Before he could make the decision to turn back, Rupert let up a yowl. Hamish’s heart gave a leap. The dog ran and Hamish followed until his lungs burned, but still the dog did not slow. If the mutt was chasing a rabbit or some such, he was going to be severely annoyed.
He paused to drag in a breath, grimacing at the renewed aches in his body. Damned war had left him far more aged than he should be. Straightening once more, he called to the dog and began his pursuit again.
The animal paused when they came to the bushes lining the edge of an old dirt track. He sniffed carefully, going one way then back on himself. He finally caught the scent again and followed it to a worn-down shepherd’s croft. The roof remained intact with the door in place but a few grey stones were missing, and it appeared it was no longer occupied. Rupert stopped outside the door, and Hamish had to take a breath. She might not be in there, he cautioned himself.
He pressed open the door, which gave way with a squeak. The dark shadows inside combined with the lack of light outside meant he had to pause for a moment to let his eyes adjust. There, in the corner, was a huddled bundle of clothing.
He rushed over. “Rose?”
He rolled her and his heart simultaneously leapt and collapsed. Skin ashen, eyes shut, her flesh felt cold. He pressed a finger to her neck and felt the faintest pulse. She was alive. Just.
Scooping her into his arms, he praised Rupert and called him to heel. The dog clearly understood his master’s distress and followed carefully behind.
Hamish moved with haste, falling into a clumsy run with Rose strewn across his arms. She was limp and burdensome. His joints ached anew, each scar seeming to burn a fiery path across his body as if reminding him of each brush with death he’d had.
None of those moments, however, felt anything like this. He could very well lose her if he did not get her to safety. And even then, there was no guarantee of her survival. If she had been out in the cold all night, there was a chance she could die.
He continued his clumsy pace. His muscles begged him to stop but he ignored them, forging on until the tops of the castle turrets were visible. He held Rose close and muttered some pleas for her to awaken. She failed to respond.
What the devil was she doing out there? How had she even got there? He knew one thing for certain. Marianne had lied to him, and she would pay for it.
He took the steps up to the castle and barged the door open. Several feminine cries greeted him and they clustered around him, asking him questions.
“Where did you find her?”
“Is she well?”
“What happened?”
“Is she harmed?”
“Was she taken?”
Hamish eased past them and moved to the stairs. “She is alive,” he said. “She needs warmth and rest. I shall put her in my chamber.” He looked to Mrs. Shaw. “Will ye find the housekeeper for me and have her stoke the fire and bring up warm water and food? I dinnae know if she’ll awaken but if she does, we need to get her fed.”
Mrs. Shaw nodded and scurried away. The other two women followed him to his bedchamber and helped him settle her under the blankets.
Mrs. Merriweather took up a position beside Rose, stroking her hair from her face. Tears lingered in the old woman’s eyes, and a knot gathered in his throat. He was responsible for this. He should have thrown Marianne out on her arse. Christ, had he known she would stoop so low…
Chapter Twelve
The low rumbling baritone that echoed through her head drew Rose’s attention first. Then hushed tones of a softer voice.
Aunt May.
She tried to focus on the masculine voice. Her heart stretched and she tried to drag her eyes open to view him. Her lids felt as though they had sealed shut. It had to be Hamish, but why was he in her bedroom? She tried again. Her eyes cracked open and she was confronted with a blur of shapes. She attempted to lift a hand and reach out to them but to no avail. Her limbs were as weighted as before.
Before. Goodness, what had happened? All she could recall was collapsing in the drawing room. Was she still at the castle? Had Hamish returned?
“Should we get a message to her grandparents?” someone asked. Mrs. Shaw. Rose searched her muddled mind. Grandparents? She did not have any. Were they referring to her?
“They cannot help and they would only worry,” Aunt May said. “Let us pray Rose recovers and they shall be none the wiser.”
