The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

  Her hand crept into his, her fingers intertwining with his.

  He knew he should unwrap them. Nothing had changed. He was who he was. He was a man who should never create a child. And that meant abstinence. He had been abstinent since that afternoon eight years before. He was feeling every moment of those years now. They had not quieted the need inside. Nor the yearning.

  “Neil?”

  He realized then that his own hand had tightened around hers. “I did not intend to hurt …”

  “I know,” she said. “You did not hurt me. I just … you did not answer.”

  Trust, he told himself.

  Others are at risk.

  It was an excuse. It had been an excuse. He had lived his life around excuses. And Rory could not be hurt now. He was gone, and with his talents no one would ever find him. “Rory was the Knave,” he said.

  “But your … the late marquis … was killed.”

  “Nay. It was someone else dressed in his clothes. He made his escape with his wife.”

  Her smile lit the carriage. “Trilby told me she thought they loved each other.”

  “Then my cousin wasna as devious as he thought he was,” Neil said. “I sure as hell did not notice it, but then I was too occupied with resenting him. I believed he was a profligate gambler who would destroy Braemoor.” He hesitated, then added, “Instead, he was very careful to protect it despite the fact he hated every inch of the property.”

  “I would have liked to have met him.”

  “You probably would have despised him. He wore peacock green waistcoats with trews.”

  She laughed. “You do not think I would have seen through it?” she asked.

  “It is often difficult to see the heart when someone does not want you to,” he said, surprising himself. He had not meant to say that, nor wanted to. The longing in him, though, had thrown out the words.

  Her hand stilled in his. “Does that not include you, my lord?”

  “We are discussing my cousin.”

  “Are we?”

  He pondered the opportunity. He could tell her now why he could not marry her years ago. Could not marry her ever, no matter how much he wanted it. No matter how he ached for it. For her. He could not drag out the words, though, not and endure her pity. It would merely add a complication to an already complicated matter.

  It was Janet who changed the subject. “How are you going to turn the scorpions on each other?”

  “I have already planted the seed,” he said. “Cumberland is going to come to believe that your brother-in-law is either the Black Knave or connected to him.”

  “Reginald?” she said doubtfully. “He is not intelligent enough. No one would believe that.”

  “Neither would anyone have believed my cousin was intelligent enough to outwit the entire British army,” he said equably. “Everyone believed him a fool and gambler and womanizer.”

  Her eyes widened. “But how …?”

  “The Black Knave must reappear. He will choose targets in and around Lochaene.”

  She stared at him. “Not … you?”

  He was not sure whether her question resulted from her lack of faith in his heroic abilities or fear for him. “Nay,” he said. “I have no talent for skulking.”

  “Then …”

  “The gentlemen who shot me,” he said, trying to choose his words carefully. “They are Jacobites and have little use for the English. A theft or two, with a card thrown out, will make Cumberland believe the villain is active again. It will not hurt to turn Cumberland’s eyes to that direction. It will make him suspect their charges against you.”

  “But … if they are not involved.”

  “In what, my lady?” He paused, then added, “I told you the bandits had been informed that an Englishman would be traveling that way. It was a woman from Lochaene who passed the information. Your husband’s family wanted me dead.”

  “A woman? You did not tell me that.”

  “Nay,” he said simply.

  Her eyes filled with hurt. “You thought …”

  “I thought it was Louisa or Marjorie,” he said, evading the one moment of doubt he did have. “I told Cumberland that the outlaws said it was Reginald. I also allowed him to believe that one of the men was the Knave or connected to him.”

  Her eyes widened. “How?”

  “I had a jack of spades. It was stained with blood.”

  “So the Knave lives again,” she said. “But will Cumberland not hunt down the outlaws and discover the truth?”

  “No’ if I can get them out of Scotland. There would be no one left for Cumberland to blame other than … your brother-in-law.”

  She blinked and he knew she was trying to complete the missing parts of the puzzle. “When I left a few days ago,” he explained, “I did not go to look at my properties. I met the outlaws in the mountains.”

  “But they tried to kill you.”

  “Aye. And considering their circumstances and the fact that they thought they were ambushing a wealthy Englishman, I do not hold it against them. They did deliver me back into your hands.”

  “Why? You are a wealthy man and if not English, then at least thought to be loyal to the English.”

  He hesitated, trying to decide what to say. And how much to tell her. “I had the jack of spades with me. It made them think I might have some connection to the Black Knave, and they needed help.”

  Her eyes regarded him steadily. “And why would you help them?”

  “They have children with them,” he said simply.

  “Children?”

  “Aye. Orphans. Some of them are from families outlawed by Cumberland. They could well be imprisoned or transported if captured.”

  “You would risk everything for them?” Her eyes glowed.

  A lump in his throat crowded out his breath. He was no hero. No slayer of dragons. He had been forced into this. And when he finished, she would know he had lied by omission, that he had kept something from her that she’d had every right to know. “It serves my purpose for the moment,” he said abruptly and looked outside the carriage at the blackened stone of the city. Blackened from years of coal fires. A stench rose from the city and he longed for the green hills and clean air of Braemoor.

