Janet apparently saw it, too, and regarded Neil’s shirt with dismay.
“Do not look that way, lass. Even I know that bairns do not know whom they are wetting any more than that misbegotten animal.” In fact, rather than anger, he felt an odd tenderness at the thought of such complete innocence. He’d never held a bairn before, had never been the recipient of such a guileless contentment. He tried a smile to put her, and the children, at ease but he knew it was a poor excuse of one. He had damned little practice at it, and he knew immediately he was not succeeding. Hell, the children still looked frightened half to death.
Janet lowered the puppy to the ground, and Samson went running back to Rachel. As she straightened, their gazes locked for a moment. Janet gave him a long, level look, then something lit in her eyes, the eyes he remembered so well. The ground seemed to tremble under them for a moment, or mayhap his legs were none too steady. Eight years had passed and yet his tongue was as tied as the day he had met her. He felt the same leap of his heart, the same sudden recognition.
Then she reached out and took the lad, and he immediately missed the feel of him.
“I have to feed him,” she said. “Clara will look after the children.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You do not trust them with me?”
“I can tell you are not used to children.”
“Nay, you are right there,” he replied wryly.
“I thought not,” she said. “What have you been doing these past years?”
“Serving my cousin,” he said. Feeling the necessity of destroying that intimacy they’d just shared, an intimacy neither of them could afford, he added, “and fighting Jacobites.”
“For the English king.” It was not a question.
“Aye.”
“My brother died at Culloden. Could it have been by your sword?”
Pain twisted inside him. He had not met her brother, only her father whom he had admired and liked. “I canna say, my lady. ’Tis possible.”
“And now you are wealthy and can ask favors of Cumberland and take what you wish. How did that happen?” She’d heard rumors about the poor cousin who had become the Marquis of Braemoor, but there had been few details.
“Donald died of wounds at Culloden. My cousin inherited, and he too died in the service of the king. Cumberland appreciates that kind of loyalty.” The latter wasn’t true. Cumberland appreciated nothing from Scots. But the lie served him at the moment.
“How?” she said.
“The Black Knave is said to have killed him.”
She wondered how she had not heard that particular piece of information. It must have happened at the time that Colin was born, when her son was the center of her world. She’d heard of the Black Knave—everyone had—but in this household he’d been considered the worst type of villain. A murderer. A thief. A traitor.
Then she caught his wording. “Is said?”
He shrugged. “It could not be proven. But my cousin had gone after the Knave, and his body was found on a beach. Cumberland believes that he might have destroyed the Knave since no one has heard from him since the night my cousin’s body was found.”
“And murder is a reason for gratitude?”
“If it is a traitor to the crown, aye.”
He flinched at the look in her eyes. And yet he knew he could never reveal the entire truth about the Black Knave.
The lad in her arms fidgeted, and she shifted the weight. “I have to feed him,” she repeated in a cool voice and turned away.
Colin squirmed in her arms. He was ready, she knew, for a fit of temper. She turned around and headed away, toward privacy beyond the hill. She felt Neil’s gaze going straight through her.
She also felt her breasts throbbing with milk. Most women in her position hired wet nurses. But she’d wanted to nurse her own child and Alasdair had not objected. He had, in fact, been pleased. Where he was often vicious toward his daughters, he’d doted on his only son. And it had given him a new threat against her. Taking away her son.
She had only recently started to wean Colin with gruel mixed with honey. Another few weeks and he would not need her in this way. And, despite the discomfort, she would miss it. There could be no other feeling like this.
Reaching a spot out of sight, Janet found a stone to sit upon. She shifted Colin on her shoulder, holding him close to her for a moment. She was trembling. How could she feel anything for Braemoor when he’d just told her that he had killed Scotsmen at Culloden? Possibly even her brother.
She remembered the day a messenger had arrived at Lochaene, telling her of his death. Alasdair had not gone to Culloden despite Cumberland’s orders. He’d claimed that duty demanded that he stay and guard this land that lay to the west of Cumberland. It was nothing but cowardice. She also remembered his words when she was told her brother was dead: “One less Jacobite.”
Janet tried to shake the memory from her heart. She undid the ties of her dress, and in seconds, Colin was sucking with a lustiness that made her ache. There was always pain, but there was also intense pleasure. And satisfaction. She held him close, wanting desperately for him to feel safe.
She wished she understood Braemoor, and what he wanted. He had shown no particular desire for her, although there could have been a hungry look in his eyes earlier. But he was stingy with his emotions, and she couldn’t tell what he thought.
Nor what he wanted from her. He’d indicated no interest in her as a woman. He certainly did not need her properties; he was probably among the wealthiest Scots in the Highlands. Lochaene was small compared to his holdings. And poor.
And she no longer believed in fairies. Or angels.
Colin finished and gave her one of his sweet smiles. He was, she thought, the most handsome bairn in Scotland. “No one will ever hurt you. Not if I can help it,” she promised him as she tied the front of her dress and settled her shawl around her shoulders.
She heard the waterfall from here. The sun was still warm and Colin was drowsy. She heard laughter, childish laughter from around the hill, and she started. It had been a long time since she had heard her daughters laugh that freely.
