A Matter of Honor

by Abigail Reynolds

  “They would confiscate it and arrest the people there. They would not proceed against you unless they could prove you were selling the whisky yourself.”

  Elizabeth considered. “I know smuggled brandy is more common than not among the well-to-do, but I know nothing of Scots law.”

  “I am certain of this much: that a Scottish court would not bring proceedings against an English lady for anything short of murder, and perhaps not even that.” MacLaren hesitated. “The question is whether you plan to inform the excise officers of what I have told you. If you do, I will tell Jack the still must close immediately and everyone involved must leave the area.”

  Elizabeth chewed her lip and glanced at Darcy.

  He said to her quietly, “Everyone dodges excise men.”

  She nodded. “I prefer to know nothing about your Wee whatever-it-is beyond that they pay their rent.”

  MacLaren let out a long breath. “I thank you, on behalf of the men and women whose lives will be easier for it.”

  “There is one thing I do not understand,” she said. “Your father does not lack for land, Mr. MacLaren. Why, then, are all these clan activities at Kinloch? Are your stables also full of elderly displaced farmers? Do you have illegal stills scattered across your lands? Or is this yet another secret?”

  There was a twist in MacLaren’s smile. “Not a secret at all. The chieftain is always under suspicion from the English, and the local officers hate all Highlanders. They do not hesitate to trespass on our lands in search of any misdeeds they can use against us. But Kinloch is not clan property. It belonged to an influential Edinburgh merchant, even if he was born a savage Highlander, and now it is the property of an English lady, so they leave Kinloch alone. The poor folk in the stable are here because they come from other clans, and their chiefs would not take kindly to my father interfering in their clearances. A private landowner is a different matter.”

  “It seems that the line between clan lands and Kinloch land is rather blurry.”

  “Only after your uncle purchased Kinloch, and it was by his choice. As was all of this.” MacLaren smiled at Elizabeth apologetically. “Are there other questions I can answer for you?”

  BY THE TIME THE CHIEFTAIN’S son had departed, Darcy’s leg was throbbing. Had he hurt it somehow, or was it just the result of his annoyance with their visitor? It was bad enough that Elizabeth felt that she could not marry him without having to hear about other men wanting to marry her, even if she had no interest. It was a painful reminder that she was now a much more attractive matrimonial prospect than she had been as a poorly-dowered girl in England, and other men knew it. Sooner or later, she would find one of them tolerable enough to marry.

  Bile rose in his throat. This would not do, and his small decanter of doctored wine was empty. He signaled to the footman. “Inform James I would like some of my special wine.” No doubt all the servants knew what that meant, but he still used the code to keep his secret from Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth smiled. “I hope the cellars are well-stocked with your particular wine.”

  Mrs. Graham said tartly, “His particular wine has laudanum in it.”

  Darcy glared at her. “I did not think James was so little to be trusted.”

  “Jamie never said a word. I happened to walk by when he was adding laudanum to your decanter. It was not difficult to guess what it was for.”

  Elizabeth’s cheeks had gone pale. “I did not realize you were still in such discomfort. Perhaps we should send to Glasgow for a doctor.”

  “That is unnecessary.” A Glasgow doctor might want to amputate. At least now he had a chance of walking again. “It is only a few drops of laudanum, just enough to dull the pain without slowing my mind. It is nothing to worry about.”

  She gazed at him reproachfully. “If you say it is nothing to worry about, naturally my worry must cease instantly.”

  He took in a deep breath. “Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth. All I meant is that it is natural for a broken bone to ache while it is healing. I can ignore it most of the time, and I could get by without even a drop of laudanum, but by this late in the day it offers some relief.” He sought to lighten his tone. “I suspect I am better company for it.”

  “I see,” said Elizabeth slowly.

  But he doubted that she did see. How could she know what it was like for him to ache for her while she spoke of marriage to someone else, no matter how dismissively? If only she could trust him even a little, but it seemed that was not to be. He should learn to settle for what little he had of her.