Any attempts to speak failed. Her throat was as raw as if she’d swallowed broken glass. In fact, every part of her hurt from her limbs to her head. After one final attempt to draw the attention of those around her, she gave up and closed her eyes again.
When she awoke again, she could only hear female voices. Her aunt and Mrs. Shaw by the sounds of it. Miss Taylor too. She cracked open one eye and found herself able to roll a little. Forcing open her other eye, she blinked to clear the fog in front of her vision and was confronted by Aunt May’s smiling face.
“Rose, dear?”
Rose squeaked out a sound that had intended to be yes but came out nothing like a real word.
“Rest, dear. You have had quite an ordeal.”
She blinked again and took in the surroundings. Above her was a large red velvet canopy, and the bed on which she lay had large, dark, carved pillars. The bedding matched the red décor, and the room was decorated with golden wallpaper. She was still at the castle.
“Hamish?” she managed to squeak out.
The three ladies surrounding her shared a look. “Why do you not let him know she is awake, Mrs. Shaw?” Aunt May suggested.
Rose rolled onto her back and tried to force herself up. Her limbs were still next to useless. Aunt May shuffled forward and helped prop her up against the pillow.
“What happened?” Rose asked.
Aunt May offered her a sip of what had to be cold tea, and the liquid eased the dryness in her throat. “Do you remember anything?”
Rose shook her head. Her attention immediately snapped to Hamish as he ducked into the bedroom. He offered her a quirked smile that immediately had her feeling more alert. Her lips cracked as she smiled back. What a mess she must look, and yet she could not bring herself to care. All she cared for was seeing Hamish.
“She does not remember anything,” Aunt May told him.
“I fell…or something. I am not sure.” Rose pressed a hand to her pounding head. “I was sick, perhaps. I fainted.”
Hamish stepped closer to the end of her bed, his arms folded. “Ye werenae sick. Ye were poisoned.”
Rose scowled. “Poisoned.”
“My fault, I fear. I placed ye in a vulnerable position.”
Aunt May shook her head. “You could not have thought—”
He held up a hand. “I knew she was a manipulative woman.”
“Who?” Rose demanded.
“Marianne poisoned ye,” he said quietly. “I had gone to Edinburgh to negotiate a settlement to ensure she left the castle and never looked back. She had hopes of becoming the next lady of Baleith, something I had been aware of for a while. Clearly, she thought ye were in the way.”
“But…poison…?”
“I’ve conducted a thorough investigation. It appears she must have slipped some hemlock into yer food. I spoke with the serving girls, and they checked the food she gave ye. Thankfully she only put a small amount in, but it was enough to render ye senseless.”
“So she did not wish me dead?”
Och, she wished ye dead, I think.” He made a sound of disgust. “She dragged ye out on the cart and abandoned ye in one of the old crofts, likely hoping ye’d never awaken. I found the cart not far from the croft.” He turned his attention to Aunt May. “I’ve still no trace of her but I will find her,” he promised. “She will be made to pay for her crimes.”
“Made to pay?” Rose asked quietly.
“She fled when she realized we had found ye.” He flicked a look over his shoulder. “We have Rupert to thank for that.” He grinned. “Come on, boy.”<
br />
The dog bounded in, his ears flapping and his tongue hanging out. Now he had been given permission, he jumped onto her bed and licked her face. Rose laughed and accepted the wet kisses. Once satisfied, he did a few turns on the bed and settled near her feet.
“I think he wants to stand guard over ye,” Hamish said.
“He is welcome to stay.” Her voice still gritty, she coughed to try to clear it. Aunt May offered her more tea, but she waved it away.
“May I speak with Hamish alone?”
Her aunt shared a look with Miss Taylor and Mrs. Shaw before nodding. The three women retreated but not before giving her several kisses and hugs. She smiled as she watched the ladies shuffle out.
Hamish came to stand beside her bed. “They were worried about ye.”
“They look tired.”
“Aye. I tried to persuade them to rest, but they were having none of it.”
“You look tired too.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been more tired.”
