The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

  But she could not take it. Or believe in it. Or rely on it. She would never rely on anyone but herself. She gathered up her courage and moved away toward the tenant. “We brought you some food.”

  “We donna want charity from the mon who is destroyin’ us.”

  “The former earl is dead,” she said. “We will have seed for you this week if you wish to go ahead and start planting. In the meantime, there will be no rents for a year.”

  She had not talked to Braemoor about her decision. She had not wanted to give him a chance to gainsay her.

  “Angus?” she said. “It is Angus, is it not?”

  “Aye,” he said reluctantly, obviously a little mollified that she had remembered his name. His eyes narrowed as his gaze moved to Braemoor beside her. “Who is ’e?”

  “An acquaintance,” Braemoor said stiffly. “I am only providing escort.”

  A sudden surge of gratitude flowed through her. He could have said he was now in charge of the entire estate. But she knew the tenants would soon hear the truth of it. “He is the Marquis of Braemoor, my son’s new guardian.”

  “Ye are in charge?” Angus asked.

  “No,” Braemoor said softly. “This was my lady’s plan, and she will be in charge of Lochaene.”

  “A lady? I heard tha’ the earl’s uncle—”

  “You heard wrong,” Braemoor said. “He will have nothing to do with the affairs here. If you need anything, you come to the countess.”

  Angus frowned. “A woman no’ has the …” He trailed off.

  “Yes?” Braemoor raised an eyebrow as the man paused, obviously wondering whether he was saying too much. “You were about to say?”

  Janet watched as Angus dropped his gaze. The door behind him opened and Angus’s wife sidled out and stood shyly, and apprehensively, beside her husband. “Are ye here to tell us to leave?”

  “Nay,” Janet said after glancing at Braemoor. “We are here to bring you some food and tell you seed will be here later this week so you can start your planting. ’Tis not too late, is it?”

  Angus regarded her steadily. “Nay. The land is already furrowed. We need only seed for sowing. And the other tenants? Them who is left?”

  “The same. We should have enough seed for them all. If not, we will get more. Can you take it to them?”

  “Ye would trust me tae do that?”

  “Aye,” she said. “And you can tell them they can hunt and fish the property.”

  Suspicion crept into his eyes again as they searched for an ulterior motive. The deceased earl had forbade all the tenants from doing either. Poaching was a hanging offense. “For truth?”

  “For truth,” she said.

  For the first time, a hint of a smile played around his lips.

  He looked toward Braemoor for confirmation, and Janet realized that trying to run Lochaene on her own would be more difficult than she thought. Braemoor, though, made no sign whatever. No nod. No denying shake of his head. No smile. No frown. He was allowing her to handle it, to succeed. Or fail.

  Which did he want?

  She wished she knew. She wished she knew why he had convinced Cumberland to give him guardianship. She wished she knew why he had ridden out last night and bought feed with his own funds. She wished she knew why she felt a … kinship with him when she should be suspecting his every mood.

  Regret? Apology? Men like him did not have regrets or make apologies. She knew that much from living with the Campbells. Even her father, who’d loved her, had never apologized for anything in his life.

  He had to have some reason. Some purpose. She was not going to succumb to the attraction that had once enraptured her, which still, for some reason, hovered between them. He cared only for land, for money, for title. He’d said as much years ago.

  So she fought the appreciation she felt now, the authority he was so obviously conveying to her.

  Angus was shifting on his feet, obviously awkward, uncertain. He’d been discourteous, then incredulous. It was obvious he did not know how to act.

  But his wife did. She curtsied. “Thank ye, my lady.”

  “You are welcome,” Janet said. “Thank you for sharing what little you had.” She returned to the cart and took the basket of food and returned. “There is flour, bacon, potatoes, several fowl. If you need more flour, just send one of your lads to the manor.”

  The woman’s face twitched as if she were trying to hold back tears. She just nodded.

  Janet returned to the cart, and climbed back on the seat with the children and snapped the reins. Her presence, she knew, was an embarrassment. In seconds, Braemoor was riding beside her.

  “Where now, my lady?”

  Just then Colin started to fidget. “There’s a waterfall not far from here,” she said. “We can stop there and rest.” And she could feed Colin. There were some rocks up there where she could have some privacy. She wished now that she had brought an extra basket of food. Braemoor had made it clear he would not leave until he saw everything he wanted to see, and she had only delayed him today.

  She wanted him gone as soon as possible.

  He still stirred feelings in her, and in those few moments talking to Angus she’d felt a companionship, a bond. They had been attuned to each other in a way she’d not known since those halcyon days she’d tried to wipe from her memory.

  He rode next to her, a silent sentinel. She stole a glance at him, but he was looking straight ahead. That moment, or moments, obviously had meant no more to him than those days a lifetime ago.

  Pride for her swelled inside him.

  She had handled everything very well. All her instincts were good. It had taken him far longer to find that tiny connection between landlord and tenant. Mayhap because for so many years he wasn’t the landlord but merely representing him. He had never been able to promise anything, particularly in the later years when the old marquis was determined to clear the land.

