by Candace Camp
Bundling up, she made her way to the ruins, arriving before anyone else. There was a wind, and the cold was biting, but the gray day suited her mood. Grimly, she began to dig. Before long the other workers joined her. They seemed to have little inclination to talk, either, and the few times they said anything to one another, it disappointingly had nothing to do with Coll or how he had spent the evening before. The damp cold was more penetrating than usual, and even Angus McKay’s visit did not liven things up.
It was a relief when the day ended. Climbing the hill to Duncally, she wondered if Coll would once again avoid the dining room. It occurred to her that he might have decided to move back to the gatehouse. Clearly, he did not want to be around her. He was not the sort of man who would take his revenge by sending her from Duncally and the work she loved. But he might conclude that since two weeks had passed without any further sign of the intruder, there was no longer any danger and therefore no need for his presence in the main house.
Her stomach squeezed at the thought of living in that great, silent house by herself, but she knew that it was less fear that pierced her than it was the thought of not seeing Coll anymore. She had made the choice long ago. She had always known that the life she wanted would be lonely; it was the price she would pay for being free. But she realized now how much easier that decision had been in the abstract than it was in reality. The prospect of night after cold night in her bed alone filled her with a bitter pain.
There was no sign of him when she entered the house. Violet went up the back stairs to her room, telling herself that it was closer, but inside she knew that she did so because she dreaded walking past Coll’s chamber. She spent time on her appearance, brushing out her hair and re-pinning it, and choosing the most flattering of her dresses. It would all be for naught if Coll was not there, but if he was, she was determined to look her best. She would not let him see the turmoil his ultimatum had inspired in her.
Coll was, in fact, waiting in the dining room when she entered it. He stood, looking out the window, hands in his pockets, a stance so familiar that it hurt Violet’s heart to see it. He turned toward her, his movements as stiff as the expression on his face. Any hopes she might have harbored that he had changed his mind died a quick death.
“Good evening, Coll.” She was pleased to hear how calm her voice sounded. “I hope I have not kept you waiting long.”
“No.” His short reply was followed by an awkward silence.
“I was not sure whether you would be here.” Violet saw little reason to tiptoe around the subject. It gave her a small measure of satisfaction to see his glance flicker uncomfortably over to the footman and back.
“Yes, of course.”
“I was sorry to hear you were ill this morning.”
Now the look Coll shot the footman held more annoyance than unease. “I’m fine.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Jamie seemed slower than usual at serving the food. Violet suspected he hoped to hear more conversation to provide grist for the gossip mill in the servants’ hall. Coll, however, remained stubbornly silent, and Violet was not about to try to strike up a conversation.
For a long time, the only noise was the slice of a knife or stab of a fork against china. Violet kept her gaze on the table, though once she glanced up at Coll’s face and found him watching her. He immediately looked away and pushed the food about on his plate. No doubt, she thought uncharitably, he was still queasy from all the whiskey he had drunk the night before.
But no. It was unhappiness that blanketed the man. However infuriating, however stubborn and wrongheaded she thought him, the truth was that the man was miserable. Violet’s throat tightened.
“You need not stay in this house,” she said quietly. She set down her fork and raised her gaze to meet his. “I am sure you would prefer to return to your home.” Her voice had a maddening hoarseness.
“Is that what you think of me?” Coll set his jaw. “That I’m the sort of man who would just leave? That I would allow you to face danger alone just because I did not get what I wanted?”
“No. I think you are the sort of man who is entirely stubborn. It has been two weeks now and the intruder has not come back. You have frightened him away. Or he has realized that there is no treasure here. Or he got what he wanted the first time, and we just don’t know what it was. In any case, there is no longer any danger here.”
“Ah.” He gave a short nod of his head. “I did not realize you could foretell the future.”
Violet thought how satisfying it would be to fling her glass of wine in his face. “I am able to draw reasonable inferences from the evidence.”
“I am not moving out,” he said flatly.
Perversely, she wanted to argue with him, even though only an hour earlier she had been fearful he would do exactly what she was trying to persuade him to do now. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“I am aware that you are sufficient unto yourself.” Coll’s voice dripped sarcasm. “However, there is the negligible matter that I have been entrusted with the care of this house and its contents, as well as the safety of those who live and work here.”
“Of course. I would not presume to deflect you from your duty.”
He snorted. “That is the only thing you would not presume to do.”
Violet’s eyes glinted. She felt buoyed by the antagonism rising in her. It was a much easier feeling than the sense of loss that had been sitting on her chest all day. “Pray forgive me for attempting to relieve you of your burden.”
“What burden?”
“The burden of having to remain in the same house with me.” She whipped her napkin down on the table and jumped up.
Coll came to his feet, leaning forward and bracing his fists on the table. “I think I am capable of handling one wee woman.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
His eyes lit. “Would you now?”
Fire swept along Violet’s nerves like the rush of strong liquor. They faced each other, their bodies taut. Violet wanted nothing more than to launch herself at him and beat her fists against that broad, implacable chest—unless it was to wrap herself around him and kiss him until he broke and carried her to the ground with him. And feeling that, seeing that reflected in his eyes, she hung poised, breathless and furious and eager.