  “What can I do?” she asked.

  “You can take care of your children,” he replied curtly.

  “How do you plan to get … this gentleman and the children out of Scotland?”

  “Damned if I know,” he said. “I was hoping to find a way here in Edinburgh, someone whom my cousin knew and used, but I’ve had little luck.”

  “You are known as an ally of Cumberland’s,” she said. “My family were Jacobites. I might be able to find someone who will help. There are some kinsmen near the coast. They did not participate in the rising, but I know their sympathies are with Jacobites.”

  He turned back to her. “I cannot let you do that. It is dangerous.”

  She tried to smile. “More dangerous than being called a murderess? More treacherous than Reginald and his family? If one of them tried to kill you … and me, then they will try to kill my son. There will be no one to stop them if you are caught. I would rather be endangered by doing something than risk my children’s life by doing nothing.”

  A blast of fear filled him. If he were wrong, if he took a misstep, she would pay. She and the children.

  “I think Cumberland has given me a way to find a smuggler. I just must find the source of good French brandy, and I do it at his own behest. If a man smuggles brandy, I do not think he would object to smuggling children. If that does not work, then we can discuss alternative plans.”

  She gazed at him for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. Then she asked the question he was dreading. “Who is it in the mountains?”

  He’d known the question was coming. And he knew he could not lie to her. Not now. He had weighed the two sins: breaking his oath to Alexander or lying to Janet. He simply could not do the latter. Not now.

  “Yo
ur brother.”

  Her face paled. Her hand tightened in his. Her eyes looked into his. “It … cannot be. He was killed. We were told …”

  “Alexander is alive,” he said.

  “How …?”

  “He was badly wounded after Culloden,” Neil said. “Left for dead. He has been hiding in the mountains these past months with a man named Burke.”

  Her eyes were huge, searching, and her hands knotted together. “You … are sure?”

  “Aye,” he said.

  “You said … he was wounded.”

  Neil nodded.

  “How … badly?”

  “His face was scarred. He limps. But he is well enough to care for children and terrorize poor travelers.” He said the last with a wry smile.

  “I cannot believe you were terrorized,” she said.

  “Anyone is terrorized when they are on the wrong end of a pistol, particularly when they already have a bullet in them,” he said. “I am only grateful that he and his accomplices are poor shots.”

  “You said there were children?”

  “Aye. Ten of them. He has found them or, as he claims, they found him.”

  She stilled, her face like a marble statue. Only the expression in her eyes changed. Disbelief. Hope. Joy. Confusion. She was trying to believe him, but it was obvious she could not quite accept it.

  He damned himself for being such a clumsy fool. Surely he could have found a better way.

  “How … long have you known?” Her voice broke but her gaze stayed on his.

  It was the question he had most dreaded.

  “A week,” he said. “I did not know when I was shot and returned to Lochaene. His man showed up here two weeks ago and asked for my … help. He wanted money.” Neil hesitated, then continued. “I thought I knew why. I also wanted to know why … they had not killed me. I went with him. Once I saw his eyes, I knew …”

  “Why did you not tell me?” The fingers in her fist were intertwined, knotted together so tight that the blood had drained from them.

  “I thought you should know. Alexander did not. He feared you would try to see him and endanger yourself. And your children. He did not want to risk that.” He reached over and put his hand over hers. She jerked it away.

  “I gave him my word, lass.”

  “You broke it,” she observed flatly.

  “Aye,” he replied. “You had a right to know.”

  “He did not want to see me?”

  “I think he wants it very much,” he said, trying to feel his way. “He wants to protect you, lass.”

  “He could have sent word.”

  “I think he did,” Neil said softly. “He seemed to sense that I had a connection to you. ’Tis another reason I was allowed to live.”

  “Nay,” she said, “there is no connection.”

  He ached at the dead, hopeless sound in her voice. Only moments earlier it had been filled with excitement and hope. Now the only two people remaining in her life had purposely left her out of theirs. He wanted to touch her, but he knew she would not welcome it now. Her hurt ran too deep for a platitude or caress.

  He’d known he would regret giving his word to Alex. In truth, he had regretted it every waking minute since he’d left the blasted man. He knew how she had been used by her husband, then by her brother-in-law. Even worse, he knew that she felt that he had used—and discarded—her years ago.

  And now her brother.

  The silence was like a scream.

  The jolting carriage came to a stop.

  “Lass?”

  She had looked away. She did not look back when the coachman opened the door. Instead, she stepped down. After he paid the driver, he started to take her arm, but she drew away. Every inch of her was resistant to him. All the closeness of the earlier moments was gone.

  He trailed her up to her room. She looked so brittle that he thought one touch might cause her to shatter into a hundred pieces.

  Janet hesitated at the door. She should just feel pure joy at knowing her brother was alive. And she did. Yet … she also felt something immeasurably sad at the same time. She had just started to trust Neil. And yet he had not told her the most important thing she could ever know. He’d known her brother was alive. He’d known and had not told her.

