by Candace Camp
His jaw dropped. “Flirting! I wasna flirting.”
“Well, she certainly was, and I didn’t see you protesting. Apparently dallying with her doesn’t offend your fine moral principles.”
“Violet Thornhill!” His eyes narrowed. “You’re jealous.”
“Hah! Of that fluff-brained, little—” She broke off. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are jealous.” He let out a bark of laughter that was devoid of humor. “That’s rich. You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me either. Is that it?”
“Not want—” Violet’s throat closed with tears. She would not, absolutely would not, reveal just how very much she wanted him. “That’s absurd. Indeed, I wish you to be very happy with Miss Cromartie. I know how important it is to you to have a wife.”
She turned and marched off. This time Coll did not follow her.
The following afternoon Violet was engrossed in digging at the ruins when the sound of horses made her glance up. A carriage rolled up the road toward her and stopped, and Isobel Kensington climbed out of it. The advent of another visitor seemed to be Angus McKay’s impetus to leave, for he popped up from his seat on a nearby rock and bid Violet good-bye.
“I hope I did not chase Auld Angus away,” Isobel said as she reached the ruins.
“I would not worry.” Violet smiled wryly. “I think the company of two women is more than Mr. McKay can bear. I’m glad to see you.”
Violet’s feelings at seeing Isobel were more mixed than she let on. She liked Isobel and had enjoyed talking to her the other time Isobel had visited. But she was uncertain how Isobel felt about Violet in return. She was close to Coll. Had he told Isobel how angry he was at Violet, how stubborn and willful he found her? The thought sent a sharp stab of pain through her.
“I have been wondering about your progress,” Isobel said, her smile holding neither disapproval nor curiosity. Violet began to relax. “Aunt Elizabeth wanted to come with me, but I fear the cold was too much for her today. I promised I would present her with a full and faithful report.”
Violet cheerfully showed Isobel the walls they had uncovered. “We have made a lot of progress. You can see how far we’ve dug down here. I am more and more certain that this was a house.”
“Really? It seems so small.”
“I suspect the occupants were smaller, too. And their primary concern would have been shelter from the elements rather than comfort. But see these two layers of rock that jut out from the wall?” Violet pointed to the flat stones.
“Yes. They look a bit like shelves.”
“Exactly!” Violet smiled. “That is what I thought.”
“You think all these different pieces of walls were houses? That it was a village?”
“Possibly. It would have been, of course, a very small number of people, but the more I see of it, the more I think it was a whole community. And very, very old. Let me show you what we found yesterday.”
Violet showed her the trench, explaining her theories about the collapsed passageway. Violet was surprised at how eager she was to talk to Isobel, to show her everything they’d done. With a start, Violet realized that, little as she knew her, Isobel was the closest thing Violet had to a friend here. Quite frankly, she was probably the closest thing Violet had to a friend anywhere.
“Would you like to come up to the house and see the other artifacts we’ve uncovered?” Violet asked, adding almost shyly, “If you like, we could have tea.”
“Why, yes, that sounds delightful.”
They took Isobel’s waiting carriage to Duncally. As they passed through the gates, Isobel glanced toward the gatehouse. “Will Coll join us for tea?”
“Not likely.” Violet’s voice was flat and terse, and she saw Isobel’s surprised glance.
“Is something the matter?” Isobel asked, her brow knitting.
“No. I am sure Coll is fine. He is gone . . .” To Violet’s dismay, her throat suddenly clogged. She swallowed hard. “He is doubtlessly working on the estate. He is—he has a great deal to do.” She could not hold Isobel’s gaze, and she looked down, smoothing her gloves on her hands.
“Violet . . .” Isobel leaned forward, her voice filled with concern. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing. I assure you, Coll is in good health.”
“I had heard a little differently,” Isobel said softly, and Violet shot her an agonized glance. “But I did not really mean Coll. I meant what is wrong with you. I can see that you are . . . troubled.”
