With Niall on his side, matters would go a great deal more easily with the Mercers. “I’d better keep that appointment with your parents. Will you come with me?”
Niall fidgeted. He shook his head in disbelief. “Ye’ll no’ tell them what I did?”
“No. You have my word as a gentleman that this will remain between the two of us—unless the marquess is more severely injured than he appears to be.”
Relief brought pathetic gratitude to Niall’s face. He said, “Thank ye. I’ll come with ye t’my parents’ house.”
“And then you’ll make sure this track is safe again?”
“I’ll do that, and gladly.”
“Let’s go then.” Max started forward. He would never be able to trust this young man again.
They walked with Struan’s horse between them. After a few yards, Niall caught at the horse and stopped him.
“What?” Max asked. “What is it?”
“Promise ye’ll no’ tell Kirsty. Never.”
“I hadn’t planned to.” Max had tired of playing games. “We’ll put the entire affair behind us.”
“I meant, if I tell ye somethin’, will ye keep it from Kirsty?”
“If it would be best.”
“It would be best for me. She’d never speak t’me again if she knew what I’m going t’tell ye.”
Max disliked the idea of keeping a secret with Niall—to the exclusion of Kirsty—but he said, “Very well.”
“I lied t’ye. With every shovel o’ dirt I lifted back there, I hoped ye’d break your neck and die. Ye’ve given your word ye’ll no’ tell anyone what I did. Now I’ll give you my word. I promise ye that if ye can’t give my sister back her good name, I will find a way t’kill ye.”
Chapter Twenty
Kirsty bound the marquess’s left arm against his chest. She had to tie many strips of cloth together to make the bandaging thick and firm enough for the task. She worked, and tried not to hear the voices around her. She’d already cleaned the wound on his head and found it not as deep as she’d feared.
“A good year,” the marquess said. “The turnips pleased us all.”
“Aye,” Kirsty’s father responded.
The viscount said, “Let’s pray we never see another potato year like ’37.”
“Aye.”
This cool courtesy was her fault. The lairds were doing their best to make peace because of her, and her family’s poor, but deep pride was wounded because of her. She offered up silent thanks that the other men who had come to help had dispersed to go about their business.
“We could do again what was done in ’37,” Max said. “We’d be helping the less fortunate. Crop rotation has changed Scottish farming forever—and for the best—but we’re still in a more enviable position than most.”
He seemed a stranger to her in these surroundings, in her parents’ home, where they’d once been friends and free to come and go at will. Then he’d been a boy, a familiar boy who made her laugh and took pleasure in telling terrible tales.
The strangeness she felt between them now bewildered her. For love of him, she had accepted what he had proposed and gone to work for him. And now she had accepted his other—the other offer, because she could not bear to let him go.
He spoke as if she didn’t exist.
So did her family.
“I’m sorry to put you out like this, Gael,” the marquess told her mother.
“Ye couldna do anythin’ to put us out, Your Lordship.” Mother spoke softly and with a quiver in her voice. “We’re always honored to have ye under our roof.”
But they weren’t honored to have Kirsty under their roof anymore. Neither of her parents had spoken a word to her since she’d been told to come and help with the marquess.
Max coughed. From the corner of her eye she saw him spread his boots a little wider. “I’m finding Kirsty very useful in her new position with me, Mr. and Mrs. Mercer.”
Seconds passed without response.
“She learns quickly. And she reads a great deal. Very soon she’ll be as knowledgeable about the problems of estates like this one as I am.”
Kirsty bowed her head farther and tore a length of the cloth in half. She tied a knot to stop threads from fraying and secured the bandage in place.
“Already she’s taken over my correspondence,” Max continued with forced cheer. “And she’s a wonderful head for numbers. A great deal better than mine. You should both be very proud of her.”
The silence that followed this statement appalled Kirsty. She looked at the marquess, who frowned, and shook his head slightly. “A patched man, am I then, Kirsty?” he asked, and when she nodded, he took her hand in his free one and squeezed lightly. “You’re a gem, my girl. Always have been. Always will be.”
