “Where …?”

  If he hadn’t been in such a terrible mood, Hugh might have felt some satisfaction at the strong emotion in her voice. He shrugged. “Maybe Australia or America. There’s gold to be found, I’m told. It’s better than poverty here.”

  “I have some money …”

  “It’s not enough, my love, and I’ll not live off you in any event. You’d end up despising me.”

  “There has to be something …”

  “With the exception of another accident, I don’t see anything.”

  “An accident?”

  “Jamie … your husband. Accidents seem to occur frequently in this family.”

  She shivered, and he pulled her into his arms. She turned her head to him, and his lips came down on hers. Desperation fueled his passion. How could he lose her?

  Her arms went around his neck and seconds later they were on his bed, consuming one another.

  Ben watched Sarah Ann’s eyes close. Annabelle, who’d complained long and loud about being left in the room, was now nestling in the crook of one of her arms, reeking of the fish she’d just consumed.

  Tenderness threatened to drown him. He hadn’t known it could be so strong, so powerful. He hadn’t known he could turn to mush just by looking at a tiny person. He pulled up the soft down comforter to cover her and found his hand lingering on her shoulder. Dear God, he wanted to keep her safe and happy forever. He didn’t know how he would ever be able to let her go.

  Ben straightened and forced himself to leave the room, going into his own room and closing the door. He changed to a more comfortable pair of denim trousers and cotton shirt, and pulled on his sheepskin coat. He needed some time alone—on horseback, where he could think. The inactivity, the lack of anything worthwhile to do, was eating into him.

  It was time to start learning about Scottish estates and Scottish farming. Because no matter what he decided—whether to stay or to find a manager to run Calholm—he wanted to make sure it was the best choice.

  The first step was to explore the estate. He already knew its boundaries from descriptions given to him by Alistair and Lisbeth. He’d not seen the outlying farms, though, the ones under dispute between Lisbeth and Hugh. The south fields, he’d been told, were used as the training field for Calholm’s jumpers. The north and west were mainly occupied by sheep, and the east by some twenty families trying to hold a few acres each in tenancy. Barbara and Hugh wanted to put sheep on those acres, too. The few shares of crops Calholm received from tenants were only a fraction of the income additional sheep would bring.

  He knew the argument. He’d been through it with Alistair, who had expressed the hope that Ben would preserve the farms.

  Although he’d made no commitments to anyone, Ben’s inclination was to preserve the farms. He’d seen land wars in his years of marshaling, and his sympathies had always gone to the homesteaders, who often worked from dawn until past nightfall to build something for their families. At times, he had been charged with the duty of ejecting homesteaders because they had settled on land that belonged to the government or to others. He’d hated that duty.

  But neither did he believe he could be a farmer. Or a sheepman.

  Ben made his way to the stable, greeted Geordie, the stable boy, and declined his offer to saddle Bailey. Ben found a saddle, and while he was checking the buckles, he heard barking from a back room. He looked curiously at Geordie.

  “’Enry,” the boy said. “He dinna like being left behind.”

  “Do you think it would be all right if he came with me?” Ben asked.

  The boy shrugged. “I dinna know why not. Lady Lisbeth dinna want him to ruin Shadow’s practice, but if he be wi’ you …”

  Ben saddled his horse, then liberated Henry from his prison. The dog exuberantly planted his paws on Ben’s chest.

  Ben rubbed the animal’s head. He’d never had a dog; his father had forbade it during his childhood, and then it had never seemed possible—or fair—given his long days as an attorney, then the war and the demands of being a marshal. So he’d been an easy victim when Sarah Ann had pleaded to save a half-starved cat.

  Henry barked enthusiastically and raced about as Ben swung into the saddle and trotted out of the stable heading eastward toward the tenant farms.

  The sun had made its way out of the ever-present Scottish clouds, warming the air and shining down on the gorse and the dark green hills. He thought he saw a rainbow, then decided it had been an illusion. So many things about this country seemed to be an illusion: the peaceful hills belying years of warfare and treachery and yet uncommon valor.

