Margarette eyes plead with her. “You promise we will see each other again?”
“I promise,” Robert said.
Margarette swiveled toward him and he smiled gentle reassurance. Elizbeth wanted to be angry, but the soft light in his eyes directed at Margarette only made her heart clench. Aunt Davina stepped in front of her and pulled her into a fierce hug, then she released Elizbeth. For an instant, it seemed she might speak, but she only smiled and backed away.
Great-grandmother Saundra offered a warm embrace. “We will all meet again soon,” she murmured.
When she stepped back, Elizbeth nodded and the next thing she knew, Robert reached her side. He pressed a hand to the small of her back and started them toward the door.
“Do not look back,” he murmured as they neared the door.
And she didn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Conflicting desires battled within Elizbeth as Robert escorted her away from her sister, aunt and great grandmother. His hand remained on the small of her back. How she longed to lean into that hand. A sob broke the silence of the corridor. Elizbeth sucked in a breath, wishing uselessly to recall the cry. She would not cry. Not in front of Robert. Without missing a step, he yanked aside a tapestry and pushed her toward the wall. Elizbeth let out a squeak of surprise and fear.
His hand dropped from her back as the tapestry fell back into place, leaving them in darkness. She heard the sound of a hand tapping wood, then wood sliding on wood. Light flared. She turned to find Robert pulling a lit lantern from a hidden alcove. They stood in a dark hall, hidden from without by the tapestry.
“What—” she began.
“Silence,” he hissed.
He hoisted the lantern and reached for her. Elizbeth spun and started down the corridor. To her surprise, he hesitated two heartbeats before following her.
The hall extended what she guessed to be the length of the home. Other dark passages branched off, but they kept straight to where their path ended at a dark stairwell. Despite her wish to appear in command, Elizbeth hesitated at the top of that gaping maw and eyed the steep steps with trepidation.
“I will light the way,” Robert whispered.
Elizbeth firmed her lips over more questions as he pushed past her, his large frame momentarily warm against hers. He braced a hand against the wall, held the lantern high and began the descent.
Several steps down, Robert halted, then turned and looked up, eyes questioning. “‘Tis steep and narrow. Brace your hands on the walls, and worry not. If you fall, I will catch you.”
She swallowed, then braced a hand on each wall and started down the stairs. Robert turned and resumed his descent. Elizbeth kept her gaze on his broad shoulders while feeling tentatively for each step. As they approached the base of the stairs, a low, vaulted hall of stacked stone met her gaze. Packed dirt formed the floor of a corridor that snaked out into darkness.
“Surely, no one can hear us here,” she whispered.
Robert frowned over his shoulder.
Elizbeth met that look with calm. “Can they?”
He faced forward and his shoulders lifted in a shrug. Elizbeth ground her teeth. Should she halt? Insist on an explanation? If he weren’t her husband, she would swear Robert was kidnapping her. Fear shot through her. Was that why he hadn’t consummated their union? Until he did… Heaven above, did he, even now, take her back to her father?
“We are going to our mounts,” Robert whispered, as if having read her mind.
His low baritone melted her fear. This was Robert. Her aunt trusted him. Mister Haywood and Great-grandmother Saundra trusted him. Everyone agreed he’d only cooperated with Margarette and Aunt Davina’s capture in order to aid them later. He’d even tried to shoot that monster who killed Daniel. Or had he? They had only Robert’s word. Daniel couldn’t tell them what happened. Elizbeth blinked back tears. Robert’s misery hadn’t been feigned. He wouldn’t willingly have endangered his brother.
“I thought our horses stood in the courtyard with our guards,” she whispered.
“You do not trust me.”
Elizbeth grimaced. “You didn’t… That is, we didn’t…” Her cheeks suffused with heat. “I could still be handed over to the French and our union annulled and I cannot help— That is, I question why. Great-grandmother ordered us to…” She floundered. “Yet you didn’t. You, who swear by duty and orders.”
Robert stilled, back to her. “You think I didn’t take you last night because I mean to hand you over to the French?”
