Curiosity had returned Aylesbury to Moira’s side while the others greeted the newcomer. “Moira, what is it?”
“It's Vin...” she whispered, never taking her eyes from the man. Though his clothes were ill-fitting, obviously borrowed from his brother, Vincent MacKintosh was as stunning a feast to the eyes dressed as he was that morning in his underclothes or partially nude in his bed. He still needed a haircut and hadn’t even bothered to shave, but Moira found his dishevelment all the more appealing. He was dashing enough to set her heart pounding in expectation but as she watched him greet his friend and hers, she noticed there was no light in his eyes. No smile on his lips that didn’t slide away before it was truly formed. Thinking of the scars on his back, Moira couldn’t help but wonder what unseen scars he carried with him, because the devilish lad from her youth was nowhere to be seen.
“Vin? That’s Vincent MacKintosh?” Aylesbury eyed the man with some speculation. He could now see the man did bear a strong resemblance to Glenrothes at his side as well as the other MacKintosh clansmen he had met. He was about the same height as Glenrothes and Haddington, probably a couple inches over six feet, but with the lankiness of his build, seemed taller. His light brown eyes, however, were not filled with the humor and mischief of the younger MacKintosh brothers but instead were cool, hard and wary, as if he had seen much, much more than any man should.
So, this was the man Moira spoke so fondly of. Harry remembered clearly the long conversations about this man that always held a note of worship. But then, so had her stories of her brother. Aylesbury lumped the two men together in his mind as one brotherly dose of affection which seemed logical eight months past on a sunny summer afternoon. He dismissed them from his mind shortly after as a part of Moira’s past.
He kept them there even when Moira confided in him at the theater that Vincent MacKintosh had been found alive. In all the stories, she’d told of their friendship. Their bond.
What she had not told Harry was that she was in love with the long-lost MacKintosh.
It was as plain as day to him. Harry felt his heart sink.
The introductions and conversation by the door stalled and the group surrounding the long-lost brother parted as he spoke, “Moira? Lovey? Is that you?”
His voice was lower than Moira remembered, almost gravelly and the words spoken as if he hadn’t used the language in a long while. Perhaps he hadn’t.
Moira swallowed deeply as Vin approached. She thought herself prepared for this moment, had in fact been staging it in her mind since she returned to her room that first morning after his return. She would be friendly but withdrawn but when Vin reached her and took her gently into his embrace, it seemed all she could do not to cling to him and weep piteously into his shoulder.
Drawing on all her reserve, Moira ended the hug quickly and stepped back. “Welcome home, Vin,” she murmured through a tight throat, catching Harry’s eye in the process and realizing immediately that he knew exactly what was going through her mind.
“Vin, may I introduce Lord Harrison Brudenall, Marquis of Aylesbury?” she said politely, taking a step back.
“So you’re Vincent MacKintosh,” the marquis said lightly.
“In the flesh,” the Scot returned in a voice that wasn’t exactly friendly as the two men evaluated each other over their handshake.
Vin studied this stranger standing close to Moira. Her husband, he surmised, and felt a tightening in his chest as he noticed what a handsome couple they made. Noting his look, Aylesbury slid an arm around Moira’s waist in a protective…possessive? gesture that wasn’t lost on Vincent. A wave of feeling he couldn’t identify flooded him, puzzling him as he met Moira’s misty sherry-brown gaze.
Her eyes swept him from top to bottom as his did the same taking in the perfect oval of her face with its cream white skin that stood in stark contrast to her full, pink lips. The dark auburn brows were presently drawn together as she studied him. Last he recalled, there had been a plethora of freckles there but now none marred that perfect skin. Her once wild auburn locks now tamed into an intricate arrangement. Down his eyes traveled to the slim column of her throat to a stunning hourglass figure accentuated by the tight cinching of her corset. He couldn’t help but stare much as he had done at the other ladies just moments ago, but admitted to himself their cool blond loveliness couldn’t compare with this exquisite epitome of Scottish womanhood.
Who would have thought wee Moira would turn out to be such a beauty?
The gentleman by her side cleared his throat with a frown reminding Vin of the man’s presence and Vin remembered himself allowing the couple to move away while everyone took their seats. After such an open perusal on his part, Vin wasn’t surprised when Aylesbury took a seat close to Moira’s side. The gesture marked his territory clearly with a plain warning for Vin to back off.
As Eve poured their tea, Moira couldn’t help but stare at Vin even though she could feel Harry’s questioning gaze on her like a physical touch. He would want answers and she would have to give them to him. She would have to tell him the truth she should have spoken weeks before, but first she had her own questions to ask of Vincent MacKintosh. She doubted he would appreciate her inquiries any more than those from Jack, whom he now was evasively dodging.
“Vin,” she cut in haltingly regaining his attention. “What of Jace?”
Vincent looked at her for a long moment; her eyes shining with unshed tears. Vin wasn’t prepared to confess the nature of Jason’s death to her or anyone else yet. Besides, her tears would surely spill if he told her that her brother had died while chained to the wall in some forgotten Egyptian’s tomb. Had she hoped when he was rescued Jason might too have been found? Did she wish it were Jason were here instead of him? Aye. He could see it there, that remaining vestige of optimism and he hated to be the one to destroy it. “Moira, I…”
He didn’t need to continue. She saw the truth in his eyes and closed her own against the pain.