  MRS. GRAHAM EXCUSED herself for a few moments after an informal dinner in the drawing room, leaving Darcy alone with Elizabeth for the first time that day. Elizabeth had been particularly attentive to him at dinner, perhaps trying to distract him from the pain in his leg, which was nothing to the ache in his heart. But the laudanum-laced wine had relaxed him enough that he could drink in the lively expressions that crossed Elizabeth’s face and the way her hair shone in the candlelight without too much thought of the future, as if intimate dinners with her were something that could be a natural part of his life.

  Now Elizabeth walked past him toward the bookcase, the slight sway of her hips almost hidden by her woolen dress, the curve of her neck outlined by the moonlight from the window. A surge of desire nearly overset Darcy, the longing to run his hand along that silver-lit skin so strong that he had to fight to keep himself on his chaise longue, broken leg be damned. In that moment, being lame forever seemed a small price to pay for being able to touch Elizabeth, to feel the silk of her skin, the little shiver she would give at his touch.

  Then she turned and met his gaze, and he knew he was not alone in his desire. She wanted him, too. There was hunger and yearning in her fine eyes, and, as they stared at one another in silence, a hint of despair.

  She bit her lip and shook herself, as if waking from a reverie, and looked away. She picked a book from the shelf at random, clutched it tightly, and hurried back to her seat by the fire, never looking his way.

  The ache in his chest was like a burning coal he could not ignore. “Elizabeth,” he said softly.

  She hesitated before raising her head. “Yes?” Her voice was weighted with resignation.

  “You cannot deny what is between us. Surely there must be some way we can work together to overcome whatever stands in our way.” He did not know why she might answer differently this time, but he could not remain silent.

  Her hands tightened into fists. “Do you think I have not tried to find a way? But there is no answer. And trying to pretend otherwise only makes it worse.” Her voice caught. “Perhaps you have never before been denied something you wanted desperately, but there are very few in this world who have that privilege.”

  His face burned at her reproof. “I have been fortunate, but I have faced adversity. It is not stubbornness but the strength of my sentiments which will not be denied.” Even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong approach.

  As she looked at him, her pain evident in the lines of her face, she opened her mouth to say something, but apparently changed her mind. Instead, she rose to her feet and hurried from the room, her skirts swishing around her.

  “Elizabeth!” he called after her, but there was no response, just the sound of her feet on the steps.

  Devil take it! He could not follow her, could not do anything but wait for her to return. If she did return. He pounded his fist on the arm of the chaise longue, wincing at the pain as the movement jostled his leg. Damn it! Why could she not have stayed and talked to him?

  He heard someone outside the door, but it was Mrs. Graham’s quick footsteps, not the soft sound of Elizabeth’s slippers. The older woman hesitated in the doorway, looking back in the direction Elizabeth had gone, and then turned to Darcy with an exasperated expression. “I canna leave the two of ye alone for even a few minutes!”

  “It is nothing,” he said automatically. Another reproof was the last thing he needed.

  “From
what I saw of Lizzy’s face, it did not look like nothing,” she said tartly. “I will give ye one piece of advice, whether ye like it or not. When a lass says nae, ye must take her at her word. Show her that much respect.”

  “I have the greatest of respect for her,” he said stiffly. But he had not shown it. She had begged him not to press her, and he had not listened. What a fool he had been!

  Chapter 12

  PAIN WOKE DARCY THE next morning, stabbing pain in his calf and cramping in his thigh. Moving only made it worse, and he groaned as he tried to find a more comfortable position. It was his own fault after his efforts the night before. His headache and sour, dry mouth were his own doing, too. What had he been thinking to drink so much?

  He had been thinking he had lost Elizabeth, that was what. She had not returned the previous evening, not even to say goodnight. He had destroyed any warmth she felt towards him. It was over, and the best he could hope for was to avoid offending her again during their remaining brief time together. But instead he had been fool enough to think it a good idea to fetch the brandy from the side table himself rather than ringing for a servant to carry it that scant distance for him.

