The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

  Marjorie shrugged. “Just that he is in England.”

  “Then it is all settled,” he said. “Let us all enjoy this fine supper.”

  When Janet explained to the children that they would be taking a trip, Annabella was beside herself with excitement. Rachel asked a million questions. Even Grace had a rare gleam in her eyes.

  It distressed Janet to admit it, but mayhap a short trip would be good for the lasses. It would, however, be a certain kind of hell for her.

  She had desperately reached out for a shred of dignity. She could never allow her in-laws to realize she was being dragged off like a sack of potatoes. When she returned, she needed to have at least the image of authority. And she planned to return soon. Even if she had to sneak off in the middle of the night.

  She just wished that she hadn’t wanted to smile when he’d yawned at Reginald’s plea. She’d even felt a little sorry for her brother-in-law. But maybe Reginald would come to realize that he had some responsibilities, too, and not only to himself.

  But the thought of two days of close traveling with Braemoor was agonizing.

  “How long will we say, Mama?” Grace asked.

  Janet wished she knew. “Not long,” she said, hoping she was right.

  “We can take Samson and Delilah?” Annabella questioned, eyes wide.

  “Aye,” Janet said. They would be left at Braemoor’s peril. All would go, or none would go. Mayhap when he saw the extent of the expedition, he would change his mind. And yet, he seemed to tolerate the children well enough. Even the animals.

  They would leave in the morning, according to Braemoor. But she had said she would not go until she met with Jock Forbes first. She was not going to leave until she knew more about the man who was to administer her son’s property.

  She folded the last child’s clothing into the valise. She regretted there were not more toys or books. She did remember Braemoor’s library. She remembered being awed by it, but had there been children’s books? She did not remember.

  After finishing packing with Clara, Janet told a story she’d been told during her own childhood, then leaned over and kissed each of the sleepy faces. Then she picked up Colin and wished Clara a good evening.

  Braemoor lounged outside, and his presence startled her. “Do you always lurk?” she asked.

  “Only when stories are being told,” he said.

  Something about his expression told her that he had not heard many stories himself as a child. “It was not a very good one,” she said.

  “I liked it.”

  “Then you, my lord, are easily pleased.”

  He shifted his position, and a grimace crossed his face. It was obvious his leg was still painful.

  “Are you sure we should leave tomorrow?” she asked. “Your leg …”

  “’Tis not but a nuisance,” he said. “We will leave in the morning, but Jock is in the withdrawing room. He will stay in the manor when we leave. Is there a room available?”

  “Aye,” she said. “I will have Lucy prepare one.”

  He hesitated.

  “The children want to take Samson and Delilah.”

  “I had assumed as much,” he said with the slow smile that was rare but devastating. At least when she did not consider the deviousness behind it. “We will take the post chaise.”

  “We cannot spare someone as coachman,” she said.

  “Oh, I think we can,” he said. “Tim can drive. His brother seems to be doing well here, and he will return soon.”

  “What about Kevin?” she asked. Tim was his man. Kevin was hers.

  He shrugged. “If you prefer Kevin, then you can have him.”

  “I do.”

  “No more protestations?”

  “Would they do me any good?”

  He looked at her with those dark, enigmatic eyes. “No.” Then his lips turned up in a half smile. “I think your relatives will tread lightly now.”

  “Because of you or me?” she asked.

  “You, my lady, were quite forceful.”

  “But you do not think me competent enough to manage Lochaene?”

  “I think you are more than competent, particularly after supper tonight. It is not your mind or determination that worries me; it is your safety.”

  For a moment, his words ignited a small glow inside. No one had ever even acknowledged that she had a mind. But now she realized how manipulative he was, how little he told her, how much he had to gain.

  Does he really? Lochaene is really of small value compared to his estates.

  She was not going to give him the satisfaction of arguing with him. She’d realized earlier that she would not change his mind. She could only work around it. And she would do that. She had not surrendered, only retreated until she could find a better position. “I do want to meet this … Jock.”

  She followed him as he limped down the hall to the steps. She heard his heavy breathing and realized how much it must have cost him. She pushed back the billowing feelings of sympathy.

  Jock was a large man with a kind, leathery face. He was sitting when she entered but he rose swiftly and nervously fingered the bonnet in his hands. “My lady,” he acknowledged awkwardly. She knew he was no more comfortable than she. She wondered what Braemoor had told him. Did he realize how unwelcome he would be?

  “Thank you for coming,” she said softly and was rewarded with a smile.

  “My lord told me ye wished tae keep the tenants,” he said. “No’ so many landlords feel tha’ way.”

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I rode the land today,” he said. “It can be done, but there will be small profits to ye.”

  She nodded.

  “I would like to purchase sheep for the abandoned areas,” he said, looking at her, not Braemoor.

  She knew they did not have the money to do so.

  “Do it,” Braemoor said at her side.

  “We do not need charity,” she retorted sharply.

  “’Tis no charity, my lady. It is a loan to be repaid with interest. I trust you to make it good.”

  “The land is none tae good for farming but fine for grazing,” Jock said, as if the exchange had never occurred.

