My Highland Rogue

by Karen Ranney

  The tea was cooling in the cup on the bedside table. Perhaps he should drink it. The whiskey might shock him out of this feeling of being disembodied.

  “I did wrong by you,” Sean said.

  How very odd to hear those words from his father. He’d never expected to hear them. Evidently, Death was a hard taskmaster, requiring absolution.

  “I didn’t know until Betty was dying. She wanted to clear her conscience. Once I knew, I should have said something. I should have told you, but what good would it have done by then? You’d already gone. I didn’t know you’d come back for her.”

  “I don’t understand,” Gordon said, hearing himself speak. His lips moved. Words flowed out of his mouth, but he was curiously still calm and detached. “Tell me what you meant. About Jennifer being my sister.” The words were wooden and without inflection.

  All he had to do was concentrate on one word at a time, one sentence. That and keep breathing, even though he felt more and more like a statue sitting there. He was growing colder, more immobile, frozen into this position of leaning forward, his hands clasped between his knees. It was easier to focus on the sheet than his father’s face.

  “It was because of the fire,” Sean said.

  Sean didn’t speak for several moments. Gordon didn’t prod, simply sat there waiting, his gaze on the bed.

  “Betty became Harrison’s wet nurse, since she was also nursing our son as well. He’d been born only days earlier.”

  Gordon still didn’t speak.

  “Not many people had seen the earl’s son. The only person who could have told Harrison from our son was the countess and she was near death herself. It was put out that she would probably be blind if she did survive. Betty had an idea.”

  Sean moaned and clutched his stomach. Gordon stared at him, knowing he should summon compassion from somewhere.

  “The tea is cold,” he finally said, “but the whiskey might help.”

  Sean shook his head. “No, I’ll get through this.”

  He knew what Sean was going to say. Ridiculous as it was, he could almost say the words themselves. It matched perfectly with what he knew of Betty’s character and her antipathy to him.

  “Betty had an idea to switch the babies. She saw it as a chance for our son to prosper. She wanted more for him and she got her wish. He became Earl of Burfield.”

  Gordon’s fingers were cold, but so were his feet. His heart was beating, but slowly. Perhaps he would die first and leave Sean staring at him in wonder.

  “So what you’re saying is that you’re not my father.”

  “No.”

  “And Betty wasn’t my mother.”

  How very placid he sounded, like the words he was speaking didn’t mean anything. Perhaps he didn’t have any emotions. No, that wasn’t right. He could feel the rage building up beneath his skin. It would break free soon enough.

  “And I’m the Earl of Burfield.”

  “Yes.”

  “Not Harrison.”

  “You are Harrison Adaire,” Sean said.

  “And he’s your son.”

  Instead of answering, Sean grabbed at his midsection again. Gordon helped him sit up, then held the cup of whiskey-laced tea to his mouth. After Sean had taken several sips, Gordon lowered the older man back onto his pillows.

  It was some time before Sean could talk again.

  Gordon sat there, his thoughts congealed, focused on imagining the night when flames had engulfed the north wing. He’d been inches from death, saved because of the actions of his mother. His mother. Because of a tragedy, everything had changed. Someone steeped in venality, hardened by circumstance, had altered the course of his history.

  Sean’s words were halting. “I didn’t know what Betty had done until just before she died.”

  “You knew,” Gordon said, his tone still calm. “Don’t try to tell me you didn’t. You’ve always known somehow. Maybe it was intuition or maybe it was something Betty said, but you knew.”

  “She wanted more for our boy.”

  He didn’t have any kind words to say about Betty, even before learning what she did. Nor could he summon up any thoughts of a generous nature now.

  “Betty died three years ago,” Gordon said. “You’ve known ever since then.”

  Sean nodded. “I would have told you if I’d been able to find the words, boy.”

  “I’m not a boy,” Gordon said, standing and walking to the window. “I haven’t been a boy for a very long time.”

  His life could have been different with the countess and the earl as parents. With all the advantages they would have given him he could have had the world at his feet instead of clawing his way to the top.

  And Jennifer . . .

  His thoughts ground to a halt, held in abeyance by a sense of horror so acute that he felt his heart slow.

  Jennifer was his sister.

  Jennifer was his sister.

  The woman he loved was his sister.

  It didn’t matter how many times he repeated the words, they didn’t register. They couldn’t penetrate the fog cushioning every emotion.

  Gordon had only gotten a few hours of sleep, and no doubt that accounted for this strange sensation he was experiencing, as if he was here but not here. Yet he’d gone without sleep in London often enough without feeling like he was trapped in a soundless bubble. No, this was something different. A feeling of being separate from reality. Perhaps he’d accidentally ingested some laudanum himself.

  Time slowed, then stopped. His face was oddly cold. Gordon couldn’t hear his breathing. Nor could he feel it through the numbness that was spreading over his chest. His headache, strangely enough, had vanished. His eyes, however, felt as if each one held a spoonful of sand.

  He wanted to find a comfortable place, perhaps beneath one of the pines at the edge of the loch. He would stretch out beneath it and take a nap, at least until the chilled air woke him. He’d dream for a bit. A dream that held more substance than this moment sitting at his dying father’s bed. Not father. Sean wasn’t his father.

