He took the steps inside the lighthouse by twos and burst into the room at the top, his legs bent, his stance braced for battle.
Empty.
Desperately, he cast about. A candle lay on its side beside remnants of bread and cheese upon a grimy kerchief.
Rain beat through the openings into the tower and Calum strode to stare out. The horse must have been the one Max saw, but where were the man and Pippa? They couldn’t have left without a mount.
He scoured the countryside and saw nothing move.
Below lay only the beach with several small boats pulled up high. They’d need to be brought higher shortly or their owners would lose them. No doubt those owners were busy searching for Pippa.
The storm had fully broken and waves roared onto the shore.
With desolation in his soul, Calum glanced at the rising seas and grew still. A boat, like the ones on the shore, headed out from the beach. Two people were in that boat, a man and a woman.
The woman’s long black hair whipped like a dark flag.
Pippa.
The blackguard who’d taken her must have seen Calum coming and was bent on escaping with her—even if he killed them both. Evidently Lady Hoarville had offered a great prize to rid herself of her rival.
Calum thudded into walls in his mad descent from the lighthouse, and his boots slid on shale as he dashed to the beach. Looking to sea, he saw that the boat containing Pippa was tossing, rising on the brow of each wave only to plummet into the trough in its wake.
Shutting out thought, Calum dragged another boat to the water’s boiling edge. From early childhood he’d rowed on the Scottish lochs, but never on the high seas.
With his back to his quarry, he pulled with all the desperate strength of his fury and desire.
Minutes passed—or were they hours? Calum rowed, leaning forward until his chest crowded his knees and heaving a path through walls of steel-gray wrath.
A sheet of water hit the boat broadsides and rose like wavering pewter-colored glass. As it fell, Calum was drenched.
And, not a hundred yards distant, the laboring boat that carried Pippa was still afloat.
She had not seen him.
Franchot had.
Calum noted nothing but the way Pippa hunched over and the other man’s sudden release of his oars.
And Calum prayed. He felt the strength of a hundred men but knew he needed more.
Franchot wrestled a while with something Calum could not see, then abruptly stood up. In one hand he held an oar—the other had slipped into the ocean.
Frantically, Calum sculled, turning his boat about and hauling on his own oars to draw closer.
“Careful…” Franchot’s shout was lost in the tempest.
Clutching the gunwales, Pippa stared toward Calum.
“Not too close…” Franchot called.
Calum understood. If he drew too close, they’d likely ram and go down together.
Sitting again, Franchot extended his remaining oar in Calum’s direction. In turn, Calum positioned himself as best he could, shipped his own oars and, after four pawing misses, snagged a hold on Franchot’s lifeline.
The two boats rose and fell. Calum knelt in water gathering in the bottom of his boat and reached, using Franchot’s oar as an anchor, until he grasped the gunwale of the other boat.
He had no warning of the mighty yank that toppled him into the roaring deep.
Franchot had used the oar to overbalance Calum. The thought was the only one he had as he fell downward into suffocating cold.
A miracle brought him up beneath a hull. He didn’t care that his enemy might be waiting to club him from above. Bracing himself for blows, Calum clawed his way over the side of the boat and hung on.
Huddled on a seat, soaked and wild-eyed was Pippa. There was no sign of Franchot.
Her lips moved, but he heard nothing she said. She clutched at his hands and wrists and tried to pull him aboard.
“No!” Desperate that she not throw herself into the sea, he managed to push her back and drag himself up to lean over the side.
Water reached the seats, and Calum realized what Franchot had been groping for. The bung. He’d removed the bung to swamp the craft and sink Pippa.
The boat wallowed and rolled over.
Through the gray wall that separated them, Calum saw her skirts billow. Black hair streaked across her face, and her arms flailed.
She’d told him she could not swim.
Jackknifing his legs, Calum cut through the distance between them, twisted her so that her back was to his body, and gained the surface.
The sea will bear you to shore.
A voice he’d never heard before whispered in his shattered mind.
Bear you, bear you, bear you.
On the crest of a wave, with Pippa clasped to his breast, he rose. And then they fell again. He searched around him but saw no boat at all.
Then he saw an arm rise, not ten yards distant. A man’s arm with fingers clawing.
Franchot deserved to drown.
The arm rose again, then a head. And Calum stretched until he could catch hold of the clawing hand.
Bear you, bear you. The sea will bear you up.
Pippa lay atop Calum. Franchot’s head was clamped to his right shoulder. He worked with legs that had long since ceased to feel pain and drew breath into lungs that were beyond aching.
I will bear you home! The voice had the hushed quality of tranquil waters.
His back met something hard and shifting.
Pippa was lifted from him and Franchot was pried from his right arm.
Strong hands drew him backward on the rocky shore, and unbelievably, he staggered to stand and fall against Struan.
“A miracle,” his friend shouted against the wind. “You are all alive, yet we thought you would all be dead.”
Calum drifted up through shades of darkness. Beneath him was warmth, and on top of him, and when he opened his eyes, it was to the flickering of firelight over walls and furniture in his bedchamber at the castle.
