by Radha
He bolted upright and jerked around to where Phillip should have been standing.
Phillip was gone.
He quickly looked the other way and breathed a sigh of relief. Kerry had fallen asleep. There was no gaping hole in her chest. But her lips were moving in silent conversation, and her face bore an expression of perfect, sweet misery. Glasgow.
Phillips dreamy whisper continued to haunt Arthur well after he had bundled Kerry in front of him and pushed on with the early evening. What had he meant? Was it an omen? Did it mean anything at all, or was the stress of the last thirty hours making him sentimental? He was, after all, hardly accustomed to being a fugitive. He was hardly accustomed to anything anymorethe world was listing more sharply with each day.
The meaning of the dream escaped him, but it nonetheless propelled him to a full-fledged panic when the seldom-traveled path he had chosen suddenly ended on the banks of a small river south of Perth. Arthurs limited knowledge of the regions geography told him that the river emptied into the Firth of Tay, which meant heavy traffic and passage to the sea and England. If he crossed the river, continued on, they would reach Glasgow in two days, perhaps three. There, he would use his considerable resources to find Kerrys mother, leave her there, and obtain passage to England.
Glasgow.
The haunting memory came to him again as he restlessly paced the banks of the river. In these three long years since Phillips death, Arthur had believed that the dreams of his fallen friend were Phillips way of reaching out from the grave to crucify him for having let him fall. But as he paced along the banks of the tributary in the last hours of sunlight, he couldnt help wondering if perhaps Phillip was trying to relay another message altogether. Glasgow.
What shall we do?
Startled from his ruminations, Arthur turned toward the sound of Kerrys voice. Standing with her hands clasped demurely in front of her, she gazed at him with wide blue eyes, devoid of the sparkle he cherished.
God, he was losing her, he was losing his very heart.
Her black hair was in wild disarray, her face colorless, all the life bled from it. And he realized in that moment he loved her far too much to deliver her to an uncertain fate in Glasgow. The instinctive need to protect her from that fate, to put the life back into her eyes suddenly surged through him.
Consequence be damned, he was taking her to England.
He suddenly and decisively moved forward, closing the ground between them in two long strides. Kerrys eyes widened as he reached for her and pulled her into his determined embrace. She opened her mouth to say something, but Arthur silenced her with a fierce kiss, his mouth moving hungrily over hers, devouring her lips, drawing her very breath into his lungs. That sweet breath sustained him, infused him with a will stronger than he had ever known to keep her in his arms for eternity and beyond, to endure whatever it might take.
Breathless, he lifted his head. England, he managed. Will you? Come with me to England, that is. Ive no idea what awaits us there, but it is all I can offer you nowits all I have at the moment.
Kerry blinked; the confusion scudded across her features like a summer cloud. Then suddenly she made a strange sound in her throat, closed her eyes as tears sprang from the corners.
What then, Ive upset you? I am sorry, Kerry, but there is nothing more I can do
A cry of laughter escaped her, and she threw her arms around his neck. Oh God. Oh God, thank you!
His arms quickly tightened around her, crushing her safely to him as he buried his face in the curve of her neck. They stood that way, holding one another tightly, until the need to be practical made Arthur let her go and pull her arms from his neck. There is the small matter of transportation, he said, and walked to where the horse stood grazing. He relieved the poor beast of their baggage, then the saddle, which he placed behind a small stand of shrubbery.
Standing there, looking at the exhausted beast, he felt a peculiar burning in the back of his eyes. Godspeed, he mumbled, and hit the horse on the rump, sent him trotting off toward greener blades of grass. He then picked up the two bags and, gripping them in one hand, motioned to a path leading east. Mrs. McKinnon, if you will allow me to escort you to God knows where, I shall endeavor to find a boat to ease your travel.
Kerry smiled. The sight of it sent a rush of warmth all through him, invigorated him.
Escort me to the ends of the earth, on foot, on horseback, by boat. I doona care as long as you are with me, she said, and just as she had so many weeks ago, walked bravely on before him on the narrow, overgrown path.