  She hadn’t wanted to like him. She did not want to like anything to do with the marquis, but instinctively she liked this big man whose oversized work-scarred hands fumbled with his cap. There was an innate honesty in his face, a directness in his eyes. He was not, she thought, at all like his lord.

  “You have seen Angus?” she asked.

  Jock nodded. “I can work wi’ the mon. He knows his farming.”

  “We can produce enough to pay the taxes?”

  “Aye, with enough sheep and cattle. There are few enough in this area. They will bring a foine price at Inverness and Glasgow. It will be taking four or five years to build herds but with good dogs, ye need but a few herders. And the tenants should produce enough to keep themselves, sell a bit, and provide a share for you.”

  “My family … might try to hinder you.”

  “My lord told me as much,” Jock replied. “But ’e told me I make the decisions, and I will make the best I can for ye.”

  She was satisfied. As satisfied as she could be under the circumstances. Lochaene’s people, she felt, would be safe with this man. He would not be easily intimidated.

  But safe for whom? Jock Forbes’s loyalty would be to his employer, not to her. If Braemoor wanted Lochaene to succeed, she had no doubts it would. But then would he leave it for her son, for Lochaene’s true heir?

  She could only try to return as soon as possible. Mayhap even convince Cumberland that her son needed no male guardian, that it was an imposition on Braemoor. Mayhap if she made so much trouble, Braemoor would want to get rid of her.

  She said good night to Jock Forbes, who seemed uncomfortable in the manor. He would be even more so when he met the other members of the household, but she felt he could hold his own.

  She still knew a deep resentment, tho
ugh, that all control was being taken from her, that she was given no choices of her own. She also feared she did not know Braemoor’s true motives and intent. It most certainly was, as Marjorie had conjectured, not marriage. He had demonstrated his lack of interest in her over and over again. The desolation that had swept over her eight years earlier at his rejection still lingered painfully.

  She turned to him. “When do we leave?”

  “First light,” he said. “It will take us at least two days with the chaise.”

  She nodded and turned toward the steps.

  “My lady?”

  She stopped but did not turn back.

  He hesitated long enough that she knew he had reconsidered whatever he meant to say. “Good evening,” he said simply.

  She wanted to retort that being forced to leave her home was not inducive to a good night, but thought better of it. Better to allow him to believe she had accepted his decision.

  Janet, the Countess of Lochaene, mounted the stairs with as much dignity as she could manage.

  Neil watched Janet ascend the stairs with no little dignity. Neil had been both amused and impressed by Janet’s performance at supper, and then at the meeting with Jock. She was a strong-willed lass.

  After she disappeared down the hall, he walked over to the stable. With Tim, he inspected every inch of the post chaise he planned to take the next day. The coach was faded, the interior scarred and the cushions slightly soiled, but it should get them to Braemoor. He then examined the harness and traces. He did not want any more accidents.

  When he was ready to leave, he asked Tim to sleep near the coach rather than the back room the lad shared with Kevin and, since his return, Tim’s brother, Dicken.

  “I willna take my eyes from it,” he said.

  “Kevin will be driving the coach,” Braemoor said. “I want you to stay here and help Jock. If there is any trouble, come for me.”

  Tim’s face fell. It was obvious that he had wanted to accompany them. “I need you here more,” Neil said softly. “And you will be here to teach Dicken what he needs to know.”

  Tim’s eyes brightened. “Aye, my lord.”

  “I hope to leave at daybreak,” Neil said.

  Tim nodded, a red forelock falling onto his forehead. He was all freckles and bright blue eyes. At thirteen, Dicken was a younger version of him. Neither boy, Braemoor knew, had been to school; their labor had been needed too badly. But both were quick in mind, and Braemoor intended to provide a tutor who could teach them as well as the lasses.

  When it was safe enough.

  How long would he have the torture of seeing Janet every day, to watch her bend over her son with such tenderness and hear her stories when she put the bairns to bed? How long could he resist kissing her again, or holding out his hand to her? Knowing that she was taking it only under duress.

  He returned to the manor house. Only a few lights flickered in the hallway. He wished there was a library here. He went into the withdrawing room. The fire was almost out. He placed a new log on it and watched a small flame begin to lick at it, then started to blaze. It had just been waiting for fuel.

  He felt like that flame. The embers had been barely glowing inside, but a few days with Janet—with the children—that small flicker had grown into an inferno of need.

  Neil poured himself a glass of brandy from the bottle always kept there, and watched the fire burn.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Janet had a lapful of children. She sat in the middle of one seat. Annabella was asleep, her head buried in Janet’s skirts. Rachel had likewise stretched across the left side of the seat, her head resting next to her sister’s.

  Grace sat primly on the opposite bench, valiantly trying to read a book. Next to her was Clara, who held Colin. Looking wretched after the jolting, cold day-long ride, Lucy sat next to Clara, her hands clasping at the side of the carriage as it lurched along a muddy road. Samson sat curled up next to Rachel, and Delilah was safe in a basket on the floor.

  Rain pounded on the carriage roof, and thunder roared. Each new volley changed the lurch of the carriage a little more as the horses strained against the harness, obviously ready to bolt.

