The Scotsman Who Saved Me

by Hannah Howell

  “Very practical, our Mrs. O’Neal.” He stood up and then pulled her to her feet. Emily held firmly to his hand as he went back up to their horses. It was a pleasant place and she had enjoyed herself, in ways she would never tell anyone, but she was not sure she would like to picnic on what was no more than a cliff too often.

  When they reached the house and dismounted, Emily saw Mrs. O’Neal standing with one of her larger pigs. She suspected that was one of her problems with the animals, they could grow so huge. Walking over to Mrs. O’Neal, she put herself on the opposite side of the woman from the pig that was noisily enjoying a bucketful of scraps from the table.

  “Has he finished living his good life?” Emily asked.

  “Humphrey here is close,” said Mrs. O’Neal. “Just trying to decide if he is for a regular meal or should be saved for a holiday. I am thinking he would best serve for one of the winter holidays. Handsome fellow as he is, he deserves to be something special.”

  Emily looked at the pig and figured only a pig lover could see something beautiful in the animal. “I suspect he won’t find it all that special.”

  Mrs. O’Neal laughed and Emily started toward the house, leaving Iain there to discuss Humphrey’s fate. There were certain aspects of farm life that took some getting used to, she decided. The manor house had had farms but she had only ever seen them in a picturesque setting, the less pleasant side of farming kept out of her view. She was heartily glad she was not the one who had to make the decisions about which animal would grace the table tonight and she fully intended to keep it that way.

  Iain finally left Mrs. O’Neal having her last days with Humphrey and went looking for Emily. He was not fond of picking the animals to use for the table but was accustomed to it, but she was not. Although she had not looked sickened or truly upset, he could read the unease on her face.

  As he started up the stairs he realized he had completely used up his newly found strength. It had, perhaps, been a little early to use his picnic idea but he did not regret it. Iain knew Emily and Mrs. O’Neal would harangue him about it though. He was about to go into his room when Emily came up beside him and put an arm around his waist. It was only then he realized he was swaying a little.

  “Too soon,” he said as she helped him to the bed.

  “I suspect you will recover quickly though.” After settling him on the bed she stood up and grinned at him. “I was just thinking of going to the kitchen and getting myself some cold tea and a nice small piece of pie.”

  “Ye just had pie.”

  “A small piece. Adding another will not hurt. Mrs. O’Neal has all the boys off picking berries with her and thought I would enjoy the quiet.”

  “So will I.” He started to sit up and she pushed him back down with one small hand against his chest. “I am not feeling so poorly I cannae go sit in the kitchen to eat pie.”

  “No, most likely not, but rest for a few more minutes then come on down and if you feel the least bit unsteady on your feet, ring the bell, and I will come up to give you extra support.” When he just frowned, she said, “Promise me.”

  “Fine. If a short rest doesnae cure me, I will ring for your aid.”

  She kissed him and, laughing, skipped out of the room. Iain shook his head. It was humiliating to find out he was still prone to moments of weakness but he should have realized something like that could bother him for a while. He would give himself a short rest period and then go down to the kitchen for pie and Emily.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Albert!”

  Emily backed up as the man stepped in through the back door. He looked terrible. He was a sickly shade of pale, his hair was dirty, snarled, and oily, and his clothes were dirty and torn. There was a fierce glint in his eyes that terrified her. And just him standing there in the kitchen was terrifying enough without all that was now wrong with him. It had been two weeks since the confrontation in the saloon. Had he healed from the gunshot? Where were his men?

  He stepped closer and she realized he also smelled bad, almost as if something was rotting on him. Albert had always been so fastidious. It was then she realized he had been hit with a bullet and he had not healed from the wound he had gotten. She could not see it but knew it was there. Then she saw the gun in his hand.

  “Where’s the boy?” he demanded.

  “Albert, he is only three years old. A mere babe, for mercy’s sake.”

  “A babe who holds my title, my lands, and my bloody money. Now, where is he?”

  “You cannot kill a child.”

  “Watch me. I suspect I will do a very good job of it. Tell me where he is. There is no point in trying to hide him. How many others do you want to die because of that brat?”

  “That brat is your blood. So was my sister. So were those three other relations of ours whose only crime was trying to help me and Annabel. And my mother and father. And it was you and only you who killed them. Do not try to shove your sins on others. Did you kill poor Constance, too?”

  “That stupid cow? No, no need to. She left your fool sister’s letters in one of the prissy keepsake boxes you women fancy. Right on her desk in plain sight. So, I invited her to go for a ride with me in my carriage and, when she ran up the stairs to change, I went through her things. Did not even lock the demmed box so I saw the letters and had a nice read. Your sister did love to blather on. Then I put them all back so she would not even know. All I had to do was listen to her. Less than an hour spent listening to her empty, senseless chatter and I had all I needed. Though there was a time or two when I did consider the joy of putting a bullet in her constantly moving mouth.”

