* * *
It was past midnight when Hannah slipped into Gavan’s room, but a candle was still burning beside his bed. He saw her come in, and his face lit with surprise and maybe a little bit of hope. She stopped well short of the bed.
“Hannah? Is something wrong?”
Everything was wrong. She couldn’t look at him without the urge to sob welling up in her throat. “I need to claim my second boon.”
“Hannah, don’t ask me to—”
“Is it against your rules,” Hannah asked, desperately grasping for control, “for you to just hold me for a little while?”
She saw it in his face. He knew why she had come.
He closed his eyes, swallowing against the pain, before looking at her again.
“No,” he said. He held back the covers, and she climbed in.
When his arm wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest, the tears broke free. Awful, anguished tears like she hadn’t cried since she was a child wracked her body. She felt Gavan’s face, eyes clenched tight against his own emotions, pressed against the top of her head. He kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair, and held her while she broke both their hearts.
“When?” he asked.
“Soon,” she said into the hard planes of his chest. “The longer I stay, the harder it will be to go.”
“Then don’t go,” he begged her.
Another wave of sobs came, robbing her of her voice. This was why she had to leave. It would only get worse, and this was almost unbearable. She heard him clear his throat, felt his hand swipe up across his eyes.
“Word from Magnus should come soon. Will you at least stay until he says it’s safe?” he asked, his voice rough.
She nodded. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. To her hair. Tilted her chin up, and placed the sweetest of kisses on her lips. Both of their tears mingled in the taste of it. They pressed closer, almost painfully, in the need to be nearer to each other, before Gavan broke the contact and pressed her head to his chest.
For long a moment, their ragged breathing was the only sound.
“So, what did you get up to today?” he finally said into the silence.
The mundane question was so out of place, a laugh broke through Hannah’s tears, mingling in odd emotional contrast. She wiped the moisture from her cheek. “Angus and Ian introduced me to the fine Scottish tradition of women poisoning their husbands and hiding the evidence with house fires.”
It was Gavan’s turn to laugh. “Well, that’s nice. Remind me to thank them when I see them.”
“Of course,” she said. “And you? How was your day?”
“Actually, pretty wonderful,” he said, settling them both into a more comfortable position. “With Fiona’s help, I might just make a half-decent laird.”
Hannah blew out the candle, shutting out reality and the reminder of what daylight would bring. She drifted off to his voice telling her about his afternoon with Fiona, comforted by the knowledge that she would be leaving him much better than she found him.
Chapter 21
That morning Gavan waited until he had some time alone and sent for Ewan. Compared to knowing he had lost Hannah, being shot again held a certain appeal. It was time he told his cousin the truth.
“Where’s Fiona?” Ewan asked, settling into his usual chair.
“With Hannah, collecting more plant life to poison me with,” he said. “Apparently we’re running low.”
Ewan laughed. “I can imagine. She’s stuffed ye full of every remedy under the sun.”
The daily concoctions to improve Gavan’s health had lost some of their awfulness now as well. He would swallow one hundred potions, if it kept Fiona’s mind off Hannah’s leaving once she knew.
“Ewan,” Gavan began. “I need to tell you something. You’re not going to like it.”
A frown descended like a storm cloud on his cousin’s face. “Yer nae leaving. Ye and Fiona are both happier than ye’ve been in—”
“I’m not leaving,” he reassured him.
“Well, then. Whatever it is, it cannae be so bad.” Ewan’s expression cleared as quickly as it had clouded.
“Hannah and I are not getting married.” There. He’d said it.
“Is that so,” Ewan said. He didn’t sound nearly as surprised as he should have.
“It is,” Gavan replied.
Ewan nodded thoughtfully. “Yer in love with her. Ye know that, aye?”
“I do.” He knew it with every breath he took.
“But yer nae going to marry her?”
Gavan sighed, shifting his shoulder uncomfortably. “It’s more that she’s not going to marry me.”
