Hard-Hearted Highlander--A Historical Romance Novel

by Julia London

  Catriona smiled at Miss Holly. “My brother reminds me that I must learn to speak before I think. So you’ve no’ married, Miss Holly?” she asked, ignoring Rabbie’s advice.

  Miss Holly swallowed. “Ah...no.”

  It was curious, the way she answered this question. Rabbie couldn’t say if she was embarrassed that she was not married, or if she was perhaps not telling the truth.

  “You?” she asked of Catriona.

  “Oh, no,” Catriona said, and strolled to the sideboard to have a look at the bottles there.

  Rabbie knew, perhaps better than anyone, as he and Catriona had always been rather close, that Catriona’s marital status was a source of anguish for her. She was a strong, independent woman...but she wanted a family. She had learned to hide her disappointment behind bravado.

  “I’m like my Auntie Zelda, aye?” Catriona said, as if being unmarried scarcely bothered her at all. “Auntie Zelda never married and all her life, she has come and gone as she pleased.” Catriona glanced up at Bernadette. “I like that I might live as I please. I’ve heard that in England a woman doesna have that freedom.”

  “I’m not... I don’t know,” Miss Holly said. She tried to tuck the hair behind her ear again, and again it fell.

  “Even if I desired to marry, there is scarcely a lad about, is there?” Catriona continued. She turned from the sideboard and said, “All of them scattered now, are they no’?”

  “Scattered?” Miss Holly repeated curiously.

  Catriona’s attention snapped to the maid. “Aye, scattered,” she said. A wee bit of bitterness had crept into her voice. “Surely you know this.”

  “Know what?”

  “She doesna know,” Rabbie said impatiently. It was astounding to him that what had been done to the Highlands of Scotland could remain unknown to anyone. “Leave it be, Cat. She will no’ care.”

  “She ought to know,” Catriona said to him in Gaelic. “Every one of them ought to know what they did.” She turned back to Miss Holly and said, in English, “You’ve heard of the slaughter at Culloden Moor, have you no’? The English forces slaughtered Stuart rebels and pillaged the hills.”

  “Pillaged!” Miss Holly seemed surprised by Catriona’s choice of words.

  “Aye, pillaged. Hamlets emptied, people gone missing.”

  “I didn’t...” Miss Holly hesitated, frowning. “I had heard of the fighting, naturally, but I wasn’t aware—”

  “Good afternoon.”

  Miss Kent had arrived and stepped tentatively into the salon. She was dressed in a green riding habit and matching green hat.

  “Aye, good afternoon, Miss Kent,” said Catriona.

  Miss Kent smiled, then glanced nervously at Rabbie. He nodded. “Aye, then,” he said. “Let’s be about it. I’ll see to the mounts.” He strode to the door, passing his fiancée without a word as he stepped out of the room.

  It seemed several minutes before the ladies followed him out onto the drive. The Mackenzie horses had been brought round, and another from the Kent stables—horses bought for a song from some Highlander in desperate need of funds, Rabbie guessed—and a lad from the stable was on hand to help Miss Kent mount her horse. It took more than one effort, for the horse was tall and Miss Kent was small and obviously inexperienced.

  Rabbie glanced at the maid. She was not dressed for riding, he realized. “You’re no’ attending your mistress?”

  She shook her head, but kept her gaze straight ahead, still refusing to look at him.

  Rabbie, however, glared at her. “I didna think you allowed your little sparrow out of your sight, then.”

  She looked at him then, her hazel gaze full of loathing. “Oh, I rarely do. But this time, I can’t bear the company.”

  Rabbie stepped closer to her, so close that he could see the flecks of brown in her eyes, a barely noticeable smear of dirt across one cheek, a sprinkle of freckles across her slender nose. “You think yourself clever, lass. You still seem to believe you might chasten me into behavior you deem appropriate.”

  “I think that’s impossible.”

  “It’s impossible, aye. A word of advice, then—I wouldna risk my displeasure.”

  One of her fine, dark brows rose skeptically above the other.

