by Lauren Smith
“Quite right, quite right,” her aunt agreed.
“Hello!” A shout from behind had the ladies turning.
An older man was hurrying toward them at a brisk pace. Although he was around Cornelia’s age, in his early seventies, he moved with the energy of a much younger man. It was the earl they’d met before. Donald . . . Rhyton, perhaps? Her mind had been elsewhere when the introductions were being made. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember what he was the earl of.
“Oh, my lord. What a pleasure to see you here!” Cornelia beamed at the white-haired gentleman as he reached them.
“My fair Cornelia.” The earl bowed over her hand, kissing it. And he smiled warmly at Portia.
“How are you, Lord Arundel?” Cornelia asked as he joined them on their walk.
Arundel, that was it. Donald Rhyton, the Earl of Arundel. She committed the name to memory now.
“Excellent, now that I have run into you. I was hoping to find you so that I may invite you and your niece to join me at my home for dinner this evening.”
“We have no other engagements. We would be most delighted, wouldn’t we, Portia?”
Portia replied that she would, but it wasn’t as if she had much choice. Cornelia would not hesitate to jab the tip of her parasol into Portia’s bottom if she dared to beg off.
“Wonderful. Wonderful. Are you bound for home?” Lord Arundel asked.
“We are,” Cornelia confirmed.
“Then allow me the honor of escorting you back. We still have much to catch up on.” The earl offered his arm to Cornelia, who blushed like a young lady and tucked her arm into his.
Portia followed behind, her mood darkening at the thought of a dinner with no young people and nothing to listen to but reminiscing about things that had happened in the previous century. For a moment, she almost envied Lydia’s predicament.
During their dinner later that evening, her aunt and the earl became embroiled in a lengthy conversation about India and how his favorite grandson had just purchased a commission to serve in His Majesty’s army and was bound for the subcontinent.
“Capital fellow, my grandson. He’s engaged to the most splendid beauty, the daughter of the Duke of Suffolk, wouldn’t you know? Never a better made match. We’re all quite pleased.”
“That is splendid, my lord!” Cornelia said.
Lydia knew that her great-aunt always loved to hear about well-placed matches in society, which was no doubt why Lydia and Portia had left her so disappointed.
“Excuse me.” Portia stood, and the earl hastily rose to his feet. She waved a hand at him. “Oh please, do sit, my lord. I must excuse myself for a moment.” She exited the dining room and inquired politely of a waiting footman where she might be able to relieve herself. He led her to a private room and handed her a small bourdaloue, a small piece of china that looked rather like a gravy boat, which she might hold under her dress. Portia closed the door of the room and glanced about with a sigh. She didn’t actually need to use the bourdaloue. She simply wanted a moment alone to think.
Lydia was somewhere in Scotland. If Portia were an angry Scot on the run with an Englishwoman, she would not leave a trail of breadcrumbs so obvious, which meant they would not be in Edinburgh, so her father was headed in the wrong direction. It seemed more like he’d hide out at Castle Kincade.
A plan began to form in her mind. If she could be clever about it, which she felt she could, she could leave her aunt here in Brighton and sneak away to Scotland to rescue Lydia herself.
Portia was not one who dwelt on what was fair in life—other than for herself—but she owed it to her sister to rescue her. If she could find Lydia before their father did and return her safely to Bath, their father might never have to encounter Brodie and challenge him to a duel. She would never forgive herself if her father came to harm over all this.
She poked her head out of the private room she’d been shown to and glanced down the hall. Seeing no servants about, she began to peek into the nearest rooms until she found a room that would aid her plan. She ducked inside and closed the door. It looked like the Lord Arundel’s private study.
Rubbing her hands together, Portia noticed a large case at the end of what looked like a study. The glass case held a dozen long rifles and just as many flintlock pistols. Portia approached the case and eased the glass door open. She removed the smallest of the pistols, and, searching the cabinet below the case, she found what she would need to load the gun. She wrapped it in her shawl, never more glad that she’d taken a large thick cotton one this evening. The pistol almost peeped out of the woven material.