They walked for an hour or more, following the path of the tributary as it curved around and widened, indicating that they were nearing the Firth of Tay. As they climbed up a small hill, Arthur spied a flatboat anchored alongside a dock on the opposite bank; a handful of men worked to load small crates onto one end of the boat. At last, a hope of transportation out of the Highlands.
Kerry had seen the flatboat, too; she was squinting into the dusk trying to make it out.
I shall speak with them, he said, setting the bags aside and strode briskly to a point that put him directly across from the flatboat.
Ho there, lad! he called, bracing his hands against his hips. One man straightened, said something to the other. There was something familiar about him, something
Aye? the man asked, folding his beefy arms across his barrel chest, and Arthur groaned at the sight of the familiar, uncompromising stance of the Richey brothers.
As if this little journey could not possibly get any worse.
Fortunately, as Arthur had become quite the expert in dealing with the Richey brothers, he succeeded in gaining passage to Newbergh and a promise to at least attempt to deliver a message to Thomas, all for the bargain price of roughly half his personal fortune. In exchange, the Richey brothers agreed that the fact the Sassenach and Mrs. McKinnon had sought passage on their boat a third time would remain their little secret. Arthur was rather confident they would keep that promiseMr. Richey One relayed to him, in a mere four words, that he could gain passage to Dundee at Newbergh, and from there, passage to England. Assuming, of course, there was anything left in the coffers of the Duchy of Sutherland at that point.
So loaded once more on the flatboat, they drifted silently into the night. Kerrys exhaustion gave way to a fitful sleep. Arthurs nerves were too raw; he dozed off once or twice, no morethe slightest noise or movement jarred him awake. He was beset with a vicious cycle of doubt as to the wisdom of what he was doing, to the absurd hope that he might have Kerry with him forever, only to doubt again. The confusion made him feel as if he was treading water as his strength slowly bled from him. More than once, a silent and deep fear welled in him that he might actually be pulled under by the enormity of what was happening to him. His life was sedate in comparison to this, the quality of his life safe and uneventful. Nothing the Rogues had ever done compared with the extraordinary experiences he had had in the last weeks, or the extraordinary, foolish, dangerous escape he found himself in the middle of now. His life was suddenly frightening.
But then he would look down at Kerrys dark head in his lap, touch the curl at her temple, feel his blood come alive and believe. When the morning finally dawned, Arthur had come to the single conclusion that he had plunged headfirst into deep water when he stumbled across that red satchel weeks ago, and now, he must fight to the death to keep from sinking and taking Kerry with him.
Chapter Sixteen
Although they reached Dundee without further incident, they were forced to wait two full days until Arthur could secure passage to England aboard a shipping vessel. The price of passage however, left Arthur precious little; the seemingly substantial amount he had brought to Scotland had dwindled to almost nothing. Afraid that Moncrieffe would search for her even as far as Dundee, Arthur found a cheap, nondescript inn near the docks where they waited.
It was an interminable, intolerable wait; the small room smelled of fish and bodies. Arthur left her each day to seek
passage on any ship he could find and, at Kerrys insistence, to look for Big Angus and May. He came back each evening to find Kerry sitting cross-legged on the sagging bed, fighting her imagination.
And when Arthur told her he could not find Big Angus or May, or anyone from Glenbaden, her imagination went wild, filling her mind with ominous theories of what had happened to her clan, and visions of men coming to drag her off to the gallows. Every sound, every creak of wood beneath a boot beyond the door sent her heart racing. When she closed her eyes, she saw the hangmans noose swinging in front of her. When sheer fatigue finally forced her to sleep, she would inevitably dream of standing on the gallows, watching a hooded executioner put the noose over her head and pull it tight around her neck. If by some miracle she could sleep without seeing herself hanged for her crime, she dreamed of Charles Moncrieffe lying lifeless before her, the blood pooling black beneath him.