A door opened and closed softly.
“That maid says the gel is still resting,” the dowager said in her brittle voice, none too softly.
“Hush.” It was Justine who answered her grandmother. “Calum must sleep on.”
“He’s slept all day.”
“So has Etienne.”
“Etienne has had a terrible experience.”
“He would be dead if it were not for Calum Innes.”
Calum let his eyes close again. His body was weighted and aching.
“Etienne would not have drowned,” the dowager said.
When Justine didn’t respond, the old lady tutted. “You know he could not. Any more than you yourself drowned when the sea would have had you all those years ago.”
“Because of the caul,” Justine said softly.
“Because of the caul, indeed,” the dowager said. “You and your brother were both born without the breaking of your mother’s waters. Such infants come swimming into the world and are forever protected from death by drowning. I notice you never fail to wear your own caul.”
“You gave it to me in the locket, Grandmama.”
“And you were wearing it when you were trapped by the rocks. You wear it always because you believe you would have drowned without it.”
“Etienne was not wearing his caul today. He never has. He will never even discuss it.”
The dowager coughed. “He keeps it safe. And today he was proven right in that the circumstances of his birth would always save him regardless of whether he had the caul in his presence.”
“Perhaps,” Justine said. “Calum saved him, Grandmama. What is it about Calum that causes you discomfort?”
“Do not be impertinent, Justine. I have no interest in Innes beyond the human kindness of wishing to see him safely recovered and sent on his way.”
“He belongs here.”
Calum held his breath.
“Hold your ton
gue,” the dowager said. “And never say such a thing again. It isn’t seemly for you to be here with him. Leave us at once.”
“But I—”
“Leave. You may have a point in that he did Etienne some service. I will ensure that he does not awaken alone.”
“Grandmama, I should like to remain.”
“And I should prefer you to leave. Allow me the respect I deserve, if you please.”
Without another word, Justine left, and Calum heard the rustle of black silk as the dowager approached the bed and stood over him.
The lamp beside him flared and he looked into the woman’s seamed face.
“How long have you been awake?” she asked.
“Long enough.”
“Can you get up?”
“I am a strong man.” He pushed back the covers and swung his feet from the bed, grateful for the covering of a nightshirt in which someone had clothed him.
“Come by the fire,” the old lady told him. “There are things that must be said and forgotten.”
On legs that shook, Calum followed her and sank into a chair.
The dowager sat opposite him. From the folds of her skirts she produced a dark velvet bag tied at the top. This she undid and then slipped a small portrait from inside.
She set the painting facedown on her lap and took a pen from the bag also. The pen she offered to Calum. He took it automatically.
“Did they try to break you of the habit when you were a boy?” she asked.
He frowned and followed her gaze to the pen in his left hand. “Ah. Yes, they tried and failed, I fear.”
“You use both hands equally well?”
“I do. Sometimes a very useful fault.” As in when called upon to carry two drowning people from the sea. “I prefer the left.”
“An affliction,” the dowager pronounced, turning over the portrait and putting it onto Calum’s lap. “My husband.”
He picked up the piece and saw yet another depiction of a dark-haired man at a writing table with a pen in his left hand. “A man one wouldn’t easily forget,” he said. The woman was admitting that she knew who Calum was, wasn’t she?
“I shall never forget him. Like all Franchots, he was dedicated to the honor of this family’s impeccable name.”
Their eyes met.
“He had the affliction of wrong-handedness, but never allowed any to suggest he was other than sane, as is so often said of such people. His father before him held the same order of things, and my own son. How fortunate it is that Etienne has no need to defend himself in such a manner. The first in generations. A great blessing.”
“Perhaps the time has come for plain speaking, Your Grace,” Calum said.
She took back the portrait and returned it to its pouch. “My boy,” she said, sounding weary, “sometimes there are things that cannot be changed—despite a longing that it might be otherwise. Too much would be lost.”
“You know who I am, don’t you?” He watched her closely.
The dowager avoided his eyes. “I’m certain you understand that family honor is inviolate,” she said. “And some scandals could never be overcome.”
“How could such a travesty have happened? How could I have been—”
“No!” She raised a hand. “Do not say it. Be certain that if such a thing truly occurred, it was without the knowledge of anyone who might have changed it.” She looked at him fully now. “But also be certain that there are those who have wondered at certain things. I don’t suppose you…Is there anything you feel you might show me? Anything you have been able to obtain?”
Even though she was telling him she would not acknowledge his claim, she wanted to be certain he had no proof, the kind of proof he’d hoped to get from Miranda. “I have nothing to show you.”
There could be no mistaking the relief that softened her features. She smiled a little. “I thought not.”
“And you will not recognize me?”
“You are no one I recognize,” she said. “But I wish you well.”
“You can do this thing?”
“I must do this or see my family made a laughingstock.” She leaned toward him. “I will say just this to you. If you were who you think you are, you would do anything to avoid the scandal such a revelation would represent.”