It was Coll who moved. Swinging away with a throaty, unintelligible growl and shoving his chair back so hard it crashed to the floor, he stormed out.
And that was that, Violet thought. It seemed they could not even sit in the same room with each other without flaring into rage. She sat down, her knees suddenly shaky. She heard a noise behind her, and for an instant her heart leapt, thinking he had returned. But it was only the footman, coming around the table to set the chair back in its place.
Violet rose to her feet. “I believe we are done now.”
23
Coll did not eat at the breakfast table any longer but grabbed a scone and coffee and left early. He returned late, oftentimes staying to eat with one of the crofters, thus managing to avoid the evening meal at Duncally as well. When he was there at supper, he spent his time pushing the food about on his plate, exchanging a few stiff comments with Violet about her work at the ruins. After supper, he disappeared again, taking a long walk around the grounds and the house to secure it from intruders. Later he shut himself up in his bedroom, though now and then he loitered in the library, aimlessly searching through the stacks of books without choosing any.
Violet knew these things because she could not stop herself from keeping track of him. Her eyes turned toward his room each time she exited her own. She listened to the servants’ chatter, carefully pretending not to hear. Now and then she even strolled down the drive toward the gatehouse, but by the time she reached the trees, she always turned back. And if by chance she went down to get a book and found Coll prowling through the library, she did not enter the room. He was obviously avoiding her company, so she refused to s
eek him out, no matter how much she missed seeing him, talking to him, being in his arms.
She also refrained from mentioning the shadows that had taken up residence beneath his eyes or the lines of weariness stamped on his face. One evening she noticed a blue bruise on one cheek, which was more difficult for her to keep silent about, but a glance at his stony expression told her she would not receive an answer. Coll had walled himself off from her. She had made her choice and he had made his.
Why was the man so insistent? So determined? It seemed odd that he was ruled by other people’s opinions. He had, after all, been raised unconventionally. His mother had not married, and Coll loved and respected her, just as he did his sister, who had apparently had the same sort of life, at least until the Earl of Mardoun came along. It was one of the reasons Violet had hoped that he, of all men, would understand her determination to be a free woman.
The scars of his own illegitimacy must run deep. Did he feel a respectable woman would erase the shame he’d felt in his youth? Violet remembered his words about children. She had never thought much about children, though it made her smile to think of towheaded boys who looked like Coll, coltish young girls who would grow up tall and slender. Coll would want children, love them. And clearly he refused to make them live with the shadow on their birth that he had known.
He should have children. It was wrong of her to want Coll for herself. He deserved the kind of life he yearned for. Children and a virtuous wife, marriage. Respectability and honor. Family. Tradition. She could not be the woman he needed. Strangely, the pain that pierced her at the thought was not only for herself but also for Coll, because he had not found in her the woman he could love.
She should be content with only her work. After all, here she was with a ruin all her own, living the life she had always dreamed of. It should be enough for her. It was enough.
The excavation was exceeding anything she could have hoped for. They were proceeding at a good pace despite the cold and were making new discoveries almost daily, it seemed. They had uncovered the remains of the fourth wall, even finding a gap in it that marked what must have been a crude doorway. A jumble of rocks lay just outside the entrance. Curious, Violet had the men dig out from it, uncovering more stones.
“It’s almost like a path,” she mused to Angus one afternoon as they stood looking down on the trench.
“Mayhap.” McKay eyed the scattered rocks doubtfully.
“And then it all ends.” She pointed to where the men were now digging, wincing as one of the trowels clanked against stone. “Careful! What have you hit?”
Violet moved closer, dropping down on her knees above the trench where Dougal worked.
He squinted up at her. “I think it’s another wall, miss.”
“Another wall,” she breathed. “Going off at a right angle. Oh!” She jumped to her feet. “It’s a passageway!” She whirled toward Angus. “It collapsed.”
“Wha’ did?”
“A sort of tunnel, I think. Over the years, as the dirt built up above it, the weight grew to be too much, and it collapsed, just as the roof would have done back there.” She gestured toward the first area of the dig. “But here most of the walls fell in, as well as the ceiling. Oh, this is marvelous.” She reached out to clutch McKay’s arm, startling him. “Look! The stones extend from the doorway, go down a few feet, and end right where a wall starts to one side. It’s another doorway.”
“Sae you’re saying there’s another hoose under here?” Angus gazed down to where Dougal knelt.
“I hope so. And a passageway in between!” Violet concluded triumphantly. “Low. They would have had to crawl along it, but think how useful it would have been to be able to move between the houses in the cold of winter or during raging storms. It shows a great deal of sophistication for something as early as I think these ruins are.”
Violet left the dig early and hurried up the path to Duncally, buoyed by the excitement of the find. She could hardly wait to tell Coll what they had found. He would be happy for her, even with the strain between them. Indeed, perhaps sharing this with him would break the dreadful ice between them, make it possible for them to talk again, to be at ease with each other.
