“Very ill. He’s having nightmares. It’s awful, Douglas.”
“Couldn’t you get Sinjun to leave him to Finkle for the rest of the night?”
“No. Finkle would fall asleep and probably wake poor Colin up with his snoring. You told me about the times when you were campaigning that Finkle would wake you up with his noises even after you’d been in battle for twelve hours and exhausted. No, let Finkle see to Colin during the day. Sinjun is young and strong. She needs to be with him. Let her.”
Douglas sighed. “Life is bloody unexpected. I forbade him to enter the house, knowing deep in my brain that the two of them would naturally see each other. Damnation, he could have died if Sinjun hadn’t taken matters into her own hands and gone to his lodgings. It’s my bloody fault. She doesn’t know about the knifing, does she?”
“No. Now, if you continue to blame yourself, Douglas, for something that could never be remotely your fault, I shall write to Ryder and urge him to come here immediately and bash you into the ground.”
“Ha! Ryder wouldn’t do that. Besides, I’m bigger than he is. I’d thrash him into a lump.”
“Ah, but then you’d have to deal with Sophie.”
“A terrifying thought.”
“I hope you don’t mind that she and Ryder can’t come to London just now. With two of the children hurt in that fall from the hayloft, they wouldn’t much enjoy it; they’d be too worried. Also, the twins are quite happy there with their cousin and all the other children.”
“I miss the little heathens,” Douglas said fondly.
“All twelve of the children plus our two and Ryder and Sophie’s one?”
“Two at a time is preferable. I like the notion of trading children around. They never quite have time enough to roll you up so you’ll do whatever they want.”
“You’re right about that. Ah, but my dear, with Colin so ill and the wedding to be seen to, it is better, I suppose, that we leave the boys with their aunt and uncle.”
“I think Sinjun will want to marry Colin just as soon as possible. If that’s so, then Ryder and Sophie won’t be here.”
“I’m too tired to think more on the situation. Let’s get some sleep.”
Douglas felt a soft hand stroke down his chest and smiled into the darkness. “Ah, I thought you were tired. You have regained your vigor? Am I to be rewarded?”
“If you promise not to shout too loudly and awaken your mother again.” Alex shuddered, remembering the one night she and Douglas had enjoyed themselves immoderately, and his mother had burst into the room, thinking Alex had killed her beloved son. The memory still made her stiff with mortification.
“I’ll stuff a handkerchief in my mouth.”
He was whole-witted at last, but so weak he couldn’t seem to raise himself so he could use the chamber pot. It was damnable. At least the fever was gone and the pain in his leg was tolerable. He’d been a fool not to see a doctor when it had happened, but he simply wasn’t used to having some quack dose him, for God’s sake, for whatever reason. Never had he seen Dr. Childress, the Kinross physician for over thirty years, for anything more than childhood illnesses. He was young and strong and healthy as a stoat. A simple little knife cut and here he was flat on his back, sick with fever and out of his head.
He watched with half-closed eyes as Joan came into the room. He was testy and hungry. He didn’t want her there. He needed a man to help him.
“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Sinjun said, giving him a smile that lit up the bedchamber. “How do you feel?”
He grunted.
“Should you like me to shave you? I shaved Tysen’s head once while Ryder held him down. Not more than ten years ago. I could try, and I would be very careful.”
“No.”
“The strangest thing, Colin, there’s a man downstairs who claims he’s your cousin.”
That brought him bolt upright in the bed. The covers fell to his belly and he could but stare at her. Which cousin? None of his cousins knew he was here, did they? Ah, MacDuff did.
“That’s not possible,” he said, and fell back to the pillows. Sinjun was looking at the line the covers made below his waist. She swallowed. He was so beautiful, all hard and long, black hair covering his chest, ah, but it narrowed to a soft black trail and disappeared beneath the covers. He was too thin, she could see his ribs, but that would change.
“You must stay warm,” she said, and pulled the covers up to his shoulders, even though she wanted to pull them to his feet and look at him for six hours at least.
