by Fiona Faris
Gorse and the sweet smell of wet mud scented the well-ridden path. Empty flower stalks shivered in the gentle embrace of grass and rushes. The breeze lifted the sound of a curlew from the far side of the water.
The sound made the duke shudder. It reminded him of the high-pitched cry a girl could make…Wherever she was, he hoped that his daughter was not making that sound, so desolate and hopeless, it filled his heart with an ache. The surrounding hills echoed silently in impassive indifference to the distress he felt.
The duke looked up at the stone barbican as it came into view. He reminded himself of the intelligence they had gathered as they rode. None of the lairds in their path had been willing to cross an English lord so close to the king. They had told him more than he ever wanted to know about Lachie Buchanan and what he was capable of. They had chronicled his father’s request to act without interference. That they had washed their hands – after all, the bastard had stolen the son of the laird’s bride. It was clear that he had to be punished. They had no idea he meant to harm the girl.
He found it in his heart to feel sorry for Ethan Buchanan; betrayed by all and mourned by none. Still, he knew there was still time. Ethan had his own men, and they had not left his daughter to her fate.
Please, Lord, let them have arrived in time to save her.
* * *
The butler entered the dining hall where they were holding a tense supper, looking flustered. “My laird, we have visitors,” he announced.
Barclays raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Who is it?”
The butler’s eyes flicked towards Georgiana and then back to Buchanan. “Tis, the duke.”
Barclays got to his feet in surprise.
“H-he has an entire troop of watchmen with him, sir,” the butler continued.
Buchanan pushed his chair back and strode from the room, Ethan hard on his heels. Not to be left behind. Georgiana and Ethan’s stepmother followed along.
At the front door, they were greeted by the sight of the duke and duchess of Bellingwick mounted on horseback and followed by a contingent of at least ten kilted men of the watch. Georgiana gasped. “Papa!” she cried before lunging down the stairs. In a flash, the duke was off his horse and holding his hands out to catch her.
“Papa! You’re here…” Georgiana said. She let her father hold her for a moment before turning to her beaming mother.
“You’re alright,” her mother whispered before enveloping her in her arms. Ethan saw Georgiana wince at the pressure her mother was putting on her back and stepped forward. Georgiana caught sight of him at the corner of her eye and shook her head.
“Yes. I’m fine. Mama…what did…what are you doing here?”
Her mother held Georgiana away from her, really looking at her daughter. “Your father and I got word of your troubles,” she said before her eyes sought Ethan’s. He sighed, moving forward.
“Your Graces, it…you are welcome. Won’t you…and your men come in and take some refreshment? We can speak in the comfort of the drawing-room.”
Barclays tripped over himself as he scurried forward towards the duke, “Y-yes, please, welcome to my humble abode, Your Graces.”
He pointed towards the house, bowing for them to enter. The duke and duchess exchanged glances before the duke offered her one hand and his daughter the other. “Let us go and sort this business!”
* * *
The watchmen were settled in the conservatory with tankards of ale, a barrel of whisky and a table groaning under the feast that Mrs. McDonald had conjured up. The duke and duchess were ensconced in the parlor with their daughter sitting between them.
“What is this I hear about my daughter being abducted?” he asked, and then narrowed his eyes at Ethan, “and do not think for a moment, young man, that I am not aware of your duplicity.”
Ethan nodded resignedly, getting to his feet. “Then, please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Ethan Alasdair Buchanan, bastard son of,” he turned to indicate his father, “Barclays Alasdair Buchanan and half-brother to Lachie Alasdair Buchanan.”
“So you did not lie about your name, you just left out the first one,” the duchess added coldly.
Ethan gave a short nod. “That I did. I apologize for the subterfuge. However, I am sorry to say that I dinna regret it.”
Georgiana beamed at him.
“And my daughter knew all of this when she married you?” the duke asked, dividing his glare between Georgiana and Ethan.
“Aye, she did. I do assure ye. Ye wouldna have wanted her to marry my half-brother. He wouldna have treated her in the manner she deserves.”
Barclays made a small sound of protest but did not say a word.
“And you do?” the duchess asked.
“Aye. I would kill or die for her.”
Georgiana got to her feet, holding her hands out for Ethan to take. He took two steps and clasped her hands. She looked back at her parents. “And I would do the same for him,” she said.
“Bah!” the duke cried in disgust, looking away, “You mean to sit here and tell me you have given your heart to this bastard?”
Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. “Do not call him that father. He is my husband!”
“No, my lady,” Ethan said softly, “It is quite alright. After all, I am a bastard.”
Barclays cleared his throat. “That could change.”
Everyone turned to look at him. “What d’ye mean by that?” Ethan asked sharply.