But in those bleak moments when she was jolted awake by the horror of her dreams, Arthur was always there, cocooning her in the comfort of his arms and whispering soothing little nothings into her ear until the tremors had ceased. It was as if he had actually seen her dreams, had actually felt the terror himself.
On the morning they at last set sail for England, Kerry stood on the deck of the schooner and watched the land slowly fade to a dark strip on the horizon. Myriad emotions assailed her at oncerelief, profound sadness, and fear. She gripped the railing hard, felt a pull in her chest, as if Scotland actually called to her, tried to keep her home.
But she had no home. What Fraser had not destroyed, she had. She had no one, nothing to hold her to Scotland now; all that she had was the charity of an extraordinary man, a beautiful stranger who had felt the anguish in her heart and had come back for her. Kerry believed that with all her heart.
It was that belief that enabled her to turn her back for God knew how long on the last glimpse of her homeland. Carefully, she made her way to the small cabin where Arthur waited.
The ship he had found was carrying a hull full of jute and tobacco. Arthur had explained to her that they would first cross to Hoek-van-Holland to unload then take on new cargo before sailing to England, where they would dock at Kingston-upon-Hull. From there, they would travel to a place called Longbridge. It was the home of a friend, he said, and a place they might stay for a time until he determined what they should do.
What he should do with her, he surely meant, but was far too kind to say so. Nonetheless, Kerry knew exactly what sort of burden she presentedshe had little more than the gray gown on her back that signified her status as widow. The contents of her satchel amounted to two pairs of drawers, a chemise, and the blouse and black bombazine skirt she wore to work in the garden. She had no real skills to speak ofshe supposed she could hire on as a governess somewhere, but without credentials, the likelihood of securing a suitable situation were slim. It was more likely that she should end up in the kitchen service of some English householdassuming, of course, Arthur could help her find such employment.
As the ship sailed farther into calm seas, Kerry remained in the cabin, heartsick and confused. She thought often of Thomaswhat must he be thinking now? It broke her heart to imagine his confusion, but it made her positively ill to think that he must have gone back to Glenbaden to find her, only to find what she had done. And the others, Big Angus and May. What had become of them?
And of course there was the guilt. All-consuming guilt, a persistently nagging thought that she should turn back, throw herself on Moncrieffes mercy, and face what she had done.
Had it not been for Arthur, she might very well have thrown herself over the rail of the ship and let her misery sink her. As the first day turned into the second, he became her lifeline, keeping her carefully tethered to him and reality.
But he was obviously restless, too; he bustled in and out of the little cabin, putting things here and there then rearranging them again, and talking to fill the silence that seemed to engulf them. He told her about his closest friends, starting with the earl of Albright, whose home they would visit first, and how he had turned a small estate in severe disrepair into one of the most powerful agricultural centers in all of England. He laughed about the earl of Kettering, who had raised four younger sisters from the time he was a lad of sixteen. He was proud of his own family, clearly admired and loved his brother Alex. And he smiled fondly when he told her about his mother and even his Aunt Paddy and her friend, Mrs. Clark, who, Arthur said with a roll of his eyes, spent the better part of their lives looking for marriageable young women for him. He was obviously a man who held his family dear, and it was just one more of the many qualities that endeared him eternally to Kerry.
When night fell on the second day, the seas turned rough. Arthur returned from the deck to tell her that they were sailing into a late summer storm and that he would lend a hand to the crew. Kerry assured him she was quite all right, and he left her lying on the narrow little bed, unaware that she swallowed down nausea that rose with each swell of the sea.
As the ship rocked into the night, Kerry kept the nausea at bay by concentrating on Arthur, forcing herself to recount in detail everything about him from the moment she had shot him on the road to Perth.
It was an easy task. Everything Arthur had ever done in her presence lived on in her heart. She recalled waking next to him the morning they had set off for Glenbaden, inadvertently sprawled across his body, and the dangerous look on his face that made her heart flutter like a bird. And the moment he had removed the boots from her feet and had wrapped his neckcloth around her battered heels. And, oh God, she recalled the searing kiss he had given her when he had pulled her from the waters of the river.