“Joan, you’re not jesting? MacDuff is here?”
She blinked. “MacDuff? He didn’t give me his name, just said he was your favorite cousin. MacDuff, as in Shakespeare’s MacDuff?”
“Yes. As boys, we all called him MacCud—”
“As in a Scottish cow?”
He grinned. “That’s it. His real name is Francis Little, absurd for someone of his height, breadth, and width, so we chose MacDuff for him when we were boys. As I recall, he threatened to smash us in the dirt if we didn’t stop calling him MacCud and change it to MacDuff.”
“It fits him better than Francis Little, which isn’t at all right for a man with a chest the width of a tree trunk. MacDuff! That’s very clever, Colin. I imagine you devised that name. You know, he’s got the reddest hair and no freckles. His eyes are as blue as a summer sky—”
“His eyes are just the same shade as yours. Stop your rhapsodizing about my bloody giant of a cousin. Bring him up.”
“No,” Sinjun said. “Not until you’ve eaten your breakfast. Ah, here’s Finkle right now. He’ll assist you with other matters as well. I will be back in a few minutes and help you eat.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Certainly not, but you will enjoy my company, won’t you?”
He just looked at her. She smiled at him, kissed his closed mouth lightly, and nearly danced from the room.
She turned at the doorway. “Should you like to marry me tomorrow?”
He gave her a look that held irritation rather than shock, and said, “You would have a memorable wedding night. I would be lying dead to the world at your side and that would be it.”
“I shouldn’t mind. We have the rest of our lives together.”
“I refuse to wed you until I can bed you properly.” It was a stupid thing for him to say, he realized. He needed to wed her in the next hour, if it were possible. Time was growing short. He desperately needed her money.
Sinjun sat back, watching the two cousins talk. They were speaking quietly, so she couldn’t understand them, nor did she really want to eavesdrop, something at which she was really quite accomplished. With three older brothers, she’d learned at a very young age that most information kept from her, wicked or otherwise, was best discovered through a keyhole. She looked out the window down into the enclosed garden. It was a cool day, but the sky was clear and blue and the flowers and plants in the garden were in full bloom. She heard Colin laugh and looked up, smiling. MacDuff—surely that nickname was stranger than her own nickname, Sinjun—seemed a pleasant man, and more important, very fond of Colin. Even sitting by the bed he looked huge, not fat, no, not at all, just huge like a giant. His laugh was huge, too, shaking his entire body. She liked him. She had no qualms about MacDuff because she’d told him that if he tired Colin, she would personally boot him out.
He’d looked down at her from his vast elevation and grinned. “You’re no coward, I see, just a bit stupid to take this mongrel into your home. Nay, I’ll close my trap when the time comes so as not to tire out the poor lad.”
In perfect accord, she’d taken him in to see Colin.
Even now he was rising and saying to Colin, “It’s time you rested, old man. No, no arguments. I have promised Sinjun and I have a mighty fear of her.”
“Her name is Joan. She isn’t a man.”
MacDuff raised a violent red eyebrow. “A bit irritable, are we? A bit of a green color about the gills? I will see y
ou in the morning, Ash. Do what Sinjun tells you to do. She’s invited me to the wedding, you know.”
And MacDuff the tree trunk was gone.
“He has no Scottish accent, just as you don’t.”
“MacDuff, despite his nickname, prefers the English side of his family. My father and his mother were brother and sister. His mother married an Englishman from York, a very wealthy ironmonger. Both of us were educated in England, but he went more deeply into it than I did. I used to think he would cut all ties with Scotland if he weren’t tied to it so closely, at least that’s what he always said. But now I believe he’s changed his mind, because during the past few years he’s lived most of the time in Edinburgh.”
“You’re tired, Colin. I want to hear all about this, but later, my dear.”
“You’re a nag.”
He sounded sour, which pleased her. He was mending.
“No, not a nag. One rides a nag,” she said, patting the covers at his shoulders.