She stood and carried Colin back to the others. Annabella was giggling, Grace had a smile on her face, and Rachel was grinning.
Delilah had somehow escaped from her basket and was chasing Samson in circles. Chasing the little orange kitten was the large, awkward figure of the Marquis of Braemoor. He dived for the kitten, only to find himself holding empty air.
Grace, Annabella and Rachel were rooted to the ground, not helping at all. Clara, too, was staring, a dumbfounded look on her face.
The marquis rose from his undignified position on the ground, and brushed off the dirt and gorse, then looked toward the kitten again, which was altogether too close to the pool. Then Samson saw her with Colin and came running toward her. The kitten followed, and she swooped down with one hand and retrieved her while holding Colin in the other.
“Did you lose something?” she said.
His face colored. “I thought I could …”
She tried to choke back the laughter that welled up in her throat. He looked crestfallen. He obviously felt outwitted by a kitten.
“He told us not to move,” Grace explained.
“I thought they might fall into the pool,” Braemoor explained.
“I see,” she said as she handed over the kitten to Grace. “Keep her in the basket,” she admonished her oldest daughter.
Grace’s face creased into a smile. “Aye,” she said, then curtsied to Braemoor. “Thank you, sir.”
For the slightest moment, his face creased into an answering smile. It disappeared all too quickly, almost as if he was embarrassed by it.
“I think it is time to eat,” he said.
She shook her head. “There is nothing.”
“Aye, but there is, my lady. I thought we might be out longer than you expected. There is a basket in the back of the cart in the box.”
She gave Colin to Clara
and looked in the back of the seat. A basket, topped by a blanket, had been pushed under the front seat, out of sight. She started to pull it out, but Braemoor took it from her. Grace and Rachel spread the blanket out on the ground as Annabella clutched the kitten.
Janet checked the basket. There were several roasted chickens, cheese, bread and some pastries. There were also some cups that she used to scoop up fresh water from the fall.
She would have expected the bounty from the young Neil Forbes, but not from the older, dignified and unapproachable Marquis of Braemoor.
But once the food was laid out, he did not partake of it. Instead, he walked away, disappearing among the hills.
The lasses were giggling in a way Janet had never seen them do before. She didn’t know what Braemoor had done, but something had made them relax. Whatever it was, their fear was gone. That much was obvious. Rachel cuddled Samson, feeding him pieces of bread while she ate chicken. Annabella put Delilah in her basket and grabbed a pastry. Grace was very gracefully taking small bits of chicken. Clara balanced Colin in one arm and took a chicken wing for herself.
Janet discovered that she was indeed hungry. But she wanted Braemoor to join them. It was his feast, after all. And he must be hungry. And tired, if he had taken that early morning ride into the village. He showed no sign of it, though. He showed little sign of any emotion or condition.
She ate a piece of chicken, then left the others and walked in the direction he had gone. She was as drawn toward him as a bee was to honey, even though she knew better. He was not honey. He was someone who discarded her years ago because he could not get what he expected.
Had he changed in those eight years? Or was he still playing games she did not understand?
She went around the hill, not far from where she had nursed Colin moments earlier. She saw him quickly moving away, his stride easy and effortless. He was facing away from her, could not see her, could not know she was there, and yet she felt as if there was some invisible rope reaching between them. He looked alone, as alone as she had felt so many times, as she still felt. She had Colin, and Grace and Rachel and Annabella, and yet she had never been whole since the day she had been abandoned by Neil Forbes. And now she was worse than Samson, running after him like a demented puppy.
She stopped and watched him meld into the heather and disappear.
Reginald met Neil as he entered the manor. Janet, Clara and the children had gone ahead while he helped Tim unhitch the cart, then gave him instructions about delivering seed.
In truth, Neil wanted to avoid Janet. He’d run away this afternoon, or nearly so. Just her presence did something to his heart, to his plans. So did the bairns. Their laughter filled some of the emptiness. He wanted more. He wanted to see amusement in their faces when he knew they had known too little of it. He wanted to see Janet’s eyes crinkled with joy, as it had been years ago.
In self-defense, he had left them. He brooded alone among the rugged rocks and bracken and wild heather. And when he returned, it was time to return to Lochaene. They had not seen all he wanted to see and he would have to stay another day. Mayhap a second or even a third. He could not leave her yet, not until he felt there were enough people to protect her.
On their return to Lochaene, he assisted Janet and the small lasses down, then helped Tim care for the horses. When they’d completed rubbing down his mount and the horse that had pulled the governess cart, Neil reluctantly returned to the manor house. He was met by Reginald, who apparently had been waiting for him.
To his astonishment, the man had a smile on his face. His manner was more than cordial. “I asked the cook to prepare a fine meal tonight,” he said. “We wanted to officially welcome you. I realize that … I was not … gracious earlier. ’Twas the shock, you understand.”
Neil did. More than Reginald Campbell would ever know. With some painful familiarity, he recognized much of himself in Reginald. The sense of entitlement, the absolute conviction that he could succeed where his cousin could not. A year’s difference in birth meant the difference between power and dependency. It was a world where fate was more important than competence or character. He knew the resentment, the jealousy, the hopelessness of being a poor relative.
