03 - The Wicked Lady

by Brenda Jernigan

"Now that you mention it . . . yes." He managed a sarcastic smile. "The only thing most people want from me is money."

  Kristen held up her hand in front of her. "Don't ye come near me. Yer drunk."

  He bumped into a chair. "So I am."

  "Do ye do this often?" Kristen asked, her voice shaking.

  "Hardly ever," he admitted as he stopped in front of her, swaying as he searched for balance. "Kristen, we need to talk. It seems that I've found out you are related to that damned Johnstone."

  That notion stopped her colder than the liquor. "What are ye talking about?"

  "Your stepfather paid me a visit and told me a very interesting story about you. Seems you were taken from Johnstone's son and his wife when you were a wee babe," he said imitating her accent. "The woman you think was your mother was the maid."

  "What?" Kristen's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "You're making this up. Why are ye lying tae me?"

  "I only wish to God I were." Trevor nodded. "You are a very wealthy lady. You don't need me anymore." He gave a cynical laugh. "You probably never did."

  "I dinna ken any of this."

  Trevor grabbed her arm. "What's not to understand, Kristen. You are a bloody Johnstone. You shouldn't have been brought up in the streets. It was a grave injustice to you, and I'm simply giving you back your life."

  "Ye knew I was a Johnstone when ye met me."

  "There are many Johnstones, but if you recall you told me, yourself, your father was dead and couldn't possibly be related to my neighbors.

  "So what am I tae do?"

  "That's up to you, Kristen." He reached for her. He could feel the heat of her body beneath his fingertips. He needed to hold her one last time, but she jerked away from him as if his touch repulsed her.

  She went very still "Yer drunk. Don't touch me!"

  "Now I see." His jaw clenched, his eyes slightly narrowed. "You've no need for me now that you know you have a family and money. I suppose you won't be needing these." He reached in his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief full of jewels. "You were planning to leave me all along. As soon as you had enough stashed away," he accused.

  Kristen gasped. He'd somehow found the stolen jewels, and he must have thought she'd been stealing all along. But she hadn't. She had kept her promise since coming to Chatsworth.

  " 'Tis not what ye think," Kristen said.

  "Isn't it? You promised not to steal! Didn't I give you everything you would need? And yet you still chose to steal from me."

  "If ye'd let me explain--"

  He held up a hand to stop her. "Why? So you could tell me more lies? Just when I thought we had something special, you managed to destroy what little belief I had." He shoved her away. "I don't want to see you anymore."

  "Please." She reached for his arm.

  Without thinking Trevor pulled her to him, his lips crushing down on hers in a punishing kiss. He would get her out of his system one way or the other.

  He told himself to let her go, but he was already dragging her firmly against his hard body, his mouth savoring her sweetness. He wanted her just as badly now as he had the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Yet, he couldn't fathom why she could evoke such strong emotions in him when no other woman had. There seemed to be no logical explanation.

  Her lips tasted so sweet, he didn't want to stop kissing her. He wanted to forget she'd deceived him, he wanted to forget who she really was, and he wanted, for once in his life, to be able to trust someone.

  Kristen knew this kiss had begun with Trevor trying to punish her. For some strange reason Trevor was trying to push her away from him. But, somewhere along the line, the kiss had turned from hurting to softness. However, the smell of liquor once again brought back dreaded memories of beatings, her stepfather's sloppy kisses . . . his awful groping . . .

  She didn't want Trevor like this. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away.

  Trevor looked down at her kiss-swollen lips. He wanted to say something sweet, but the demons in his head brought out his doubts stronger than ever. "Why don't you go ahead and leave, too. Everyone else has," he snarled at her.

  She stared at him, her eyes large and liquid. Trevor could see the hurt he'd caused. But it was better this way. Now they'd both have their freedom.

  "What are you waiting for? Get out."

  Tears streaked down her cheeks as she turned and ran from the room.

  Why hadn't she argued?

  Why hadn't she begged to stay with him? Trevor ran a hand through his hair, and then looked at the door in front of him. The door that Kristen had just passed through.

