Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  "You don't need to lie—"

  She shook her head. "Nay, I'm not."

  "I can’t believe he would spare a woman as lovely as you from his amorous attentions, or indeed, any of your other captors."

  "Will protected me in jail. Samuel didn't because he was more interested in my lands, and he thought he had all the power, you see. He was convinced that I would do anything to save my brother from hanging."

  "But you didn't?" he asked softly. "Because you know there's no blame attached to force—"

  "No, I didn't. Samuel rescued us from prison, bribed the guards to look the other way. But the payment he demanded was our land and estates, made over to him as part of a wedding settlement. I of course refused. But after keeping us prisoner for weeks without food and constant beatings, I had to give in. I said he could just take the land if he let me go. But Samuel forced me to go through with the wedding,” Vevina explained quietly, as she sat down on the bed again with a weary sigh.

  "How did you manage to escape without him ravishing you then?"

  She gave a bitter smile. "He was more eager to survey his ill gotten lands than consummate our marriage. Luckily too, for of course, with Will being the male heir, and me the unwanted wife, it was only a matter of time before he planned to turn us back over to the authorities, or he would have killed us himself, he or his conspirators."

  "My God, are you sure?"

  She nodded miserably.

  Stewart ground his teeth together audibly. "That bastard. So how did you get away?"

  “Fortunately, one of our old servants was loyal enough to free us from where he had locked us up. Gave us decent clothes, and helped us slip away unnoticed with what was left of the housekeeping money.

  "We went to the local tavern and found a smuggler willing to set us down on the south coast of England, and once there, walked the rest of the way to London. We had little money, hardly any way of supporting ourselves, and we were branded criminals, outlaws, traitors.

  "It was unsafe to remain in England risking discovery, and we needed a means of support, so Wilfred took the King's shilling, and enlisted. After the initial training period, we ended up here.”

  Stewart gazed at her, horrified, fascinated. “Go on, Viv, let it all out,” he soothed, as he stroked her hair and sat down next to her on the bed.

  “I thought we would be safe in the Army. I’m sure many men have taken on new identities to escape from problems at home. We had no reason to fear discovery, or so I presumed. I had no idea Samuel was then going to join the army, and come to Spain. It doesn’t make sense. He lied and schemed and beat and nearly raped me to get the estate, yet now he's here. He must have some foul plan in mind, and if he finds me, my life is worth nothing.”

  “I’ll kill him first!” Stewart bellowed, jumping up and resuming his pacing like a tiger in a cage.

  “What would be the point?” Vevina said wearily, shaking her head. “It can never restore all that has been lost to Wilfred and myself unless we can prove he was the one who moved against us, made my family look like a nest of traitors.

  "The sensible thing would be to go back, make a great show of accepting him as a husband. Everyone in the district will know if he ill treats me, or does away with me. He'll be forced to act decently, or come up on charges himself. He can give me protection, and I can help Wilfred. After all, I'm not the first woman to be forced into marriage against my will.”

  Stewart grabbed her by her slender shoulders and shook her angrily. “If you really thought that, Viv, you would have stayed with him, or gone back home a long time ago. You told me yourself, the two of you are stumbling blocks to whatever plan the calculating little worm has set in motion.

  "And after all the hardships you and Wilfred have endured with the army, if you were going to give up on your struggle, you would have done it long before now.”

  Vevina nodded, and lifted her chin. “You're right, of course. I'm playing devil's advocate, and trying to figure out a plan for bringing him to justice without risking all our lives. The fact is, he destroyed my family. I’ll get revenge in my own time, and I will get back all that has been taken from us.”

  Seeing the determined glow in her eyes, he could well believe it. “Vevina, will you trust me, tell me exactly what happened in Ireland, let me help you?” Stewart begged. He put his arm around her comfortingly, but she pulled away, and stood up stiffly, once again shutting him out.

  “Please, Viv, how can I protect you if I don’t know what danger you are in?” he pleaded more softly, reaching out a hand to her in supplication.

  She shook her head. “But I’m not the only one in danger. As heir to the Joyce estate, Wilfred is even more at risk. He would have to be dead and out of the way for Samuel to be secure in his claims of ownership. It appears he's spread the rumour that my brother is dead, but legally can do nothing for seven years without proof.”

  “Vevina, I give you my word, I'm fond of young Wilfred, and more than fond of you, as you well know. I’ll do whatever I can to protect you both, but you must trust me, tell me the truth, no matter how painful it might be for both of us,” Stewart urged.

  She paced for a moment more. At last, Vevina sat down with him on the bed.

  She sighed, almost too overcome with grief to say the terrible words. “Your brother Samuel presented the authorities with papers supposedly proving that my father was involved with Robert Emmet’s rebellion in the streets of Dublin in 1803. That he was meant to organise an uprising in Cork simultaneously, but that the French Army and Navy let him down at the last minute.”

  “Impossible!” Stewart exclaimed angrily.