Calum turned the pen in his hands. “So I am to sacrifice myself for the honor of a family that will not recognize me?”
“We understand each other. I wish I might have known you.” She rose. “I shall find a way to compensate you to some extent.”
“I want none of your money,” he said through his teeth. “But I want Lady Philipa Chauncey.”
The woman hesitated and drew herself up very straight. “Lady Philipa and my grandson will marry shortly just as soon as she is recovered. That was agreed on the day of her birth. Do not try to see her. She is very weak and is to be protected from all excitement. Sleep. We will arrange for you to leave as soon as you are strong enough.”
Calum remained by the fire after the dowager duchess had departed. Strength poured through him again. Strength, anger and determination. For the sake of his family’s pride, he was to pretend he was not one of them. He could do that. He could not leave Pippa to the murderous devil who wanted her only for what her dowry would bring him.
The door, opening again, and hurriedly this time, brought Calum to his feet. He put the chair between him and his visitor.
Confronted with Franchot in a dressing robe, Calum had to ball his fists on the back of his chair to stop himself from taking the other man by the throat.
“I came to thank you,” Franchot said. His lips curled. “To thank you and to warn you. I have been informed of your dangerous plot against my family. I had feared you had some designs here, but nothing could have prepared me for anything so fantastic.”
“Fantastic?” Calum returned the other man’s stare without blinking. “You think so?”
“Enough of this. We helped each other from the sea, and for that, we owe each other a debt of thanks. I am discharging mine.”
“Helped each other?” Calum laughed with bitter disbelief. “You tried to drown me. I should have allowed you to drown.”
“You will leave now,” Franchot said. “Hunsingore and his brats will go with you. And unless you wish to be held to public ridicule, you will never speak of this again.”
“I want Pippa,” Calum said shortly. “And I intend to have her.”
Franchot’s expression changed from anger to pity. “Ah, I should have thought of this. Do not think of her further, Innes. She is not meant for you.”
“She was always meant for me.”
“She will never be yours.”
Calum started around the chair and Franchot’s hand went to the doorknob. “Philipa was glad to see me at the lighthouse,” Franchot said. “She had been terrified to learn that it had been at your command that she was taken there and that you intended for her to die there.”
“What are you saying, man?”
“Poor Philipa. Such a shock to discover that the man who had declared his affection for her would sacrifice her. When I told her that it had been your plan to make it appear that I killed her because she believed you bore the right to my title and lands—and that I was also supposed to die so that you could claim that prize, she came to me willingly and with gratitude.”
Calum pushed the chair from him and it fell to its side. “I don’t believe you.”
Franchot laughed. “Of course not. I’m probably lying. But I was at the lighthouse for some hours before you came looking for my passionate little fiancée. Ah, yes, a delightful surprise indeed. If the seas had cooperated, we would be far from here and already married. That situation will soon be remedied.”
“She would not,” Calum said. “Not willingly.”
“Willingly?” Franchot opened the door. “Don’t tell me you have not noted that the lady is spirited. In her relief at being rescued from your designs, she was most generous with her gratitude toward
me.”
Calum rushed at him.
“Do not try to touch her,” Franchot said. “She is probably already carrying my child. The next Duke of Franchot.” The door slammed in Calum’s face.
Charmed Twenty-Eight
Within the hour Calum was ready to leave. He went in search of Struan and found him in the nursery wing with Max.
“You should be sleeping,” Struan said when he saw Calum.
Calum nodded at Max. “So should he. But no doubt you’ve been informed we’re to disappear.”
Struan, sitting beside Max on the lad’s bed, propped his elbows and steepled his fingers. “Justine was the messenger,” he said. “She is as good as a prisoner in this great house, yet sees no way out.”
“She told you …”
“Everything. The story of the cauls. About the portraits. Her grandmother’s insistence that there be no more discussion of your claims.”
“Justine believes me, doesn’t she?”
“Possibly,” Struan said. “Franchot was with Pippa at the lighthouse, then?”
Calum glanced at the boy. “Justine told you that?”
“She said the dowager intimated that Franchot rescued Pippa and that they are now close. She said the old woman spoke of your having been discredited to Pippa and that a hasty marriage to Franchot had become imperative for the sake of her honor.”
“So it is to end this way,” Calum said.
“Perhaps not entirely. Max has been telling me about his mother.”
Calum went to sprawl in a lumpy armchair. “I’m sorry about your mother, Max. Where is Ella?”
“With Saber,” Max said promptly.
Calum narrowed his eyes. “It’s night. In God’s name, what can you be thinking of, Struan?”
“I’m assured by Saber that he thinks of Ella as the sister he never had. He is also answerable to me for her safety. He has returned with her to the fair, where there is someone she has said she must see again. I gave my permission. I’d have gone myself, but I knew you would need me when you awoke.”
“I must get away from this place,” Calum said, resting his head against the chair back. “Perhaps I may come with you to Dorset for a while. Surely there we can find a place for these children.”
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