With a grim little smile, she returned to the dining room.
Later that night, once they had returned to their lodgings, Portia waited for her aunt to head up to bed. Portia pulled out a carpetbag in the dark of her room and removed a set of clothes she had paid a young footman for.
Now dressed in a boy’s togs, she covered her bound-up hair with a cap and hastily packed a set of dresses and other necessities for traveling. She slipped out of the servants’ entrance and walked the short distance to a large coaching inn nearby. When she found a Royal Mail coach, she inquired about the quickest route to Scotland. She was glad that the royal mail coaches ran almost continuously and she would have a chance to travel overnight.
Within minutes, she was riding next to four other passengers crammed inside. The top of the coach was carrying more passengers and dozens of pieces of luggage. As the coach rattled off into the night, Portia fell asleep, dreaming of what she would do when she reached Castle Kincade, climbing in through an unbarred window, waving a pistol and rescuing her sister. She only hoped that her sister was all right, but there was no way to know until she reached the angry Scot’s home.
19
Ashton and Brock came flying into the city of Edinburgh, their horses lathered and in desperate need of rest after the relentless pace the two men had set. Ashton led the way to his townhouse on the Royal Mile. He left Brock holding the reins while he rushed up the steps and banged the knocker loudly. His trusted butler, Shelton, answered the door quickly, even though it was still early in the morning.
“My lord!” Shelton looked flustered and a little panicked. “We were not expecting you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t have time to send word,” Ashton said as he called for a groom to take the horses from Brock, who hastily joined Ashton in the hall. “Where is my brother, Shelton?”
Shelton paled. “Master Rafe?”
“Yes, I know he’s staying here. Where is he?”
“Well, actually, sir, he left town last evening.”
“What?” Brock cut in.
“Shelton, you had better explain everything, from the moment my brother arrived here,” Ashton said grimly.
“Of course, my lord. It all started when the Dowager Marchioness of Rochester arrived with Mr. Hunt. They said they were to meet Master Rafe and his companion, Mr. Kincade.” The butler proceeded to explain Rafe and Brodie’s late arrival, thereby missing Lady Rochester and Mr. Hunt. “Master Rafe was most insistent that I send Lady Rochester a message telling her that Master Rafe and Mr. Kincade were bound for the Isle of Skye.”
“Skye?” Brock muttered. “Why would he tell them his destination?”
“He wouldn’t. It’s a misdirection. Correct, Shelton?” Ashton asked.
“Aye, sir. Master Rafe, Mr. Kincade, Miss Hunt, and the wee one are bound for Castle Kincade.”
“Yes, that makes sense. Wait, what wee one? They have a child with them?”
“Aye, sir. A little girl, no more than six years old.”
Ashton groaned. “What fresh hell is this?”
“Did they kidnap her too?” Brock growled.
“No, my lords, you misunderstand. The child, Miss Mackenzie, is an orphan.”
Ashton couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why the devil would two rakehells take an orphan with them?”
“Well, it’s because of the resurrectionis
ts, you see. They couldn’t let the poor child be killed and dissected by a doctor.”
Ashton scrubbed a hand down his face. “Shelton, for the love of God, you are not making sense.”
“Perhaps I’d better start over . . .”
“Perhaps you’d better.”
By the time the butler had explained the wild series of events, Ashton was no closer to understanding what he had been told.
“Rafe has taken a fatherly fancy to an orphan? Shelton, are you quite certain it is my brother were talking about, not some other fellow? The last time he was left alone with a child he threw himself out a window and into a prickly patch of roses to escape the child . . . who couldn’t even walk.”
“Quite certain, my lord. Miss Isla is a darling child, and she has been through too much for one so young. Even the staff here adore her, and she was only here a day.”
“And you’re certain they are bound for Castle Kincade?” Brock asked. Shelton answered with a nod.
“How did we miss them on the road coming in last night?” Ashton asked his brother-in-law.