He stared at her. “Your sexual innuendos aren’t at all the thing for a virgin.”
He realized she had no idea what he was talking about and snorted at her. “Just go away, Joan.”
“All right. Forgive me, Colin. You’re tired and must rest.”
She turned at the door. “Would you like to marry me the day after tomorrow?”
“Perhaps if I can walk tomorrow I shall be able to ride the day after tomorrow.”
She cocked her head to one side in question, and when he just continued to look sour, she smiled and left him.
Colin lay back and closed his eyes. He was worried, very worried, and so angry he wanted to spit. MacDuff had come to tell him that the MacPhersons were moving on Kinross lands. They’d heard about his financial ruin, knew he was out of Scotland, and had thus taken advantage. They were, according to MacDuff, freely raiding Kinross land and sheep. They were vultures, normally incompetent and content to whine about all their misfortunes—all brought on by themselves. They’d even killed several crofters who’d tried to save their homes from pillage. His people were doing what they could, but there was no leader there for them. Colin had never felt more helpless in his entire life. Here he was, lying in this lovely damned bed in this beautiful house, weak as a day-old foal, and useless to himself and to his family and his people.
Marrying Joan Sherbrooke was the most important thing he could accomplish. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d had rabbit teeth, so long as her guineas were shining and numerous. Nothing mattered except smashing the cowardly MacPhersons and saving Vere Castle and all the other Kinross properties. He had to move quickly. He tried to rise, gritted his teeth at the wash of pain through his thigh, and fell back again. Colin’s head began to pound. The next time Joan asked him to wed her, he’d ask that the preacher be brought in the next five minutes.
Douglas Sherbrooke very carefully folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope.
He began to pace the length of the library, then stopped, pulled the letter from the envelope, and read it through again. The big block letters were in black ink and carefully printed. He read:
Lord Northcliffe,
Colin Kinross murdered his wife. He will wed your sister and then do away with her. Doubt it not. He is ruthless and would do anything to get what he wants. The only thing he wants now is money.
It was the sort of thing that Douglas hated. An anonymous accusation that left one furious and disbelieving because it was anonymous, but still planted a seed of doubt despite what one felt about the one being accused. The letter had been delivered just an hour before by a small urchin, who simply told Drinnen that a cove bid ’im to deliver this letter to the lordship o’ this fancy ’ouse.
Drinnen hadn’t asked the lad to describe the cove. A pity. He assumed it had been a man. He paced again, now crumpling the letter in his hand.
Colin was mending rapidly. Sinjun was already dancing about, wanting to marry him by the end of the week. Jesus, it was already Tuesday.
What to do?
He knew deep in his gut that Sinjun wouldn’t care if the wretched letter accused Colin of murdering an entire regiment. She wouldn’t believe it. She would never believe it. She’d go to war with her entire family before she’d believe it.
Damnation. He knew he couldn’t ignore it, and thus, when Alex and Sinjun left the house to fetch Sinjun’s wedding gown from Madame Jordan’s, he didn’t put it off. He strode up to Colin’s bedchamber.
Colin was wearing one of his own dressing gowns, thanks to Finkle and several footmen, who had returned to his lodgings and packed all his clothing and brought his two trunks here. He was standing beside the bed, looking toward the door.
“Do you need some assistance?” Douglas asked as he stepped into the room.
“No, thank you. I’m endeavoring to prove that I can walk across this room and back three times without falling on my nose.”
Douglas laughed. “How many times have you done it?”
“Twice, at five-minute intervals. This third time looks to be the death of me though.”
“Sit down, Colin. I must speak to you.”
Colin sat gingerly in a wing chair near the fireplace. He stretched his leg out in front of him, wincing as he did so. He began to gently massage the leg. “You didn’t tell Joan, did you?”
“No, only my wife, although I don’t know why you care if Sinjun knows or not.”