  And now he had reinjured his leg and might limp the rest of his life because of it – a terrifying thought. Terrifying enough that he asked James, “Does Mr. Jack ever come here?”

  “Aye. Every few days.” Even James’ quiet, soothing voice could not ease his frayed nerves.

  “Do you trust his doctoring?”

  “Och, aye! He fixed me da’s leg so he could walk again.”

  He had to ask for help, even if it went against the grain. “When he comes next, could you tell him I would like to see him?”

  “Of course. Is it your leg troubling you, sir?”

  Darcy grimaced. “Yes, but do not tell anyone. I do not wish to be fussed over.” Especially not when Elizabeth was already angry at him.

  A fine line appeared between the young man’s eyebrows. “Should I send a message to Mr. Jack?”

  Dammit. Asking for help from an outlaw. “Can you take it yourself?”

  “Aye, sir. I will go as soon as we are done. Do ye still want trousers today or the housecoat?”

  “Trousers,” he grumbled. He did not want anything to touch his leg, but he had enough disadvantages in Elizabeth’s eyes. He had to look his best, or at least not completely crippled.

  ELIZABETH APPROACHED the drawing room cautiously the next morning. She ached to see Darcy and at the same time dreaded it. Last night had been the proof that she needed to keep her distance from him, but how could she trust herself to do so when she wanted him so badly? She had eaten breakfast in her room, but she could not avoid him forever.

  Her heart lurched at the sight of him, though he seemed unaware of her arrival, leaning forward and kneading his injured leg. “Is your leg paining you?

  He looked up at her in the doorway, his face unreadable. “No,” he said tersely. “Just stiff.”

  Perhaps he did not want to admit to weakness, or more likely, he was still unhappy from the night before. Distance. That was the key. Elizabeth rubbed her hands together so he could not see them shake. “Well, then. I think I would benefit from a walk to clear my head.” Anything to get away from this agony.

  He glanced at the frost-covered window. “Stay warm,” he said.

  “I will.” She swept from the room and put on her pelisse and cloak, hoping there would be somewhere with a path clear enough for her to walk on. Perhaps she could make her way along the lane where MacLaren the Younger’s horse had broken a trail when he called. At least she would be going downhill, and the mountains would protect her from the worst of the icy wind. If only they could protect her heart as well as her body!

  The trail was uneven, making it hard to keep her balance. Good; she needed to focus on something besides Darcy. She had not gone far when she noticed a spray of snow coming from the hill behind the house. Two horsemen, or rather riders on Highland ponies, were making their way down the track from the ruin. She recognized Mr. Jack’s figure, although she had never seen him on horseback before, with a slighter man behind him. What had brought Mr. Jack to Kinloch House?

  She turned around and picked her way carefully back up the track, keeping her attention on the approaching horsemen.

  Mr. Jack reined in when he reached her while the slight man rode straight to the house. “Miss Merton, yet another walk in the bitter cold?” His breath made a cloud of fog as he spoke.

  Elizabeth cocked her head, pretending better spirits than she possessed. “Am I still safe thanks to my tartan muffler, or do you plan to threaten to shoot me again this time?”

  “Not right away. Since your friend Darcy sent for me, I must attend to him first. If I see you when you return to the house, I can threaten to shoot you then,” he offered with an amused look.

  “Mr. Darcy sent for you?” she asked suspiciously. The other rider must have been his messenger.

  “His leg is causing him pain. No doubt he did something foolish.”

  Darcy’s leg would have to be hurting a great deal before he would ask Mr. Jack for help. “This would be the same leg he just told me did not hurt at all, and was only a little stiff?”

  “The very one,” said Mr. Jack. “Surely it is not news to you that men in pain tend to be fools.”

  She smiled at him archly. “And often when they are not in pain as well.”

  “Touché, Miss Merton.” He touched his hat and rode off.

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth. How much had Darcy’s pain contributed to his behavior the previous night?