  Braemoor had stopped the chaise just as the thunder started and climbed aboard the driver’s bench with Kevin. Janet knew both man and lad must be soaked, and it could not be good for Braemoor, who was still weak.

  Blast the man for his stubbornness. They never should have left this morning with the heavy overhanging clouds, the thick smell of moisture, the electricity in the air. But a woman could never tell a man anything.

  She wished she could keep from thinking of him being up on that platform just days after a near-fatal fever.

  Yet she knew there was no place to stop along this toll road for another ten miles. They had seen only one soul and that was a frowning, crooked stick of a man who had hobbled out to collect the due. There had been no inn, no shelter.

  She knew there was a far swifter way across the mountains, but the chaise could not navigate it even if bandits did not control the only pass.

  Janet tried not to worry and concentrated on devising a plan of her own. She had to demonstrate to Cumberland that she was fully capable of taking care of her own affairs. But how? She did not know. Not yet. But she did know she would go to hell before she married again.

  She could do little while the Duke of Cumberland was in London. But Braemoor’s odd experience in the mountain had made her wonder. She kept puzzling over the fact that the bandit had released him without asking ransom. He must be a very odd bandit indeed.

  Or a fugitive Jacobite who had somehow escaped detection for more than a year.

  If so, he might be of assistance to her, and she to him.

  It would be a fine line. She could be putting herself and the children in danger. And yet she was obviously already in danger. Her family? Or Braemoor? Both?

  Of the two, Braemoor was the more likely suspect. Reginald was too bungling, his wife too concerned with clothes, and his mother …

  Thunder roared again, and she felt the horses straining against the traces. The coach came to a lurching stop and Janet had to grab Annabella to keep her from falling. Samson barked. Janet opened the wood shutters, which covered the windows and had kept the rain out. The rain was so thick she barely saw the cloaked form approach.

  “We canna go farther,” Braemoor said. “The road is too slippery. I’ve pulled off and Kevin and I am going to tie the horses until the lighting stops.” Through the pouring rain, she saw the strain in his face, the lines that had not been there this morning. He must have been braking with his wounded leg.

  She gently rearranged the two girls on the coach seat and stepped out of the chaise, immediately stepping into mud and nearly falling as her feet slipped. She looked toward the front of the four-horse team. Kevin and Braemoor were both trying to sooth them as thunder boomed and lightning streaked across the dull gray hills cloaked by the falling rain.

  A lantern hanging from a post shone eerily through the heavy rain.

  One of the horses struck out, and she tried to soothe him.

  “Go back inside, Janet,” Braemoor said. “We are going to have to unhitch them. There’s no place to tie them with the carriage attached, and we cannot risk them bolting.”

  Janet shivered. She knew how impossible was the task. But he was right. They would have to take the horses far off the road, and there was no way the carriage could make it over the soggy ground.

  But instead of obeying him, she ran her hand along the neck of the lead horse which was quivering. “Quiet, my love,” she crooned to him. “You have done so well and soon you will have a nice warm stall and lots of oats.” The gelding shuddered but quieted at the sound of a familiar voice. She had visited them often at Lochaene and was familiar to them.

  Once the lead horse calmed, the others followed suit. She continued to run her hands along his neck as Braemoor and Kevin freed them from the harness and led them into some shelter u
nder the trees. He ran a line between them and hurried back to the chaise.

  “Get inside,” he said.

  “Not unless you and Kevin do.”

  “There is no room. We can stay up in the seats with the oil cloth,” he said.

  “Aye, there is room. You or Kevin will have to hold one of the children but you will not stay out here.”

  He nodded, ruefully accepting her order. “Ah, you care, madam.”

  “Only in that I do not wish to stay here forever,” she said, not wishing to show that she did, indeed, care.

  He finally shrugged. He climbed back up onto the seat and took off the lantern, carrying it inside the carriage where he hung it on a hook and dimmed the light. He gave her what she thought might be intended as a smile but really was a grimace. He was shaking with cold. Still, he held the chaise door open for her, and held out his hand to help her in. She ignored it and climbed in again, picking up blankets from the floor as Braemoor and Kevin stepped in, water dripping from them in great puddles.

  Braemoor had no business on the drivers’ bench so soon after surviving such a grievous wound. Stubborn mule of a man! Why did men always believe they were invincible and leave it to the women to clean up after them?

  Kevin was also concerned. His gaze met Janet’s as they covered the marquis with the spare blankets as well as the one she’d used. The lad’s concern was obvious.

  Braemoor tried to protest but neither paid any attention to him.

  Annabella stirred because of all the movement and she tried to crawl over to Braemoor’s lap. Janet started to stop her but Braemoor shook his head and held out his arms. The little girl snuggled into his lap.

  Human warmth was the best thing for him, Janet knew, and yet she was surprised at Annabella’s boldness. Her youngest daughter had been warming up to Braemoor ever since her dog wet on him, but this was the first time she had made a physical overture. She was even more startled by the look in Braemoor’s eyes. They were red-rimmed from exhaustion, but those dark, usually unfathomable eyes looked both grateful and inexpressively tender even as his body continued to shiver.