Ewan’s frown returned. “I cannae say as I blame her, really, but what did ye do?”
“I didn’t do anything. She never wanted a husband.”
“Bugger that. Convince her,” his cousin scoffed.
“I’ve tried. I’ve been trying. She doesn’t want to marry.”
“Yer supposed to be some famous lothario,” Ewan argued. “Seduce her and get a bairn on her. She’s sensible. She won’t leave ye then.”
“Right, she’ll just despise me for the rest of her life.” Gavan shoved his covers off. He was restless, needing to move. He set his feet down on the thick carpet of his room. “She doesn’t want to be my wife, Ewan. I won’t force her.”
His cousin put a stabilizing hand on his shoulder. “Ye remember that I said I’d shoot ye.”
“I do.”
That gave Ewan pause. “It’s nice to see ye put someone else’s needs above yer own, even if ye are being daft.”
“Yes, well, it’s awful. I can only hope this is a singular occurrence.” Gavan gave up trying to pace. He settled for a slow walk to the door and back before lying back down.
“How long?” Ewan asked.
Gavan didn’t have to ask until what. “She agreed to stay until Magnus finds her abductors.”
“When she goes—”
“When she goes, I won’t let things be like they were before,” Gavan promised. “It will be bad, for a little while, but I won’t let it get that bad.”
Ewan nodded. “I’ll try to keep Fiona clear of it.”
“Thank you,” Gavan said, meaning it.
* * *
The herb expedition was a welcome distraction for Hannah. Her emotions were still quite raw from the night spent with Rhone, and the fresh air and exercise would go a long way toward restoring her humors.
“So what are we hunting for?” Hannah asked as they walked through the forest.
Fiona scrunched her face up, remembering her list. “Blaeberries, little purple berries that are good for lots of things. Burdock root, which helps with infections. And willow bark.”
“That’s good for pain, isn’t it?” Hannah asked. She remembered reading something like that.
“Aye!” Fiona said, beaming. “We’ve a willow tree down by the loch. We’ll loop around to that last since it’s nae like to go anywhere.”
With Angus and Auld Ian trailing them, they wound their way through the forest. It became a contest to see which of them could collect and hold the most of the berries that grew in dense clumps. The burdock root was harder, as Fiona did not know what the rest of a burdock looked like, only the roots.
Auld Ian proved useful, recounting that his mother boiled burdock burs for tea, which were devilish, spiny little things. They dug up the roots of a few plants that turned out not to be burdock before they found the correct one. Fiona and Hannah were celebrating the discovery when they turned to find Angus and Ian off to the side, talking in low tones.
Angus nodded to her. “We need to go, lass. Now.”
“What is it?” Hannah didn’t like the tenseness they displayed.
“There’s a camp, just over here. Someone’s living in the wood,” Auld
Ian explained.
“Is that unusual?” Hannah didn’t think that was necessarily cause for alarm.
“It isnae anyone we know of, and no one has seen anyone out here. Means somebody is hiding.” Auld Ian glared into the brush.
Angus put a hand on her arm. “It’s time to go back, lass. It isnae safe, until we sort it out.”
“I had hoped to find you alone, but I suppose this will have to do.” From the shadowy overgrowth behind them, a stocky man came forward holding two pistols.
Hannah had to blink twice to be certain, and she still didn’t understand.
“Lord Powell?” she said, disbelieving.
Her ex-neighbor was significantly worse for wear, indicating that he had indeed been living in these woods. His clothes were dirty, there was a twig in his hair, and a considerable rent had torn in the side of his trousers, revealing a fleshy expanse of thigh.
His smile belied the sinister intent of the pistols. “Miss Howard, step away from your companions and come with me. We have a ceremony to attend.”
“A ceremony? What are you talking about?”
“Our wedding ceremony. It has been delayed far too long.”
“Dinnae move, lass,” Angus growled.