  "It could have been so good, Kristen. It could have been--", Trevor slurred out the words. His legs seemed to melt beneath him. He saw the floor rushing up to meet him.

  Then he saw nothing as he passed out and hit the floor.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Too numb to cry, Kristen fled to her room.

  She quickly changed into a dark brown riding habit. She should have known everything was too good to be true. Just when she thought her life was changing and she'd begun to trust Trevor, he'd let her down. He'd turned toward the bottle to drown his problems instead of sharing them with her. She wanted no part of drinking.

  She had to get out of this place before he became violent. She'd seen the routine too many times in the past, and she knew what would come next. And hadn't he told her to get out?

  Grabbing a few dresses out of her wardrobe, she stuffed them into a valise, then hurried to Hagan's room and packed his clothes. She picked up the valise, looked around the room sadly, then hurried downstairs to look for Hagan. She checked several places before she finally found him in the servant's quarters playing with his friends.

  "Come on, Hagan!" she said, sounding gruffer than she intended.

  He scrambled to his feet and stumbled toward her. "What's wrong?"

  "Dinna ask right now." She shoved a bag at him. "Hurry now," she urged, tugging on his hand as they hurried toward the stables.

  "You're walking too fast, Kristen!"

  Kristen realized she was practically dragging the child, and slowed down. "I'm sorry."

  "What's wrong? Where are we going?"

  "We're leaving Chatsworth," Kristen stated firmly.

  "I don't want to go. I like it here."

  "I like it here, too, but Trevor no longer wants us."

  "Why?"

  " 'Tis hard to explain. We are going tae meet my family. Hopefully, we can stay with them."

  "We're going back to Pa?"

  "No." She frowned at him. "I'll explain it all tae ye as soon as we're riding."

  When they reached the stables, Baxter was quick in saddling the horses. "I will get a groom to accompany you, mum."

  Kristen didn't bother to argue. She knew Ned was lurking out there somewhere, and there was no time to waste on words. Besides, she could send the horses back with the groom once she and Hagan reached their destination.

  After they started riding, Kristen slowed her horse so she could talk to Hagan. She began explaining what she'd been told, and he listened patiently until she finished.

  "I don't care what they say. You'll always be my sister."

  "I know that, Hagan." She reached down and he reached up until their fingers touched. "I love you," she said. And, at the same time, she realized how she would have loved to hear Trevor say those words to her.

  Hagan grinned. "Yea, I know."

  With that, they urged the horses forward and galloped until Scotgrow, the Scottish house of her grandfather, came into sight. Kristen pulled up on her horse and gazed at the house in front of her. The building was long under a span roof with crow-striped gables and many chimneys. The most unusual things were the windows of all shapes and sizes, in all kinds of odd positions.

  Kristen waited for the groom to catch up with her. "Ye can go back now. We'll not be returning."

  "Are you sure, ma'am?"

  She nodded. "Yes." She nodded, climbing down from her mount and motion
ing for Hagan to do the same.

  She watched as the groom rode away, taking with him her last contact with Trevor.

  Once they reached the huge house, Kristen stood a moment until her legs, which had suddenly grown weak, could support her. She realized she was shaking and more than a little scared. However, she had come this far. She squared her shoulders and marched up to an archway which housed the main door.

  She knocked.

  The huge, black oak door opened slowly, and a medium-sized man dressed in a kilt stared at them. "What do ye be wantin'?" he said. Then he looked her over from head to toe.

  "Look, Kristen, he has on a skirt." Hagan pointed, then giggled.

  " 'Tis a kilt," the man said looking at Hagan from beneath bushy eyebrows. His gaze shifted to Kristen again, then his eyes widened.

  "Saints above," he muttered. Turning, he shouted. "Ian, come quickly!"

  Kristen had yet to utter a word, but she was beginning to think he was going to leave her on the doorsteps forever. What would happen to them if they were sent away? They would be back on the streets, and all of this would have been as real as a dream.