  Where was Sally? Was she going to stay away for hours, leaving him here? He needed to quit this room. He needed to be away from Sean, most of all.

  He could hear noises, but they sounded as if they came from far away. He could feel the shirt on his body, the cuffs at his wrist, even the shoes on his feet, but they were sensations that were oddly distant. As if they were happening to someone else. Or he was inhabiting a strange body that wasn’t his own.

  He looked down at Sean, a frail man, who looked even more fragile this morning.

  “You stole my future. You stole my life. You lied.” He turned back to the window and tried to compose himself. “I’ve seen a great deal in the past five years. I’ve seen how people could lie and cheat and walk over a friend or loved one to accomplish what they wanted. I’ve seen humanity at its worst, but this? This is so much more grasping and greedy than anything I’ve ever seen or imagined. Congratulations, Sean. You managed to shock me, and I didn’t think that was possible anymore.”

  Sean didn’t answer him. His eyes were closed and his breathing seemed more labored than before.

  At least the man hadn’t sent him a letter posted after his death. He’d had the courage to look Gordon in the face and tell him the truth.

  Or maybe it wasn’t courage after all. This confession was his attempt to get right with his Maker before his death, much as Betty had done to Sean. Is that all that was required? A confession at the threshold of death and all was forgiven?

  Maybe he didn’t need to pass judgment on Sean. A higher power would do that. For a moment he wanted to, however. He wanted to condemn him to living, but in continued agony.

  He heard the door open and close. Sally was back. He walked to the doorway. Before he left, he turned to look at Sean.

  Sean opened his eyes. “You did all right for yourself, even so.”

  Yes, he’d done all right for himself, without a father or a mother and now without the
woman he loved.

  He couldn’t think of a single remark. Not one decent thing to say to a dying man. He couldn’t lie and tell Sean that he forgave either him or Betty. He couldn’t absolve Sean of his sins.

  Instead, he turned and left the room.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jennifer was hurrying through her tasks so that she could spare time to be with Gordon.

  Today she needed to supervise the brushing of the ornate rugs in the formal dining room. Both carpets were woven for Adaire Hall in Belgium fifty years ago. They were still vivid, with borders of roses and thistles.

  The skirling of the pipes sent Jennifer to the window. She opened it and sat on the window seat, pleased that James had dressed in the Adaire kilt and presented himself on a nearby hill without being reminded. It was an Adaire custom to welcome any child of the earl into the world with their march.

  They would play when Sean died as well, only then it would be a dirge.

  As they always did, the sound of the pipes made her heart swell. Something opened up in the cavern of her chest, a spot large enough to encompass the whole of Scotland. How could anyone hear the sound and not be thankful that they were Scottish, that a heritage so proud and fierce was theirs?

  When her mother was alive, the two of them would sit together and watch the piper. Sometimes, they’d have a wee dram of whiskey to mark the occasion. She’d always felt such pride in being an Adaire and in living at Adaire Hall.

  “I cannot imagine a more fitting send-off, my dear girl. Did you arrange for the piper just for me?”

  She turned to see Ellen, dressed for travel, standing at the entrance to the dining room. She smiled at her godmother’s quip. Ellen knew the traditions of Adaire Hall as well as Jennifer.

  “Are you leaving so soon?”

  “I must, my dear. I have things that require my attention in Edinburgh. Now that Lauren has had her baby, can I not convince you to come and stay with me for a while? We could plan your wedding together. Or do scandalous things.”

  She didn’t want a large wedding. In fact, she’d like to be married in the next day or so, but didn’t say that to Ellen. Her godmother would insist on an affair that took months of planning.

  As for scandalous things, she doubted if Ellen had ever been scandalous a day in her life. Instead, she’d been rigorously proper, the only child of a very religious couple who followed the teachings of the Church of Scotland. The only truly shocking thing she’d ever done was to marry Colin Thornton long past the time that most women married.

  “I may come for a visit,” Jennifer said. “But not right now.”

  Ellen kissed her on the cheek and embraced her once again. “Well, if that’s the best I can expect, then I shall expect it. No writing me and telling me that plans have changed.”

  “Thank you for bringing Harrison home. I’m not sure how you did it, but I am grateful all the same.”

  “I told you, it was your Gordon’s Maggie.”

  Jennifer shook her head. “No, I think it was all you.”

  They hugged again before Jennifer walked Ellen downstairs and to the front door, where her carriage had already been brought around.

  “Before you say a thing,” Ellen said, “your housekeeper has already provided me with a basket of food for the journey. Plus, I was promised a delightful bottle of wine.”

  She wasn’t the least bit surprised at her housekeeper’s actions. Mrs. Thompson had always admired Ellen, saying on more than one occasion that the world would be a better place with more women like her.

  Jennifer watched as Ellen’s carriage pulled away from the main entrance and down the oak-shaded drive. The last of the leaves fell on the carriage roof, almost like a benediction of farewell.

  She wished she’d been able to convince Ellen to remain for a few days. They didn’t see each other often enough. When she was little, she always spent a few weeks at Ellen’s home every few months. Now it seemed as if she went for half the year without seeing her godmother.

