Borrowed Dreams (Scottish Dream Trilogy)

by McGoldrick, May

  “Her condition?”

  “Pierce told me that Emma was pregnant. She told him that she and I were going to make an announcement about it that night.”

  Anger washed through her.

  “I went after her. I ran out there after Emma. But before I could reach her, though, I heard the scream. By the time I got there, she was at the bottom.”

  His hand rubbed his forehead, back and forth. “When I started climbing down those rocks, I wasn’t in search of answers. I remember thinking, she cannot be dead.”

  His voice caught in his throat, and he closed his eyes. Millicent kissed the tear that squeezed from the corner of his eye.

  “Lyon, I am so sorry. So sorry for what you had to go through.”

  “I think what hurt me most about everything was to wake up so much later and find my brothers had gone. They believed—they still believe—that I pushed Emma off that cliff.”

  “You cannot know what they believe.” She soothed her husband without knowing those other men, without understanding them. “They might have left because of their own guilt with regard to your marriage. They had served as a wedge between you and Emma. Perhaps by going away, they were just trying to cope with their grief.”

  Lyon’s gaze fixed on her face, and then he pressed her head closely to his heart. “Thank you for your trust in me.”

  She listened to his strong heart beating beneath her ear. “Did you ever find out if Emma was truly pregnant?”

  “I was told later that she was,” he whispered. “But I know that the child was not mine.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The kitchens at Baronsford were a combination of modern and ancient. The bakery, with its fine new ovens and solid wooden tables and protected shelves for the dough to rise, offered a sharp contrast to the three huge open hearths with their iron spits and swinging arms. Within those wide stone arches, pork and mutton and beef had been roasted over fires in exactly the same way for centuries. Even now the smell of oat porridge wafted from the cauldrons that were hanging over the fires.

  “I am very happy with everything you have chosen, Mrs. MacAlister.” Millicent took another loaf of bread from one of the cooks and wrapped it in a cloth before putting it in the basket.

  “Cannot be all good. An important party, this is. There must be something that displeases ye.”

  “Nothing at all.” She smiled pleasantly as a servant took away two of the filled baskets and replaced them with empty ones.

  “The selection of the late-supper dishes,” the housekeeper pressed.

  “Love them.”

  “The dessert menu.”

  “Outstanding.”

  “The china.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “The cakes with the topping of fresh berries.”

  Millicent shot Mrs. MacAlister a look. “That was not on the menu you were speaking of this morning. Where are you going to find fresh berries in March?”

  “I was just testing, m’lady. Just to see if ye were listening.”

  Millicent’s laughter made the housekeeper’s tight lips twitch—slightly.

  “I cannot understand why you find it so difficult to believe how delighted I am with the arrangements you have made for this large party. I trust your judgment. You amaze me with your thoroughness. You are very good. You are amazingly good, Mrs. MacAlister.”

  The housekeeper shook one of the cloths open and handed it to her, ready for the next loaf of bread. Millicent considered this a peace offering.

  “And ye are too good, m’lady,” Mrs. MacAlister finally said. “It has been a few years since we’ve seen our mistress in the kitchens.”

  Before Millicent could respond to the compliment, Mrs. MacAlister took the bread from the cook and started wrapping it herself.

  “But this is one thing we can do, m’lady. Preparing food baskets for the vagrants. And our mistress can spend a wee hour with the dressmaker. The woman was fetched from Edinburgh yesterday, she was.”

  “I asked for no dressmaker.”

  “I know,” the woman said, a wicked gleam in her eye. “His lordship gave me directions, he did. Said to see to your wardrobe. And so I am.”

  “But—”

  “'I trust your judgment',” the housekeeper said, mimicking Millicent’s English accent. “'You amaze me.' 'You are amazingly good, Mrs. MacAlister.' Now, should I trust your words or not, m’lady?”