“I do not doubt it.” She twined the blanket between her fingers. “Why would Marianne do such a thing? Hamish, were you romantically involved?”
“Never, I swear.”
She nodded. “I did not think so.”
“I shall ensure she is punished, Rose. I swear it.”
Rose did not much care to think about vengeance at the moment. She was simply happy to be alive and in Hamish’s company. “I’m glad you are returned.”
“Me too, though I wish I had come back sooner. Then none of this would have happened.”
“Do not take the blame on yourself. I was too trusting, it seems.”
“And I dinnae doubt ye shall always be just as trusting. I wouldnae have ye any other way.” He gripped her hand and brought it to his lips. “Ye should get some more rest. Yer aunts are keen to have ye moved home and as much as I would like to keep ye here, I think they will rest better at home.”
She nodded. “You are probably right.” Though so much of her wanted to stay in what she believed to be Hamish’s bedchamber.
“And when ye are well, I shall speak with yer aunt.” He grinned.
“I cannot wait.”
***
Though she was recovering her health well, Rose still found herself tired. She had been asleep for two days after the poisoning she had discovered, and the apothecary said she had caught a touch of cold but it was nothing some good broth could not cure. It had left her foggy-headed, and her body ached, however.
Aunt May fussed over her, settling her into her own bed. As much as she had liked being in Hamish’s company, she would rest better at home, mostly because she knew that the three ladies would be able to sleep in their own beds.
“Go and rest, Aunt,” she ordered the woman. “I need some sleep.”
In truth, she was not sure she would sleep. So much had happened. To think someone had hated her enough to wish her dead. How desperate Marianne must have been to stoop to such measures. What a cold-hearted, callous woman she must be.
Her aunt pressed a kiss to her head. “Thank goodness you are out of danger. Thank goodness for Hamish. We might never have found you if it was not for him.”
“I take it you fully approve of him now.”
Aunt May’s lips curved. “Perhaps.”
“I am glad.” Her aunt went to leave but Rose called her back. A flicker of conversation rang through her mind, and it had been replaying on her since their return home. “Aunt, when I was not quite awake…I heard…I heard someone say something about grandparents.”
Her aunt’s face paled. Rose shifted to sit up.
“Aunt?”
“It—it was nothing, my dear. I was just telling Mrs. Shaw that we should…um…contact Marianne’s grandparents.”
Rose frowned but her next question was interrupted by the entry of the cook, complete with a tray of broth and what smelled to be a cup of coffee.
A relieved smile crossed her aunt’s face. “Ah, here’s your food. Why do you not have your broth then you can get some more rest?”
“Aunt,” Rose warned.
She glanced at Mrs. Shaw, who frowned. Rose turned her attention to the cook. “Do you know anything about my grandparents?”
Two splotches of color appeared on the woman’s cheeks. “I…” She looked to Aunt May. “What have you told her?” she hissed.
“Nothing,” the other woman hissed back.
“What is going on?” Rose asked, exasperated.
Miss Taylor bundled in with an armful of extra blankets. “I just wanted to…” She paused and frowned. “What is going on?”
“That is what I would like to know,” Rose said, forcing strength into her still fragile voice.
Her aunt’s mouth opened and closed. Mrs. Shaw shuffled from foot to foot while the housekeeper eyed them all. “You’ve told her?”
“Told me what?” Rose demanded.
Aunt May eased herself down next to her, the mattress giving way slightly. “You must understand we never told you to protect you from scandal.”
“What did you never tell me?”
A little perspiration broke out on her aunt’s brow. “Your parents…they are not dead.”
Rose jerked at this, feeling as though she had been physically struck. “Pardon?”
“They are not dead. At least we assume your father is not. We do not really know.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Rose cast her gaze around the room at the three women. Miss Taylor hugged the blankets close while the tray in Mrs. Shaw’s hands trembled a little. They clearly all knew what she did not.
“Your mother is my niece,” Aunt May said.