Kirsty got up and retreated to a wall. Not a single glance did her parents send in her direction.
They had decided to protect themselves by wiping her out of their lives. She wanted to cry out to them. To plead for them to understand that she loved them so, but that she also loved Max Rossmara and she wanted to have them all.
“We intended to stop and see you this afternoon,” the viscount said, the awkwardness making him even more formal. “We were on our way here when my brother fell. Our plan was to ride north afterward, but we’ll put that off now, at least until tomorrow.”
“No such thing,” the marquess said. “I don’t need two arms to ride a horse.”
“We shall return to the castle from here,” the viscount said. “And you will go there in the cart we’ve sent for. You won’t be able to ride until those bones knit. Mr. and Mrs. Mercer, we had hoped to put your minds at rest about Kirsty’s position with my son at the castle.”
Kirsty glanced at her father, and quickly away. He had closed himself off. She had never seen him so, and the sight frightened and sorrowed her.
Max said, “You’re well aware that Kirsty is an exceptional woman. She is educated far beyond her station.”
Before Kirsty’s stomach had finished turning, her father said, “For some of us our station is good enough and we’ve no wish t’move beyond it.”
“I didn’t put myself well,” Max said. “I meant that she had unusual abilities—and that they would be unusual regardless of who she was. And if there’s an opportunity for her to better herself, surely you would not wish to stand in the way of that progress.”
Mother moved to the open fire that burned in readiness for preparing supper. Kirsty slipped along the walls to reach her. “Mother,” she whispered. “I love ye.”
Her mother poked the fire and said nothing.
“That’ll never change, no matter what happens. Please dinna turn me away. Ye’ll break my heart if ye do.”
“Robert doesna want me t’speak t’ye. Ye know our ways.”
Kirsty looked at the three Rossmara men, two standing and one seated. Their clothes were fine. They were fine, and strong—and different from her kind. Her father, a slight man with thinning fair hair, wore his years working land in all weathers on his face, in the deep lines there. His shirt was of clean, but coarse stuff, his boots hefty and worn. A laboring man, glad to labor and with no ambition to do otherwise.
“Why do our ways have t’mean we canna choose to go another way? Why are ye so angry because I’ve decided t’use the mind God gave me?”
“It doesna matter t’ye what we think. If it had, ye’d no’ ha’ left as ye did.”
“I’m five-and-twenty. Ye treated me like a bairn still, and I’m no’ a bairn.”
Her mother looked sideways at her, looked from her face, to the lovely dark red riding habit Max had instructed the modiste to make for her. “No,” mother said, “no, ye’re no’ a bairn. And ye’re no’ the Kirsty I knew.”
“I am the Kirsty ye knew. I havna changed except for the job I do. I thought ye’d come t’be proud o’ me.”
Her mother set aside the poker. “D’ye think we’re daft? D’ye think we don’t know all about what’s goin
’ on? Ye’ve lost the respect o’ your own people. By turning from them and wanting to be part o’ that.” She indicated the big men behind her. “And now ye’ve made your bed, and ye’ll have t’lie on it. Ye’ll never be part o’ them, either. Ye know that. Ye’ll never be thought of as other than what ye are by them.”
“What I am?”
“A peasant, and a girl willing t’be no better than she ought because there’s things she wants that she’d never have here.”
Kirsty squeezed her eyes shut and fought with tears. “Ye’ve judged me wi’out givin’ me a chance to speak for myself.”
“Ye dinna need t’talk. The evidence is in front o’ us. Look at ye. Keepin’ company wi’ important men. D’ye think they want ye for your wonderful mind? Och, Kirsty, ye’re ruined. And we’ve to accept the pity o’ our friends and neighbors because o’ it.”
“Mother—”
“Those clothes. What were ye thinkin’ of, comin’ here dressed like that? A year’s money comin’ into this house wouldna pay for that. And a horse. A horse. Ye came t’flaunt all they’ve given ye.”