The ferocity of it surprised her, and Hannah found herself standing still.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Move, Miss Howard, or I will kill this worthless descendent of a Pict.” Lord Powell aimed one of the guns at the middle of Angus’s chest.
“We’ll rush him at the same time. He’s like to hit me, but the kick should throw his shot on ye off,” Angus said to Auld Ian.
“Ye sure?” Ian asked.
“Aye,” Angus said, positioning his feet for a charge. “Ye took the bullet last time, in that Courseclay mess.”
Lord Powell looked between the two old men. “You must be joking.”
“All right,” Auld Ian said to Angus, preparing himself to rush.
“This is ridiculous. Stay where you are, both of you!” Powell shouted, leveling both guns on Fiona. “Or I shoot the girl.”
Hannah’s blood ran cold. She couldn’t let anything happen to Fiona. The girl was only just getting a taste of a normal life. “Powell, don’t.”
“Oh, don’t look so distressed, my dear. She’s just a Scot. They’re basically savages.”
“Why are you doing this? You don’t even like me.”
“For the money, of course. When I’m your husband, that outrageous fortune will be mine. No idea what Sir Thomas was thinking, leaving it all to a woman. And you were going to hand it off to a reprobate bastard Scotsman, of all things. Ridiculous.”
“How do you even—?” This was absurd. Money? Everything she had gone through was because of the money?
“Our fathers used the same solicitor. I’m afraid Mr. Smyth’s discretion wasn’t nearly what Sir Thomas thought it was.” Powell chuckled to himself, quite amused.
“It was all you? The kidnappings?” Hannah couldn’t fathom it.
Powell actually looked offended. “I tried to be civilized, Miss Howard. I offered for you. I even gave you incentive, canceling the lease, but you refuse to be reasonable. It’s that unnatural education. It puts ideas in your head.”
“Ye havenae thought this out, boyo. Ye won’t make it a mile,” Angus taunted.
“Aye,” Auld Ian growled. “We’ll hunt ye to the ends of the earth, lad.”
Powell sighed, sighting the pistols back onto Ian and Angus with intention.
Hannah realized he had no choice but to shoot them now. He couldn’t leave them alive and have any hope of escape.
“Come away from your wild little pets, Miss Howard. It’s time for us to g—”
The last word came out in a gurgle. Powell blinked in surprise, before slumping down to the forest floor with a thud. Behind him stood Magnus, wiping a long, thin dagger with a cloth.
“I’m afraid that is not acceptable.” He stepped over Powell, who was futilely gasping for air. “I apologize, Miss Howard. It seemed imprudent to wait any longer.”
Hannah gaped at him.
“Ye ken this one, lass? Is he friend or foe?” Angus asked, ready to lunge at this new stranger.
She couldn’t fault the question. Rhone’s butler had always seemed slightly sinister to her. It was gratifying, if extremely disturbing, to know her instincts had been correct.
“Friend,” she replied. “He’s Gavan’s majordomo.”
Auld Ian cocked an eyebrow. “That man’s nae a servant.”
“I assure you that I am,” Magnus said politely. “Though it is not all that I have ever been.”
* * *
It was clear from the sounds coming through Gavan’s window that something was amiss. All of the usual noises of the clan going about their daily tasks, hollering and heckling one another, had stopped. After a few shouts, it had settled into a low murmur that he couldn’t discern from this high up.
“Bennett!” he called, easing his way out of bed.
His valet popped up, seemingly from nowhere. “Yes, m’lord?”
“Something is happening. We’re going downstairs. Give me a hand.”
“Of course, m’lord.” Bennett nodded. “Perhaps the azure brocade?”
“Not a hand getting dressed, Bennett. Hand me a robe, and make sure I don’t fall on my face.”
Gavan had spilled a bowl of gravy onto a duchess once. Her expression had been similar to the one on Bennett’s face now. The lecture on proper attire was made irrelevant when half the clan spilled into his bedroom, shoving and arguing their way into some semblance of order. Towering over the lot of them was Magnus, not shoving and being given plenty of space.
