To Wed an Heiress

by Karen Ranney

  “Gregory is a good match,” he said. “He’s a hero.”

  “He’s a hero, Father, but he’s not my hero. I didn’t worry about him the whole time he was gone. The only emotion I felt was relief that he survived. Isn’t that terrible? Elizabeth still grieves for the man she loved and all I felt was relief about Gregory.”

  “And Caitheart? How would you feel if something happened to him?”

  Her life would be over. The thought came to her so fast that she was almost felled by it.

  “Did Gregory tell you that he tried to kill Lennox?” she asked, sitting back.

  “Or, more importantly, that he struck Mercy?”

  They both turned their heads to find Lennox standing there. There was a look on his face that she had never before seen, and it was directed at her father.

  James Rutherford wasn’t a fool. He knew antipathy when he saw it. He stood and faced Lennox.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “Mercy’s father. Beyond that I don’t care. That man you think is such a good match struck your daughter more than once. Only a coward hits a woman.”

  The two men faced each other, implacable foes.

  Mercy stayed where she was, wondering what she could say or do to ease the situation.

  Her father reached into his vest and pulled out his pocket watch.

  “It’s now noon, Mercy. I will give you until four to gather up your belongings and say your goodbyes. At four I will be here to collect you. We’ll stay the night at Macrory House and in the morning leave for the ship.”

  He didn’t wait for her to speak, merely headed for the door, leaving her and Lennox to look at each other.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “What will you do?” Lennox asked.

  He walked to where Mercy knelt and extended his hand. She stood, her gaze on the floor rather than him.

  “What can I do?” she asked, her voice a monotone.

  Without another word, she left him, crossing the Clan Hall and entering the corridor that led to the staircase.

  He’d come to find her and had accidentally eavesdropped on her conversation with her father. He’d disliked Rutherford when he’d waxed eloquent about the Hamilton bastard. No doubt, coming from Macrory House, he’d been given an expurgated version of events. But any man who took Hamilton’s side over his own daughter’s was not a man he could respect.

  With each step it felt as if she was moving farther and farther away from him. Not merely to another part of the castle, but halfway around the world.

  Having her here had been both heaven and hell. He would turn and she’d be there, within arm’s reach. Yet propriety dictated that he never touch her. Sometimes, she would smile at him across the room and he’d be frozen in that moment, seeing her and wanting to go to her, hold her, and tell her . . . what? That his life was better with her in it? That he couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t be here? That it had been only days since she’d arrived and yet he couldn’t remember living at Duddingston without her? At night, knowing that she was sleeping under his roof kept him awake and made him long for her even more.

  Mercy spent time in the Laird’s Room and, strangely enough, she didn’t keep him from his work. She didn’t touch things. She didn’t barrage him with questions, but the ones she asked were insightful. She sat on the work stool, studying his drawings, interrupting her examination from time to time to send him a smile.

  Last night she’d surprised him by standing on tiptoe outside the kitchen, after their evening meal shared with Irene, Ruthie, and Connor and kissed him lightly.

  “There,” she said. “I don’t have to be honorable.”

  He watched her leave, wondering if she knew how much he wanted to follow her. If he had his way he’d dismiss everyone from Duddingston and keep her a beloved prisoner in his room. They wouldn’t budge from his tower bedroom but for food.

  Now he stood where he was long enough to be conscious of his immobility.

  She couldn’t leave, but what other alternative was there? He couldn’t keep her here.

  Irene stood in the doorway, her expression one he rarely saw. He wanted to tell her that she shouldn’t pity him.

  Instead, he headed for the Laird’s Room.

  Mercy sat in the bedroom that had been hers for the past week. The same room that still bore so many memories of Lennox.

  What will you do? he’d asked.

  What could she do but return to her prison and pretend to be a penitent escapee? She wouldn’t marry Gregory and there was a chance she wouldn’t marry anyone at all. Perhaps she’d become a little old lady living alone in the enormous gray house on the corner, becoming a legend or a source of speculation.

  No, she never married, but I heard there was a lover in her past.

  There’s some tragedy there, I think. She never got over his loss.

  They say she roams from room to room in that great house.

  There was nothing she could do. She couldn’t stay here. Even in the Highlands there was a certain type of behavior expected of people. For the past week she had defiantly—and gleefully—ignored all the rules of society.

  She couldn’t expect Lennox to give her safe harbor forever.

  If she thought he would agree she’d ask him to marry her again, but he didn’t want an American heiress. He didn’t want her.

  Time had flown by and now it was nearly four. Her father would be here shortly, and she was ready. Her trunk had been packed as well as the valises. Connor had already taken them and placed them outside Duddingston’s iron door.

  All that was left now was to descend the stairs, walk through the castle, and leave. How strange that it sounded so easily done, but it would be one of the most difficult tasks she would ever perform.

  The truth was that she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to go back to America, to a life she’d escaped. She didn’t want to leave Lennox.

  She’d always been loved; she couldn’t fault her parents for that. Yet they’d trapped her in a web because of that love. She wouldn’t be guilty of the same behavior. She wouldn’t go to Lennox and tell him how she felt and ensnare him.