Anger grew apace in Kirsty’s breast. “I came because I hoped ye’d say ye still love me, that I’ll always be your daughter, and ye’re glad o’ it. I’ve waited every day for word from ye, but ye’re too stubborn t’set aside old prejudices and see that the world has changed. We have to change with the world, Mother, or we’ll be left behind. It won’t always be the way we’ve known it. Have ye thought that perhaps for me I’ve taken the best path?”
Gael Mercer rubbed the back of a hand over her brow, and Kirsty noted, for the first time, how her mother’s thin shoulders were permanently stooped. “For us what we have is all we could want,” she said. “Ye’ve shown that ye dinna think us good enough for ye—that’s what your father thinks.”
“And ye?” Kirsty whispered urgently. “What about ye, Mother? What d’ye think?”
“I know my place. I think what your father thinks. He’s always done his best for me, just as he’s done his best for ye. Ye’ve brought us even more shame today. Don’t ye think they’re all talkin’ about ye, and how ye look, and how ye came, and wi’ who?”
Kirsty made to touch her mother, but she jerked away.
Niall came into the house, and said, “There’s a cart arrivin’ from the castle t’take the marquess.”
“Mother, will ye help us t’mend our differences, please?” Kirsty asked.
Her mother’s reply was to turn her back on her daughter.
Hoofbeats and the grinding of cart wheels sounded. The men helped the marquess to his feet and, bent over, he walked outside.
She knew what she had to do. “Ask me t’stay wi’ ye, Mother. Tell me ye want me.”
Max came back and looked from Kirsty to her mother. “I’m sorry. I’m interrupting.”
“No such thing,” Gael Mercer said. “How can ye interrupt what’s yours t’command?”
Kirsty couldn’t feel her hands or feet. Her mouth tingled, and her skin was cold all over. “Mother?” she said.
The viscount appeared in the doorway. Silently he surveyed the scene, and his frown was terrible to see. “We’ll speak later,” he said to Max. “I’ll send for you. When I do, don’t keep me waiting.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Mercer,” Max said with a formality that pained Kirsty. “I hope you’ll allow me to visit you again shortly. Perhaps you can persuade Kirsty to bring me with her.”
“Good day t’ye, Mr. Rossmara,” Mother said with a quick curtsy. “And t’ye, Your Lordship. We’ll hope t’hear good news o’ the marquess. He’s a strong man. He’ll soon be well enough.”
“Good day, Mrs. Mercer,” both men said, and the viscount walked out.
Max stared into Kirsty’s eyes. “Should you like to spend some time here with your parents? You could return to the castle a little later.”
Wiping her hands on her apron, Mother went outside, and when Kirsty followed, passing Max on the way, her parents stood side by side, their eyes similarly lowered.
“Perhaps there’s something I could do t’help ye,” Kirsty said, aware that Niall stood a small distance away, his hands in his pockets. The cart was already being drawn away, with the viscount riding beside.
“Good day to you all, then,” Max said, walking to his own mount. As soon as he’d swung himself into the saddle, Kirsty’s parents walked toward their house.
Kirsty made to follow, but her father swung around, his face pale and rigid to his very lips. “We wish ye well in your new life. Good-bye t’ye.”
• • •
The rosy rooms no longer felt exciting. All the expensive furnishings and the collection of porcelains, the silver toiletry pieces on the dressing table and the exquisite ormolu clock on the mantel—they had lost their charm.
Her parents would never welcome her again.
When they’d turned their backs on her, Max gave her a few moments to compose herself, then he dismounted and helped her onto the horse she thought was sweet, but which she hated to ride. Niall and Max had exchanged a long look she hadn’t understood, and now didn’t want to think about.
The ride back to the castle had seemed so long. At first Max spoke of estate matters as if he hadn’t witnessed her being banished by her family. Then, when she’d failed to respond, he’d grown silent, and she’d felt his anger settle heavy around him. If she’d been able, she’d have tried to ease that anger, but she hadn’t been able.