  As he crossed a hill, Ben saw smoke floating lazily into the sky from the chimney of a stone cottage below. Neatly kept fields, now lying fallow, carved patterns around the structure. He knew that the Calholm manor was staffed almost entirely by offspring of the tenant farmers; the small plots provided insufficient income for the tenants to live on.

  A dog barked, and Henry ran ahead, his own thunderous barks drowning out the others.

  As Ben approached, the door of the cottage opened and a woman peered out. A dog dodged past her body and ran toward Henry. The dogs greeted each other enthusiastically as Ben swung down from the saddle.

  “I’m—” he began.

  “I know who you be,” the woman said. “The new master.” Hostility flickered in her eyes.

  Master. The word startled him. He had fought a war so no one would have to use that word again.

  “Are ye going to run us from our land?”

  Ben couldn’t stop the slight smile that curved his lips. Being a master apparently did not make him the automatic recipient of servility. “I have no authority to run anyone from the land,” he said.

  “But ye will. My nephew Geordie said so.”

  “Then Fiona is your sister?”

  “Aye,” she said carefully.

  “She’s a fine cook.”

  “Na as fine as me,” the woman said belligerently. “I make the finest meat pie in the district.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Better than, Fiona’s?”

  She straightened her shoulders, age seeming to melt away from her, pride erasing tired lines. “I wouldna work for the grand house, na for any of the Marquess’s sons.”

  “Not even Jamie Hamilton?”

  She sniffed contemptuously. “He wa’ the worse of the lot. A wolf in lamb’s clothing he wa’.”

  They were the first unfavorable words Ben had heard about the sainted Jamie Hamilton, and they surprised him. “You are …?”

  “Eliza Crawford, and ye can go tattle to Lady Lisbeth. She never saw ’im for wha’ he was.”

  “I won’t go tattle to anyone,” he said. “And I have no intention of running anyone from their land.”

  A smile spread across her face. “Then ye be welcome to my home to ’ave a wee taste of my cooking.”

  Ben entered the cottage, noting the thatch roofing and the stone fireplace that also served as the stove. The one room was primitive, even compared to some of the sod shelters in the prairie. The smell of peat permeated every nook; it even dominated the smells coming from small crannies in the fireplace where pastries and bread were being baked.

  “’Tis not verra grand,” the woman said, “but it’s far better than the slums of Edinburgh or London.”

  “I’ve lived in much worse,” he said, and he had. Violent storms and winter blizzards with only a cave for protection.

  “In America?” she asked doubtfully. “I hear there be gold for the picking.”

  “Many believe so,” he said, “and many are disappointed. There’s gold, but it’s hard—and often dangerous—to find.”

  “Young Ian went to find gold.”

  “I know.” Ben took a seat at a table, and the woman placed in front of him a
plate with a warm sweet bun and a crock containing freshly churned butter. The pastry practically melted in his mouth. “You have the right of it, Mrs. Crawford,” he said. “You are a magnificent cook.”

  “Better than Fiona?”

  He grinned. “Ah, you’re not going to put me on that hot rock, are you?”

  “Ye do no’ look like a coward.” Her eyes lit with life, and he thought she must have been a very pretty girl. Now, she looked weighed down by life and sorrow.

  “When it comes to judging cooking, I am,” he said. “And I’ll not stand in the middle of a fight.”

  “I think ye be doing that right now,” she said, sobering instantly.

  “Between the sisters-in-law?”

  “Aye.”

  “It’s not a position of my choosing.”

  She looked at him with shrewd eyes. “But ye have chosen, haven’t ye?”

  “I don’t have the law on my side yet,” he said, “so I can choose nothing.”

  “Ye said ye have no intention of making us leave. Hugh Hamilton and Lady Barbara believe this land should be cleared for the sheep.”

  “Should it?”

  “The first marquess swore that our grandfathers—an’ their families—could live here forever.”

