The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

  She handled the razor with quiet competence, and in minutes she was through, moving away from him. He felt his cheeks, smooth now, and he felt far better. But that, he knew, was attributed far more to her touch than to cleanliness.

  She tipped her head mischievously, regarding him. “You willna scare the lasses to death now,” she said. “Are you well enough for them to see you?”

  Pleased beyond reason that they, indeed, wanted to see him, he nodded. He would ask her about her fall later. But he would ask her. He wanted to know exactly what had happened.

  She left the room and, in minutes, the three small lasses entered the room. Annabella carried wilted stalks of heather, Grace a bowl obviously filled with water, and the middle lass held the puppy and kitten, who were not happy to be at such close proximity to each other.

  “We thought you would like some flowers,” Grace said seriously as she carefully set down the bowl on the table.

  “We want you to get well so you will take us on a picnic again,” said Rachel, clutching the pets.

  Annabella handed her squashed flowers to him. “I sorry you feel bad.”

  “I feel much better now,” he said, regarding the flowers with a slight smile. Annabella climbed up. He flinched slightly as she jolted his leg. Yet her smile lit something inside that more than compensated for the discomfort.

  “Thank you for the flowers,” he said.

  “We picked them just for you.”

  “They are beautiful,” he said, deciding in this case that a lie was far better than the truth. But then they were beautiful, even in their squashed, wilted state. They were beautiful because they were so happily given.

  “We are glad you came back,” Grace said. “So is mama.”

  He doubted that, but said nothing. He really did not know what to say or how to answer. But then the puppy barked and tried to get up on the bed. “He likes you, too,” Annabella said. “Do you have a puppy?”

  He shook his head. “Nay.”

  “A kitten?” she said hopefully.

  “I am afraid not,” he replied.

  “I think Samson has a brother,” Grace said from her safe place at the end of the bed. “I think you could have him.”

  Three faces looked down at him with such eager hope that he could find no way to say no. He could only hope the brother had already found another home. He did not want a dog.

  Or did he?

  Janet kept telling herself nothing had changed as she took off her gown and put on a nightshift. She had looked in on Braemoor just before retiring. He was asleep, his breathing now easy. He was weak and exhausted, but he would live.

  Janet had been mesmerized by the tender, yearning look on Braemoor’s face when she had returned from ordering the broth and saw him with her son. She had stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the interplay between Braemoor and her son, and she thought her heart would break.

  Colin’s father had never looked at him like that. Oh, he had been pleased to have an heir, but Colin had been no more than a possession to him. He had never picked up his son, or expressed an interest once he’d ascertained that Colin was a perfectly formed bairn.

  She never would have expected Neil to show an instant tenderness. But mayhap she should have. There had been something years ago that had beguiled her. She had thought she had imagined it, or that something had quenched those magic moments they had once shared. That young man would have laughed with her son, but Braemoor …?

  He had changed so much. But now she saw what she had seen then. She just did not know why he had left her with nothing but a cruel note eight years earlier. The fact that he had never married was strange. Most men in his position sought a wife if for no other reason than to produce an heir. So many things about him puzzled her.

  And nothing so much as her reactions to him when she touched him or when his gaze rested upon her.

  Could she still love him? Had she never really stopped?

  It was obvious, though, that he did not return the feeling. He had kissed her, but it had been no more than a momentary lust. She had told herself that. And she never wanted to make herself vulnerable again. She had done it twice before, once with him, then with the hopes she’d had when she married Alasdair.

  She’d continued to watch the man and bairn together, even as it hurt, even as she wondered what might have been had she married him.

  Most likely, no difference. Her head told her that. She had learned that she needed only herself.

  Reminding herself of that, she quenched the oil lamp and burrowed under her covers.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Neil walked around the room. The fever had faded. But he was still very weak.

  Yet he could not indulge himself. He could not stay here.

  Neither could Janet. But he had not told her that yet. He did not think she would take the suggestion well.

  She had been here earlier. Her eyes had been bright when she saw him sitting up. “We are going to deeply disappoint the physician,” she said. “I am sure he expects you to be dead by now.”

  “A good reason to live,” he said dryly. Then he changed the subject. “I must get letters off to Braemoor. I will require a quill and ink and paper.”

  “Is that a request or an order?”

  He realized then how curt he must have sounded. How long had he done that? Had he been that autocratic at Braemoor? Is that why he had never seemed to break the barrier between himself and the people at Braemoor? He had always seen the objective and been impatient with the steps it took to achieve it.

  “A request,” he said. “And I’ll need Tim to take them.”

  “As long as it is a request,” she said with a hint of a smile.

  “I am not very good at being a guest,” he admitted.

  She regarded him solemnly. She still had said nothing about her riding accident. He wondered whether she had any intention of doing so. “You are improving,” she finally said.

  “In which way?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Your wound.”

  “And not as a guest?”

  “You are not exactly a guest,” she said.

  “Nay, I forced myself upon you.”

  “Someone brought you here,” she corrected.

  “Aye. Because they knew I had been here.”

  “How?” she said. “How did they know to bring you here?”