  She retraced her steps back to the house. If she did not hear from Mr. Jack directly what was wrong with his leg, she might never know, given Darcy’s reticence on the subject.

  When she arrived, Mr. Jack was already in the drawing room with Darcy and his manservant. She stood in the doorway and listened.

  Darcy was speaking. “... cramps here, and a burning pain there.”

  “I can be of more help to you if I know what made it worse,” Mr. Jack said wryly.

  After a long moment of silence, Darcy said, “I stood on the other leg and tried to hop to reach a table.”

  “Well, let us see what damage you have done.” Mr. Jack bent over the brace and began to undo the buckles.

  Darcy noticed her then and flushed. “Miss Elizabeth, I did not expect you back so quickly.”

  “I encountered Mr. Jack, and he told me about your leg, so I came back.”

  “I believe he has it well in hand.” It was a clear dismissal, and it hurt.

  In the ruined hill fort, she had washed his wounds and held his hand, but now she was not wanted. “Very well.” She did not trust herself to say anything more. It was safer to stay away.

  IN THE ENTRY HALL, Mr. Jack tugged on his well-worn gloves. “He was ridiculously fortunate that the bones are still in place and he only misaligned the brace and knotted the muscles. It should hurt him less now, but it will be several weeks before he can use it, and he will not be able to travel until then. You will have him as a patient for some time.”

  Elizabeth folded her hands tightly. “It hardly matters. Kinloch is becoming a veritable hospital. I have a little boy here with consumption as well.”

  The highwaymen turned a sharp look on her. “Consumption? Make certain he has plenty of fresh air and as much exercise as he can tolerate.”

  Was the man constitutionally unable to do anything but give commands? “That is what I am doing, although his doctor says he needs rest, not exercise.”

  Mr. Jack scowled. “A local boy? Who is this doctor?” His voice dripped scorn.

  “He is my aunt’s ward from Edinburgh. I do not know his doctor’s name.”

  His eyes narrowed as he moved to stand nearly toe to toe with her. “Timothy has consumption?” he growled.

  Elizabeth took an involuntary step backwards. “How do you know Timothy?”

  He ignored her question. “Where is he?” he demanded. />
  At least he was not holding a pistol on her this time. That had to be an improvement. “Upstairs,” she said curtly. “This way.” She climbed the stairs with ill grace and stopped in front of the nursery door. “Wait here until I call you.”

  She opened the door quietly and tiptoed in. Timmy was asleep on the rug in front of the hearth, his arms wrapped around Bonnie Prince. The elderly dog raised his head to inspect her.

  Timmy rubbed his eyes. “Lizzy, is something wrong?”

  Mr. Jack shouldered his way past her. And he had accused her of being unable to follow directions! He dropped to his knees beside the boy, who sat up and threw his arms around his waist.

  How could Timothy possibly know the outlaw, much less be on such terms with him? Was this another one of those Highland mysteries just when she thought she had resolved them all? She seethed.

  “Miss Merton tells me you have been sick,” Mr. Jack said gently, in a tone Elizabeth had never heard from him before. “What is wrong?”

  The boy released him, drooping a little. “I am tired all the time, and I cough a lot. Sometimes I have fevers, and...” He leaned forward to whisper something to the man.

  Mr. Jack’s lips grew tight. Turning to Elizabeth, he bit out each word. “Why was I not informed?”

  Elizabeth rocked on her toes. “I had no idea of your existence, much less that you had any interest in him, or, for that matter, how to address a letter to an outlaw living in a ruined hill fort.”

  Timothy tugged his sleeve. “Do not be mean to Lizzy. She is my friend.”

  Mr. Jack’s expression softened, something Elizabeth would not have believed possible. “If you wish. Will you show me how you take a deep breath?”

  The boy obeyed, his tiny chest swelling. He began to cough into his sleeve as he exhaled.

  Elizabeth hurried to his bedside table and poured some of his tonic into the waiting glass. She brought it to Timothy and held it to his mouth. “Just a sip,” she coaxed.