Kerry pressed a palm to her damp forehead as she recalled his last night at Glenbaden and the hours she had spent in his arms and beneath him. The memory turned molten; her face flushed hot with the memory. It was that night she had understood how she truly loved him, completely and irrevocably, for the rest of her life. She had never felt for her husband what she felt for her beautiful stranger, and the intense longing filled her again, swelling inside her heart until it felt as if it would burst from her chest. She suddenly rolled onto her side, curling into a ball.
She should not long for him. She should not wish that he would kiss her like that again. She should not look at his hand and remember how tenderly he had caressed her naked breast. God help her, but she should not notice how magnificent he was, or let his smile melt her, or let his cheery laughter wash over her like rain. But every time Arthur touched hera hand to her shoulder, a finger to her templeshe wished he would take her into his arms, kiss her, make love to her again like he had that night, and banish every ugly thing from her life. She loved him.
Oh God, what sort of cruel life was this that she should know such love and tenderness but never truly possess it?
In the blackness of the cabin, she lay there listening to the wind batter the ship like her sorrow battered her soul. She mourned her losses, but above all, she mourned the inevitable loss of Arthur. Nothing had changed. They came from two different worlds and in spite of his heroic act of rescuing hernot once, but twice nowhe would, eventually, continue on with his life, as would she.
The dreaded vision of her life was the last thing she knew before she drifted off to sleep.
Sometime later, a noise awoke her, and as she opened her eyes, she noticed that the ship was no longer listing. A single lamp burned low. She blinked against the dim light, her eyes slowly adjusting to the sight of Arthur trying to fit his long body across two chairs.
With his legs stretched onto a chair, he held his arms folded across his stomach, and rested his chin on his chest with his eyes closed. After a moment, his head jerked up; he groaned softly before stabbing his elbow onto the table and his chin atop his fist.
A surge of tenderness swept through her; Kerry pushed herself up onto her elbows. Arthur.
His head instantly jerked up and around to the sound of her voice, his feet landing hard o
n the floor.
Kerry held out her hand to him.
It seemed to take him aback. He pivoted in his chair, facing her, his hands braced on his knees as he stared at her outstretched hand. He swallowed. Dont, he said roughly. Dont offer me your hand because I cant be satisfied with only that. If I have any part of you, I must have all of you. And if you take me, Kerry, you must take all of me.
Then come to me, she murmured.
He lifted a gaze from her hand that was both smoldering and bewildered. A scorching heat instantly filled her; she spread her hand over the coarse linen cover. Come.
Arthur stood, quickly removed his waistcoat as he crossed the cabin to her, pulling his lawn shirt from the waist of his trousers as he reached the edge of the bed. Kerry, he said, falling onto one knee on the bed beside her, lifting his hands to cup her face. Kerry, he whispered earnestly, have you any idea what youve done to me? Have you any idea how I have longed for you, how I have dreamed of you? Do you know that you entered my daydreams, rode alongside me, slept in my arms at night? My regard for you has not changed nor abated with time, it has only grown stronger.
His earnest admission shocked hershe had heard his declarations of adoration the night they had made love, but she had believed they were voiced for the moment. How many times had she replayed the words in her head, wishingno, prayingthat they were true? And how many more times had she berated herself for her foolish dreaming, her childish hopes? Yet here he knelt before her, uttering words she had ached to hear.
Arthur, she said, pressing her palm to his rough cheek, how I love you
A warmth filled his eyes, and he pulled her face to his, drinking the words from her lips as he gently pushed her onto her back and came over her. He kissed her tenderly, straying from her mouth to her eyes and her cheeks. His moist lips slowly touched every part of her face and neck, deliberately teasing her while his hands caressed her, his palms skimming lightly over her arms and bosom, his fingers flittering across her neck.