Rose opened her mouth then shut it again.
“She had you at a very young age. She was but fifteen. A man—your father—took advantage of her.” Aunt May reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “My sister—your grandmother—asked me to bring her here until she gave birth. It was planned that the baby would stay with me and we would look after her, and your mother would return to town as though nothing had happened. We all prayed that both of you could be saved from scandal.”
“I am illegitimate?” Rose whispered.
“Yes.” Her aunt squeezed her hand tighter. “Your mother went on to marry a very nice man. She is very happy but she writes to check on you.”
Rose blinked. “S-she does?”
“I—” She glanced around. “We wanted to protect you. You look terribly like your mother. My fear was always that someone would recognize you as related to her, and we would have no way of denying it. It would only take a few questions to have discovered I’m related to your grandmother.”
“And you all knew?”
The housekeeper and cook nodded slowly.
Rose eyed the blanket she had scrunched up in her hands. She was not angry—at least she did not think so. More…confused. Her aunt was actually her great aunt and her mother was alive. Maybe her father was too, wherever he was. Aunt May had not taken in an orphan but had instead taken in an illegitimate child.
“We love you, Rose,” her aunt said quietly.
She nodded slowly, taking in the pain in her aunt’s eyes. Everything her aunt had done had always been what she thought was the best for her, she knew that much, but to be lied to…
What would Hamish think? Good God, he was a laird. He could not marry an illegitimate woman! Everything had changed so suddenly. Whatever was she to do?
Chapter Thirteen
Hamish had managed to keep away for one day. One long, long day. He eyed the attractive house, its slightly sandy color creating a stark contrast to the greenery around it. The gardener gave him a quick nod of greeting before turning his attention back to the bush he was pruning.
Striding up the front porch, he drew up his shoulders and straightened his jacket. Before he could pull the bell, Miss Taylor bustled out with an armful of sheets. She glanced up at him, eyes wide.
“Oh, my laird.”
“Good afternoon. Is Rose in?�
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“Yes, she’s abed at present.”
He frowned. “She is still unwell?”
“Not exactly.” She glanced from side to side. “She is tired.”
“But she is well?”
“Yes, she is almost recovered.”
He let himself relax. “Good, for a moment I thought—”
“I think you had better return another day, my laird.”
He peered down at the rounded woman. “Can I not speak with Mrs. Merriweather at least? I should like to pay my respects.”
“I—” She paused when Mrs. Shaw came up behind her.
“Oh, my laird, you came already? I would have thought you were mightily fed up with us,” the cook declared.
“How could I ever be?” he said with a smile. He turned his attention back to Miss Taylor. “I willnae take up much of yer mistress’s time.”
“He wants to see Mrs. Merriweather?” the cook asked.
“Aye,” he confirmed. “I wouldnae object to seeing Rose either.”
The cook glanced at Miss Taylor and retreated. “I shall speak to Mrs. Merriweather.”
Miss Taylor bundled the sheet close. Hamish narrowed his gaze at her. “What is wrong? Is Miss Merriweather ill?”
“No, not at all. It has just been…a hard day for her. If she agrees to see you, perhaps she will explain.”
Hamish could not fathom what he had done so wrong to warrant this strange greeting. Did she now blame him for what had happened? God knew he blamed himself. Had Rose died he would never have forgiven himself. As it was, he could still find no trace of Marianne. Most of him hoped she was in a ditch somewhere.
Mrs. Shaw shuffled back out into the hallway and gave a dip. “Mrs. Merriweather will see you. She’s in the parlor.” She motioned to the door to the side where he had once shared tea with Rose and her aunt. He recalled feeling too damned large for such a small room and wondering if Rose thought he looked an utter fool in the tiny chairs.
He ducked into the room to find Mrs. Merriweather tucked up in a blanket, looking remarkably aged by the past few days. She motioned to the seat opposite and he took it.
A Rake for All Seasons: A Regency and Victorian Romance Boxset Page 67
