Victoria slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughs while Hector’s shoulders were shaking with silent mirth. Mark then came back inside.
“That will not hold them for long. I can wager these men will be back by sunrise. Lady Victoria, if you will not object, you need a better disguise than old lady clothes. May I offer you some trousers, shirt, and boots? You will not be comfortable riding to Scotland in dresses and skirts, however hardy they are.”
Victoria didn’t even want to think how Mark knew that she was going to Scotland and didn’t mull his words over for too long as the suggestion made sense. “That would be wise. Thank you.”
While Mark left the room, Victoria turned to Donald, “I’m sorry you got hurt. I assure you, Mr. Johnson was only protecting his family.”
“Tell tha' tae tha lump I’ll be wearin’ fer days,” Donald sighed. “But I unnerstan’.”
Hector laid a hand on Victoria’s knee and squeezed it but didn’t say a word. Victoria knew that he was telling her his appreciation for her gesture. Smiling to herself, Victoria looked up as Mark came back bearing a pair of pants, a plain shirt over his arm, and some boots dangling from the same hand. Grasped in the other were similar clothes, only folded.
“The pants are small and should fit you well, but the shirt is a bit baggy. I’ve stuffed some old socks in the boots as your feet are small and would swim in them,” Mark replied while handing Hector the second pair. “I think it would be best for you to change into them now. A room is just down the hall and to the left. You may change there.”
Taking the items, Victoria went to the room. She was so glad there were no complicated corsets to do away with. She only had her stays, and she was going to leave them on. Swiftly changing, she marveled at the secure fit the pants had on her waist and the room of the shirt that she tucked into the pants. The boots were a bit clunky, but she donned them, and after balling her previous attire into a tight round, she left the room.
As she entered, she saw Mark giving the men filled wineskins, chunks of bread, and blocks of hard cheese. She was offered the same and ordered to eat. Grateful for the sustenance and the friendship Mark showed her, Victoria did as she was bid and ate.
Mark was looking out a window, then nodded, “You should leave now. Take this lane down to the end and you’ll come upon the forest. It might be difficult to walk through, but you should find your camp eventually. It’s much better than chancing the streets of the town.”
“Thank you, Mark,” Victoria dared to say his given name. “I do appreciate all your help.”
“Just doing my duty, My Lady,” Mark replied.
“I hae tae tell me thanks, too.” Hector said evenly, “Ye’ve done me a service, sir, thank ye.”
“You are welcome,” Mark hushed while looking into the dark. “Now go.”
Slipping into the dark behind the two men, Victoria hurried in the same direction Mark had told them. The boots were heavy and within minutes started to make her delicate feet hurt, but she trudged on determinedly. The forest was darker as the trees seemed to hem in on them. Victoria stumbled over hidden tree roots and ragged rocks, but she persevered and went on. By the time they got to the tied horses, Victoria was exhausted and had to grab onto Hector to steady herself.
“It’s all right, m'eudail,” Hector hushed into her hair while he felt her chest heave with the exertion, “Ye’ve done so well, so well. Let me help ye onto tha horse an’ ye can rest on me while we ride.”
Victoria, with her face buried in Hector’s chest, could do nothing other than nod her assent. When she did lift her head, the urge to kiss him nearly overtook her as she saw the soft patience and affection in his eyes, but she hadn’t the strength to do it.
Meekly, like a child, Victoria allowed Hector to lift her onto the horse. Only when he joined her and wrapped his arms around her, did she shut her eyes and slip into sleep.
Chapter 19
The tumultuous emotions running through the Duke of Crowland were raging through him, but they were not explosive. He was angry one moment, distraught the other, and frustrated the next. Standing in his study, staring out the large window and onto the wide verdant lawns of the Manor’s grounds, Geoffrey remembered the moment he had come home, while a part of him wished he hadn’t.
A day ago, Geoffrey had come back to his ancestral Manor expecting to find his daughter there, that she had come to her senses about Mr. Keating and had decided to do the best thing for her future and marry him, but there was no Victoria there to tell him anything.
Geoffrey had panicked, too, but only for a moment before he gathered himself together and summoned Ruth to question her. If there was one person in the house who knew what had happened to his child, it was the woman he had left in charge of her.
“Ruth,” the Duke of Crowland had asked calmly, “Can you tell me how my child is missing?”
“I woke up this morning, and she was gone, Your Grace,” Ruth replied, “I do know that she and Mr. Keating had a fallout, and she was out-of-sorts for a long while.”
“But why would she run away from u–” Geoffrey was asking while someone knocked on the door.
With the interruption, the two turned and saw a man standing in the doorway, dressed in dark clothing, and having a harried look on his face, “Your Grace, I have some information for you, and you need to hear it.”
Geoffrey frowned as he recognized who it was, Henry Walter, a man who was in charge of the town hall. “Mr. Walter, how did you get in here?”
“It’s important, Your Grace. I told the butler what it is and he agreed you need to know it.” Mr. Walter said, “I have received information that two Scotsmen are in your county, Your Grace…and one is the son of your father’s enemy, MacTavish.”