Moira’s mind crumbled with renewed grief. Oh, Jace, you were the center of our entire existence. My best friend, Pops’ pride, papa’s pride. You were our world. Without you, our lives fell apart and we have been nothing. And now we must mourn you again. Damn, she did not need to go through this once more!
“When? How long has he been…” she broke off unable to continue as she clung to Aylesbury’s comforting hand.
“Since our last attempt at escape. I cannot say how long exactly…” His words were hesitant as if his tongue had become a cumbersome tool he no longer knew how to wield. “His last thoughts were of you…I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry? Well, you should be, Vincent MacKintosh!” Moira told him harshly lashing out in grief and anger not only at Vin but also at her brother. “You had no place being in Egypt to begin with! Either of you! Jason was the sole heir of our family! It was his place to stay in Scotland not to be lured into your boyish impulse!”
“You think we did it solely for our own amusement?” Vin ground out, not realizing that her anger was born of the grief she had lived through. He felt only the attack and the need to defend himself. “Do you think Jace and I went over there and asked to be imprisoned, to be beaten and starved and whipped for any information we might know?" The women gasped in shock, but he ignored them. “I escaped from that hell over and over and was shot and stabbed for my efforts! Jason died because…” Vin bit his lip to halt the tumble of words. “We saw more grief and anguish than any man should ever be faced with and you call it impulse?"
Moira stared at him in horror, her chin trembling and eyes stinging with hot tears. No, she had never imagined any of those things! They had only ever assumed that he had died, not that he was imprisoned all this time. Not that he was tortured! She pictured Jason receiving the same punishment Vin must have suffered to be left with a back full of scars. She saw him hanging bloodied and beaten. She envisioned him dying. "Oh, Vin!" she whispered and sobbed into Harry's shoulder who glared at the man across from him.
“That was uncalled for in front of the ladies, Vin,” Merrill reprimanded.
His brother agreed. “Aye, truly Vin. Moira was saying no more than we have all said and thought over these past years. You should never have been put into such a position, Jason especially with his rank and responsibilities here. You’ve lived in hell these last years but your family and his did as well thinking you dead all this time.”
“You thought we were dead?” Vin swallowed deeply at this news. All the years he had been locked away, especially the last couple when he was the lone survivor of their team, he had never known. He’d always thought of his family with regrets that they worried for him even as they searched for him. He never imagined that they thought him dead! He thought only that they mourned and grieved for him while hoping for his safe return. No wonder Francis had been so emotional during his time in London staring at him as if he was a ghost! He might well have been one to them. “Richard told you we still lived, didn’t he?”
“Aye, but after years with no sign of you, what else were we to think?” Francis asked. “The pain of your loss lived with us all every single day and there wasn't a time that we didn't think of you, and mourn for you. Do not blame Moira for perhaps venting a bit of that grief when she is now dealt the news of her brother’s death for a second time.”
They all sat in silence for a moment digesting his words before Vin met Moira’s gaze once more. He had always known how Moira adored her older brother. He noted it from the time she took her first steps into Jason’s arms. Jason had been the king of her world and of their father and grandfather’s as well. The three of them thought the sun rose and set on Jason MacKenzie. While Jason loved them all, that very adoration was part of what he fled from. He thought the pressure of dual titles and dual responsibilities almost too much to bear.
Still, in his last hours, Jason had spoken of nothing but them, of how much he missed them and regretted leaving and letting them all down. Vin had forgotten that over the past years and in the face of Moira’s attack.
“I'm sorry, lovey, for my cruel words,” he said gruffly. He wasn’t used to conversation any longer, polite or at all. The tirade he’d just rained upon them had been the longest string of words he’d uttered in years. Silence had become his boon companion. Words were as awkward an expression to him as a smile. Still, looking at her devastated expression, he felt an unusual urge to speak. “You should know that Jace voiced his regrets over the years about the disappoint he caused. As I said, his last words were of you. He loved you very much. But please remember, Jace was my dearest friend as well and we spent our darkest hours with each other. I mourn for him too.”
Moira nodded through her tears. “I know, Vin. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I am so glad that you are back at last.”
Vin nodded curtly, hating to see her pain but knowing there was nothing he could say about Jason MacKenzie’s final hours that would lessen it. His friend had died slowly from infection to his wounds. It had been long and painful. Vin hadn’t even had the means to finish it more quickly for his friend. All he had been able to do was watch him die.
As if sensing there was little more to be said, Aylesbury stood in the awkward silence and bowed to the room. “If you would all excuse us, Moira has promised me a walk in the park since the weather this afternoon hasn’t been too brutal.”
The others murmured their consent and farewells as the marquis drew Moira to her feet and escorted her out the door.
Outside the parlor door, Moira stopped her friend with a hand on his arm. “I think I’d rather just retire to my room for now, Harry, if you don’t mind. I don’t think I’d be good company at this point.”