  " 'Tis rude tae leave us standin' here," Kristen pointed out. "Are ye going tae invite us in?"

  "Aye." He stepped back and swept his hand in an entry motion.

  They moved passed him and stood in a huge hallway. Kristen and Hagan stared up at the banners hanging on every wall. The furniture seemed to be oversized, but there was color everywhere . . . bright reds and oranges. It was warm and inviting--a big difference from Chatsworth.

  "What's all the bloody fuss, Darroch?" came a bellow from the far end of the great hall. The sound was followed by one of the largest men Kristen had ever seen.

  When the man drew near, she could make out his features. His hair was grey, yet she could still see signs of its former red, giving her a glimpse of what his hair must have been like in his youth. His eyebrows were bushy, his features harsh, but his eyes were exactly like her own.

  As he stared at Kristen, a variety of emotions filtered across his face. Then his eyes sharpened, and he murmured in a voice hushed with disbelief, "Kristen?"

  "Aye," she managed to squeak.

  He scrutinized her a moment longer, then swept her into a bear-like hug and swung her around. "The Saints above!" He roared. "My prayers have been answered."

  Kristen squealed with surprise.

  "Don't hurt her!" Hagan shouted, trying bravely to protect her.

  Raising a bushy eyebrow, Ian put her down and looked at Hagan. "And who is this little scamp?"

  " 'Tis, Hagan," Kristen supplied as she put a hand on Hagan's shoulder. "He's my brother."

  "I dinna think so," Ian said, "Since yer mother and da are both dead."

  "Kristen is too my sister! Who are you?" Hagan demanded.

  Ian started at the young scamp. There wasn't any way on God's green earth that the boy could be related to Kristen. But this lad seemed to think differently, and Ian could see it was a very important subject with the child. Perhaps, Kristen was all the child had.

  "Well, now, if ye insist that Kristen is yer sister, then that would make me yer grandpa," Ian informed him.

  "Really?" Hagan's brows knitted together. "I had a grandmere for awhile, but I've never had a grandfather."

  Ian reached down and scooped Hagan up into his arms. "Well, ye have one now." He put Hagan down. "Come on." Ian placed his hands on both their backs and urged them down the hall. " 'Tis time tae meet the rest of yer family. And I want tae hear all about what happened while ye were gone."

  They were escorted into a huge room that held several settees and three big fireplaces. A girl with long black hair sat before the fire doing needlepoint. Putting down her sewing, she stood and turned to face them. She gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. " 'Tis her," she barely whispered.

  Kristen stared at what easily could have been her own image, and realized this was the girl she'd seen the day she'd fallen off her horse. She hadn't been dreaming. She had truly seen herself that day she'd fallen. It was if she were looking in a mirror. The only difference was that her sister's hair was as black as soot.

  The girl walked over to Kristen. "My lost sister," the girl said, sweeping Kristen into a hug.

  "Kristen, this is yer twin, Keely," Ian said, voice thick with emotion.

  "Look, Kristen. She looks just like you," Hagan exclaimed. " 'Cept her hair is the wrong color."

  Kristen couldn't believe what she was seeing. She felt as if she were in a fog, watching everything around her, but none of it seemed real.

  " 'Tis what they mean by twins," Kristen explained, looking at her brother. "Keely, this is my brother, Hagan."

  "Brother?" Keely looked at Kristen as if she were daft.

  " 'Tis a long story," Kristen said.

  "Hello, Hagan." Keely bent down and squeezed his arm affectionately. "Come, let's sit down so ye can tell us where ye've been all these years."

  "I dinna know where tae start. I lived with my mother and stepfather. We had very little money and when Myra died I became more or less a thief." Kristen had to smile at Keely's gasp. Kristen went on telling them what she knew, and they were quiet until she mentioned Trevor.

  "Ye married a cursed Englishmon!" Ian shouted. He jumped to his feet, his face was as red as a rose.

  "Aye, I did. He's the one who told me about ye."

  "I'll wager he had nothin' good tae say about us. And Constance can be an angry old bat."