“MacTavish!” Geoffrey snapped. “What in the blazes is he doing here?
“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Walter replied. “My contacts in Northamptonshire have told me that he came to this country seeking any information on his brother, who he is sure is alive. He was asking about you, Your Grace. He was here for a few days but is now gone.”
“When did he leave?” Geoffrey asked.
“This morning, Your Grace,” Mr. Walter affirmed.
Geoffrey’s mind swiftly connected the dots. He remembered the many times Victoria had begged him to tell her about his sister Emily, or the many times he had found her asking about Scotland.
He knew that Victoria had compassion for the Scots and even though he hadn’t let her know that he knew, he was aware that she had been searching for the MacTavish child for years. He had turned a blind eye to it as it was a foolish endeavor, as he knew the child was dead. Ruth had slipped into the background as the conversation between the two ensued.
Geoffrey spun on his heel and looked with anger at Ruth. “Ruth, has my daughter had any contact with this MacTavish?”
“I am sorry, Your Grace,” Ruth replied. “But I do believe so.”
“And how did they get in contact?” Geoffrey asked tightly.
“I do not know how, Your Grace,” Ruth replied, “But I do know that she would do anything not to marry Mr. Keating.”
It didn’t take long for the astute Duke to put the points together and come to the only conclusion - his child had run away with the son of his family’s enemy just to spite him.
Geoffrey’s face darkened in anger, but he spun toward Mr. Walter, “Mr. Walter, assemble a team of riders and send them to Northamptonshire, Crowland, Norfolk, Suffolk, Hertford, and even London. Alert the towns of two Scottish raiders, who are criminals, in my county and make them know that if they capture them or kill them, I’ll pay them handsomely. I’ll support all costs of the riders. Do it now!”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Henry replied and with a bow, left the room in a hurry.
“Ruth,” Geoffrey said stiffly and with eyes narrowed, “Did you have any hand in Victoria’s departure? Answer me honestly.”
“No, Your Grace, I did not aid her out of the house,” Ruth rep
lied, with her hands clasped before her.
The Duke was angered and reasonably so; his face dark and his whole frame was bristling with anger. It wasn’t a normal occurrence for the normally impassive Duke to be this enraged but when so, the noble was not one to be taken lightly.
Ruth was silent, for she was gauging the situation before she asked, “Your Grace, why didn’t you tell them about Lady Victoria?”
“I am covering her reputation, Miss Willow,” Duke Crowland said stiffly as he went to his desk. “If she is found to have run away and been in the company of a man of ill repute, she will have no chance of a good marriage. If she is - God forbid - spoiled, she will become a pariah. I cannot have that on my reputation. She is a Lady, Miss Willow, I cannot have her name mired in ignominy. I’ll have her back before anyone knows she was gone and she will be married to Mr. Keating as soon as possible, and all this will be put behind us. You are dismissed, Miss Willow.”
He hoped to God that Victoria would come to her senses and would come back, but a part of him knew it was a vain hope. If she didn’t come back on her volition, he knew exactly what he had to do to retrieve her. The King was gracious and would not turn down his request for an army to march on the MacTavish soil.
The night had passed with no word, and every hour that passed felt bleak. Turning back to the room, the Duke tried to push another disturbing thought that had come to him away, but it surged anyway. He prayed, sincerely prayed, that Victoria had much more sense to not…get involved with the man, or God forbid, fall in love with him.
Taking up the silver goblet filled with wine, Geoffrey took a deep gulp of the dark beverage and grimaced when the potent alcohol met his empty stomach. An insatiable urge to visit his sister Emily’s room came upon him, and the irony of the situation seemed to clout him in his face.
What cursed connection did the blasted MacTavish Clan have with his family?
Tugging out a drawer from his desk, the Duke took out a key, and leaving the study, took the inner stairs to the West Wing. At the apex, he slotted the key inside and ground his teeth at the effort it took to turn the lock.
Pushing the door inside, Geoffrey trod over a bare wooden floor and past many rooms that were built but left empty, as he went to his ill-fated sister’s old suite of rooms. The large room was barren; rebuilt but barren as every piece of furniture inside had been burned to ashes.
The room was nothing but a husk, but even empty it was a reminder, of the hurt and pain the MacTavish Clan had given them. It had almost killed him to come home from university to find that his beloved sister was dead and his nephew, born of Scottish blood, was also dead.
Geoffrey had developed a deep hatred for the Scots as they had taken his flesh and blood from him. Over the years, the hatred had settled into a dark smear on his soul. He had become hard to the nation itself, seeing it as the land that had bred savages.
It was only when his wife Sophia had died months after she had given birth to Victoria that Geoffrey was forced to realize what the man Fergus had probably felt after he had lost his love - pain. Pure, agonizing pain.
Still, even though he had an inkling of the agony, Geoffrey hadn’t imagined the same situation that his father had suffered through would get to him. He now feared, actively feared, for the life of his child. It was not only her reputation that worried him, as he had told Ruth - it was her life.