“The duke here is close to the king. He can extend a petition for ye to become my legitimized heir.”
Ethan continued to glare at his father. He knew what the man was up to, and wanted no part of it.
“Ethan? Is that what you want?”
He turned, surprised that it was the duke, who was asking. His father stared at him, and he stared back.
“No. I have no wish to be recognized…I have my own family now.” He put his hand on Georgiana’s stomach.
The duchess gasped, shooting to her feet. “You are with child?”
Her daughter smiled like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, “Yes, mother. I am.”
The duke sighed, long and deep, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
Barclay stood up and came to grab Ethan’s shirt. “D’ye think the Duke and his peers will accept a bastard into their ranks, eh boy?”
Ethan said nothing… simply stared blankly at his father. Barclay turned to the duke. “Ye wish to get rid of yer mortal enemy do ye no? That Viscount Ashness?”
The duke went very still.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“What do you know of Ashness?” the duke growled.
“I ken he accosted us. I ken he filled my son’s head with ideas of how he could get back what we had lost. I could bear witness.” Barclay gave the duke a sly look. The duke stared back, and for a time, there was silence in the room.
“And in return?”
“In return, ye settle upon us an equivalent sum to yer daughter’s dowry. In compensation like.”
The duke snorted. “I see.”
“So? Do we have an agreement?”
Ethan looked at the duke, who looked back at him. They had an eloquent conversation without speaking. The duke turned to Barclays. “You have yourself an agreement.”
Barclays smiled. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“My son is to be pardoned.”
“No!” Ethan shouted, “Never. Not after what he did tae Georgiana. No.”
Barclays just looked at the duke, “Would ye let him get away wi’ everything? My son is innocent. He was led astray.”
Ethan snorted with disgust. “Lachie has never been innocent.”
Barclays ignored him. Georgiana reached out and covered his hand with hers, “My love, I think we should let it go. According to the doctor, Lachie will never awaken again anyway. He is no threat to us.”
Ethan was breathing quite hard, feeling the anger pulse through his veins with every heartbeat. But he knew she was
right. They had won this war even if it had left some scars. They could choose to live in anger or forgiveness. Clearly, Georgiana had chosen forgiveness.
It’s easy for ye. Ye’re not a Scotsman. He thought ruefully. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and nodded his head. “Fine. Do as ye please. Georgiana and I will be leaving in the morning for Eastcairn. Ye’re welcome to join us if ye care to,” he said to his in-laws before taking Georgiana’s hand and dragging her out of the room.
* * *
It was a triumphant return to Eastcairn. Word had spread of their approach, and Mrs. Campbell was ready with a feast.
“Ye’ll want to freshen up first, I reckon,” she said wringing her hands vigorously as she looked over them. She was particularly pleased to see Georgiana alive and well.
“Yes, I certainly need a moment.”
Misty darted forward to lead her with a delicate hand to her bedchamber, where a pitcher of hot water was waiting in addition to a simple muslin gown neatly laid on the bed and her most comfortable slippers. Her lady’s maid helped her to unhook her gown and then sat her down to wash.
“Shall I have a bathtub brought up for after supper, my lady?” she asked.
“Oh, that would be wonderful. I cannot remember the last time I had a decadent bath.”
“Well, then it shall be waiting for you, my lady. And I shall build up the fire, so you don’t get cold.”
“You’re so kind, Misty.”
“It’s wonderful to have you back, my lady.”
Georgiana felt tears prick her eyes. “Thank you, Misty. I am happy to be back too.”
If her parents were not with them, she might have been tempted to send for a tray of food to her room. Her back hurt from the long hours of sitting, and she was slightly nauseous. But she did not want to leave Ethan alone with them just yet. They needed to warm up to him a little more first. She decided to enlist her mother’s help in winning her father over. Surely she would understand the lure of passion. She regretted the lie they had told, but even looking back, she could not see her parents agreeing to her marriage any other way.
She let Misty slip the gown down her body, put her feet in the slippers, and hastened down to dinner.
Ethan and her parents were already in the dining room, waiting for her. Both Ethan and the duke stood as she entered, and her husband smiled at her as he hastened to her side to help her to her seat.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered.
She peered at him from beneath her lashes. “I shall be fine. Dinna fash.” She flashed him a grin as he stared at her in surprise.
He smiled a little as he helped her to her seat, and then the butler came forward with the first course. Georgiana and her mother worked together to keep the conversation light and flowing. The duke still looked a little grumpy, but by the evening’s end, Georgiana had made him smile again.
At the end of the meal, Ethan turned to the duke with a smile, “Shall we retire for some brandy in the study?”
The duke nodded at once. “We shall.”