  His gaze flicked over her again, lingering a moment on her mouth. The feeling of madness rose up in him again, and he walked away, his cloak flying out behind him. He tossed himself up on his horse and wheeled it around, then said rather gruffly, “Aye, we go now.”

  His sister and Miss Kent dutifully trotted behind him. Thank God for it, for Rabbie didn’t know what he might have done had they not. His thoughts were more jumbled than usual, and he felt incapable of conversation or rational thought for a few moments. He was aware of an unsettling curiosity brewing in him. That woman was like a book—as if he’d opened one with the certainty it would be dull, but then finding something compelling enough to make him want to turn the page.

  That he wanted to turn that page was perhaps the most unsettling idea to have entered his thoughts in a very long while.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BERNADETTE SPENT THE afternoon tidying things—herself, her room—and she even made an attempt to tidy Avaline’s. But she’d been chased away by the chambermaid, who took umbrage with her efforts.

  With no tasks to occupy her, Bernadette wandered aimlessly about the grounds. She spoke to Niall MacDonald, who had come to speak to Lord Kent and was now on his way to parts unknown.

  “You’re leaving?” Bernadette said, perhaps a bit plaintively, thinking that she might have someone to talk to.

  “Aye, that I am. I’ve work elsewhere.” He’d tipped his hat, and turned his horse about, intending to ride on. But he paused and glanced back at her. “Have a care in the hills, Miss Holly.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There is bad blood between the Scots and the English,” he said. “Bad blood between some clans, as well. Mind you have a care.” And with that cryptic warning, he rode on.

  Bernadette hardly gave it another thought. She had yet to see another living soul on her morning walks, other than the least friendly Scot of all, Mr. Mackenzie.

  Without Mr. MacDonald to divert her, Bernadette tried to read. Yet she hardly saw a word—her thoughts were racing, her mind on that hard-hearted man and the things he’d said to her today. He cared for no one but himself, was the worst sort of person.

  And yet, that uncivilized man seemed wholly different from the one who had stood on the cliff. She’d known instantly who it was when she’d stumbled across him—his was a foreboding presence, even at a distance. She’d paused, confused as to what he was doing there, and made uneasy by how uncomfortably close he stood to the edge. She’d been struck with the sick feeling that he might fall. Or worse—jump.

  He’d obviously known how close to the edge he was, but still, Bernadette had fought a gut instinct to call out, to warn him that he stood too close. She might have done so, too, had he not suddenly stepped back from the edge.

  And then, of course, he’d seen her there, and she’d panicked.

  It was so strange, she thought now, with the luxury of a few hours alone to gather her thoughts. There had been something dark and desperate about him up on that cliff. Something that made her skin crawl even now. And something that made her feel an uncomfortable, unwanted twinge of compassion.

  When Bernadette at last conceded that reading was a futile endeavor, she took to restlessly roaming the house. Unfortunately, she could hear Lord Kent haranguing his wife, which made her feel sick. So she took another long walk, Mr. MacDonald’s warnings notwithstanding.

  It seemed as if she was walking miles and miles every day now, anything to escape the tension at Killeaven. But there were only so many miles she could walk before hunger or dark skies or a
fear of becoming hopelessly lost drove her back. Today, she returned with pangs of hunger, and was walking up the drive when she heard horses approaching. She glanced over her shoulder and noticed one horse was far in front of the others. It was obviously Mackenzie, racing as if the devil chased him. Behind him, Avaline’s and Miss Mackenzie’s horses trotted companionably along.

  Naturally, Mackenzie galloped right past her, the horse’s speed kicking up the hem of her gown. Bernadette coughed, waving the dust of the road from her face, then continued on, reaching the front drive at the same time Avaline and Miss Mackenzie reached it. They were nattering away with each other and called out a friendly greeting to her.

  In the drive, Avaline’s fiancé did not bother to come down from his mount, not even to help his fiancée from hers. He looked on insouciantly as the stable hand appeared to assist Avaline. The poor girl stumbled when her feet touched the ground, no doubt a result of being unaccustomed to riding for such a long period of time.