He’d left her in the stable yard.
Self-pity would change nothing, but she pitied herself anyway.
She had changed from the riding habit into one of the plain dresses the dowager had approved for her. Kirsty thought it ugly and heavy, but then, she no longer made any of her own decisions.
In the silence of the sitting room her own laugh unnerved her. The great adventure she’d been so determined to embark upon, her chance for a wider, more free life, had robbed her of even what she’d had at home—the power to wish and to believe a wish could come true. From now on this would be her lot. A lonely lot consisting of work, and waiting for a man she loved but whom she would never have a right to call her own.
Darkness pressed against the casements.
She smiled a little. From her earliest moments she’d liked darkness, had found it comforting because it meant it was time to be closed safely away with her family.
Well, she could still wish, couldn’t she? She’d wish for love to overcome prejudice, and for a message from her father and mother asking her to come to them.
What she would not do was dwell on the vision of soap bubbles in the sunshine, or Max’s narrowed green eyes when he smiled at her, or silly childish notions of clubs for two.
Soft tapping came at the door. She’d been too preoccupied to hear approaching footsteps.
The next knock was louder. “Kirsty?” Max said. The handle turned, but she’d locked the door out of habit.
When he’d left her in the stable yard, it had been without a word, either of comfort or for the sake of civility. Not a word, or a glance. Now he was ready to speak to her—or whatever.
A trembling overtook her. So violently did she shake that she locked her knees. The shaking jarred her whole body, and she sat down.
“Kirsty! Kirsty, open this door, now.”
He had the right to do as he pleased here.
He had the right to do as he pleased with her.
She pushed herself to the back of the chair and held its arms tightly. If she asked for her old position back, would they allow it? And could she go home again, then?
No, no, no.
“Ye’ve made your bed,” her mother had said.
“Kirsty, open this door.” Max hammered the wood so hard the door rattled in its frame, and she knew he used a fist now. “Damn you, open the door.”
He’d been drinking. She could hear it in his voice.
“Damn all women. Open up, I tell you, or I’ll break this down and you’ll wish
you had opened it.”
She couldn’t move. Her heart beat so hard and so loud she clutched her chest. Violence had never been any part of her experience. Nor harsh words.
“I know you’re in there. Let me in.”
With a great effort she said, “Go away, please.”
“What? What did you say? Open up.”
“I said, go away, please,” she told him, much louder. “I’m tired.”
“We need to talk.”
“Ye’ve been drinkin’. Ye frighten me.”
“Frighten you?” His laughter made her jump. “Frighten you? You’re alone. I’m the best friend you’ve got. I’m all you’ve got. What happens to you is my affair now, so we’d best find a way to be very good to each other.”
He was angry, angry with her for not doing as he told her at once, and angry because he’d wanted her on his terms, not because she’d nowhere else to go, not because no other living soul wanted her.
“Did I imagine it,” he said, his voice thick, “or did you tell me you wanted to be my mistress? Didn’t you tell me that?”
She covered her face.
“Well, Mistress Kirsty, I’ve come to give you what you want.”
“Go away.” Dropping her hands, she stood up. “Go back t’your rooms, ye bad man, ye. Threatenin’ someone ye know is weaker. Go away.” He would not find her a limp girl ready to be wrongly used by him.
“I’m no’ your belongin’. How dare ye say as much? Ye canna own another.”
Clapping her hands over her ears, she rocked to and fro, humming as she’d hummed when she was a child and she’d been trying not to hear other children argue.
She didn’t know how long she rocked, and hummed, but when the clamoring inside her cooled, and she was quiet, and she dropped her hands, no voice shouted at her.
Very carefully, she tiptoed to the door and listened. Not a sound reached her. She’d told him to go away, and finally he’d gone.
The room was chilly now. Chilly and still. He’d told her she was alone, that he was all she had now.
He would never hurt her, or force himself on her, not Max. No, not Max. And he wouldn’t want her to suffer as she suffered now.
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