  “But he didn’t put it in writing?”

  She shook her head. “He saw no need. He told his son, and his son told his.”

  “And now there are no more sons.”

  “Nay,” she said sadly. “We know other tenants have been put from the land they tilled for years.”

  “Your husband?”

  “Dead these past ten years. My son, Alex, tends sheep for Calholm, but he loves the soil. His heart be in those fields outside.”

  Ben nodded. He’d known many westerners who had the same passion, and though he did not share it, he understood and had envied their love of land.

  “Did ye know young Ian?” she asked, changing the subject.

  He shook his head. “No, but there had to be good in him for him to have produced a fine daughter.”

  “He was a bonny lad, but wild,” she said sadly. “Nothing like the Marquess. None of the sons were. John Hamilton had honor.”

  “I think he would be proud of his granddaughter. She has a huge heart.”

  “So do ye, I think,” she said, “though ye try to hide it.”

  No one had accused him of that in years. Before Ben could think of a response, Eliza Crawford announced, “I would like to see the child. Geordie said she’s very bonny.”

  “Then you shall,” he said. “I’ll bring her by tomorrow.”

  She grinned toothlessly. “I’ll ’ave a meat pie ready.”

  “That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” he said. “Tomorrow afternoon, then.”

  “I be waiting.”

  “It’s been a pleasure,” he said, taking his leave. He noticed the sparkle was back in her eyes, and he felt his spirits lift as he strode out the door and to his horse.

  Despite the cool air, Lisbeth was bathed in sweat when she returned from an afternoon of jumping Shadow. She had ridden him ruthlessly, trying in vain to escape her tortured thoughts and the feelings that this morning’s expedition with Ben and Sarah Ann had aroused.

  She kept the stallion to a canter as she approached the stable yard, but slowed when she saw another horseman riding in from the east.

  Ben. Delightful. She’d spent most of the afternoon cursing his name.

  He pulled up, waiting for her. Henry the Eighth, who had apparently persuaded Ben to free him, came barreling on, barking rapturously when he saw her. She thought she also detected the slightest note of triumph in his greeting.

  Lisbeth’s hand instinctively pushed back the hair that had escaped its ribbon.

  Pulling his horse level with hers, Ben gave her that bloody crooked smile that made him look so infernally intriguing.

  “Lady Lisbeth,” he acknowledged.

  She hated it when he used that title. She knew most Americans disliked titles. For heaven’s sake, the colonials fought two wars with England to separate themselves from a title-plagued society.

  Lisbeth dearly wished she had a retort, but none came to mind, so she simply turned Shadow toward the stable. But a moment later, her curiosity got the best of her. “Deigning to view your new domain?”

  He raised an eyebrow at the asperity in her tone. “I thought it might be wise,” he said mildly. “I met Fiona’s sister. She’s an interesting woman.”

  Lisbeth was afraid to ask why. She liked Eliza Crawford, but the woman was opinionated and didn’t hesitate to express her views about the current members of the Hamilton family.

  “She didn’t care for your Jamie.”

  Lisbeth immediately stiffened. However, she ignored his comment, dismounting her horse and leading him to the door of the stable.

  Ben dismounted too and opened the stable door for her. Hugh had called Ben a ruffian, but, in truth, his manners, except for the occasional brusqueness, were impeccable.

  Timothy, one of the boys who worked in the stable with Geordie, approached her. “I’ll take yer horse and cool him down, my lady. And yers, sir.”

  Ben shook his head. “I’ll do it myself. Bailey and I are still getting acquainted.”

  Relinquishing Shadow to Geordie, Lisbeth hesitated a moment, reluctant to leave. “I’ll help you rub him down,” she heard herself saying to Ben. Now, why had she done that? Lisbeth could have kicked herself.

  He smiled. “I accept the offer. Sarah Ann will be up from her nap before long.”