  Ah, that was the question. Should he tell her what he had heard, that a woman had told Will and his fellow knaves that a man was going through the mountains from Lochaene? How much had he said to her before? He did not remember.

  And how much should he tell her now about his plans? He knew she was not going to agree easily. What had she said earlier: a request or an order?

  She would most certainly see his plan as an order. She would most certainly object to being uprooted, along with four children. But he knew she was in danger here. Probably far more danger than she thought.

  He wanted to confront her about her riding accident, but then he would betray Lucy’s confidence. He would talk to Kevin and Tim first.

  But before he could do anything, he had to have someone he trusted here at Lochaene. Unfortunately there were not many men who met that particular qualification. His tacksman, Jock, came closest to it, and now he would be asking the man to leave his own land and people. It would only be for a short time, until he could find an outside manager. But he knew Jock would not be pleased.

  Nor would Janet.

  Yet he felt the danger now. He sensed it. Janet would want to stay and confront it herself, but she would be alone. Enemies were in the household and few servants would have the courage to defy them. Jock, he knew, would. Jock had confronted him.

  “My lord?”

  He looked up, startled. He had been so lost in his own thoughts he had forgotten her question.

  “Aye?”

  “How did the outlaws know to bring you here?”

  He hesitated, then shrugged. “The leader—his name was Wi
ll—said someone had told him that a wealthy ‘nob’ would be crossing the hills.”

  Janet frowned. “He did not say who?”

  “Nay.”

  “What did he look like? This Will?”

  He shrugged. “Tall, dark red hair. He had a scar across his cheek.”

  “’Tis very strange he saved your life.”

  “I donna think he believed I would survive,” he said.

  “Still …”

  “I think he had a twisted sense of humor,” Neil said. “But he took my horse and what little coin I had, and I plan to reclaim both.”

  Her eyes widened. The thought that it might be concern for him both pleased and perplexed him. He did not want that. Or need it.

  He did need to keep her safe. Her and the wee lad with the bright smile, and the three lasses who had brought him flowers.

  “Will you fetch Tim?” he asked, trying to keep his concerns to himself. He wanted to know what Tim said about the riding mishap before he did, or said, any more. “I would like to send the message with him. He knows the way.”

  “By road, I hope,” she said.

  “Most certainly by road,” he agreed. “No more treks across the hills.”

  Her eyes studied him for a moment.

  “I would like him to go this afternoon,” he added.

  It was a dismissal, and he saw the old wariness return to her face. “Aye, my lord,” she said, turning on her heel and leaving.

  Just as well, he thought, even as his insides twisted with an agony as hurtful as his wound had been. If she was dismayed at him now, God help him when she discovered what he was planning.

  Tim twisted his cap in his fingers. “My lord? You sent for me?”

  Neil had managed to sit down at the table. “I understand the countess had a riding accident.”

  “Aye,” the lad said cautiously.

  “And you saw the cinch?”

  The lad nodded.

  “Had it been tampered with?”

  “Tampered with?”

  “Had it been cut?”

  The lad looked decidedly uncomfortable. Neil understood why only too well. Tim was a groom, and his words would mean little against that of gentry.

  “Tim?”

  “I like my position, my lord.”

  “And you will keep it, Tim. But I must know if the countess is in danger.”

  He nodded. “It could ha’ been cut. The smith said he could no’ say for sure.”

  “Have you told her?”

  Tim shook his head. “She has not asked.”

  “I will tell her,” Neil said.

  “Wha’ if she asks me?”

  “Then tell her,” Neil said. “I would not have you lie to her.”

  Relief flooded the boy’s face.

  “I want you to take a message to Braemoor,” Neil added.

  “My lord?”

  “I want you to leave today. You can take any horse you wish. I want you to find my tacksman, a man named Jock. You are to bring him back here with you.”

  Tim’s lips drew into a frown. Neil sensed what he was thinking. Another employee. Mayhap to take his own position.

  “I want you back. You are one of the few people I trust.”

  “In truth, my lord?”

  “In truth, Tim.” He took off his ring with the Braemoor seal. “I donna have any coin to give you but this should give you credit. I asked Jock to take care of you on the way back.”

  Tim took the ring reverently. “Ye would trust me wi’ this?”

  “None more,” Neil said, wondering whether he was beginning to learn a little about trusting.

  Tim gave him a crooked grin. “I willna disappoint ye.”

  “Come back in an hour and I will give you a message.”

  “Aye, I’ll saddle a horse.”

  Neil slumped against the chair. Bloody hell, but even that small conversation exhausted him. He sat there for several moments. His fever was gone, but the pain remained. Every time he moved, his leg felt as if a knife was twisting inside it. He’d thought about taking Janet immediately to Braemoor. But he knew she would not go unless someone was here to protect Angus and the other families. She might not in any event.

  Unless she came to realize that if she was in danger, so might her children be, particularly her son. His death would mean the title would go to Reginald. And someone here was not above attempting murder.

  If he had not been so weak, she might well have hit the marquis when he ordered her about. Ill as he was, he was already taking over Lochaene. Nonetheless, it probably was quite reasonable that he wanted to send a message to Braemoor to tell … someone that he had been delayed.