  “Thank you,” she said to Miss Mackenzie. “It has been a pleasure. You must thank your cook for the bannock cakes. They were delicious.”

  “Aye, you must come to Balhaire and thank her yourself.”

  “I will. Very soon,” Avaline said.

  “We’ll look forward to it, then,” said Miss Mackenzie.

  Her brother reined his horse about. “We best ride on,” he said, and glanced at Avaline. “Good day, then.” He glanced at Bernadette, his eyes raking over her before he turned his back and rode on.

  “Yes, thank you,” Avaline said, but he’d already sent his horse to trot.

  Miss Mackenzie, Bernadette noticed, watched her brother move with murderous intent in her eyes, but then sighed and shook her head. “He must seem wretched to you, aye?”

  “What? No!” Avaline said at the same time Bernadette muttered, “Entirely,” and received a look of mortification from Avaline.

  “Aye, as he does to us all,” Miss Mackenzie agreed. “He’s no’ always been so...”

  Rude? Churlish? Tactless?

  “Wounded,” she uttered.

  Wounded. That was the second sibling of his to allude to some deep wound, and yet, Bernadette glanced down so no one would see her skepticism. She couldn’t imagine what could have happened to make him unbearable at every turn.

  “One day perhaps I might explain it,” Miss Mackenzie said. But she sounded uncertain, no doubt owing to the reality that there was no explaining such insolent behavior.

  “Cat!” her brother called over his shoulder.

  Miss Mackenzie gathered her reins, then paused and looked at Avaline. “He’s really no’ a bad man, he’s no’,” she said softly, and then spurred her horse to catch her brother.

  “Then he has fooled us both,” Bernadette muttered.

  Miss Mackenzie quickly caught up to her brother, and when she did, she slowed her mount and reached her hand for him. Much to Bernadette’s surprise, he took his sister’s hand, his gloved hand closing protectively around it. There was something quite tender about it, something that reminded her of that strange twinge of compassion she’d felt for him earlier today.

  Or maybe it was hunger she felt. She turned away from them, and from her complicated feelings, and said to Avaline, “Well then! How was your day?” And then she saw Avaline’s face. “Oh, dear,” she murmured.

  Tears streaked Avaline’s cheeks. Her skin had gone pale and her fists were curled tightly at her sides.

  “Avaline!” Bernadette said with alarm.

  “He is the most awful, wretched, unbearable man,” she said, so angry that her voice shook. “I hate him.”

  “Oh, darling—”

  “I hate him,” she said again, and whirled around and ran into the house.

  * * *

  AVALINE WOULD NOT come out of her room for the remainder of the day and refused her supper.

  “What will we do?” her mother fretted to Bernadette.

  “Nothing,” Bernadette said gravely. “She won’t starve herself to death, madam. She will, eventually, come out of her room.”

  Her mother did not look convinced of that and tried, unsuccessfully, on two more occasions to convince her daughter to open the door.

  Bernadette did not press Avaline, but she brooded about the girl’s situation. She decided at last that the only thing to be done for her was to appeal to Lord Kent.

  She realized, as soon as she was admitted to his study, that perhaps that was not a very good idea.

  His lordship and his brother were well into their cups, arguing over a chess game.

  “I beg your pardon, I won’t interrupt,” Bernadette said.

  “You are most welcome,” Lord Kent said jovially, motioning for her to come forward. “I am of good cheer, for I am winning. But if you wish to speak to Edward, you will be disappointed. He is foul when he is losing.”

  “You will do us both a service if you shut your bloody mouth,” Lord Ramsey groused, and his brother laughed.

  “What is it, Bernadette? What brings you into this den of bad gaming?” his lordship asked, and gestured for her to pour more whisky.

  She picked up the bottle and poured into their glasses. “I wish to speak to you about Avaline.”

  Her father didn’t look up. “What is it now?”

  She put aside the bottle. “My lord... I beseech you to consider that she does not esteem Mr. Mackenzie.”

  Lord Kent laughed at that and leaned back in his chair. “Then perhaps she has more sense than I thought,” he said. “No one esteems him, do they? He’s a bloody miserable man.”