  “Verrra well, Mrs. MacAlister,” Millicent said, mimicking the housekeeper’s burr. “Ye have me there, so ye do.”

  As she was being led away by her own maidservant, Millicent was pleased to hear surprised laughter behind her.

  *****

  Jasper Hyde paced the length of the rooms he had taken in the coach inn on High Street in St. Albans. The large windows of the front room looked out at the ancient clock tower, and with each passing minute, the plantation owner was becoming more impatient. When Harry led Ned Cranch in an hour and a half later than was expected, he was ready to shoot the blasted stonemason and leveled his pistol at the man’s chest to make his point.

  “To get all the answers ye wanted, Mr. Hyde, there was no way I could get back sooner,” Ned explained defensively, ignoring the gun. “But ye’ll be happy to know I’ve figured out the whole thing.”

  “Start talking,” Hyde snapped, “before I blast a hole in you.”

  The stonemason did not look frightened. “We can’t go down the road to Melbury Hall, snatch her, and go merrily on our way.”

  “Why not? You were ready to do that single-handedly. Now you’re saying it cannot be done with a half-dozen men?”

  “Aye, it can.” Ned spoke calmly. “But we have to go about it different now. Things have changed since the earl and his wife left for Scotland. I’ve been keeping watch over the place, and what I see is that the black woman don’t venture into the woods no more. And even when she does move about outside, there’s always a handful of other blacks hanging about her. ‘Tis like they know somebody’s coming after her. I think they’ve got wind somehow, and they mean to protect her.”

  “A handful of slaves are no match for the paid cutthroats we’ve hired, Mr. Cranch.”

  “Maybe sir. Or maybe not.” Ned shook his head and moved into the room. “I’m thinking these freed slaves are not like the ones you’re used to on your plantation, Mr. Hyde. These have tasted freedom, so they’re bound to be fierce in protecting their own. There’s also another thing to consider here, too. The road out of Melbury Hall passes close to Solgrave and goes through Knebworth Village. Any open attack on Melbury Hall and they’ll send someone through the woods to the neighboring estate or the village. We’ll find ourselves trapped, unless ye wish to climb the Chiltern Hills.”

  Hyde’s temper flared. “Then what the hell do you propose?”

  “We need to be making a distraction.” The cocky stonemason had the nerve to sit down on a chair. “I think ye should go and fetch your men and bring them back to St. Albans. We can all of us meet at the tavern where I am staying by the brickyards. In the meantime, I’ll talk to my lass over in Knebworth Village and arrange a way to get me inside Melbury Hall on the night when ye’re ready.”

  “You told me you had your women in the house itself.”

  “I did…I do. I’ve a couple of them on the string, sir.” He shook his head. “But the servants in that house are a strange bunch. They’re just too loyal to their mistress for me to rely on them in a situation like this.”

  The man’s reasoning was sound. “What do you plan to do once you’re inside?”

  The stonemason’s gaze was confident. “This is the way I see it. We meet at the tavern, and I explain the lay of the land to your men. Then we separate and meet at the Grove. That’s a bunch of empty huts in the woods to the back of the Hall. Meanwhile, I have my girl hide me in her cart and take me to Melbury Hall. Once there, I sneak out and start a fire in the stables. Now, with all the commotion of the fire, everyone is sure to empty out of the house. We’ll probably have
folk rushing up from Solgrave and the village to help. That’s when your men come out. We snatch Ohenewaa and go on our way.” Ned Cranch grinned proudly. “What do you think?”

  Hyde moved to the window as he considered the plan. Another minute ticked by on the clock tower. Time was running out, and he rubbed his chest.

  “Forget the stables, Mr. Cranch. Burn the house.”

  *****

  She was huddled beneath a cart to keep out of the falling rain, a small bundle of woolen plaid with the face of an angel.

  Millicent noticed her as she handed out the contents of a second basket of food to a family of five gathered around a smoking fire. The young girl’s gaze flitted nervously to the groom who was carrying the last basket.