  No, loving Lennox was her secret and she’d keep it.

  She was probably going to anger him, but she wasn’t going to take the valise with the money back to America. She had tucked it in the bottom of the armoire and left a note for Irene. In addition to thanking her for her friendship, the cooking lessons, as well as her kindness, she’d told the other woman about the money. She would pay her father back, making the greenbacks in the valise her gift to Lennox.

  At least she would ease his life a little. He could have the chapel roof fixed or buy material for his airships.

  She felt as if there was a hole where her chest should be. It seemed to be growing the closer she got to four o’clock. Hearts didn’t break. Lives didn’t really shatter. She would survive this, although she wasn’t certain she wanted to. Part of her would always remain in Scotland.

  Perhaps long after she was gone from life people would see her ghost walking in the glen or crossing the causeway and entering Duddingston Castle. Would she be a spirit haunting the castle itself? She could imagine the tales told about the forlorn woman who wandered through the kitchen and lingered in the Clan Hall.

  She’s looking for the earl, they might say. She loved him, but she had to leave him forever.

  At ten until four there was a knock on the door. She’d expected it. Ruthie was always conscientious that way.

  Leaving Connor would be as difficult for Ruthie as leaving Lennox would be for her. Perhaps they could commiserate with each other on the voyage back to New York. During the trip she would confide her plans about the future to Ruthie. She hoped Ruthie would come to live with her. She didn’t want to lose the only friend she’d ever had.

  When Ruthie entered the room, Mercy knew something was different immediately. It took her a moment and then she began to smile.

  “Your bandages are gone,” sh
e said. “And the sling.”

  Ruthie nodded.

  Mercy stood and went to Ruthie’s side.

  “How does your arm feel?”

  “A little strange, Miss Mercy,” Ruthie admitted, holding it out.

  It was paler than Ruthie’s other arm, but that was the only change Mercy could see.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Not at all. It does feel a little weak, but Lennox said that was to be expected since I hadn’t used it.”

  “But you’re sure it doesn’t hurt?”

  Ruthie shook her head.

  When the other woman wouldn’t meet her eyes, Mercy was sure she knew why.

  “I’m sorry, Ruthie,” she said. “I wish circumstances could have been better.” How could she possibly ease the other woman’s sadness? Words were sometimes useless. “I know you’ll miss Connor.”

  Ruthie didn’t respond. Nor did she offer up a suitable superstition or saying. Instead, she went to sit on the edge of the mattress.

  “You’ve always been my friend, Miss Mercy, as well as my employer,” she said, her attention on her clasped hands.

  “I feel the same, Ruthie.”

  “I thought this trip to Scotland was filled with peril, Miss Mercy. All the omens said so. But I wouldn’t have left you to travel alone.”

  “I know that, Ruthie. Thank you for coming with me. With any luck the voyage home will be as easy.”

  Ruthie glanced at her and then away. “Then we arrived and I met Connor.”

  Mercy remained silent.

  “I think I fell in love with him from the first moment I saw him, Miss Mercy.” Ruthie glanced at her once more. “I can’t go with you. Connor asked me to marry him. Oh, Miss Mercy, I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Ruthie,” she said, feeling a combination of envy and sadness. She didn’t want to lose Ruthie, but neither would she stand in the way of the other woman’s happiness.

  “Won’t you miss your family?” Mercy asked.

  Ruthie nodded. “But Connor will be my family now.”

  Such a simple sentence and yet it had the power of a spear.

  “Would you like me to take a letter back to your family?”

  Ruthie nodded again. “Would you mind, Miss Mercy?”

  “I would be privileged, Ruthie.”

  She went to the other woman and hugged her, wishing she didn’t feel so close to tears. Sadness had its place in this farewell, but so did joy. She wanted the best for Ruthie and she’d known how the other woman felt about Connor.

  For years Ruthie had been her sounding board, the one person who understood her life, the only person who heard her confidences and kept them private. Ruthie wouldn’t be there any longer. That knowledge seemed to expand the hole in Mercy’s chest.

  “I’m so happy for you,” she said. “But sad at the same time. I wish I could be at your wedding.”

  Even before she left, Mercy felt the separation. As if Ruthie were already stepping forward into her future, one that didn’t include Mercy.

  “You will write me, won’t you?” Mercy asked. “I don’t want to lose touch.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  After Ruthie left, she didn’t give in to her tears. If she did, there was every possibility that she would keep weeping all the way back to America.

  Her father arrived exactly at four. James Gramercy Rutherford was never late.

  When she answered the door, the driver tipped his hat to her. No one else stood at the entrance of Duddingston Castle, but that was her doing. She’d asked Irene and the others not to come say goodbye. Her composure was hard won and seeing them all one last time would be too difficult. As far as Lennox, he’d left the castle earlier.

  “I imagine he’s gone to Ben Uaine,” Irene had offered. “He goes there to mull things over.”

  She entered the carriage while her trunk and valises were being loaded.

  Her father nodded in greeting. Mercy didn’t look at him again as she settled into the seat and spent the next few minutes arranging the skirt of her blue-striped silk dress. When that was done, she stared out the far window, anything but look at Duddingston Castle as they pulled away.