“No. Really.” Violet forced a smile. “I am quite well. I am rarely ill; I have a deplorably stout constitution, my mother always said.” Dismayed, she felt her eyes suddenly fill with tears. She looked away, battling them back. Isobel reached across the carriage and took her hand. Violet drew a little hitching breath, embarrassed yet seemingly unable to control herself. “I’m sorry. This is foolish.”
“Of course it’s not.” Isobel gave Violet’s hand a soft squeeze of encouragement. “Tell me what is wrong.”
“I cannot. You will hate me.” Violet pulled her hand away and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“No! Why would I?”
“Because I am not—I am not like you and Coll. I am not upright or proper and—I slept with him.” The words were out before she could stop them. What an idiot she was—saying the very thing she dreaded Isobel knowing. But she could not seem to stem the tide of words. “And now he is so dreadfully angry with me. But I could not do it. I cannot.”
There was a stunned silence. Violet could not stop her tears; they seeped from her eyes no matter how hard she willed them away. She was afraid that in a moment she would dissolve into sobs. The carriage rolled to a stop, and Violet flung open the door and jumped out. Thoroughly humiliated and gulping back her sobs, Violet rushed toward the house.
To her astonishment, Isobel followed her, catching up as Violet opened the door. Without a word, Isobel curled her arm around Violet and steered her into the drawing room, closing the door firmly after them.
“I’m sorry,” Violet choked out, and began to cry in earnest. Isobel patted her soothingly as she led her to a sofa. When Isobel tugged her down onto the seat beside her, Violet gave up and let herself weep on Isobel’s shoulder.
Finally Violet quieted and sat up, giving Isobel an apologetic smile. “I beg your pardon. Truly, I am not usually such a watering pot.” She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out her handkerchief.
“I do not think you qualify as that at all.” Isobel smiled and reached out to take Violet’s hand. “Now, tell me, what has upset you so? I don’t understand. Coll is . . . is pressing you to, um”—Isobel’s face flushed with embarrassment—“to sleep with him and you do not wish to?” She could not quite hide the astonishment in her voice.
“No! Oh, no! I want to! I want to very much!” Violet’s cheeks now matched Isobel’s in color. “I’m sorry. You must think I am a terrible person.”
“Not at all.” Isobel smiled. “I know the feeling.”
“Do you? Of course, how silly of me. You are married.” Violet’s expression turned a little wistful. “Happily, I think?”
“Yes, very much so. But what did you mean, then, about Coll, when you said you could not do it?”
“He wants me to marry him.”
Isobel absorbed this in silence for a moment. “You, I take it, do not feel that way about him?”
“No! I do! I—” Violet paused, trying to order her thoughts. “I mean . . . I feel a great deal for him. I’ve never—Coll is the only man I’ve ever . . . felt this way about.” She focused her attention on her skirts, picking at a nearly invisible piece of lint and smoothing the material into pleats. “Indeed, I fear that I am, well, close to falling in love with him.” Violet glanced at Isobel anxiously. “Please, you will not tell Coll what I said, will you?”
“Of course not, if you do not wish it. But I suspect Coll knows. Clearly he feels the same way about you.”
“You think he loves me?” Violet could
not help but smile, but then she shook her head. “No. I think not.”
“He asked you to marry him.”
“It doesn’t mean he loves me. He wants me. He does not speak of love, you understand. Never. What he feels for me is merely attraction. Well, stronger than that—it is desire. Lust.” Violet glanced at Isobel. “I’m sorry. I do not mean to shock you.”
“It is a trifle odd to talk about such things in regard to Coll, ’tis true. He is very like a brother to me. But I am not shocked by your words. He is a man, and I know how men are. I have no doubt that Coll is, um, attracted to you. But I find it hard to believe that Coll wants to marry you only because he lusts after you.”
“No, there are other reasons as well. Children, you see, and my reputation, and responsibility. He is shamed by the way he feels. He struggles against it. He believes he ought to marry me. Coll is a very . . . good man.”