  Millicent took the food from the groom and walked toward the cart.

  “She’ll take it, but the lassie willna eat any of it herself.” An old woman stood at the head of an ancient cow still harnessed to the cart. “She’s already hoarding half a loaf o’ bread from the basket ye gave us yesterday. She thinks her bairn’ll be born with a full set o’ teeth.”

  Millicent crouched in the deep mud beside the cartwheel and held the basket out to the girl. “It isn’t much, but you might take some of this bread and cheese and dried meat.”

  A thin arm reached tentatively from the folds of wool. A cold hand brushed Millicent’s. As the girl took some cheese, Millicent caught a brief glimpse of the young girl’s swollen belly.

  “You are close to the time for having your bairn, are you not?”

  The girl pulled the food beneath her plaid wrap.

  “Why not come to the house with me,” Millicent encouraged gently. “This is a rough place to bring a child into this world.”

  A look of terror appeared in the girl’s eyes, and she shrank back farther beneath the cart and turned away.

  “She’ll not be coming out,” the old woman called from her fire.

  Millicent reluctantly pushed herself to her feet and turned to the woman who had spoken. “Is she your kin?”

  “Nay, she’s no kin o’ mine nor anyone else’s hereabout. But I’ve been sharing my cart with her since I found her on the Glasgow road.”

  “Do you know if she has any family she is going to?”

  “She’s going nowheres, mum. She has no kin, I’m telling ye.” The woman glanced back at the cart. “All the poor creature ever says is that her name is Jo. I dunno if she’s a faerie child or just cast out on account o’ the child swelling in her. I reckon there’s no man she’s going to, and no husband she left behind. Leastwise, she never mentioned any.”

  “I should like to take her back with me to Baronsford. She’ll at least have her child in a dry room with a fire to warm her. Will you ask her if she’ll come with me?”

  “She understands everything ye are telling her, mum, but she’ll not listen to me any better than she does to ye.” The old woman pointed beneath the cart. “Look at her. The daft creature is terrified now, just by ye asking.”

  Millicent looked for Jo and found the young girl had indeed crawled back away from her. Her plaid was pulled over her like a shroud.

  “If you would come along, perhaps she would feel safe.”

  The old woman shook her head. “I ain’t moving from here, mum. When the river goes down and these folk move, I need to be right here. Nay, I need no dry room for a day.” She pulled her wool shawl tighter around herself and went over the smoky fire. Millicent forced herself to be strong, but the knot in her throat would not allow her to breathe. She looked once more at the young mother-to-be.

  Millicent had been ignoring the signs, but she was certain she herself was with child. As she looked at the frightened woman, the difference between them was crushing. Jo, with little hope of a future for either herself or her bairn, steadfastly clutched at broken scraps of bread beneath a cart in the rain. And Millicent, with a husband and a home, was delaying the moment of telling Lyon only because she wished to find the perfect time.

  The groom touched her arm. “His lordship is here, m’lady.”

  Millicent looked up from the bank of the river and saw Lyon’s carriage stopped behind the one that had carried her down here. Lifting the edges of her muddy cloak, she trudged up the mud-slick ground toward her husband.

  As she drew nearer, Peter Howitt immediately stepped out of the carriage and hurried down to assist Millicent up the muddy slope.

  “Is there anything I can do for you here, m’lady?” the young man asked eagerly.

  “I would be grateful if you would arrange for these empty baskets to be taken back to the kitchens. They need to be filled and brought back--with more blankets as well.”

  “I shall see to it immediately.”

  Stepping up to the carriage door, Millicent took one look at Lyon’s outstretched hand before her tears began to fall. He pulled her inside and into his arms. The door of the carriage closed behind them, and she sobbed against his cloak, lost to her heartache over the misery outside.

  “Certainly not the beautiful Scotland that you hear about, is it, my love?”