He knew that Victoria was a romantic at heart, and she had wild imaginations of wondrous love, while he was more pragmatic and wanted a stable life for her.
“Oh, Victoria,” Geoffrey sighed while looking at the empty room, “Sometimes I wish you were not so headstrong like my sister was. This is what she got for her troubles. Are you aiming for death, Victoria?
Chapter 20
The rhythmic plods of the horse’s walk were in tune with Hector’s thoughts. They had left Northamptonshire before dawn and had made good time on the empty roads, and Victoria was still asleep on his chest. The day was fair enough - not as sweltering with stifling heat as the ones before it - and by God’s grace, there was even a soft but constant breeze.
Victoria looked like such a child, innocent and trusting, as she slept on his chest. The soft furrow between her eyebrows that appeared when she was thinking or stressed was gone, and Hector hoped, vainly, that it wouldn’t present itself much more. Considering that Victoria had absconded from her family, culture, and luxurious life, to embrace and adapt to an existence that held different standards than that of her birthright and station, that furrow was more than likely to reappear.
Hector’s mind flew back to the times they had kissed and for the hundredth time wondered why the arousal had been so strong between them when they had barely known each other. Perhaps at that time, it had stemmed from the notion that this sensation between them was fleeting. A spontaneous attraction that had flared up like a bonfire, but it was fated never to last much longer. At least, that was what he’d thought. He even remembered how he had told Donald that he might never get to kiss her or even bed her.
Now, looking at the sleeping lady on his chest, Hector knew that every conception he had about her before was not only wrong, they had vanished into thin air. This feeling was not a fleeting infatuation, but he feared to even think of terming what it was, or what it could be.
As a skeptic, Hector had openly scorned the notion of ‘love at first sight’ in the past, but scarily, this is what it felt like. Just thinking of it made him flinch as it was too soon to call it love; lust probably, but not love. All Hector knew was that with everything she did, Victoria never failed to impress, amaze, and scare him.
She had stuck it out through the whole day before, not eating anything until Hector had forced her to eat while they waited for the night to come. Then she had stepped right in front of a deadly sword and pushed it away like it was nothing, with no hint of fear.
And just as Hector had thought she would hang on to the last bit of her womanhood and ladyship, she had changed into homespun men’s clothing and shoved her skirt and blouse into the bag without care. Lastly, she had slogged through the woods without a complaint, or even called for a break, until they had gotten to the horses. Only then did the downfall of her delicate disposition present itself with her fatigue.
With one arm around her slender waist, while the other held the horse’s reins, Hector wondered what other surprises the lass had for him.
“She’s a strong one,” Donald mused from beside him, “I can gie her that…I ne’er kent a lady o’ her position would…change so quickly.”
“Me neither,” Hector admitted, while glancing down at the soft golden tresses resting just below his chin. “She’s no’ yer usual Englishwoman, is she?”
“Aye,” Donald replied with a reluctant sigh, “I hae got tae admit, aside from bein’ tha Moore progeny, she’s nae what I took her fer. Sometimes I wonder if any o’ oor women would hae done what she did fer us.”
“Still hae yer reservations aboot me an’ her?” Hector teased.
Donald shot Hector a scathing look, “Personally, nae, but I dare ye tae take tha notion tae yer elders an’ yer Maw an’ then we’ll see.”
It was a bit shameful as he was a grown man, but the mere suggestion of presenting Victoria – a Sassenach – to a council of old men who were set in their ways, and his strict mother, had made ice settle in Hector’s veins.
Still, Hector thought, while dismissing the shiver, there’s a long way tae go afore that may happen.
“Let’s just concentrate on findin’ me brother before we invite more trouble upon us,” Hector said, hoping the conversation would end but, unfortunately for him, Donald wasn’t done.
“Hector, I ken that yer keen on havin’ tha lass close tae ye, fer protection an’ all, but ye’ll need tae get her a horse o' her own soon.” Donald put in, “We hae a guid few towns tae go through an’ it’ll look mighty strange fer ye tae hae a man on yer lap.”
“Crivens,” Hector swore. “Ye just hae tae go an’
rob me o' me one delight in this godforsaken ride, dinnae ye?”
“Me pleasure,” Donald laughed. “But if ye are plannin’ tae make her yers, ye do ken tha' ye need tae approach tha council.”
“No’ necessarily,” Hector replied. “They only brandish an’ bludgeon tha traditional club when tha next leader of tha Clan’s is aboot tae take control, an’ if I’m successful, it isnae goin’ tae be me. Birthright rules o'er all. Make nae mistake though, if tha council rejects Andrew, I’ll be sure tae take over.”
They rode for nearly half a mile before a contemplative Donald asked, “Ye ken she’ll ever go back tae her faither an’ her world after all this?”
“I’ll be a selfish arse tae say I hope no’ but…” Hector paused, then shrugged, “It’s up tae her, Donald. Perhaps she left tae teach tha ol' man a lesson tha' he cannae control her as he kent he could or… mayhap she needs tae play a part in findin’ me brother, her slighted cousin.”
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 16