“Are you all right?” he asked in concern.
“I’m fine. Truly,” she added when he looked skeptical.
“You should have told me the truth, Moira,” Harrison said softly as he stroked her chin lightly.
“I want to move on with my life.”
“With him?”
Moira’s eyes flew to his, shaking her head in denial. “It’s in the past, Harry.”
“Do you truly believe that?” he asked gently. “From where I was sitting, it looked very much in the present.”
She shook her head again but he lifted her chin and stared down at her with concern and caring in his bright blue eyes. “I care for you, Moira. I thought that we might take the friendship we have found even further.”
“I want that, too!” she insisted. “I love you dearly, Harry.”
But Harry just shook his head ruefully. “I know you do, Moira, but it isn’t that kind of love though I hoped it might be one day.” When Moira started to argue, he shook his head. “We will need to deal with this first, I think. Make sure.”
“I am sure!” she stomped her foot insistently, bringing a broad, gorgeous smile to the marquis’ face.
“You’re so stubborn,” he laughed. “Makes me wonder why you aren’t willing to fight harder for what you really want.”
“You’re impossible!” Moira pouted. “I know my own mind!”
Harry grinned and bent to brush a soft kiss on her lips. “We’ll see about that. Off with you now.”
“Harry?” her voice stopped him as he turned away. “Thank you.”
“For…?”
“For being the dearest friend I have ever known.”
“More so even then…?” he nodded his head back toward the parlor, remembering how she had always spoken of Vincent MacKintosh with those same words.
Moira nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “Aye, I think so.”
“You love him still, though. Admit it.”
It consumes me. I had almost forgotten how much, she thought but stubbornly shook her head.
As if he could read her thoughts, Harrison smiled ruefully. “Shall I see you in the morning then?”
She agreed and watched her hopes for the future walk out the door.
Damn!
Chapter 7
What can I know? What ought I to do? What can I hope?
Immanuel Kant
That night
Moira laid back on her bed before dinner that night staring blankly at the canopy above her as she often did when she was lost in thought. She thought of Harry, who she wanted badly to love, and of Vincent, who she wanted so badly to love her. Why couldn’t love be simple? You are loved, so you love. You love and are loved in return. But, no, it seemed she couldn’t have either one of those things no matter how hard she might try or how long she might wait. And she had waited for years.
When Vin first ran off to join the Scots Guards with Jason and Richard, Moira was furious. The four of them – she, Abby, Eve and Kitty – were all attending the Folkestone Academy for Young Ladies together in England when Moira received a telegram from her father with the news. Moira convinced Abby that they must go after the lads who were on their way to London to buy their commissions. They must find them and stop them!
Like Moira, Abby had been in love with Richard MacKintosh for years. It hadn’t taken much to lure her into a plan to chase after that love. The lads were to stop in Ascot to watch the races on their way into Town. Since the academy they attended was just five miles from Ascot, Moira formulated a plan to go after them there. Of course, Abby protested that ladies of quality did not attend public horse racing unescorted, but Moira planned for them to dress up as young men and go anyway!
It started as such a lark! Moira swaggered cockily through the spectators while Abby crept more hesitantly behind, looking more like a small boy than a man in her male attire. But Moira abandoned her cautious friend the moment she saw Jason and Vin at the track, racing after them only to have them laugh at her and brush off her lectures and concerns before sending her away. She never got the chance to tell Vin she loved him as she hoped to. Such a wild, reckless girl she had been!
After leaving them, she found out that while pursuing Richard, Abby had been trampled by a startled horse and injured so badly thoughts of the lads were banished wh
ile Abby struggled for her life. The trio were gone from England’s shores before those thoughts returned.
After that incident, she was expelled and sent home. Moira turned her attention to keeping her brother and ‘friend’ up-to-date on all that occurred in her small corner of Scotland. She wrote them both everyday and received frequent letters in return. When they came home to visit on their brief furloughs, she would ride with them both, enjoying their company and brotherly affections but Moira always dreamed that those tame emotions would change in Vin as she grew older. She prayed he would come to love her as much as she loved him.
Numerous gentlemen courted her those first five years. She was proposed to again and again but had always said ‘no’. Determined she would have Vincent MacKintosh or no one at all!
However, the years came and went. Moira may have grown from awkward girl to a woman, but Vin hardly noticed. Their ‘friendship’ grew strong but there was never anything more even while he flirted with other women. Most especially Geena Campbell, a local viscount’s daughter who had always been the bane of Moira’s existence. In fact, on his last furlough six years ago before their regiment left for Burma, Vin actually questioned why she hadn’t yet married.
Moira could remember that moment as if it were yesterday. They had just finished a dance at the small ball her father threw to honor Jason before his departure. That dance with Vin was her first waltz. She denied every man who ever asked to join her in it because she wanted to wait for Vin to share it with her.
At twenty-one years of age, she had waited for years and it was well worth it. He grinned down at her with his winning smile, teased her throughout the set and then escorted her to the terrace…a quiet stroll in the moonlight.
A Question of Lust (Questions For A Highlander Book 3) Page 5