  He’d watched Janet, her face so earnest, and his heart had thumped so loudly he was afraid she would hear it. That would have been disastrous. The fact that she cared so much for the tenants warmed him. He had wanted to step in when the crofter had been rude and even a bit threatening. It had taken all his control to remain silent.

  But he wanted to give her Lochaene. He wanted to give it to her with all she needed to make it work. That meant loyal people around her. And she had to build that loyalty herself. He couldn’t do it for her. He’d learned that if nothing else in the past year. Once done, he could return to Braemoor and complete what he had started there. And then what?

  God’s blood, but the prospect was numbing. Years stretched out in lonely succession. He looked at the cart full of children clutching pets, and he ached. He yearned to hold young Annabella and feel the sweetness of a hug. He wanted Grace to look at him with trust in her eyes, and Rachel, well, he wanted to tell her the stories no one had told him. He’d known that in a startingly short time. He detested the way they looked at him with fear, and he’d wondered what their life had been like. And Janet’s.

  Bloody hell, he knew. And he was determined to do something about it without hurting them even further. And that meant he could not get too close to them. He could not expose them to potential madness.

  He kept just behind the front of the cart, ready to give protection if protection was needed. Hungry, angry tenants could be dangerous. So could Cumberland’s soldiers who still roamed the Highlands.

  He tried not to look in her direction, but to study the barren ground. What land was not furrowed was stark, rising up into heather- and gorse-covered hills. Good grazing land. Probably far better than farmland. But grazing land did not support people.

  They went by a second croft, but it was deserted. They stopped and he went inside, but it was obvious from the scurrying of small animals that it had not had human habitation for the past several years. He came out. “They are gone.” He shook his head. “The estate books are so poor I could not even tell how many crofters you have. There
is no record of tacksmen.”

  “There are none,” she said. “Alasdair did not think it was necessary. He had discharged the ones who had been there for years. I think he wanted to force everyone to leave.”

  “Those lands that have been abandoned can be used for sheep,” he said.

  She looked up from her seat on the cart, her eyes narrowing.

  “They are gone, lass. You canna bring them back.”

  Her bleak gaze met his. “I donna even know what happened to those on my father’s properties. The property was confiscated. Alasdair had thought it would come to him, but it was given to some Englishman.”

  He said nothing as she clicked the reins of the cart and they started again. But he decided then to make a trip to her father’s old lands and see what he could find out. Perhaps bring some crofters, if anyone had survived Cumberland’s purges, back here.

  In the meantime, they would stop to eat. Unknowing to her, he’d already packed some food in a corner of the cart. He hadn’t known how long they would be out.

  He looked toward the sun. It was at least an hour since noon. They could eat when they rested the animals, then turn back toward the manor. He would spend tomorrow going with Tim to distribute seed and take a look for himself at the condition of the fields. He would also make it quite clear that if Janet chose to come, they would use horses, not a governess cart.

  The sun was bright, the blue sky washed clean by a morning mist. It was a rare lovely day in the Highlands, and Janet felt herself relaxing as they neared the waterfall she’d seen yesterday. She had already surrendered the reins to Clara and now crooned a lullaby to a hungry Colin.

  But as they neared the waterfall, she sat up in her seat and looked at it with fresh appreciation. The fall ran down a heather-covered hill, tumbling along over water-polished rocks. The sun’s rays caught the mist from water, forming an ethereal rainbow, and the pool looked as if diamonds had been spread over its surface.

  She had not been struck by the rugged beauty of the hills yesterday, but perhaps because they had been partially veiled by the heavy mist—and her tears. But now the sight of the fall surrounded by purple heather and golden gorse lifted her spirits. She had lived here now for four years and she had seen very little of the property. She had never gone for a ride with her husband, and he had forbade her going by herself. Her few outings had included one trip to Edinburgh to see Cumberland, then a hunting party at the home of one of Alasdair’s friends. She’d hated every moment of it, and he’d told her how embarrassed he’d been at her lack of cordiality when she tried to shake off the advances of his friends.

  But now she looked at Lochaene with different eyes. From the manor battlements, she’d felt Lochaene was her prison. Now it could be her freedom.

  If she could rid herself of Reginald’s jealousy and now Braemoor’s interference.

  Even though, she had to admit, it was helpful interference.

  He had dismounted and moved over to the cart. “If you will give the lad to Clara,” he said, “I’ll help you down.”

  “You take Colin,” she said. She held her son out to him. He stood there for a moment, looking uncertain; looking, in truth, as if she were trying to hand him hot coals. A look of panic darted over his face. Then he reached out and took Colin, holding him as if he was a piece of glass. Awkwardly. Clumsily, but with—she would swear it—tenderness.

  Colin wailed, reaching back up for her. But she turned away, climbing down herself, then helping Annabella and Rachel as Clara stepped down on her own, clutching the basket holding the kitten.

  Janet turned to take her son.

  In those few moments, her son and Braemoor had apparently come to an understanding. Colin was gurgling, and Braemoor was looking at him with unabashed yearning.

  But the instant he looked up to see her standing there, a curtain fell over his eyes and without a word he started to hand Colin back to her. Colin wailed again and held his hands back toward Braemoor.