Elizbeth halted steps away from him. How she wished she could read his face. His back, ramrod straight, revealed the tension in his shoulders. “It makes sense. Why else wouldn’t you…” She caught her breath. Because he loathed her, that’s why he hadn’t done his duty and consummated their marriage. He couldn’t.
“Because you did not wish me to.” He started forward.
Elizbeth stared. What had he said? Because she didn’t wish him to?
The circle of lanternlight retreated at the speed of his stride. Darkness drew about her like a cloak. She gasped and hurried after him. Where the tunnel angled sharply upward, she caught up with him. With no steps to aid her, Elizbeth scrambled to keep pace.
He stopped at a low, arched door and handed her the lantern. Her heart pounded when he withdrew a pistol from within his front coat pocket, then turned back to the door and tried the handle. The wood planks didn’t budge. He set his shoulder against the door and shoved. The door cracked open with a shower of dirt and rustle of leaves. He pushed harder. Hinges creaked and midmorning light spilled in, along with the damp scent of moss. The door opened several more inches.
She glimpsed a sun dappled glade before he turned, blocking the view, and whispered, “Stay here while I ensure our safety. When I say, put the lantern out and leave it. If I yell, turn around and run as fast as you can.”
Elizbeth nodded, fear quaking through her. She clutched the lantern in both hands. Robert raised his pistol and disappeared through the partially open door. Minutes ticked by. Fallen leaves crunched. Under one set of boots? Two? Would she be able to tell the difference?
Robert’s head stuck through the doorway. She started, then let out a relieved breath.
“You can put out the lantern.” He withdrew his head.
Elizbeth blew out the lantern and set it aside, then slipped through the door. Two horses, tied to saplings, nipped at nearby brush. One, she noted with keen relief, was tacked out with a sidesaddle. Both had saddlebags.
“Why are we leaving our guards?” Elizbeth asked.
“Your great-grandmother confided to me the true plan”—he stroked his horse’s nose—“known only to the two of us. She told me of the tunnel and drew me a map. She has a place for us to stay for a sennight.” His voice dropped, “Until the final leg of our journey.”
Apprehension returned.
“Someone brought these mounts. And wouldn’t someone have made that place ready?” she asked.
He nodded. “Aye, but I am certain she took every precaution possible.” He glanced about the forest. “Traveling without guards will draw less attention than riding down the front drive with an armed escort.”
Elizbeth nodded. Obviously, Robert and her great-grandmother knew a great deal more of these things than she.
“Come.” Robert gestured to her horse. “I’ll give you a leg up.”
Elizbeth awkwardly picked her way across the rough ground to her mount. She and Robert hadn’t had a convivial interaction in days. Nae, weeks. He’d been away, and before his departure, she’d strained their friendship with her incessant demands that he write. How silly her demands now seemed.
He reached her horse first and cupped his hands. She stopped beside him, grasped the pommel with her right hand and was forced to brace her left hand on his shoulder for balance. A tremor rippled through her when muscle shifted beneath her fingers as he lifted her onto the animal’s back.
Apparently, he was not affected as she was, for he
turned without so much as a glance and crossed to the hillock from which they’d emerged. Bracing his shoulder against the rough wood of the door, he shoved. The door closed with a loud creak. Robert straightened and eyed the door a moment, then tugged vines over the wood. At last, when the door was well concealed, he returned to his horse and swung into the saddle.
He turned to her and assayed a smile, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Follow me.” He urged his mount into the trees.
Elizbeth glanced back at the door, leading to where she’d last seen her family, then turned her horse’s head to follow her husband.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The shadows about them lengthened and a smattering of orange sunlight filtered through the trees at a low angle. Her great-grandmother had said their journey would last half a day, yet they still rode north. Elizbeth wished to ask Robert if they approached their destination, but kept silent. His answer wouldn’t change the distance.
At last, he raised a hand and halted. She tugged her horse to a halt beside him, as Robert removed a much-folded page from his coat’s front pocket and angled it to catch the last rays of light.
