Peggy’s Love: The Victorian Highlanders Book 5

by St. Clair, Ellie

  He had to make things right. And so, looking out over the home that he currently had no desire to leave, he made a decision. He was well aware that Peggy would not be pleased with it, but she would come to understand in time.

  He had settled himself on the grass when the tread of footsteps behind him interrupted his musing, and he turned to find his wife walking toward him, the green of the MacTavish clan within her kilt flowing behind her in the wind.

  “I was wondering where you went off to,” she said, and he looked around behind her.

  “Did you ride out here on your own?”

  “I did.”

  “Are you sure that was wise?”

  She bristled. “Darroch and I are beginning to understand one another. I was perfectly safe.”

  He nodded. This was not something he was going to argue with her about at the moment, as concerned as he was regarding her safety. “How did ye find me?”

  “When we were here last week, I recall you telling me how much this place meant to you, how this is where you always come when ye need to think on something or reflect. I watched you leave, Rory, and could tell how angry you were.” She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Look, I should apologize. I asked you for the truth, and ye gave it to me. Just because it was not what I wanted to hear doesn’t give me any reason to be sore with you.”

  He walked over to her, bringing his hands to rest on her arms.

  “Nay, lass, ye were right. I didn’t give you much of an answer, and for that, I am sorry. I am, however, going to make things right, I promise you.”

  “There is nothing to right—”

  “I’m going to Glasgow.”

  “What?” She stepped back from him, and he could read the astonishment in her face. “Why?”

  “I need to do what I can to return the money I took from your dowry.”

  “Rory, that is not going to make anything right. How do you even propose to do such a thing?”

  “Don’t worry about it, lass.”

  “Rory!” she stamped her foot on the ground, a sure sign of her frustration. “Do ye not understand this is precisely what has disheartened me so? You need to tell me things, not simply brush me aside.”

  He sighed as he ran a hand over his forehead. “Listen, it was my mistake, and I will fix it. Besides that, I have some business I need to see to, so I’ll be able to look after everything at once. It’s a good time for it as we won’t have anyone coming to visit for a week.”

  Her jaw tightened as she looked at him, her hair billowing about her head, like a Celtic goddess from a legend. He longed to reach out and run his hands through it, to pull her toward him, to take their tempers and turn them into the passion that he far preferred, but he thought better of it as he noted the sparks in her eyes.

  “I will come with you, then.”

  “Peg, I think it’s best I go alone.”

  “Why?”

  “It will be more efficient. I don’t want to have to worry about you while I am seeing to business, and then someone will remain to ensure all is well here.”

  “Your father will be here.”

  Rory scoffed at that. “Somehow I don’t think Niall is ever much help.”

  Her gaze grew hard, scaring him somewhat, though why he had no idea.

  “Fine, then,” she said, “go.”

  And with that, she turned, strode back to Darroch, and attempted to gracefully mount him in one motion, though it took her a couple of tries until she was squarely on his back. Rory knew to laugh would be of great detriment to his health, and so he maintained a stoic expression as he watched her.

  A couple of days in Glasgow, and then all would be well.

  * * *

  Peggy saddled Darroch the next morning, not long after Rory had left himself on his own horse. There was no way he would be going to Glasgow alone. She knew she should trust him, that to follow him was to risk their very marriage itself, but he had been so evasive in his reasons for going, she knew she had to go and see what he was up to — otherwise she would simply pace around the sitting room so many times she would wear a hole in the floorboards. All she had to do was make it to the train station at Inverness, ensure he did not see her through the ride into Glasgow, and then she would find herself rooms near him, but not too near that he would see her. Once she determined just what, exactly, he intended to do with his time in Glasgow, she would return home.

  It was quite a brazen plan, as she was well aware. And she couldn’t deny that the thought of it actually sent a bit of a thrill through her. It was like being a spy, though the fact that the subject in question was her own husband was not exactly what she would have preferred.

  The travel to Glasgow was fairly uneventful. She was proud of herself for managing to make her way to Inverness, arranging to stable her horse for a few days, and then boarding the train. As of yet, Rory was none the wiser, thank goodness. If he did discover her, she would have to admit her suspicions, and not only would he then likely try to force her to return home, but it would put even further strain between them.

  It was upon disembarking from the train in Glasgow that she lost him. There were so many people at the station, and while Rory’s tall stature and blond hair usually allowed him to stand out from the crowd, there was a surprising number of men who were of nearly equal height, or so it seemed, and she was soon going in circles attempting to spot him once again. Giving up, she determined that Rory was something of a creature of habit, so it made sense he would once again book a room in the same hotel where they stayed last time they were in Glasgow.

  Fortunately, she was right.

  * * *

  The innkeeper looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  “Where is your husband, then, lass?”

  “He’s coming,” she said, impatient and willing the man to get on with providing her the key to her room before Rory happened to run into her. She hoped whatever Rory had to settle, he would do so quickly, as she had only enough money herself for two nights. Any longer and she would have no choice but to reveal herself to Rory. He’d be angry, true, but, then, so was she.