“It isna hard. Brodie knows many ways to reach the castle. They could have easily avoided the main roads.”
“Just like you did when you stole Joanna away?” Ashton’s tone was sardonic.
“I didna steal my wife, man. She came willingly. You know that as well as I do.” Brock’s expression turned into that thunderous look only the Kincades seemed to manage.
“Regardless, we’ll have to wait for the women to arrive before we head off again. Damn Rafe and his cat-and-mouse nonsense.”
“Well, taking the back roads will add time to their travel, which works in our favor. Still, I worry about Joanna and all this travel. She thinks I dinna ken her little secret, but I do.”
“What secret?” Ashton said, worry suddenly knotting his stomach. If anything was wrong with his sister . . .
“She’s in the family way. She’s been sneaking out of bed in the morning and becoming sick each day in our bathing chamber. She’s been hiding it from me, but I sleep lighter than she thinks I do.”
Ashton stared at him. “Joanna is with child? Why, that’s wonderful. I have the strangest urge to shoot you and then pour you a drink.” Ashton grinned. “And so long as we are sharing secrets, Rosalind is two months along. We have been waiting until we are sure, but I might as well share the news with you.”
Brock returned Ashton’s smile. “Let’s say we both forgo the pistols and find the whiskey instead.”
“Excellent idea.” Ashton led Brock into the drawing room, all thoughts of Brodie momentarily forgotten.
Castle Kincade looked like something out of a fairytale to Lydia. As she and Isla stepped out of the coach, Lydia got her first true look at the tall, gray stone castle, which stood like a protective wolf on the sloping hill. A person could see it from miles around, since the castle was on high ground. A lovely lake lay in one direction and a vast forest in the other.
“It’s lovely,” Lydia told Brodie as he joined her next to the entrance. A tall wooden door covered with ironmongery made the entrance look rather imposing. Brodie raised the heavy knocker and brought it down on the wood four times.
The door opened a minute later, and a man stared back at them.
“Master Brodie!” the man exclaimed. “We didn’t know ye would be coming. His lordship just left for Edinburgh yesterday to find you.”
Brodie winced a little. They got lucky missing them along the way, but how long would their luck hold out? “Morning, Tate. How about we keep my coming home a secret for a few days, eh?”
Lydia bit her lip nervously as the man called Tate nodded and called for two footmen to remove the luggage from their coach.
“I shall endeavor to do my best. Master Aiden will wish to see you. He remained here, should you arrive,” Tate said.
“Good to know. Oh, Tate, you must remember Mr. Rafe Lennox from a few weeks ago?”
“Indeed, sir. Welcome back, Mr. Lennox.” Tate bowed to Rafe. He had been here only a few weeks ago to visit Joanna, something Lydia had learned while they rode here.
“This is Miss Lydia Hunt, and the wee one is Miss Isla Mackenzie.”
Tate smiled at Lydia and blushed when Isla grinned up at him and held out a tiny hand, which the steward shook with great solemnity.
“Miss Hunt will stay with me. Please see that Isla has a room close to ours.”
“Yes, Master Brodie.” Tate did not question that Brodie and Lydia were to share a room, and Lydia was grateful for that. She had no desire to face the scandalized glares of servants.
“Where is Aiden, Tate? I might as well face him now.”
“Out, sir. For his usual walk.”
“Bloody hell,” Brodie muttered.
“What’s the matter?” Lydia asked in a whisper.
“He’ll be gone a good three or four hours,” Brodie replied with a frown.
“Why would he be gone so long?” Lydia asked.
“Aiden is the gentlest of the four of us. Our father saw that gentleness as a weakness and hurt Aiden at every possible turn. My brother only feels safe when he’s in the woods amongst his wee beasties.”
Lydia put her arm through Brodie’s and leaned into him, hugging him from the side. “I hate that you’ve all suffered so much.”
Brodie gently shrugged free of her touch. He bent down and scooped up Isla and started telling the child all about the old lairds of the castle. Lydia tried to ignore the prick of pain in her chest as he walked away from her. It felt like a dismissal.