  “It is so sad, Lyon.” She wept. “These people have been stripped of everything. What is waiting at the end of the road looks to be nothing either. They’ve been torn away from their kin, their land, their homes. And still, they are so proud.”

  Lyon gathered her tightly against his chest, placing kisses against her hair. “These are a strong people, my love. They come from folk who survived the rough wooing of King Henry and his English raiders. They’ve fought off reivers and marauding armies and treachery of all kinds. Now these folk have been pushed out by the very people who have grown fat on their labors. But they are strong and proud, as you say. And with a little help from compassionate ones like you, they’ll survive this, too.”

  He drew her face up and brushed away the tears. “But you cannot let yourself fall apart like this anytime you come down here. These people need you to be strong, too. I need you.”

  Millicent kissed him, knowing at that moment that she had never loved anyone or anything as she loved this man.

  The carriage rolled gently toward the house. When he broke off the kiss, she still could not stop the tears from falling.

  “There was something else.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes to block out the image of the young girl beneath the cart. But it wouldn’t go away.

  “There is a young woman out there with no husband, no kin. She is about to have a baby.”

  “You could have brought her back to Baronsford.”

  Millicent shook her head. “I tried. She’ll not come. But it is so sad. Why must it be like this? These people—these landowners—pushing their people out. These are their own countrymen. Their own clan folk, they tell me. How can we inflict this kind of injustice on another human being?”

  Lyon lifted her chin and touched her face. His eyes glistened.

  “That party is only three days away. That is our best chance to reach these landowners. We cannot change the minds of every one of them, the same way that we cannot save every poor vagrant out there. But we shall try. You and I together will do our best to make a difference.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “It was bad enough that every member of this household was walking upon eggshells for the past few days, but now you assign a personal protector to watch over me as if I do not know to behave appropriately, or to dress properly, or to be at the right place at the right time.” Millicent shifted her glare from Lyon to his secretary, who was standing right outside the closed carriage door, waiting for her to come out.

  “I have no such concern. You are misinterpreting this entirely.” Lyon took hold of her chin and drew her gaze back to him. “And the only reason why I am sending Howitt along is to get him off my back. He is more nervous about me not behaving properly tonight than Truscott and Campbell and Mrs. MacAlister, together.”

  “Well, if you were an agreeable, good-natured, polite, and soft-spoken gentleman, none of these people w
ould be so concerned, now, would they?”

  He smiled at her. “Let the bloody wretches take their chances. You love me as I am, and that is enough.”

  Millicent looped her arms around her husband’s neck, drawing her face near his. “This is a very dangerous relationship we have,” she whispered. “You only say a few words, and you can have your way with me.”

  “You come back sooner from your visit of the vagrants along the river, and you and I might be able to retire to the library, or to our bedroom for an afternoon rest. Then I can work on perfecting other methods of having my way with you.”

  His mouth followed up immediately with a kiss, and Millicent was lost in the taste and texture and heat of their mating lips and tongue. She pulled back slightly to catch her breath.

  “I think you have mastered the technique very well, in any case.”

  His hand reached under her cloak. “But there are a few other skills I still need to work on.”

  She leaned into his touch. “I was told the guests might be arriving anytime from the early afternoon on.”

  “We’ll just let that nervous flock of titmice at Baronsford entertain the bloody intruders until we are ready for them.”

  He drew her more tightly against him, and Millicent relished the feel of his lips grazing her neck. Then she looked over her shoulder and found Howitt standing at a respectful distance from the carriage, moving impatiently from one foot to the other.

  “I think your secretary is anxious for us to get started.”

  “Remind me to dismiss the scoundrel tomorrow.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Millicent still had stars dancing in her eyes when she stepped out of the carriage and stood waiting for it to drive away toward the village. She still had not told him anything of her pregnancy, but the news would wait until after the party tonight. A second carriage, which had carried more food and Howitt and couple of the servants, was parked on the road a few steps away.