  The silence was a blessing. She didn’t have anything to say to her father that she hadn’t already said. He hadn’t understood and she doubted that his opinion would change if she continued to try to explain.

  No one was as stubborn as James Rutherford. She’d learned that lesson over the course of her life.

  “Where is your maid?”

  “She’s decided to remain in Scotland,” Mercy said. She didn’t bother telling him that Ruthie had found a man who loved her as much as she loved him.

  Some women were blessed in love. Others were cursed.

  “Did Gregory really hit you?”

  “Yes, he hit me.”

  “Such behavior doesn’t sound like him.”

  She glanced at him. “Then don’t believe me, Father. He didn’t leave a scar when he struck me. Perhaps you would have believed me if he had.”

  He looked stunned by her comment.

  “Do you hate me, Mercy?”

  “No.”

  “Then why say such a thing?”

  She looked straight at him. “Why not believe me? Why believe your idea of Gregory more than my words?”

  “Have I done such a thing?”

  She didn’t say anything in response. Instead, she stared out the window again, wishing she didn’t feel as if she had a gaping wound in her chest, one that was growing larger with each second they traveled away from Duddingston Castle.

  “I will explain to Gregory that the engagement is off,” her father said.

  She shook her head. “Do you think I haven’t already told him? More than once? I don’t need my father to break my engagement.”

  “Then what function do you want me to perform in your life?”

  “Love me. Believe in me. Have faith in me. Respect me. Don’t think that you need to dictate my movements, my friends, or whom I am to marry. I have managed to live these past weeks, Father, without being wrapped in bunting and have thoroughly enjoyed it.”

  “Most people would want the life you have, Mercy. They would feel enormously privileged.”

  “They’re welcome to it,” she said.

  She would prefer living in a half-ruined castle with a courageous, proud, and impecunious earl.

  They didn’t speak again all the way back to Macrory House.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Lennox made it to the top of Ben Uaine and stood there looking down at Duddingston Castle, the yoke that had been fixed around his neck after Robert died. He hadn’t handled his responsibility as easily or as well as his older brother, but it hadn’t been for lack of trying.

  Along with that burden had come another: pride, the requirement that he never forget he was a Caitheart. If he’d practiced as a physician in Inverness, people wouldn’t know where he came from and if they did, it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d lost that anonymity when he’d been forced to come home.

  Connor hadn’t been able to sell his latest invention and Lennox hadn’t come up with anything in the meantime. In a few months he’d have the income from the timber and some from fishing, but without something extra the next year would be difficult financially. He’d be able to pay Irene and Connor, but any additional expenses would be foolish to assume.

  Like welcoming a bride to Duddingston.

  How much was he supposed to give up for his birthright? How much sacrifice would it demand of him?

  Mercy was going to leave him shortly and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

  What could he offer her? A half-ruined castle and an empty title. Hardly a promising future. She was accustomed to so much more. More than he could provide.

  He moved to the north side of Ben Uaine, following paths he’d learned as a boy. From here he could see to the farthest point of Loch Arn. The wind was soft today, barely a breeze ruffling his shirt, car
rying with it the scent of pine from the forest.

  Many times he’d stood here in the midst of winter, feeling proud because he’d climbed Ben Uaine in spite of the ice and snow. Now in the middle of summer there was still a hint of the chill beneath the warm air. A reminder of what was to come.

  Somehow he was going to have to let Mercy go back to America.

  He felt empty. Was this how the rest of his life was going to be? He couldn’t imagine living for decades like this. He’d accustomed himself to his hermitage until Mercy had come along. How was he supposed to forget her and retreat once more into that life, never seeing anyone but Connor and Irene? Never feeling joy or happiness.

  She was an heiress.

  He was a pauper.

  She lived in a mansion.

  He lived in a castle.

  Her father was wealthy.

  His had been an earl.

  Her life had been constrained by love.

  His had been dictated by his heritage.

  But for wealth, their lives hadn’t been all that dissimilar.

  Was wealth going to be the only thing that stood between him and happiness?

  His airship might garner him some attention, but realistically that probably wouldn’t happen for a year or two. Or never. He could put aside his inventions and work toward reestablishing those industries that had begun to flourish under Robert’s stewardship. He might be able to provide for a family, but not right away.

  How long would he have to wait?

  The future stretched out before him uncertain and unwritten. Yet here he was, standing on Ben Uaine, a place where he’d often come to challenge his courage. He believed in himself enough to throw himself off a mountain in a creation of wood and cloth. Why, then, didn’t he trust himself enough to provide for Mercy? Yes, it might be difficult at first, but he could do it.

  He didn’t want to lose this chance at happiness. Not when it seemed Providence had literally put Mercy in his path.

  He loved her. That was the most important point of all and it was going to be more than enough to start. He didn’t want her money. After meeting Rutherford, he had the thought that she wouldn’t remain an heiress for long, especially if she agreed to marry him. He didn’t give a flying farthing if she came to him penniless. In fact, he’d prefer it.