She climbed the stairs and crossed the vast expanse of the formal garden. Glancing up, she saw Coll standing at the top of the stairs to the upper levels, talking to a buxom blond woman. Dot Cromartie.
Violet stopped abruptly. Her heart hammered in her chest. Coll was facing Dot, who was talking with great vivacity. They stood sideways to Violet, so she could not read Coll’s expression. It was easy enough to read Dot’s intentions, though, in the way she lifted her face to his and swayed closer. In a seemingly casual movement of her arm, Dot shoved aside her cloak, exposing the white swell of her bosom above her neckline.
Violet glowered. A trifle cold, surely, for such an expanse of naked flesh.
Coll nodded to Dot, then turned and started along the path to the upper gardens. Violet let out her breath, pleased, but Dot whipped around and caught up with Coll, tucking her hand through his arm. They moved out of sight.
Violet lifted her skirts and ran to the stairs. She went up the steps as quietly as she could and started along the path the couple had taken. The walkway curled back on itself, and as she rounded the corner, suddenly there they were, not twenty feet in front of her. Violet jumped behind a tree and peered cautiously around it.
The pair had stopped beside a stone bench. Dot was smiling, tugging Coll toward the seat. Annoyingly, Violet was able to make out no words, only the light (and grating, she had to say) trill of the other woman’s laughter, followed by the familiar rumble of Coll’s voice. Violet’s heart squeezed within her chest at the sound.
Coll turned to look around, and Violet ducked her head back behind the tree, her pulse slamming in her throat. She heard the scrape of a shoe on a flagstone. Peeking out once more, she saw Coll and Dot climbing the steps at the far end.
When they disappeared into the trees at the top, Violet left her hiding place and darted to the set of stairs on the opposite side. She had become familiar with the gardens on her many trips from the ruins, and she knew that the various levels and stone stairs all led to the same central terrace below the house. She would be able to find them again without staying on their path.
The leafless trees and bushes of the winter landscape unfortunately offered less concealment for her so that she could not get close, but Violet was able to track them by Dot’s giggle. How could Coll stand to listen to that nerve-shredding noise? Violet saw the flash of a blue dress through the tangle of the rose arbor and realized that she was closer to them than she had thought.
Violet eased along the arbor and slipped around a tree. They were only a few feet from her, separated by a high hedge. Now she could hear them, but see nothing but the tops of their heads. Violet stepped up onto a rock, curling her hand around a low branch of the tree for balance. What she saw gave her little joy. Dot was standing only inches from Coll, gazing up at him with an expression of wonder.
“How clever you are,” she breathed. “I would never have thought of that.” Dot edged closer, laying her hand on his arm.
“Aye, well . . .” Coll took a step back. “I’m sure it would have come to you in a bit.”
“Nae, I dinna think so.” Dot fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m just a silly girl.”
“Well, um, I wouldn’t say that.” Coll cleared his throat.
Violet was certain that she would.
“I’m so glad I can turn to you for help.” Dot stretched up on her tiptoes and murmured something.
Violet leaned forward, straining to hear. And suddenly she was overbalanced and falling. Violet flailed her arms, desperately grabbing at the branch above her. She crashed into the hedge.
“Violet!”
She lifted her head and saw Coll and Dot staring at her, wide-eyed. Coll started forward. Violet fought her way out of the hedge before he could reach her.
“What happened
? Are you all right?” Coll took Violet’s arm, his eyes running all over her. He picked a twig from her hair. “What were you doing?”
Violet jerked her arm away and stepped back, her face flooding with red. “I—um—”
“Spying on us!” Dot snapped. “That’s what she was doing.”
“Nonsense.” Violet sent the other woman a withering glance. “I was—I was looking at a bird.”
“A bird!” Coll gaped.
“Yes.” Violet set her jaw. “In the tree. I saw a most unusual bird in the tree, and I was trying to get a better look at it. I got up on that stone, and, ah, somehow tipped over.”
Dot snorted.
Violet whirled on her. “What exactly are you doing here at Duncally, Miss Cromartie?”
Dot fisted her hands on her hips. “Talking to Coll—until you barged in.”
“I feel sure Coll has more important things to do. Perhaps you should let him get back to work.”
“Violet, there’s no reason to . . .” Coll reached out to her, and Violet stopped him with a blazing look.
Dot stalked forward. “You dinna rule me. Or Coll. It’s none of your business who he talks to.”
Violet went still. Suddenly she could feel tears burning at her eyes. “No.” Her voice was clipped. “You’re right. Coll is none of my business.” She whirled and started toward the house.
Behind her Dot began to babble and Coll answered her, short and sharp. His footsteps rang on the stone path. “Violet! Stop.”
She whipped around to face him. Coll stopped a few feet from her, his face taut. Behind him, Dot was flouncing away, which gave Violet grim satisfaction.
“What the devil is the matter with you?”
“Nothing! Why should anything be the matter?” Violet strove for a cool tone, but was maddeningly aware that she was missing it. “If you want to spend your afternoon flirting in the garden with Miss Cromartie, it’s none of my concern.”