“Do not take it personally, kitten,” Rafe said. “No man likes to share the darker parts of himself, especially with a woman he cares about.”
“Why not?”
“Men think they must be impenetrable and without weakness. For one who has lived a charmed life, like myself, it’s of little matter, but Kincade has a dark and painful side that he will never wish to share with you. It’s best to leave it alone.” Rafe gently patted her shoulder before he followed Brodie and Isla upstairs.
Lydia lingered in the grand hall for a time, looking over the woodland tapestries and a pair of portraits from the eighteenth century. She couldn’t resist taking a closer look at those. She could see Brodie in the faces of the two Scottish lords who were proudly wearing their kilts with the unique Kincade plaid. She explored the corridors of the lower part of the castle and stopped at the library.
It was a grand room with shelves that went fifteen feet high. Tall ladders with wheels on the bottom could roll along the shelves to aid someone exploring the topmost parts of the library. Sunlight came into the room, illuminating the gilded spines of the books.
Lydia’s heart stirred with excitement. Already this was her favorite room. She trailed a finger down a row of books that led to a cozy window seat. She heard a soft fluttering above her head and discovered a tiny owl that could fit in her hands was watching her from its nest.
“Hello there,” she said, smiling up at the owl. It gave a soft series of hoots, as its head rotated toward the door.
“Ach, I see you found our resident librarian.” Brodie stood in the doorway, relaxed with his arms crossed.
“Yes, he’s quite a handsome one.” Lydia turned her gaze back to the owl. The boundary of the sunlight from the tall windows just reached the base of his nest, making the loose feathers glint silver and gold.
Brodie joined her, winding one arm around her waist and kissing her cheek. He did not apologize or explain why he had pulled away earlier, but Lydia wasn’t angry with him, only sad that he didn’t wish to let her in.
“Where’s Isla?”
“With her new favorite uncle. We have a dozen beasties in the house, and they are currently trying to find them all.”
Lydia turned in his arms and placed her palms on his chest, staring into his gray-blue eyes. They were so clear, like water in a shallow well with moonlight reflecting on it.
“Brodie . . . I meant what I said a few days ago. I should
like to stay here with you—if you still want me.”
He closed his eyes and held her close. “Aye, lass, I do. I’ll keep you as long as I can.” He left unsaid what would happen when everyone who was searching for them finally caught up to them.
“When they come, you will let me go, won’t you?” She wanted him to say no. To argue that he was madly in love with her and would marry her and keep her always. But he did not, and she knew he would not. He was as Rafe said, impenetrable and wounded. He would never let her in. She was not the sort of woman to scream or cry and make demands. Brodie held an affection for her, she knew, but it was not love. If she had time, she felt she could get him to open up to her, maybe even open his heart, but time was not something they had.
“I dinna want to let you go, lass. I’ll hold on to you for as long as I can before I must let you go.” His eyes held such a wounded honesty that she knew he spoke the truth.
“Kiss me,” she said.
He opened his eyes to look down at her, and she was undone by the tenderness she saw in his face. He cupped her face with one hand, while the other explored the hollow of her back as his lips met hers. It was a whisper of a touch at first, as though he was holding back, making the need inside her build. He nibbled at her bottom lip as he parted her mouth, his tongue flicking slowly against hers. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken promises and tender surrender.
Lydia pretended that he loved her, that he was using his lips to say what he could not with words. She told him back, kiss for kiss, I love you.
Brodie moaned, his kiss becoming hungrier. He gripped her bottom, pulling her tight to him. Would she always have this wild desire for him? Would it haunt her until the day she died?
“Lydia, let me take you to bed,” he said huskily against her mouth.
The owl above them burst into a series of hoots, and someone called out from the library doorway, “Ach, Brodie, do you ken how much trouble you are in?”
Brodie’s mouth left hers reluctantly. “Aiden. You’re back sooner than I expected.”