“Yes, he is.”
“He does not want others to think he is wicked. He is very bothered by gossip.”
“I do not think Coll does things just because other people want him to.”
“I did not mean that. But he hates to have people talking about him. He has a strong moral code. And he feels he is violating that code. He said . . .” Again Violet struggled against the hitch in her voice. “He said he could not continue the way we were.” She sighed. “But I am not as good a person as Coll. He is shocked by my behavior; he wishes that I cared more what others think of me. I’m not saying that he did not enjoy my loose behavior, you understand, but it gave him qualms, as well. I am not indifferent to gossip; I don’t want people to think that I am wicked. I’ve heard the servants whispering behind my back, and Mrs. Ferguson quite holds me in contempt. I don’t like it, but it is not as important to me as . . . as being myself. Being my own woman. I don’t want to give up my name. I don’t want to be an appendage of a man.” Violet glanced at Isobel. “I know most women don’t feel that way.”
“I think anyone would dislike giving up her freedom.” Isobel frowned, feeling her way carefully. “But surely marriage doesn’t have to mean a loss of freedom. I took Jack’s name, but I didn’t give up myself. He would not ask me to. I don’t think Coll would ask it, either.”
“No. I do not think he would. But, you see, he could.”
Isobel nodded. “I understand. It frightens you. You cannot help but think, what if you are wrong about him?”
“I could not bear it.” Violet’s voice was low and choked. “To find that Coll is not the man I think he is. To give my trust, my . . .”
“Your heart?”
“My everything into his keeping.” Violet knotted her hands in her skirts.
Isobel reached out and curved her hand over Violet’s. “It is a little frightening. If I found out that Jack betrayed me, I would be crushed. But I know that he will not. I trust him with all my heart.”
“I trust Coll. I do. I know he would never hurt me or force me to do anything I did not want.” Surely she, like Isobel, could be happy in marriage. Looking at Isobel’s glowing face, Violet wanted badly to believe it. She could go to Coll and tell him she had reconsidered. He would be happy; she would once again see his smile. She would know the warmth of his embrace, the sweetness of his kiss. It was not so much, surely, to say those few words. But even at the thought, she could feel the iron bars of ownership wrapping around her. “The thing is, he would think he knew what was best for me. He would want to protect me, help me, guide me. With the best of intentions, he would decide . . . my life.”
“Coll is . . . well, rather certain he is right.” Isobel smiled faintly. “He has tried to ‘direct’ me on more than one occasion. Meg, too. Older brothers tend to do that, I think. We squabbled a few times, but he didn’t hold a grudge when he didn’t get his way. And in time he accepted that Meg and I were grown and going to do what we wanted.” Isobel paused. “Do you think that you would be unwilling to argue with his decisions? That you would give in to everything he wanted?”
Violet stared at her. “Good Lord, no. We fight like cats and dogs. I don’t know which of us drives the other more insane.” She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t mind a good fight. But if we were married . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It makes me cold inside to think of it. I cannot give myself to another unreservedly. I haven’t your ability to trust.”
Violet did not add that she was prickly and hard and unfeminine, a woman who could not love as other women did. Isobel, thank goodness, was too kind to point that out, either.
“Marriage is a scary proposition.” Isobel gently squeezed Violet’s hand. “I was quite terrified at the prospect myself. But I know that you and Coll will find a way. I refuse to accept anything but happiness for both of you.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
Isobel just smiled. “Just wait. You’ll see.”
The next day Violet plunged back into her work. She worked later and later despite the increasingly cold weather as November crept toward December. Woolen scarves and gloves, as well as an extra flannel petticoat or two, took care of most of the cold, and if she brought a lantern along, she could continue to work even after darkness fell.
Angus McKay sometimes stayed late with her. She supposed it must be a sign of how bleak her life had become that she welcomed his company. At least with Angus, she never wanted to burst into tears, as she felt sometimes under the sympathetic glances of Sally or the maids. Angus did not realize, as the women obviously did, how very much she had lost when Coll removed his affection.