  It was the outlaw business she did not understand. Braemoor—she tried to think of him that way as protection against traitorous feelings—was not very forthcoming nor as angry as she thought he would be. Braemoor did not seem to be a man to take such things with equanimity. But it was none of her affair. Once more, he would leave, and she would move ahead with her own plans. She would, however, check her saddle cinch next time.

  She could not believe anyone really meant her harm. A scare, perhaps. A fright to keep her from riding over the properties. She would just be very careful. She would also let the family know that Braemoor approved of her plans and would carry on if anything were to happen to her. She did not intend to be frightened away.

  She sent Lucy to Braemoor with writing materials, then went to see Tim herself.

  “We will miss you,” she said. He and Kevin had made themselves invaluable in the past weeks. The stable was clean, the horses finally well fed. Both could ride and exercise the horses. And Kevin had been distributing food and seed to the tenants and reporting on their progress. Her granting permission to hunt, he said, had helped much. Janet realized they probably had been poaching previously, but now they could go after larger game and feed their families without worrying about hanging.

  “I have a brother I can ask to help Kevin while I am gone,” Tim offered shyly and, she noticed, hopefully.

  “I expect we can put him to good use,” Janet said. There was so much to do, and so few people to do it. But still, she looked forward to every moment. For the first time in her life she would be mistress of her own destiny. She could protect her children, her property, her tenants. If the price was loneliness, she was willing to pay it.

  “Aye,” Tim said.

  “Did … did the blacksmith say anything about that cinch?”

  Tim fidgeted. Then he nodded his head.

  “And …?”

  “’E said it could be a cut.”

  “Could or was?”

  “’E could no’ say fer sure.”

  “Thank you, Tim,” she said. “Be careful. Remember …”

  “I know,” he said. “The marquis warned me.” Pride sparkled in his eyes, and she knew that Braemoor had placed it there.

  “Go with God then,” she said.

  She watched as he mounted. He gave her a cocky grin, then trotted the horse out toward the door.

  She went into the stable and to the tack room. She looked over all the saddles, the cinches, the buckles. Some were a bit frayed. She separated those from the others, putting them aside to be taken to the village and repaired.

  When she left the stables, it was growing dark. She went inside and up to the nursery. Her daughters had been playing outside earlier, and now they were eating. With no little help from Clara, Colin was busy eating gruel mixed with honey. More of it was on his face, though, than in his stomach.

  Four faces looked up at her.

  “How is the marquis?” Grace asked.

  “He says he is much better since you visited him,” she said. “’Twas a far better tonic than the doctor gave him.”

  Annabella giggled. It was a sound that went straight to Janet’s heart. She giggled far too little.

  Samson climbed over her feet, trying to claw up her leg, and she leaned down and picked him up. “Restless, are you?” she asked
. He barked.

  They were ready for another outing. Her preoccupation with Braemoor had meant neglecting them. Mayhap she could arrange another picnic tomorrow. But in the interim, a story might serve.

  She still had to find them some new books, now that she had some credit. But she would be careful using it. Still, a book was worthy.

  “What about a story?” she asked.

  “Oh yes,” Rachel said.

  Janet took a sleepy Colin from Clara and sat down on the bed, the lasses surrounding her, puppy and kitten in hand. She looked at them, one at a time. Warmth filled her. For the first time, Lochaene felt like home. “Once upon a time,” she started, “there was a princess …”

  “Like me?” Annabella asked.

  “Just like you, love,” she said.

  “And me?” Rachel asked shyly.

  “Aye, and Grace, too. You are all princesses.”

  Colin squirmed, complained. Janet leaned down and kissed his forehead. “And you, my love, are an earl.”

  “A princess is better,” Rachel said.

  “I think so, too,” Janet said confidentially.

  “Are you a princess?”

  “Nay. I am only a countess, and that means very little.”

  “But I love you,” Rachel said with the earnestness that so set her apart.

  “That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me,” Janet said.

  “I lob you, too,” Annabella said, her lower lip sticking out, obviously annoyed at being upstaged.

  Something hard stuck in Janet’s throat.

  Balancing Colin, she gave each of them a hug. More than anything, she wanted them to know love and safety.

  “Once upon a time,” she started again, “there was a princess who lived high in a tower …”

  Marjorie arrived on the third day of Braemoor’s recovery.

  Her carriage—Lochaene’s carriage—clattered into the courtyard and she regally stepped out, then waited as a number of boxes were handed from the driver to the new butler who had appeared at the door.

  Janet watched from the garden at the side of the house where she had taken the lasses and Colin to play with Samson and Delilah. She continued to look as each box was taken inside. Most likely Lochaene would receive the bills, and Janet would have to find a way to pay them or risk further damage to their credit. She would, however, promptly inform each of the creditors and—if necessary—place a notice in the newspaper that no more debts from anyone but Janet would be honored. Satan’s pitchfork. Marjorie had to be fully aware that tenants were going hungry. If it had not been for Braemoor …