  “Why did he no’ book the room himself?” the man asked, and Peggy ground her teeth in indignation.

  “He had to see to the horses. One went lame on our ride here.”

  “And where did ye ride from?”

  “If you don’t have any rooms, sir, then we’ll find another inn,” Peggy finally said, and the man gave her one long look before he shrugged his shoulders then finally rummaged under the desk and produced a key. She took it and her one small bag, hurrying down the corridor. She was about to step into the stairwell when she heard a tread on the step above her, and when a quick peek revealed Rory’s familiar black boots, she ducked back into the recesses of the hall, hoping the shadows would hide her from his gaze.

  Fortunately, he seemed distracted as he walked by her, and she stepped out to see that he only went as far as the pub for supper. Or so she hoped.

  Bag in hand, she raced up the stairs to her room, where she washed the travel off her face before setting out back down below. She had enough coin remaining to pay for a few meals, and she found space across the room from Rory, where she could watch his back without risk of him spotting her.

  He spoke to hardly anyone while he ate, which was unusual for him. Rory was a man who made friends wherever he went, even if he knew not a soul nor would be likely to ever speak with them again. What was wrong with him? She wished he would share more with her.

  When Peggy saw him pay for his meal and stand, she hurriedly washed down the last of her supper as she threw money on the table and set out to follow him.

  It wasn’t particularly hard. His pace was slow, and it didn’t take long for Peggy to realize where they were going — the very same bar and gambling hall they had frequented last time. What was he thinking — why would he return? A weight began to descend in her stomach. He had promised he had given up this life, and here he was, back in Glasgow, doing wha
t he had always done, what had gotten him into this mess to begin with.

  Part of her wanted to break into a run, to storm up to him and demand to know why he thought this was a good idea, but she had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  She gave him a couple of minutes inside the bar before she followed, attempting to be as surreptitious as possible. She skirted the outer edge of the establishment, worried that the owner — the buxom Maggie — might recognize her, though she had met her only in passing.

  Rory was at the bar buying a drink, and Peggy watched him from the shadows as he perused the room, seemingly looking for something — or someone. Apparently finally seeing what he was looking for, he made his way over to a poker table, taking the empty seat, though it didn’t seem as though he was buying in immediately. Could he do that? Watch and wait?

  Well, she thought, her blood beginning to boil, she wasn’t going to sit here and watch her husband make a fool of himself all over again. She searched the room until she found what she was looking for. Vingt-et-un. Her favorite. She marched over to the table, took a seat, and smiled prettily at the men who looked up at her in surprise.

  Chapter 21

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, and one of them sent a wink her way, while another signaled over one of the servers.

  “What are you drinking?” he asked.

  “Ale,” she said breezily, and he nodded, ordering her a drink.

  Good. They were already underestimating her.

  Spending some of her last remaining coins to buy her chips, she bet on the next hand. A nine and a six. She asked for one more card, and when a jack was thrown, she pouted, looking around at the rest of them in some chagrin. Two more hands played this way, and she was down to a few last chips. This time she was thrown an ace and a six. She grinned inwardly and asked for another card. Fortune smiled upon her, and she received a four. She squealed with delight, which was part acting and part true glee. This was going more her way than she had initially planned.

  Over the next several hands, she won a few while still losing now and then purposely. Her pile of chips grew ever so slightly, the gentlemen around the table hardly noticing. It was how she wanted it. She didn’t want them to leave the game too early, before she had a chance to win more of their coin. Gradually she began to win more and more until she noticed their countenance change slightly. The glances they sent her way were no longer flirtatious, but became somewhat suspicious, a little bit worried.

  They looked at their own pile in front of them, and one began biting his lip nervously.

  “Tell me, now,” Peggy said, smiling prettily — at least, she hoped she was. “Do you come here often?”

  What a stupid line. She would have rolled her eyes at herself had the men in front of her not seemed to determine that she was, after all, flirting with them.

  “All the time,” one of them said. His hair was blond, though it looked not at all like Rory’s. It was cut short, and while he could certainly be described as good looking, there was something about him that gave Peggy pause. “I canna say I have seen you in here before, though, lass.”

  “I’m not from here,” she said with a shrug of one shoulder, and she saw them look at her quizzically. “And it seems that I might be having myself some beginner’s luck tonight.”

  She giggled slightly and they smiled at her. She was a better actress than she herself had thought.

  The dealer asked Peggy if she’d like to hit or stay, and she opened her mouth to respond when a figure appeared at her elbow.

  “Mrs. MacTavish.”

  She whipped her head around to find Matthew Gowan peering over her, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

  “What in the hell do you want?” she asked, and he perturbed her even further by laughing at her.

  “I would like ye to come with me.”

  “I certainly will not,” she said, turning back to the table in front of her, effectively dismissing him, but then was chagrined to find that the dealer was looking at Gowan as though waiting for his signal.