  Vevina shrank away at his roar, so that Stewart reached to pat her hand. "I'm sorry. It's just, well, how could anyone ever have believed such a monstrous lie?"

  She shook her head. "People believe what they wish, and what they are made to think by so-called evidence put in front of them."

  He continued more gently, stroking her lovely face, “Admittedly I haven’t seen him for years, probably not since about 1803, but your father was the most loyal patriot I ever met!”

  Vevina sagged against him in relief, as she realized he was prepared to believe her and not side with this brother.

  “That charge is simply preposterous! What proofs could Samuel possibly have given the Crown to convince them of such a monstrous untruth?”

  “Letters, papers, the fact that Emmet had dined with us once or twice in Dublin, visited us in Cork once on his way down to Kerry,” Vevina explained patiently.

  “Why after all this time did Samuel make his move? The rebellion was eight years ago, nearly nine!”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Perhaps with your father dead, you out of the country, he thought he could expand his interests without hindrance.”

  “I'm the eldest son and Duke of Clancar. He has no real rights--”

  “True, but you joined the army. You've been away fighting for many years now. And I hate to say this, but I believe there is a specific reason for the timing."

  "What?"

  She blushed. "I'm certain he's done this now because he was sure you were dead,” Vevina confessed, as she took his hand gently in her own work-roughened one.

  His dark brows lofted skyward. “What do you mean?”

  “There was a false report of your death in the London papers after the explosion at Almeida. He must have thought the entire Fitzgerald estate was his,” Vevina told him quietly. She watched his face turn to stone, as he began to recall an inner vision of torment.

  “I’d just got back from leave, when I was assigned there. I wasn’t in the fortress when it blew, though all my possessions were. I was on reconnaissance at the time. I saw it from miles off. It was a horrible sight. I nearly got captured by the French and the Spanish guerrillas trying to get back to Wellington at Lisbon,” he recalled with a shudder, before turning his full attention back to Vevina once more.

  “Greed always was Samuel’s weak point. What makes
you say that he thought I was dead until yesterday? Isn’t it possible he joined the army to seek me out?”

  “Not likely. Why risk his life to find out if a brother he loathed were dead? Besides that, I saw the way he looked at you, when I was hiding around the tents, and I overheard him afterwards, talking to his servant, a reprobate know as Ben Grimes. Samuel said he had been assured that you were dead, and now he would have to make sure,” Vevina repeated, managing to squeeze the words past the lump in her throat.

  He looked stunned. “God, why does he hate me so much?”

  “I don’t know, but you're in danger too now, not just us. Samuel wants money, land, but above all power, and brotherly feelings or scruples are not in his nature.”

  He sighed heavily. “You don”t need to tell me that. I’ve known him for thirty years, and he has always been selfish and vindictive.”

  Vevina reached out a hand to touch his shoulder as he sat next to her on the bed. “Major, Stewart, I am grateful for all you have done to help Wilfred and myself. But you mustn't let anyone know who I am, and you must be doubly careful yourself not to let your guard down for a moment with Samuel so near.”

  Stewart reached up to stroke her cheek, and ran his thumb along her ripe lower lip in a fleeting caress that made her body go on fire.

  “You almost sound as though you care,” Stewart whispered.

  Their eyes locked intimately.

  “Of course I care,” Vevina sighed, before forcing herself to assume a more normal and practical tone of voice, and tearing her eyes away from his seductive midnight blue ones. “I told the others to look out for you, and Will and I have been trying to find something in your papers which could give us a clue as to what Samuel is after here in the army. You walked in on us last night, didn’t you, and that’s why you were so suspicious of me today, wasn’t it?”

  Stewart nodded, and began to apologize, but Vevina cut him off. “I don’t blame you in the least, so let’s not waste any time with bitter recriminations or pointless explanations. Right now, my concern is that missing code book for the telegraph. Since you have already, er— searched my person for it, and found me to be innocent, we must find out who really does have it.”

  “Maybe someone just picked it up by mistake, or was curious?” Stewart suggested hopefully. “It might turn up again soon.”

  “You'll forgive my saying so, Major, but with your brother so close, and your enmity for each other so great, I think it more likely he is trying to discredit you, trick you in some way into making a capital error, so he could assume command. You're equal in rank, so it would be a simple substitution.”

  “For what end? He’s a major himself so it's not as if he could gain promotion.”

  “I can't be sure, but there must be a reason why he has paid all this money for a commission, then come out here to fight the French, when he obviously could have had a Ministry post at home in England.

  "Samuel isn’t a fighter. Why should he want to leave the drawing rooms of London for a leaky tent in the Peninsula during the coldest winter ever recorded! No, there must be some reason why he want to be here in Europe, and possibly even near the French.”

  Stewart’s eyes glittered as he stated coldly, “Are you accusing my brother of being a traitor?”

  “You must admit yourself it's possible. Or perhaps the French have something he wants, and is willing to take great pains to get. A British army telegraph code book in the wrong hands could cause chaos,” Vevina said.