  “Traitor,” she whispered in Colin’s ear, hopefully in a tone too low for Braemoor to hear, but she left her son in Braemoor’s arms.

  But Braemoor was distracted by Samson who promptly lifted his leg on Braemoor’s boot.

  “Bloody hell,” Braemoor said. It was mildly said, but the effect was immediate. Rachel snatched the dog up and clutched him in her arms. “Please do … do not hurt him,” she said, backing up, terror written all over her face.

  Her timid Rachel was ready to do battle for the pup. Annabella was trembling. Grace placed her thin little body between Braemoor and Rachel.

  Janet looked at Braemoor. Her husband would have killed the dog, and the girls knew it.

  She took the few steps to stand next to Grace and looked at Braemoor. “He is just a puppy,” she said.

  “I know,” he said in a voice so low that she barely heard it. His eyes had darkened to that particular color of onyx.

  Grace didn’t move. She was used to her father who often preceded a blow with a calm, almost loving demeanor.

  They were so brave. All of them. Not for themselves, but for a poor nondescript puppy.

  Janet swallowed, the air passing with difficulty through a rather large lump in her throat. “I … I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Why should you be sorry?” he asked. “You didn’t relieve yourself on my leg.”

  His answer did not remove the combined anxiety for the puppy. “I sorry, too,” Annabella said.

  “You can beat me,” Rachel offered in a small trembling but determined voice.

  They were all looking at him. A muscle throbbed along his tightened jaw. He did look large and angry. For a moment, she wondered whether she’d been so wrong about him years ago. She had been wrong about so much. She did know she was not going to let him hurt either the dog or the children.

  “I donna think I want to beat anyone,” he said. “Nor a pup.”

  “Truly?” Grace asked in a strained voice.

  “Truly,” he said. But he did not smile. In fact, she saw building anger in those eyes.

  The lasses had not been convinced. She did not know whether or not she was. She had once believed Alasdair incapable of hitting a child. She’d been quickly disabused of that notion.

  The fear of the children was palpable despite the softness of his voice and his words. Clara, several feet away, also appeared rooted to the ground, her arms clutching the kitten’s basket to her bosom.

  The ghost of her husband was all too real.

  Even Colin had started wailing.

  She looked at Braemoor’s face, at the eyes that had darkened with anger. And she knew. Clouding out that anger in his eyes was vulnerability, helplessness. She realized then the anger had not been directed toward her or the children, but at whatever had turned them so fearful. And the vulnerability came because he had no idea how to cope with the immediate disaster.

  In the past day, she’d learned that the young man whose uncertain sincerity had so appealed to her had turned into a competent, forceful lord, one becoming accustomed to getting his own way and not above using raw power to accomplish his aims.

  But now he was faced with a situation he had no idea how to handle, and his gaze held an appeal, and a muscle ripped along his tightened jaw. Her heart shifted, opened just a crack. She would never trust him with her heart again, but she knew she could trust his words here and now. She leaned down, picked up Samson and stroked him. The small animal had caught Rachel’s fear and was trembling.

  “It is all right,” she said soothingly.

  Rachel’s stiff back, obviously ready to accept a blow, slowly started to relax. Grace reached down and took Annabella’s hand. Clara shifted and loosened her grip on the basket.

  It was as if a tableau had been unfrozen.

  She saw Braemoor swallow, then made a small bow. “I must ask pardon. A gentleman should never swear in front of ladies. I hope you will all accept my apologies.”

  “But … your boot?” Grace managed.

 
“My boot has seen far worse, I assure you, lass,” he said. “I was just startled, ’tis all. I am not accustomed to being around so many fair young lasses.”

  Colin had stopped wailing and was now looking at the marquis with interest, his hunger evidently temporarily forgotten.

  “I think you can put Samson down,” Braemoor said. “I have no intention to do harm to him.”

  Her gaze met his. The appeal was still in them and she saw something else as well. Pain? Even bafflement that she and four children would believe him capable of hurting them or a puppy.

  How deeply ingrained was the fear Alasdair had built in them all. She wondered whether the girls would always flinch when a man came close, or exhibited even the slightest expression of anger.

  Even she, who had known him, had experienced a moment of fear. Not for herself but for the others.

  And he had seen it.

  Chapter Eight

  Neil struggled to control the fury roiling around inside him.

  He’d seldom seen such stark fear in faces so young. Seeing it in Janet’s eyes had been like a fist in the gut. But in the faces of the children, it was almost too much to bear.

  He wished the Earl of Lochaene still lived. He would have pulverized the man.

  The wee lad squirmed in his arms. He was small, and Neil feared he might unintentionally hurt the bairn. And yet the boy felt good in his arms. Especially when he smiled.

  Some of his anger faded at that grin. He sighed. It was foolish to waste his energy on a dead man. Campbell had gone to his own judgment. But he did wish the man a particularly agonizing afterlife.

  It was painful to realize that he’d caused fear in bairns, and in Janet as well. She’d been uncertain whether he might hurt either the lasses or the pup. What in the hell had Lochaene done to her? To his own children?

  He felt an unexpected moisture on his arm and looked down. He’d just been watered again! This time by the bairn.