  “I will stay,” she said, attempting to regain the dealer’s attention, but he didn’t even look at her.

  “Mrs. MacTavish,” Gowan’s voice was in her ear now, and Peggy involuntarily shivered when she felt his breath on her neck. “You will come with me willingly, or I will pull you out of this room bodily. Would you like that?”

  She turned back to him.

  “Go ahead,” she hissed. “You have no right, and I am sure none of these men would allow you to.”

  “They will once they realize that I am the owner of this place.”

  “You are not!” she cried, angry that he thought her so gullible to believe every lie that came from his mouth. “The owner is Maggie—”

  “Maggie?” he said, his mouth crooking into a wicked smile. “So you are led to believe. Unfortunately, that is not the case, and that is the very reason why your husband has found himself in such trouble. The fact that he is here once more, well, that does not bode very well for your marriage, does it now? Are you not keeping him happy at home, Peggy?”

  Peggy wanted nothing more than to reach out and use her fist to wipe that smug smile off his face, but she had no wish to end up in a jail cell once again.

  “We are here together, of course,” she said primly. “And I have done nothing wrong. Now, please leave me be.”

  “I wish that I could, lass, but it seems you have been cheating.”

  “What?” she looked at him with her mouth agape. “I certainly have not been cheating. These men can attest to it. Can you not?”

  She looked around at each of them, but none would meet her gaze, obviously too concerned with their own reputation at this establishment to provide her with any support.

  Peggy narrowed her eyes at them, frustrated beyond belief, but she lowered her head to look at her cards, effectively ignoring the lot of them. There was no way she was going with Gowan, and despite his threats, she did not see how he would get her out of here without alerting others. He certainly wouldn’t want to disrupt the drinking and gambling that were making him such a good deal of money right now, would he?

  But the next thing she knew, arms came around her, and she was being carried away from the table, her chips left in front of where she had been sitting.

  “Put me down!” she railed against the man who held her — a man who wasn’t Gowan, but whom she had last seen on the side of the room, surveying the room in front of him. A guard, then. And the men around her did not seem the least bit predisposed to help her. No, they all kept their gazes away, remaining focused on whatever they were playing.

  Peggy kicked her legs desperately into the giant of the man’s shins, but they seemed to hurt him no worse than a bug bite. She must have become annoying enough, however, as he flipped her up and over his shoulder, and she now kicked against his torso. She craned her neck up to look around the room, desperately searching for Rory, finally finding his blond head. Only he was as far across the room as possible, his back turned to her as he spoke to his companion.

  “Rory!” she called as loud as she possibly could, but her word was lost in the din around them, in the music of the three musicians playing in the corner. She cried his name with all her might over and over again, but it was no use. He wasn’t hearing her, and even if he did — would he care? She was struck by the fact that no one else seemed to notice, if they heard her at all.

  Finally, she caught the gaze of the woman she had met on her previous visit here, the one whom she had thought owned this place.

  “Maggie,” she cried out, reaching an outstretched arm toward the woman, but Maggie only smiled and continued to pick up empty dishes from across the room, though she gave her a wink that Peggy had no idea whatsoever how to interpret. Did she think that with Peggy no longer in the room, Rory would be free to accept her advances? She’d better think otherwise. Peggy groaned in frustration and anger and kicked once more — harder this time, and found a slight bit of sati
sfaction when the man at least grunted.

  “Rory!” she called out again, but her cry was absorbed by the cacophony in the busy room as she was carried out of the main room of the gambling hall, though to where, she had no idea.

  * * *

  Rory looked up from his conversation. He could have sworn he heard his name being called, but perhaps he was hearing things. He looked back at Carter O’Connell, who was contemplating him with some confusion.

  “You’re sure you’d be wanting to sell the Glasgow operations of the business? To give up a percentage of the profits ye earn from those who sign up for your hunts here?”

  Of course he didn’t. If there was one thing in his life that was going right, it was the hunting aspect of his clan holdings. But he could no longer have Peggy thinking he’d only married her for her dowry. He needed to return it to her, and he could think of no other way to do so. The McDougalls wouldn’t be happy, but it was he who made the commission off the Glasgow operations, for he oversaw them. Perhaps it was foolish. But he had a plan.

  “Would ye let me buy it back from you — in time?”

  “So this would be considered more of a loan than anything.”

  Rory hesitated. The last thing he needed was another loan, nor another man to whom he owed money.

  “I’m not sure I would call it that,” he said, and Carter placed a beefy hand on his shoulder.

  “I’ve been friends with yer father for years, lad, and the MacTavishes have always been a friend to me, especially when I was having difficulties of my own. I don’t want to see ye go through this hardship, and if I can help you out for a spell, then so be it. Does Niall know of this?”

  Rory shook his head. He hadn’t been able to admit all of this to his father, who would only tell him that he was being as foolish, selfish, and irresponsible as ever. But for once he was doing what he thought was best, not for himself, but for his family, and most especially, his wife.