  Ellen had been such a comfort when her mother had died. She had been there toward the last of her mother’s illness, spending time with Mary, the two women talking in low tones. More than once she’d interrupted them and seen the signs that each had been weeping.

  Every day brought a memory to mind. Her mother might have been restricted to her chair on wheels, and nearly blind, but she had an impact on everyone around her. Mary had made it a point to know as much as she could about every member of the staff. She had Cook make special treats for those having a birthday or some other special day of note. She inquired about their families, their health, or things they liked. She had a phenomenal memory and made it a point to ask something important when talking to each person.

  To Mary, someone wasn’t just a scullery maid, or a stable boy, or one of the footmen in training. Each was a person, separate and apart from his role in life.

  Harrison wasn’t as egalitarian as their mother. There were numerous occasions when her mother would stop and single out a member of staff either because his wife had given birth or they’d done something worthy enough to note or their smile was especially attractive. There would be a look in Harrison’s eyes that made her think he wished to be anywhere but there. Yet he always forced a smile to his face for their mother’s sake and added his words to hers.

  Their mother’s death had freed Harrison.

  Yet Harrison never seemed truly happy, as if something important was missing in his life. She didn’t know what it would be, since he seemed to have everything a man could possibly want. He’d been born into a title, a fortune, a magnificent home with a history that mirrored Scotland’s. He had a beautiful wife and now a daughter. What more could he possibly want?

  What more could anyone want?

  If someone looked at her life, what would they say? Before Gordon returned, they would have seen a woman content with her daily occupations, perhaps, but not entirely happy with her life. She had purpose, but no partner. No one to love, to care for. No one with whom to share her life, her hidden thoughts, or her observations of what went on around her. Not one person ever stopped her during the day, put his hand on her arm, and said, “Tell me what you’re thinking, Jennifer.”

  No one seemed especially curious to know her thoughts. No one but Gordon. Dear, wonderful Gordon.

  Everything had changed since he’d come home.

  Now she was no longer going to be a spinster aunt, forever puttering around Adaire Hall. She’d be a wife, and perhaps a mother in time. Her life would be shared with the one man she’d always loved.

  They’d live in London, unless Gordon wanted to open some entertainments in Scotland. Perhaps they’d become a well-traveled couple, with homes in both countries.

  The world was suddenly open to her. They could do anything they wanted.

  He loved her. She loved him. She was going to marry Gordon, and they’d never be apart again.

  That thought warmed her as she went about her duties. There weren’t any disagreements between the maids or problems with the footmen or stable boys. Harrison hadn’t issued any impossible demands. Lauren didn’t need her. The baby seemed well and, other than acting like a baby, was thriving.

  When Lauren announced that they’d decided to name the baby Mary, Jennifer didn’t hide her tears.

  One day, she too would be a mother. She could almost see her little boy, nestled in the crook of her arm. Perhaps she and Gordon would have a large family. A boisterous group of children who filled their home with noise and love.

  More than once she caught herself humming as she went about her duties. She greeted and smiled at everyone she saw. If Harrison had appeared, she would have even been cordial to him—that’s how happy she was.

  The world was a wonderful place and she was the happiest person in it.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Elizabeth Chapel wasn’t named for the period of time when it had been built or for any type of architecture. Instead, it had been named
after a previous Countess of Burfield, Elizabeth, who was known to be devout almost to a fault.

  Adaire Hall was laid out like a square, although after the north wing had burned down, it consisted of only two wings and the original part of the Hall. Behind the ruins of the north wing were a half dozen fair-sized outbuildings, plus the stable, dairy, and barns.

  The chapel was located to the east of the Hall, at the end of a serpentine path winding through the statuary gardens.

  Gordon opened one of the chapel’s double doors. The squeaking hinges made him wonder how long it had been since anyone had entered the building. Perhaps the last time had been the countess’s funeral.

  His mother’s funeral.

  He could still remember the procession, pallbearers carrying the coffin through the chapel to the crypt. He’d stood in the back, wishing he could be with Jennifer to comfort her, to hold her as she wept. She’d struck him as particularly alone, seated next to Harrison and McBain.

  The rage that suddenly swept over him was boundless yet impotent. Who did he punish? Sean, a man dying in agony? Betty? She was already beyond any earthly penalties. The inescapable fact was there was no one to bear the brunt of his anger.

  Since it was a bright day, the chapel was lit by yellow and red hues from the stained glass windows on three sides. The founding members of the family had been devout, but he didn’t think that Harrison had ever invited a visiting minister here.

  Gordon made his way down the central aisle, passing all the pews that had been filled on his mother’s funeral. Like a larger cathedral, the chapel had an upper recess for the choir, its own impressive sounding organ, and an arched roof with crossed timbers. Above the altar was a stained glass window, one of three. Two doors sat side by side just beyond the altar. The one on the left led to the sacristy, the one on the right to the crypt.

  He and Jennifer had explored the crypt once as children. They’d dared each other, and crept down the stairs. He remembered the musty odor that had seemed to cling to him for hours afterward. At the time, with a child’s logic, he had thought it was because of all the long-dead Adaire bodies.