  Constance was obviously very fortunate that Albert had been in a good mood that day. “You do not need any of it. Not the lands nor the money. You have your own. You just want it. One can sometimes sympathize with ones who commit crimes because of desperation, poverty, or need. Even revenge. What you suffer from is pure unrelenting greed. How can you do this to Grandfather? He took you in, raised you. You were like a son to him.”

  “Not enough of a son to be named his heir.”

  “Your parents left your care to a good, generous man.”

  “Something they had been about to change. Why do you think they were killed? I saw their will, saw who would take me in yet they were going to change that and stick me with a wizened old woman who was as good as destitute. I have been planning all this since university, you know.”

  “You killed your own parents?” Emily did not think anything could have shocked her more and she waited to hear him forcefully deny it.

  “Fools. Both of them. And one like me should not have to deal with fools. They had the Duke of Collins Wood as a friend and never made use of him, never made use of that most advantageous connection.” Albert shook his head. “My father was shocked at my suggestions that he do so. Several times I patiently pointed that fact out to him, the fact that he was missing a grand opportunity by not taking advantage of the old man. He just kept saying, ‘The duke is a trusted friend; I could never do that.’

  “Then a friend of mine at Oxford shot his father. He did not kill him for the years of abuse he had suffered at the man’s hands, just shot him in the hand that had so regularly beaten him and fondled him. My father was so shocked. He asked how could a son shoot his own father? I happened to be carrying my pistol so I showed him. Shot him right between the eyes. Then my foolish, foolish mother ran in. Why would any rational person run right toward the sound of gunfire? Stupid cow. She screamed at me. Me! Her own son! Shot her to shut her up.”

  Emily listened to the man talk with a growing horror. He was mad. He may well have always been but she thought it had become too much for him to hold back when he had shot his own parents. It was that act that had brought all his illness roaring to the fore. She could not even blame this on the infection he now suffered from. The man should be shackled up in Bedlam or someplace similar.

  “You kill people like others flick a piece of lint off their coat sleeve,
” she said softly, suspecting her look of horror would not calm his murderous urge but unable to hide it.

  “That is because the people I kill are no more significant than a piece of lint. They are an annoyance, a blockade. They are foolish, stupid people. I should not be forced to deal with such people.”

  “Neddy needs to be none of those if you just leave. He will stay in this country.”

  “You expect me to believe that? Who will make him stay when he is grown and realizes what awaits him back in England? You expect him to actually choose to herd sheep or cattle? Maybe become a farmer? Over here they seem to expect the landowner to do the work himself.” He shook his head over what he obviously considered an obscene attitude.

  He spoke of those things with such scorn she did not even try to defend the many ways of earning a living. “He would stay because all he loves would be here.”

  Albert laughed. “Any man with sense would decide he can love whatever he wants, wherever the best living is. I happen to love being very wealthy. I will love getting the title and I will most certainly love having that power. A royal dukedom would be better but I will settle for one gifted by the great Elizabeth.”

  * * *

  Iain stood as still as possible just outside the kitchen door and listened. The man was supposed to be dead or gone, not still plaguing them. He did not know exactly how long Emily had kept the man talking but it was evident there was no talking such a man out of his murderous plans.

  There were a lot of reasons to kill Albert, including his current weakened state that would make physically fighting the man impossible. He could kill the man easy though, especially knowing he planned to end the life of a bairn. That that bairn was Neddy, a little boy they had all come to love, would make the killing even more acceptable, he thought with an anger he had never felt before. He would also like killing him for terrifying Emily. He had been able to hear that cold fear in her voice although he doubted Albert had noticed.

  Walking back into the parlor as silently as he was able to, Iain took the sword off the mantel there. He had left his gun upstairs and feared he would lose what strength he had if he went back up the steps. The trip he had taken today might have been a pure delight but it had cost him just when he needed his strength. Iain also admitted that it would be good to kill that man with his father’s sword. From what he had overheard, Emily was backed up against the kitchen door and Albert was near the back. He went out the front door and walked to the back, slipping up to the kitchen door as silently as he was able.

  Through the slight opening in the lace curtains over the window in the door, he could see the man’s back. He could also see how tightly the man held on to the chair by the kitchen table. It appeared he may well have been injured and he was not at full strength. The white of his knuckles revealed Albert had a real tight grip on the chair. Iain had to wonder if it was needed to keep Albert upright and steady.

  That would work to his advantage, Iain thought. Even the idea of killing a wounded man from behind did not cause him any hesitation. He had also seen the gun in the man’s hand. The man’s obvious love of hearing himself talk was all that was keeping Emily alive.

  Closing his hand around the door handle Iain began to slowly turn it, thankful that he had begun to make sure all door handles were well oiled. That time he had killed one of Albert’s hired men in the same way he planned to kill Albert now had made him very cautious about having silent doors. As he began to slowly open the door he almost smiled. He must have been firmer about the chore getting done regularly than he had thought because it was opening without a sound.