Leaving the ruins late one evening, she heard a rustling behind her as she climbed up the hill to Duncally. She turned around, holding up her lantern to cast a light on the path behind her. Seeing nothing, she started forward again, telling herself that she was too on edge these days. But she had not taken two steps when after a rush of sound an arm wrapped around her from behind, knocking the lantern to the ground and clamping her arms to her body. Another hand came up to cover her mouth.
“Dinna scream, and I won’t hurt you.”
24
For an instant Violet was too stunned to act, but then she began to struggle, twisting and turning. She was unable to accomplish anything except for a kick backward with her heel. Her captor let out a grunt when her heel connected with his shin.
“Damn! Stop it!” His gloved hand clamped down tightly over her nose as well as her mouth, cutting off her air. “Stop fechting me or you’re deid.”
Violet continued instinctively to struggle, panicked, but as black dots began to dance before her eyes, rationality resurfaced, and she went limp. His hand moved back to her mouth, and Violet sucked in air.
“I want it,” the voice growled. “If you want to live lang, you’ll gie it tae me.”
Violet tried to talk but could not because of his muffling hand.
“I’m gang to take my hand off, but if you scream, I’ll snap your neck. You ken?”
She nodded her head decisively, and the hand lifted.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Violet hissed, though she had the sinking feeling that she did. “Give you what?”
“The treasure, you fool. What else?” He gave her a shake. “The French gold.”
“I can’t! I don’t have it.”
He shook her again, harder this time. “Dinna lie to me! You do.”
“No! I don’t. You know it’s not in the house; you searched there.” This had to be the intruder. Surely there could not be two villains running about attacking people.
“Nae, not then. But you’ve found it. You and Munro been sticking your nebs in everywhere.”
“You have been watching me!” It had not been her imagination.
“Aye, I’ve seen you.”
“Then you must know we haven’t found anything.”
“You hae! I saw you carrying it frae the auld castle.”
“No, we—” She broke off as he shook her so hard her teeth clacked together.
“I sa
w you. That great oaf was carrying a sack. You found it.”
“A sack?” For a moment Violet was baffled. “No! That was only our lunch! I tell you, we do not have it. We have not found any treasure.”
“Then you’d best get it. Elseways, you’ll find yourself a world of trouble instead.”
“Hey!” a voice shouted from behind them. “Let her gae!” She heard the sound of a person scrambling up the trail, and something hit the ground behind them.
Violet’s attacker let out an oath and shoved her to the ground. Violet struggled to her feet, impeded by her skirts and cloak, and whirled around. Her attacker was no longer there, only the swaying branches in the dark to show where he had gone. A walking stick lay across the path where it had been thrown, and farther down the path Angus McKay was hurrying toward her as fast as his aged legs would carry him, cursing all the while.
“Angus!” Violet picked up the old man’s walking stick and hurried to meet him.
Angus leaned over, bracing his hands on his thighs, and panted. “Stupid, bloody, useless legs!”
“Are you all right?” Violet bent down to peer into his face.
“Of course I am! I’m no’ the ain he was grabbing! Gie me that.” Angus jerked the staff from her hand and planted one end in the ground, using it to help him straighten up. “You shouldna be gang home sae late, you foolish lass.”
“I wouldn’t have if I’d realized people were going to be jumping out at me!” Her tone softened. “Thank you. I am very glad you came along.”
“Och, fat lot of help I was tae you.”
“You scared him off.”
“Aye, weel, it was a guid thing I decided to gae home this way,” Angus grumbled. “Where is himself then? All over the glen these days, but no’ here when you need him.”
“Coll?” Violet bristled. “I don’t need Coll to protect me.”
“Aye, weel, you need someone.”
Violet did not bother to argue, just let the old man grumble and fuss until his anxiety had worn away. He insisted on walking up to the Duncally gardens with her before he turned aside to head toward his own cottage.