“The cottage should be around that bend,” he said. “Stay here. I will call you when I know it’s safe. If—”
“I know,” Elizbeth cut in wearily. “If you yell, I am to run.”
He eyed her for a long moment. To her surprise, he reigned his mount into a tight circle and came back down the trail to her side. He pulled a pistol from his boot, the weapon smaller than the one tucked under his belt.
Robert proffered the gun hilt first. “If I yell, come see if you can save me, but if the odds are too steep, by all means, run.”
Run? Did he think her a coward as well as a spoiled child? Elizbeth took the gun. Robert turned his horse and headed back up the trail, pulling free the larger weapon. She watched until he rounded the bend.
Minutes ticked away and the silence gave way to more thoughts of his earlier words, Because you did not wish me to. She had wished him to. In that moment, she’d longed for his touch so badly it hurt. She frowned. Just like him to decide for her what she wished. Guilt stabbed. What would have happened to her, Margarette and Aunt Davina if not for Robert and other members of Luchd-Dion? They would be on a ship bound for France and a life filled with grief and heartache. Worse, Scotland would be thrown into a bloody civil war. A mental image flashed of her Uncle Graham, sword in hand, being run through by a friend who had sided with her father’s cause. God have mercy. What had her father done? What if they couldn’t stop him?
The sun dipped lower. The slices of horizon visible through the thin highland pines turned rosy. Elizbeth urged her mount farther up the trail. The plaintive chirp and whirr of those few insects that had not yet succumbed to autumn wafted to her. She inched around the bend.
A branch snapped behind her. Elizbeth pulled back on the horse’s reins. Her heart jumped into an erratic rhythm. Had the shadows to her right moved? She gripped the gun tighter. She had never shot a pistol. Leaves rustled somewhere to her left. She jerked her head around and scanned the shadows. Something slipped through the murk.
Elizbeth faced forward and urged her horse up the trail. The animal dodged a large tree and leapt over a fallen branch. Through the trees, she caught sight of a squat, thatch roofed cottage, windows dark. A stone chimney rose above the roof, but no scent or waft of smoke indicated occupancy.
A moment later, Elizbeth broke from the trees and she kicked her horse’s ribs. He jolted into a canter. Neither Robert nor his horse were in sight. Panic narrowed her vision. The crunch of twigs beneath hooves sounded behind her. Elizbeth yanked her head around in time to see two deer shoot from the pines, then veer back into the forest.
Deer? She pulled back on the reins. The horse immediately slowed to a walk. Elizbeth closed her eyes and willed her racing heart to slow. Thank God Robert hadn’t witnessed her humiliation. If he realized she had been frightened by nothing more than deer, his estimation of her would drop lower than it already had. She simply couldn’t bear that.
Elizbeth opened her eyes and noted the deep porch where sat two rocking chairs. She imagined her and Robert sitting side-by-side, watching the sunset. Trouble. Wasn’t that what she’d called such tender feelings?
Walls of low, piled stone framed the path to the door, and another to a stable. Robert emerged the far side of the house, leading his horse. He frowned when he sighted her, but waved her forward. Elizbeth realized she still held her pistol in a white-knuckled grip and eased her hold as she urged her gelding up the path. She neared Robert and suddenly wondered what she was supposed to do with the pistol. A memory niggled. Hadn’t she read in some novel about a heroine hiding a pistol in her garter? As smoothly as she could, Elizbeth slipped the weapon beneath her skirt and stuffed the pistol into the garter of her right leg.
“I told you to wait,” he said in leu of a greeting.
Elizbeth checked her anger and shrugged. “I grew concerned.”
He blinked, as if surprised she might care, then gave his head a shake. “Let me take your mount. I’ll bring in the bags, then come back to tend the horses.”
“I can tend the animals,” she declared.
“I know you can, Elizbeth. It will reassure me to have you safely within. You can make up the bed and go through the bags for foodstuffs.”
She nodded. He reached up, clasped her waist and lifted her down. She settled her palms on his shoulders to steady herself, but he didn’t release her when her feet touched the ground. Elizbeth looked up, questioning. Robert studied her, some of the grief pressed from his expression by uncertainly. Oh God, did he realize she’d been frightened by the deer?