  Stepping into the kitchen was difficult. Iain wanted to rush as he feared the man was getting to the end of his bragging and would immediately shoot Emily when he was. He held his breath each time he put his foot down, knowing the softest sound of a footstep could alert the man. Iain had no wish to be shot again if only because that would make it difficult to rescue Emily. It felt like hours passed until he was close enough to run the fool through with his sword.

  Just before he ran his sword into the man, he whispered, “So very sorry to end your soliloquy.”

  * * *

  Emily caught sight of the kitchen door opening and fought desperately not to fix her gaze on that. She saw Iain creep inside and nearly sagged with relief. She knew things were not safe yet but she felt as though they were.

  “Albert, you cannot keep shooting people just because they annoy you or get in the way,” she said, using the tone she used on Neddy when she was trying to correct some bad behavior of his.

  “You are so cute when you try to talk like a mother or tutor to a small child.” His look turned fierce. “I am neither. I am soon to become the Duke of Collins Wood and deserve respect.”

  “Grandfather is not so aged you can count on him dropping dead the moment you become the heir. Although, shock may do it,” she added in a muttered voice that dripped with scorn.

  Albert pointed the gun straight at her heart. “How droll. Do you know, he once made a passing comment on how good it would be if women could become the duke and he wished his ancestor had gotten that concession from Elizabeth. Seems the old man is rather fond of you and thinks you would be a perfect duke.”

  “That is very kind of him.”

  “That is stupid. Complete and utter stupidity. Now, are you going to tell me where Neddy is or do I have to go through this hovel room by room. Rest assured I will kill anyone in my way. That includes all those brothers you are probably bedding and that woman with her three kids.”

  Just as she opened her mouth to try to say something she watched a sword point come right out of his stomach. She pressed a hand to her own and she felt something wet splash her face. To her amazement, Albert only grunted, lightly touched the tip of the sword, and glanced behind him before grinning at her. It was gruesome to look for blood was already starting to pour out of his mouth.

  “This is funny, is it not. Killed by a Scot with a broadsword in America. The irony of it all.” Then his eyes went blank and his body began to sag.

  Iain shoved the body off the sword and watched Emily sink to her knees and close her eyes. There was blood all over her face and he grimaced. After wiping his sword on Albert’s frock coat, he moved to the sink to get a wet rag.

  “Iain?”

  “Right here, love.” He crouched down by her side, careful of the blood that was slowly flowing over the floor.

  “Please get this off me. I can feel it dripping down my face.”

  There was a note of extreme tension in her voice and he suspected she was fighting hysteria so he grabbed her and moved her to the table, setting her down on a bench. Then he carefully washed the blood from her hair and face. “Ye will have to wash the gown, I fear, though there isnae much on it. It mostly hit ye in the face with some going in your hair.” He felt her shudder and decided he would not say any more about the body and blood.

  “You must cease killing people with that sword.”

  “I left my guns upstairs and decided I should not risk going back up. He was mad as a hatter.”

  “Most certainly. I think the reins on his madness snapped clean off when he killed his parents.”

  “His own parents? What did they do?”

  “He felt they were stupid. His father for not using his connection to Grandfather and his mother for being so upset that he had killed his father. That became his reason for killing people. They were stupid or they got in his way when he wanted something. It was difficult to listen to him as he, well, he boasted of what he had done. I do not know why he thought I would care to listen to his depravity. What makes me sad is that I know there are many more he has killed but they were not of our class and he must have thought them not worth mentioning. By the way, it looks as if we may be getting Humphrey for our holiday meal.”

  He smiled. She was obviously trying to calm herself so he let her talk, although she appeared to have forgotten he was there to hear that last little piece of informatio
n. “Sounds good.” Then he frowned as he noticed she was starting to shake. “Almost clean, love.”

  “Thank you. For saving my life again and for cleaning my face.”

  “I caused the mess on your face.”

  “No, it was actually Albert who did that by bleeding. Did you hear what he said? Even though he was as good as dead, he had to make a comment, had to have the last word.”

  “I heard it. Not sure if ‘irony’ was the right word though.” The little line between her brows told him she was thinking about that.

  “I am not sure. Did you say something to him? It looked like you said something.”

  “I just told him I was so sorry to end his soliloquy.”

  “Can I open my eyes now?”

  “Aye. Face is clean. Just do not look around the kitchen. Keep your eyes on me.”

  “I can do that.” She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I rather like just looking at you.”

  When he grinned at her and quickly kissed her, she knew she should be shocked by what she had said but felt nothing. It was as if she was numb all over. Shock, she thought. She was suffering from some kind of shock. Considering all she had just been through she supposed that should not be a surprise but she hoped it ended before she said anything she regretted. Unfortunately, she felt sure it was going to end in a strong bout of tears.

  Iain moved to get rid of the body then realized he could not lift it. Advising Emily to close her eyes or find something in the kitchen to stare at aside from Albert, he went out the door and, seeing Mrs. O’Neal, told her that he needed one of his brothers fast and why. Then he went back to sit next to Emily, turning on the seat so he could face her.

  “Wish I was stronger, love. I would carry ye upstairs and away from this.”

  “That is all right although I do like it when you carry me.”