“It would infuriate her and worry her and she wouldn’t stand for it. She would probably hire a Bow Street Runner and the two of them would go haring off to track down the man who did it. She would probably place an advertisement in the Gazette for information leading to his capture. She could hurt herself. She obviously needs to be protected, more from herself than anything else.”
Douglas could but stare at him. “You’ve known her such a short time and yet . . .” He shook his head. “That’s exactly what she’d do. I sometimes feel the good Lord doesn’t know what she plans to do until she does it. She’s very creative, you know.”
“No, but I suspect I’ll learn.”
“You have yet to tell me how you got knifed in the thigh.”
Colin didn’t meet Douglas’s eyes. “It was a little bully who wanted to rob me. I knocked the man down and he pulled a knife from his boot. My thigh was as high as he could reach.”
“Did you kill him?”
“No, but I probably should have, the damned blighter. He wouldn’t have gotten much from me had he succeeded in picking my pocket. I had no more than two guineas with me at the most.”
“I got a letter just a while ago, accusing you of murdering your wife.”
Colin became very still. It was as if, Douglas thought, he had pulled inside himself, away from pain or perhaps guilt? He didn’t know. Colin looked beyond Douglas’s left shoulder toward the fireplace.
“It wasn’t signed. The person who wrote it sent a boy around with it. I don’t like letters like this. They’re poisonous and they leave one feeling foul.”
Colin said nothing.
“No one knew you’d already been married.”
“No. I didn’t think it was anyone’s affair.”
“When did she die?”
“Shortly before my brother died, some six and a half months ago.”
“How?”
Colin felt his guts twist and knot. “She fell off a cliff and broke her neck.”
“Did you push her?”
Colin was silent, a hard silence both deep and angry.
“Were you arguing with her? Did she fall accidentally?”
“I didn’t murder my wife. I won’t murder your sister. I gather the writer of the letter warned you about that.”
“Oh yes.”
“Will you tell Joan?”
Douglas blinked. He still couldn’t accustom himself to Colin’s calling Sinjun Joan. “I must. It would be preferable, naturally, if you told her, perhaps gave her explanations that you’ve not given to me.”
Colin said nothing.
He was stiff, wary.
Douglas rose. “I’m sorry,” he said. “She is my sister and I love her dearly. I must protect her. It is only fair that she know about this. I do feel, however, that before the two of you marry, this must be resolved. That is something I must demand.”
Colin remained silent. He didn’t look up until Douglas had quietly closed the door behind him. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He rubbed his thigh; the stitches itched and the flesh was pink. He was healing nicely.
But was he healing quickly enough?
Who, for God’s sake? Who could have done this? The MacPhersons were the only ones who came to mind, and it was a powerful motive they had, if they were indeed responsible. His first wife, Fiona Dahling MacPherson, had been the laird’s eldest daughter. But old Latham had supposedly absolved him, at least he had at the time of Fiona’s death. Of course her brother hadn’t, but the laird had kept Robert in line. During the past several months Colin had heard that the laird wasn’t right in the head, that his health was failing rapidly, which was only to be expected, since the man was as old as the Gaelic rocks at Limner. Ah, yes, the letter had to be from the MacPhersons, the wretched cowards, there was no one else.
The damned letter paled into insignificance. He had to marry Joan, and quickly, or all would be lost. He closed his eyes.
He forced himself to rest. Several hours later Colin rose from the chair and walked the length of the bedchamber, two times, then three. He was gaining strength, thank God. He just prayed it was quickly enough.
It was during dinner that evening, Joan eating her own dinner beside him, that he made up his mind. He looked up from the fork bite of ham to realize that she was speaking.
“ . . . Please don’t misunderstand me, the wedding gown is lovely, truly, but it’s all such a fuss, Colin. My mother would probably display you like some sort of trophy, she’s so pleased that I’m finally to be yanked off the Spinster Shelf. Oh, I do hate the trappings of it all. How I should simply like to whisk you away from here so we can begin our lives together. All this other nonsense is just that, nonsense.”
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