  She told herself that he was helping Alexander. And others. She knew she was being terribly ungrateful and she silently berated herself for it. And yet … trust was such a fragile thing, and it had been fractured once more. She’d felt like an object to be bargained over, traded, used for too long.

  She accepted that he was doing what he probably thought was best for her, just as he had from the beginning. But he had given no thought of making her a part of decisions that concerned her. Her throat clogged with conflicting emotions.

  She opened the door and turned to face him. A muscle flexed in his cheek. His dark eyes were questioning.

  “I should have told you earlier,” he said.

  “Aye,” she said. “But thank you for helping him.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Alexander said I owed him.”

  “He could always twist words to his favor,” she said. Alive. She was still trying to sort that out in her mind. Alive. The realization was finally sinking in, piercing the odd numbness, the disbelief, that had paralyzed her. Alex was truly alive.

  Suddenly, it did not matter that Neil had not told her sooner. He’d told her now. Alex. Alive. The words became a refrain in her mind, in her heart.

  Janet closed her eyes and leaned against the door.

  His arm went out to her. “Janet?”

  She took a deep breath, trying to bring all the tumultuous feelings under control. She held out her hand, and he took it, tightening his own fingers around her. She felt its warmth and then he released her hand, and his arms went around her. He pulled her close to him and held her tight.

  Her legs barely held her. Her body trembled, then found strength in his.

  Alive. Her brother was alive.

  She looked up and saw the pain in his face. She had not thought how much the secret must have hurt him. Her hand went up and her fingers touched his face, traced the lips that so seldom smiled.

  “I wanted to tell you. It has been haunting me every waking hour.”

  She nodded, accepting it. “I would never do anything to put Alex or my children in danger,” she said. “Alex has not seen me in years. I have grown up.”

  “Aye, you have,” he confirmed.

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs startled them and they separated. He leaned leisurely against the door.

  A man in a British uniform came lurching toward them. He leered at Janet, then continued on after seeing Neil’s glare.

  “You had best go inside,” he said.

  She hesitated.

  “I have some business to attend to.”

  “More secrets?”

  “Nay, I am going to try to find some French brandy for His Grace. And through that, a smuggler. The best way to do that is to get some soldiers of the king well in their cups.” He touched her arm. “I will call for you in the morning for breakfast.”

  That brief explanation was a gift.

  Her hand caught his. “Thank you.” She meant it this time. She meant it with all her heart.

  He suddenly grinned. It was totally unexpected and rare and had a sweetness she had never seen before. The latter did not seem to fit a man bent on cozening the British this night.

  Or mayhap it did.

  He opened the door. She leaned against it when he closed it. Her hand still burned from his touch.

  She listened to his footsteps moving away.

  Alive. In hiding. With children. Her brother had never been easy with children. She had to smile thinking of him as a shepherd to a covey of them.

  He had been right. She did want to see him. She wanted her brother to meet her son before Alex left Scotland forever.

  There had to be a way without hurting the children. There had to be.
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br />   Chapter Twenty-three

  “Rotten stuff,” Neil said, slinging the contents of his tankard to the floor. The four British officers he was treating gave him bleary looks. One nodded with approval.

  “My cousin always had far better,” he continued with a drunken slur. “Does no one know where to get decent wine?”

  “I heard your cousin smuggled it in,” one officer smirked.

  Neil raised an eyebrow and grinned. “My cousin? He would not do anything unlawful.”

  “He cheated at cards,” one man said darkly.

  Another snorted. “He means the man beat him. Braemoor was a generous fellow. So, my friend, are you.”

  “I try to follow his example,” Neil said with a fulsome grin. “In truth, His Grace remarked he would be most grateful if I could find more of that brandy he likes, but I have no idea where Rory obtained it.”

  “His Grace?” one of the earlier speakers asked, obviously impressed.

  “Aye, I had an audience with him this very day and he asked about the brandy. I would be extremely grateful if anyone knows its source.”

  “How grateful, my lord?”

  “Most grateful,” Neil said. “About fifty pounds grateful.”

  Several officers straightened in their chairs. Fifty pounds was a fortune. But they all knew what he was asking: the name of a smuggler.

  “And it is for His Grace.” Neil licked his lips. “Though I must admit I do miss good brandy. As do my friends.” When silence followed, he yelled for another pitcher of ale and listened to a ribald joke about a Scotsman.

  He hid his temper behind a fatuous grin. He had taken insults all his life, and he had never been one to mix in politics or take on hopeless causes. But he had changed these past months since Culloden. Mayhap it had been his cousin. Mayhap Janet. Even Alexander. It might even have been the one-sided battle itself. He did not know. He only felt a fierce pride for those Scots who had given up everything for their country, and contempt for these people who feasted on his Scotland.

  But now was not the time to show it.

  He finally finished his tankard and rose. “I thank you for a fine evening,” he said, “but I have not my cousin’s constitution, God rest his soul. I need fresh air before …”