Or was it…
Because you did not wish me to. Did that mean he’d wanted to?
Wait. Had he said she could make up the bed?
“The bed?” she blurted. “There is but one?”
“Aye. ‘Tis a small cottage, but well kept.” He studied her with that hesitant look. “The night will be cold. Winter comes quick to the highlands.”
She nodded, the gesture shaky. Her stomach clenched. One bed. If she asked him to sleep by the fire, would he?
Likely he would, but she wouldn’t ask. Instead, she said, “I will make up the bed.”
“Leave the door open for light.” He released her waist. “I’ll bring the bags in soon.”
She turned and headed up the path, limbs trembling. One bed, and he didn’t look upon her with revulsion or hatred. Could he have forgiven her? Memory rose of Robert hugging Daniel’s lifeless body. Her chest constricted. Could she forgive herself?
Questions swirled in her head as she entered the cottage, little more than an overlarge bedchamber. Cupboards to one side undoubtedly held kitchenware for the small table and two chairs that stood to the right of the fireplace. A large kettle, swung free of the hearth, indicated the same flame both heated and cooked. A neat stack of logs sat within reach of the hearth. A wardrobe held only two nondescript wool cloaks, but she found the chest at the foot of the bed stuffed with blankets.
Elizbeth pulled two free and lay them over the straw-stuffed mattress, one after the other. There were enough that one of them could bundle up by the fire. Yet, the overlarge bed seemed big enough to share, even should they not wish to touch. While she worked, Robert entered and set the saddlebags on the table. She didn’t turn, cheeks flaming as she readied the bed. He stilled.
A long moment later, he turned and crossed to the cupboard. She heard flint strike steel, then, light blazed behind her. Robert headed back out into the growing dark, closing the door behind him. Elizbeth released a breath, unsure when she’d begun to hold it. She craned her neck to find a taper burned on the table, then pulled another blanket from the chest.
Robert returned, a lantern in hand as she smoothed the final quilt. His damp hair glistened in the firelight. He’d slung his jacket over his shoulder. His shirtsleeves, rolled up, were touched with damp, too. He’d washe
d up, she realized, after tending their mounts.
“Did her ladyship have aught packed for us to dine on?” he asked. “I looked in the cupboard when I checked the place. There’s naught but a bit of flour.”
“I was about to see,” she murmured.
She’d never seen Robert in such a state of undress. No coat. Only a shirt and vest. He looked less bookish. But then, his bookishness had been a lie, hadn’t it? This Robert rode in chase, carried two pistols, and shot people. She gulped, studying anew the plains of his face.
He gave her the quizzical look again, then tossed his coat on one of the chairs. “I’ll lay the fire.”
He went down on one knee before the grate, setting the lantern on the floor. He laid kindling then, as if the logs were weightless, Robert grabbed one after the other from the stack beside the fire, arranging them about a handful of dry moss. Finally, he twisted a bit of moss into a tapper and transferred a lick of flame from the lantern to the fireplace, then blew out the lantern.
He stood, dusting his hands on his breeches. “You found no food?”
Elizbeth licked lips gone dry. “I have not yet looked.”
Robert frowned, a strange mix of the serious man she’d fallen in love with and the lieutenant in the Luchd-Dìon she now knew him to be. “Why not?”
Because she’d been watching him, mesmerized. Torn between love and mistrust, between desire and the knowledge that she’d taken his brother from him and how he would never be able to forgive her.
“Elizbeth?” He stepped closer. “Do not do this again.”
Do this? “Do what?” she managed a whisper.
“Last night, you went still like this. Blank.” He gripped her shoulders. “Don’t lock me out. I can bear your loathing, but I cannot bear—”
“Loathing?” she cut in, unsure she’d heard right.
“It isn’t a strong enough word, is it?” He released her and turned away. His hands clenched his sides. “Is there a vile enough label for a man who lets his brother die?”
“Lets?” she gasped. “You knew the pistol wasn’t loaded?”
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