Ethan and Georgiana exchanged anxious glances. She made a gesture with her hand, telling him that it would be alright. He got to his feet and led the way to the study, leaving the ladies to adjourn to the parlor.
As soon as the door closed behind the duke, Ethan crossed over to the cabinet and poured them each a full glass of whiskey. He handed one to the duke.
“Sláinte,” he said.
“Salut.” The duke replied, and they drank deeply.
They both put their glasses down and sighed.
“Please, sit.” Ethan pointed at the high back armchair as he took his own behind the desk, “I imagine there are a lot of things ye’d like tae say tae me.”
“Yes, there are several things I need to clear up.”
Ethan gestured for him to continue.
“You love my daughter.”
“Aye, I do.”
“And she is smitten with you.”
“Aye, she loves me too,” Ethan nodded.
“Well then, you will want to preserve her reputation; by marrying her properly. Under your own name.”
Ethan stared at the duke in surprise. He was not expecting that at all.
“I would be happy tae.” He croaked at last.
The duke nodded. “Good. I trust that you have a parson you can contact… who will come and conduct the ceremony?”
“I…aye.” Ethan was completely flummoxed at this turn of events. He had been expecting to be asked to justify why the duke should not take his daughter and leave in the morning. Perhaps it was the baby.
“Very well. That is settled.” He got to his feet. “Shall we go and join the ladies?”
He followed his father in law down the corridor in a daze.
* * *
Viscount Ashness folded the newspaper and prepared to cut into the excellent beefsteak that had been placed in front of him. He looked up in annoyance as a shadow crossed his table. He had explicitly asked for-
He caught sight of the constable and two bow street runners surrounding him, his thoughts scattering to the wind.
“Your lordship, we are placing you under arrest.”
“On what charges!?” he demanded.
“Conspiracy to commit murder, fraud, and blackmail.”
His mouth fell open in shock. “I beg your pardon?”
One of the bow street runners stepped forward. “I suggest you come with us now, sir. Do not force us to make a scene.”
Viscount Ashness looked from one to the other, calculating his chances. Finally, he sighed and got to his feet. “Fine. I shall come with you.”
* * *
He heard footsteps coming toward him, and by the heaviness of the tread, he knew it was his father. Having lost the ability to move, or speak, seemed to have enhanced his remaining senses. Barclay came to a stop beside him and sighed. “They’ve arrested the viscount. The duke kept his word; nobody will be coming to look for you.”
He looked down at Lachie, his eyes filled with pain. “Look at ye. Sitting here, unable tae move. Unable tae speak. What good are ye? It might ha’ been better for ye if ye died in that cottage.”
Unfortunately for Lachie, he was able to understand quite well.
“Yer brother…he is prospering in that fortress he has chosen to make his own. Most of the crofters have left, gone to work for him.” Barclays scoffed softly. “Daltern is but a shell of its former glory.” Barclay turned to sneer at Lachie, “Much like ye.”
A single tear rolled down his cheek.
“I should ha’ claimed him long ago,” Barclay said before walking away and leaving his son to simmer impotently in the autumn twilight.
Ye’re not the only one who wishes I was deid, auld man.
* * *
Ethan pressed the trembling fingers of his right hand into his temple and closed his eyes. If he had ever doubted that the fates had a sense of humor, he was seeing it now.
He had always known that one day, he would have to answer for the things he had done, never doubted that he would stand before the Lord and all His saints, and have to be punished for his crimes. He had accepted that his retribution had already begun in many ways. Seeing his wife kidnapped, almost losing his child…it was penance enough for any man.
And yet here he was, about to marry that wife again, in front of God and everyone. Her father knew full well who he was now, and he had given his permission. Sometimes Ethan thought he must have died when the roof came down on his cottage, and everything that had happened since was some sort of afterlife. Only he could not imagine getting into heaven, and nobody would let him have Georgiana in hell.
He finished buttoning his coat and straightened his kilt. Fergus knocked on the door.
“Are ye ready?” he asked.
“Aye. Ready as I’ll ever be, mo charaid.” He met Fergus’ eyes in the mirror, his face full of bemusement. Fergus smiled.
“Come on then. Yer wife awaits ye.”
“We shoul
dna keep her waiting then.” Ethan turned and walked out the door, Fergus clapping him on the shoulder.
The rain had let up long enough for the footmen to spread an awning over the field by the lake and fill it with chairs. Everyone from the village was invited, and Ethan was taken aback to see that some lairds from neighboring villages were also present. His father in law stood proudly at the back of the tent, Georgiana’s hand in his. The duchess sat at the front, near the parson, a handkerchief in hand. Behind her sat rows of red coats who had insisted on accompanying them to Eastcairn and who would wait on the duke and duchess, to escort them back to their ship.