That would explain the upset. Relief and panic fought for dominance over his consciousness. If Magnus was here, the kidnapper had been found and Hannah was safe. If Magnus was here, Hannah would be leaving very soon.
“Quite the entourage you have there, Magnus.”
“My lord,” Magnus said with a bow. “This house is in desperate need of order.”
“You’ll get plenty of opportunity to impose it. We’re going to live here.”
That silenced the clan for three blissful heartbeats before they resumed, this time at louder volume.
“I assume you have a report to deliver?” Gavan said over the din.
“Yes, my lord. The relevant parties are in the upper drawing room.”
By Magnus’s expression, Gavan guessed a few parties Magnus did not consider relevant were also in the drawing room. When he wasn’t busy contemplating a bleak and endless future without Hannah, Gavan imagined he was rather going to enjoy watching Magnus and the Dalreochs pit their wills against each other.
The herd of interlopers accompanied them on the journey to the upper drawing room. Gavan found himself the recipient of many helping hands, to the detriment of balance and progress. He made it in one piece, barely.
Morag looked up from her discussion with Hannah’s maid and Ewan. “What’s all this, then? Nae a one of ye has anything better to do?”
Silence and a shuffling of feet answered her.
Fiona chimed in. “Seems like all of ye can head out to the Blackwood, then, and get started on clearing those trees. Ye’ll have it done in no time.”
“Aye,” Morag agreed. “And save the stones. I want nice, sturdy walls on my new house.”
The room cleared at once. Gavan caught Magnus assessing Morag. Oh yes, he was going to enjoy this immensely, when he wasn’t busy being miserable.
In the crowd’s absence, Gavan was able to find Hannah. She was sitting on a low sofa, wrapped in a blanket and surrounded by Baileys. What the devil?
“What happened? Hannah, are you all right?” Damn this wound. It slowed his progress considerably.
“She’s nae hurt, Gavan,” Fiona answered.
> She appeared to be telling the truth. Hannah’s face was slightly drawn, but her color was good. Fiona wasn’t plying her with noxious liquids, which was a clear indication of perfect health. If Hannah had so much as the hint of a cold, his sister would be force-feeding her something foul. He allowed himself to relax.
They settled him into a chair with pillows arranged for his comfort, and finally it was time to find out what the hell had happened.
“I assume you have identified Hannah’s attempted kidnapper?” Gavan asked Magnus.
“Identified,” Auld Ian choked out on a laugh. “Aye, he identified him all right. With a blade between the ribs, quiet as a whisper.”
“It was a pretty piece of work,” Angus agreed. “Where’d ye find this one?”
Gavan met Magnus’s steady stare.
“Rome,” Gavan said, and he chose not to elaborate.
* * *
The entire walk back home and while waiting for Rhone, Hannah’s mind had been backtracking, working through the facts. Her companions had taken it for shock, a notion of which she selfishly chose not to disabuse them. It gave her an excuse to shut out everything around her and piece together the puzzle.
Powell was behind it all. The pleasure garden. The masquerade. Had her father even died of natural causes? She might have asked him, but it didn’t matter now. Her father was dead. Powell was dead. The last piece, the only piece Hannah didn’t have an explanation for, was Magnus.
“Magnus?” Hannah interrupted the argument forming over Magnus’s origins. “How is it you were there at just the right time?”
Magnus’s small smile was approving. “I was with you the entire time you were in the forest, miss.”
“How is that possible?”
“I have been here for three days. When I identified Lord Powell, he had already left London to follow you. I could not locate him once I arrived, so I have been following his target.”
That was quite clever, really. It was unnerving to think that she had been watched by Magnus for three days without realizing, but she deliberately pushed that away. He was clearly not her enemy, and his actions had saved the lives of her friends.
“Have ye been camping out in the outbuildings?” Morag accused.
A Convenient Engagement Page 25