  Kristen smiled when Ian used her pet name for Constance. "I discovered that she only pretended tae be gruff. She could be quite nice when she let down her defenses. I will miss her." Kristen swallowed a lump of emotion and said no more. When she looked at Ian she found him watching her intently as she talked about Constance. "Have ye ever met Trevor? Kristen asked.

  "Haven't spoken tae a Chatsworth since I met Edward that day on the Glen," Ian said stubbornly, folding his arms across his broad chest.

  This one was as stubborn as Trevor, Kristen realized. "Then ye dinna know a thing about him."

  "He's still a Claremont."

  " 'Tis the same thing he says about ye," Kristen said, trying to suppress a giggle. "Perhaps, one day ye can tell me what the argument was about."

  "Perhaps," Ian replied grudgingly. "Let's get ye both settled into yer home. We'll have plenty of time for getting acquainted now that ye've come home."

  God, his head hurt!

  Trevor's head felt three times its normal size as he rolled over and tried to remember exactly where he was, and exactly what had happened.

  The floor?

  How in the hell had he wound up on the floor?

  Struggling for balance, he managed to sit upright. Pain shot through his eyes as he wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his head on folded arms. It took many long minutes before the spinning subsided.

  Now he remembered.

  The liquor still seeped from the pours of his body, fouling the air with its sour stench. He smelled like one of the seaman he'd passed so many times lying on the docks. Did they all feel this bloody awful? How in the hell had he gotten so drunk? It wasn't something he usually did.

  And definitely something he intended never again to do.

  Wondering just how long he'd been on the floor, he struggled to get to his feet. How was he going to get rid of this pounding headache?

  Ever so slowly, he made his way out of his study. He used the walls to support him, but when he reached the stairs they loomed like a steep mountain above him. He thought about getting on his hands and knees and crawling up the stairs, but with great effort he managed to slowly climb them.

  He paused at the top, sweating and gasping for breath. He instructed the first maid who came to him to prepare his bath.

  Maybe drowning was the answer.

  When the water had been delivered to his room, and he was alone again, Trevor sank into the steamy water and rested his throbbing head on the back of the tub. He'd have to get bette
r just to die, he thought miserably.

  Half an hour later, his headache started to abate, and flashes of yesterday's events began to gallop through his mind like a stampeding herd of horses. Trevor flinched. He didn't like what he was remembering.

  He knew that Kristen was afraid of drunks. Was that why he'd over-indulged? Had he been trying to send her away from him?

  He would have to explain as soon as he dressed. Perhaps an apology would help.

  When he finished bathing, he felt a little more human, but just a little. He groped his way over to the connecting door and let himself into Kristen's dressing room.

  She wasn't there.

  Trevor glanced around the room. The wardrobe door stood half-open and clothes were strewn across the bed. He stumbled over to the wardrobe doors. There were still clothes hanging! He dared hope that she was elsewhere in the house.

  However, when he went to Hagan's bedroom, he found it just as empty. All his clothes were in place, yet there was a deserted air about it.

  She must be here somewhere.

  He started down the hall, opening every door and checking in every room.

  Nothing!

  Next, he started questioning the servants. When he turned up nothing, he decided to go to the stables.

  It had occurred to him that he hadn't seen Hagan, either. Cold dread spread over Trevor like frost on a blade of grass.

  He sprinted to the stable and upon entering the building. "Baxter!" Trevor called out crisply.

  The small man came post haste from the back of the stable. "Yes, Your Grace."

  "Have you seen my wife?"

  "Not today, sir." Baxter hesitated. Two deep lines of worry appeared between his eyes.

  "What are you not telling me?"

  "They rode off yesterday."

  "They?"

  Baxter's expression grew serious. "Lady Kristen and Hagan."

  "And they have not returned?" Trevor snapped, though he already knew the answer.

  "No, Your Grace. I sent David with them, and he said they went to Johnstone's. She told him to return to Chatsworth with the horses because they wouldn't be returning."

  "I see." Trevor rubbed the back of his neck. His head felt as though it would burst, if that were possible.