  “Why do you assume he wants to side with the French? Is it possible there is something here at Cuidad Roderigo he's pursuing?”

  She considered the matter for a moment. “Possible, but unlikely. If he were really involved with the abortive uprising in Dublin and Cork nine years ago, those plans were backed by the French, and would explain how he might have contacts here on the continent he wishes to pursue.”

  “You could be right,” Stewart admitted reluctantly. “But Samuel has never been interested in politics or current affairs or war. There might be another explanation. I'm trying to recall some old family myths and legends, about a rather wild and disreputable ancestor who ran off to France, married well. It sounds silly, but we were always great believers in buried treasure around the house when Samuel and I were boys. It was rumoured that there was a treasure at this chateau to be had if a riddle were solved, but the estate is far behind enemy lines, at Grenoble.”

  She gazed at him in surprise. “You don’t imagine Samuel is that fanciful, do you?”

  Stewart shrugged one shoulder. “Possibly not, but it could partly help solve this mystery. After all, Samuel thinks he's the last remaining Fitzgerald. He might be in contact with Grenoble, not for treasure, which I'm sure doesn’t exist, but because with the Revolution, and now this long war, it could be that the head of the Irish Fitzgeralds stands to inherit. Up until yesterday, Samuel thought that was him. Now that he finds I'm still alive, it changes things drastically.”

  “You don’t imagine he thinks Wellington and the Army are losing and he's moving over to the winning side, do you?” Vevina asked quietly, her eyes searching Stewart’s.

  Stewart sighed and took her hand in both his own. “Vevina, I wish I could say it wasn’t likely, but the Spanish war against Napoleon has been unprofessional and incompetent at its best, and downright obstructive to British interests at its worst. Maybe Samuel is right, God only knows,” he answered.

  He squeezed her hand before moving his face closer to hers, leaning his bristly cheek against her petal soft one almost wearily.

  “But I swear to you, Vevina, I will fight to the death, and brotherly feeling will not prevent me from doing my duty to my country.”

  Vevina nodded. “I have nothing to lose either. Samuel has taken all my worldly goods, but even worse, the honor and dignity of the Joyce family name. I need to help you try to solve this mystery.”

  With that Stewart pulled away from her abruptly, and argued, “Surely you can't be serious about wishing to stay. Go back to England, live with some friends of mine who will protect you, until I can make sense of all that has happened.”

  “Please, Stewart, don’t you see? I can’t leave Wilfred behind! And I can’t join the Army like my brother. I can only prove am a loyal patriot by helping you. I don’t want to go back to the safety and tedium of London society, when there's so much I can do here,” Vevina pleaded earnestly

  Stewart quirked an eyebrow, and she stamped her foot angrily, though she did not remove her hand from his clasp.

  “You think I am some spoiled society beauty, because that is the only side of me you have ever seen in the past. But I can ride, fight with a sword and bayonet, shoot straight, cook, clean, tend the wounded, do the washing, pressing, mending...”

  “And totally bewitch me with your flashing eyes,” Stewart teased.

  “Damn it, you aren’t taking me seriously, Stewart!” Vevina sniffed, though she was pleased with the flattery.

  “On the contrary, my dear, Vevina, I'm taking you completely seriously. You say I've only ever seen you as a very bewitching girl, very mature for your ripe old age of nine, but I've watched you for the past few weeks, ever since I came upon you fighting Hawkes to the death. I must admit I admire you ardently. And I agree you would be a valuable asset to the camp because of your many talents, and your patience and kindness.

  “But how can I keep you here with me? You're genteel, above such hardships. I can’t continue to use you as a servant, and you need a protector. Will isn’t able to fill that role, and now that I know who he is, I have other plans in mind, plans which may take him back to England,” Stewart declared, thinking to persuade her easily.

  “To a desk job at the Ministry? He won’t thank you for it! It has been difficult for him here, but think of the shame he would feel if he were sent home to drink claret by the fireside while his comrades are suffering and dying here in Spain!

  “Besides, you're forgetting that Wilfred is attainted for treason
as well as myself. It would only be a matter of time before William James was recognized by an old acquaintance as Wilfred Joyce, and he would be hung. No, Stewart, I’m sorry. We're staying here.”

  Stewart tried one last tack. “Please Vevina, don’t you see what you are doing to me? I can’t trust myself with you. I know it's a marriage in name only between you and Samuel, but you are still legally bound. If you were not, I would ask to you to marry me tomorrow.”

  To his surprise, she gave him a withering glance. “To save and protect me? No thank you, it's far too generous of you to even consider making such a sacrifice on my behalf. In any case, when I marry it shall be for love, not expediency,” Vevina said haughtily, as she tried to rise and leave the tent.

  Stewart’s powerful arms banded about her. He didn’t want to frighten or deceive her, but if it were for her own good? He breathed seductively as he brought his lips to within an inch of her own, “There is no such thing as love, only what I feel for you now, a raging passion which can not hold itself in check forever. You can't continue to live here with me in this tent without knowing the truth.”