  Bernadette was astounded. She was prepared to present her case to convince his lordship. “He is,” she said, seizing the moment. “And Avaline is very unhappy.”

  “Yes, well,” he said, turning his attention to the chessboard once more, “what would you have me do about it?”

  “Revoke the marriage agreement,” she said quickly. “Allow Avaline to return to England. I am certain Mackenzie will not care a whit. We can say that you found him entirely unsuitable so that her reputation won’t suffer.”

  Lord Kent exchanged a look with his brother, who snickered darkly as he shook his head. His lordship was not so amused; he slowly turned his head. His gaze pierced Bernadette’s. “You’d like me to renege on our agreement,” he said flatly.

  Bernadette swallowed. She nodded—that was precisely what she wanted.

  There was a change in Lord Kent’s expression—his features seemed to turn harder. “I thought you more clever than that, Bernadette. What possible reason would I have to go back on the agreement?”

  What reason? Was his daughter’s happiness not reason enough? Could he not understand how heartbroken his own flesh and blood had been made by this betrothal? “Avaline is inconsolable—” she began.

  “Inconsolable?” he repeated loudly. “She’d be inconsolable if she lost a bloody slipper.”

  Bernadette bristled at how he reduced his daughter’s tears to nothing more than a tantrum. “My lord, please believe me when I tell you she is desperately unhappy.”

  “I don’t care!” he shouted, and slammed his fist down onto the table so hard that he knocked the chess pieces over.

  “Bloody hell, look what you’ve done!” Lord Ramsey exclaimed irritably.

  Lord Kent surged to his feet, and his face, twisted with anger, only inches from hers. “There will be no revocation, Miss Holly. Avaline will marry that bloody savage whether she wants to or not. She will give him an heir, she will secure this land for her family. Do you understand?”

  No, Bernadette didn’t understand, she would never understand, but found herself unable to speak when he loomed over her as he was.

  “She best stop her constant complaints,” he said, pointing a bony finger at her. “I need that land
that lies between Killeaven and Balhaire, and I need the Mackenzies to help me obtain it. That’s our access to the sea, do you understand? I will not have this arrangement fall apart because I have a weak, missish daughter who is unwilling to do her duty.”

  Bernadette was shocked. While it was true she’d never seen any hint of affection flow from Lord Kent to his daughter, he was her father nonetheless. How could he be so uncaring?

  Lord Kent shifted closer, his finger still pointing at her. “Never ask me this again,” he said, his voice menacing. “Never speak to me of this again, am I quite clear? If you cannot ready her for the wedding, then she will suffer in her marriage, and I care not.”

  Bernadette gaped in disbelief. She’d believed her father was rather unique in his heartlessness, but clearly he was not the only man who would treat his daughter as nothing more than a piece of property, no better than a horse to be traded, without the slightest twinge of conscience.

  His message delivered, Lord Kent fell into his chair and drank his whisky. “I’ll say this for these savages—they distill a fine whisky,” he said, and tossed the contents down his throat.

  “Walk on, girl,” said Lord Ramsey, waving her away, and then offering his glass to his brother to be refilled.

  Bernadette couldn’t wait to be free of that room. She turned about and strode quickly to the door. She had not yet made her escape when Lord Kent stopped her. “Bernadette!”

  She reluctantly turned back.

  “Do not disappoint me in this. If you cannot bring that girl around, I will send you back to your father. You’ll not like that, will you?” He smirked, fully aware what that would mean for her. Bernadette’s father would just as soon send her to a convent than keep her under his roof.

  She turned away from Lord Kent before she said something she would sorely regret.

  How ironic, she thought as she fled the study. She thought she’d despised Avaline’s Scotsman, but her disgust for him came nowhere near what she was feeling for his lordship at the moment.

  * * *

  BERNADETTE SPENT A sleepless night, her mind whirling with ideas. She was determined to find a way out of this for Avaline. She decided she didn’t care if Lord Kent sent her back to Highfield—life under her father’s roof couldn’t be any worse than Kent’s employ. She was indignant, enraged, and felt so impotent that Avaline was the sacrificial lamb.