  Lisbeth watched Ben as he deftly unsaddled the horse and undid the bit, then led the horse around the interior of the stable several times before leading him into the stall. She fetched two currying brushes from the tack room, giving one to him and keeping the other. Wordlessly, she started brushing the horse, trying desperately not to notice Ben’s strong hands moving along the animal’s withers.

  He started whistling a tune she’d never heard before, a lovely but rather mournful melody.

  “What is that song?” she asked when he finished.

  “‘Lorena,’” he said. “We used to sing it during the war, though it started out as a Reb song.”

  “What are the words?”

  He started singing softly, his voice a true tenor, and she was transfixed by the pure longing of the words.

  Years creep slowly by, Lorena.

  The snow is on the ground again.

  The sun slips down the sky, Lorena.

  The frost gleams where the flowers have been.”

  “It’s lovely,” she said.

  “It’s ingrained in my mind,” he replied. “You can’t imagine how many times I heard it. Someone said war was ninety-nine percent boredom and one percent pure terror. Songs were all that relieved the waiting. Nothing relieved the terror.”

  She couldn’t imagine Ben Masters being terrified of anything or anyone.

  “Were you ever in love?” she asked. The way he’d sung pricked her curiosity.

  “Once upon a time,” he said. “At least I thought I was. I thought she was.”

  Noting the cynicism in his tone, Lisbeth ventured to ask, “What happened?”

  “She didn’t want to marry a cripple,” Ben said flatly.

  Lisbeth’s eyes widened in shock. “She was a fool.”

  His hands were moving along the horse’s neck now. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “The doctors all said I would lose my leg. I couldn’t blame her.”

  Lisbeth could. No wonder he eyed her with such suspicion. His opinion of women had to be dismal.

  “What happened to her?”

  “She married a banker.”

  “And you went back to war?”

  “To staff headquarters. A weak leg didn’t matter so much there.”

  “You could have stayed home.”

  “I could have,” he said, “but there was something I had to do.”

  “What?”

  “I had to find someone.” He
finished his side of the horse, noticed she had completed hers, and placed a blanket on Bailey.

  “It’s time to look in on Sarah Ann,” he said.

  Question-and-answer session was over. He wasn’t going to say any more. He was probably sorry he’d said as much as he had.

  “Are you going back to the manor?” he asked.

  Lisbeth shook her head. “I have to talk to Callum.”

  “I’ll see you at dinner, then.”

  She didn’t want to sit at the same table with him. She didn’t want to subject herself to another rebuff. She didn’t want to need.

  “I don’t know,” she replied.

  “Sarah Ann will miss you.”

  And will you miss me? She couldn’t ask.

  “Good evening, then,” he said. “Sarah Ann enjoyed our morning ride. Thank you for it.” He left without another word, leaving her feeling bereft and more confused than ever.

  Ben cursed himself for being every kind of a fool. Why the hell had he told Lisbeth about Claire? Why had he sung that damn song? Why had he even thought of it?

  Pure instinct. He had been seeking a way to put distance between himself and Lisbeth. Instead, he’d succeeded in narrowing the gap. In those few minutes he’d spent with her currying the horse, he’d felt a closeness he’d never felt with another adult human being. Not Claire. Not his father. Not Mary May.

  The intimacy had been almost painful, yet, paradoxically, he’d felt an intuitive yearning to seek out that intimacy. As if blinders had been removed from his eyes, he suddenly realized that the closeness he’d shared with Lisbeth was the experience he’d been searching for all his life.

  And it scared him to death. Scared him as he’d never been scared before. He wanted more of it, wanted it so badly he could taste and feel and smell it. But if he allowed Lisbeth to get any closer to him, would she betray his trust? Or would he find out he’d been taken in by a woman who didn’t care for him but only wanted to use him to further her own ends?

  He couldn’t afford another betrayal. He doubted he would survive another. Hell, after the last one, he’d headed straight for the bottle, and it had taken months to regain control of his life.

  But as Ben thought about her kind and lovely eyes and felt yet again their pull, he wondered how long he could go on denying himself the chance to have what his heart so clearly wanted.