He nodded. “I understand. Cumberland’s decision had to come as a surprise.”
“We are pleased that my nephew has such a distinguished guardian.”
Now that, Neil thought, was a trifle much. He could not even imagine the effort it took Reginald to utter such words. He himself would not have been capable of such a statement. He wished he knew whether the man had actually adjusted to what had happened or was simply biding his time.
“I will try to see that the entire family prospers,” he replied.
Reginald’s face relaxed a trifle, and Neil realized Reginald was concerned about his initial reaction and whether or not he had offended Neil and, consequently, Cumberland.
“I will have to dress,” he said.
“You knew the countess before?”
“Aye, but only briefly. She and her father stayed awhile at Braemoor when she was but a young lass.”
Reginald Campbell nodded. “We are honored to have you here, and if there is anything my wife or I can do for you, please just let us know. I would be most pleased to work with you. We both have the best interests of my nephew at heart.”
“That is most kind of you,” Neil said wryly.
The smile on his face broke and for a moment he looked bewildered. “I would have made a good guardian.”
“I am sure you would have,” Neil said, and he thought that Reginald meant it. Campbell had lost much: prestige, control of lands. Perhaps worse was loss of face by having an outsider appointed guardian. “I do not think Cumberland doubted your ability. He knows me. He did not know you.”
Reginald simply nodded, a smile still fixed on his face.
Neil again felt sympathy. But after looking at the books, he knew the man was incompetent if not venal. Still, he had no wish to humiliate him. “I must change clothes,” he said again.
“We will dine in an hour,” Reginald said. “My wife planned the meal herself. And I do not believe you have seen our son. He is only a few months of age.”
Another potential heir.
For a moment, Neil felt trapped in the past. He shook it off, then nodded and headed up the stone steps to his own room.
A hip bath was filled with hot water. Janet’s orders, no doubt. He wondered whether she was enjoying the luxury of a bath herself. The thought stirred a tormenting desire.
The meal tonight would be agony, just as the day had been, just as every moment at Lochaene had been and would continue to be.
He discarded his clothes and slipped into the hip bath, hoping the still-warm water would quiet the demons inside him, even as he knew nothing would.
Janet stayed with the lasses as they ate, then put Colin to bed. But then she indulged herself with a bath and afterward Lucy pulled her hair back and tied it with a dark ribbon and topped it with a small lace-edged cap.
Janet looked at herself in the mirror. She wore a plain dark dress since she was still in mourning. Her face was thin, as was her body, except for her breasts which swelled with milk. She thought herself rather plain, and her husband had constantly told her as much.
She sighed. She did not know how she would get through the coming meal, how she could sit opposite Braemoor and eat. Flashes of the past kept darting into her mind. Good ones, terrible ones. She wanted to remember the note she’d read, not the neat bow he had made to her daughters today. She wanted to remember his hurtful words, not the vulnerability she saw today.
She had not told him about the cloaked figure on the battlements she’d encountered before his arrival. For one reason, she had no proof that he meant harm. And she did not want Neil to remain. It was too … unsettling, too … unpredictable, too … too painful to see him.
Still, she pinched her cheek to put some color in them and she smoothed back her hair. She
did not use powder as her sister-in-law did.
Then she stiffened her back and went down to what she suspected might be the most difficult meal of her life.
Reginald had to swallow his pride. Nothing had hit him quite as hard as Braemoor’s sudden and unexpected appearance nor the news that he, rather than Reginald, had been appointed guardian.
He knew of the man, but only slightly. Braemoor apparently did not venture far from his estates. No one knew much about him, and he had tried desperately in the past day to find out more. He had, in fact, ridden ten miles to try to gather some information from Strathmore, an Englishman who had recently been given Jacobite estates. He needed to find a weakness and exploit it.
But Strathmore knew no more than he, and his dismissive attitude was galling. At the end, however, he had agreed to find out what he could about the Marquis of Braemoor.
Braemoor certainly did not look like a lord. He did not have the social graces, nor did he dress like one. He looked like some loutish blacksmith. He was, Reginald had been told, a bastard who for some unknown reason had been named heir by the recently deceased marquis who, himself, was an upstart.
This Braemoor had Cumberland’s ear, and Reginald intended to find out how and why, and to get some of that ear himself.
Reginald had hoped to inherit the title himself. His brother had produced only daughters before marrying the Leslie girl for her dowry. In addition to the sizeable dowry, there had been a future promise of additional lands. That came to naught after the uprising.
Damn the woman for bearing a son and taking what should be his. He had thought he could have everything anyway, at least until the lad reached his majority, but Braemoor’s interference had ended that.
Louisa had been even angrier than he. She had never liked Janet, had felt her sister-in-law thought herself better than she, since she was the daughter of a merchant. As a second son with no title and no wealth of his own, he’d had few choices. And Louisa had brought a large dowry herself. She had a tart tongue, though, and bad temper, and she often took it out on him by refusing him her bed.
The Heart Queen Page 12
