by Julia London
But her mother did not look at her. Her mother said calmly, “Thank you, Mr. MacDonald. When shall we depart?”
Avaline gasped with outrage. “No!” she shouted. “How can you even think of it, Mamma? You know who captains that ship! You saw what he did to me!”
“I also know we have no other means home,” her mother snapped. “When should we be ready to depart, Mr. MacDonald?” she stubbornly demanded.
And so it was set—Avaline would be forced to board that devil’s ship. They had two days to prepare.
Bernadette was desperate to help Avaline, but Avaline didn’t want her help. She might have kept Bernadette’s wretched secret, but she was really rather cross with her. Bernadette had been so distracted by her own affair that she hadn’t been there to help Avaline when she needed her most. If her lady’s maid had been paying closer attention to her, perhaps Avaline would have confided in her. Perhaps Bernadette might have stopped her from making a horrid mistake.
But she hadn’t, and at present, Avaline could scarcely stand the sight of her, either. She left her packing to Bernadette and quit her rooms so she’d not have to look at her at all.
* * *
TWO DAYS LATER, with as many of their belongings gathered as they could carry, Avaline and her mother set off for Balhaire.
Bernadette looked rather tearful as she hugged Avaline’s mother goodbye.
She turned to Avaline, and while Avaline leaned forward so that Bernadette could put her arms about her, she refused to look her in the eye.
“Godspeed, darling,” Bernadette said.
“Thank you,” Avaline said coolly, and turned away from her, stepping into the coach.
She couldn’t look at Bernadette then, but she did glance out the window as the coach began to roll forward, and saw Bernadette standing there, watching her, her expression full of sorrow. Avaline had felt tears burning in her eyes. Fortunately, none were shed, as she’d spent them all.
At Balhaire, they were directed straightaway to the cove. They boarded the ship without any greeting whatsoever from the captain, for which Avaline was thankful. They were shown to their cabin and Avaline swore to herself she’d not leave it, she’d hide away here like a stowaway until they reached England’s shores.
Unfortunately, that night, the seas grew rough and her mother grew ill. Avaline could not bear all the retching and gathered her cloak about her. “Are you certain there is nothing I can do for you?” she asked, even though her hand was already on the door latch.
Her mother responded by retching again into the bucket.
With a shiver, Avaline hurried out.
She kept near the forecastle, away from the aft castle, where the captain’s quarters were located. There were seamen roaming about, and Avaline put herself near the railing, as to keep out of their path and not invite any conversation. She stood facing the sea, staring out over the rolling waves, at the faint swath of moonlight the sometimes broke through the clouds.
“You ought not to be about.”
Avaline closed her eyes and prayed for forbearance, then turned around to face Lord Chatwick. “Are you following me?”
“No,” he said, and lifted his chin, where a few hairs had sprouted. This, she’d noted in the course of that very long meal she’d endure in his company at Balhaire. “I was having a bit of a stroll and happened to see you here. You should be in your cabin. It’s not safe to be about in the dark. No one would know if you fell overboard.”
“I won’t fall overboard, and you are not my father,” Avaline said haughtily.
“No, but I am the one seeing you safely to England,” he said with great authority.
As if he could see her safely anywhere. He was taller than her by a very few inches and as thin as a sapling. He couldn’t protect her from as much as a headwind.
“Fine,” she snapped. “I prefer the company of my mother retching into a bucket than a boy scarcely out of his mother’s arms.” She stepped around him and marched on.
Naturally, Lord Chatwick fell in beside her. “You’d not speak to me in that manner if I had reached my majority. Perhaps you are unaware of all that comes with my title.”
“I hardly care.”
“You are not in a position to be rude, Miss Kent.”
She rolled her eyes and tried to hurry her step, but Lord Chatwick kept pace with her.
“I will be a great man one day, and you will regret treating me ill.”
“I will regret nothing,” Avaline said sharply.
“Nothing?” he asked.
Avaline’s stomach dipped. They had reached the door to her cabin. She glared at the young man. “I beg you, my lord—please leave me be. I know you hold me in some esteem, but I do not return it.” She went in through the door and shut it firmly, then sighed with relief. She would not leave her cabin, not for a moment. She’d not have that young and boastful pup following after her.
Her fierce resolve in this decision was shattered like fine crystal not two days later when her mother explained to her they would be traveling on to Chatwick Hall with the Mackenzies for a time.
“But why?” Avaline demanded. “I want to go home!”
“Yes, well, your father does not want you home, not as yet. He is quite well bruised from your behavior. And Mrs. Mackenzie has very graciously offered us a place to reside until such time cooler heads prevail.”
Avaline felt as if her entire world had collapsed in on her. Only a few short weeks ago, she was to be married. Now she was a pariah, forced to live under the roof of a boy who thought himself superior to her in every way. And worse, he had witnessed her complete humiliation. She would never survive it. Never.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EVERYONE HAD LEFT KILLEAVEN, save Charles and Bernadette, two stable hands and Ina, who had stayed on to help with the cooking and cleaning. They had very little to occupy them now that the furnishings had been moved and the horses sold or returned to the seller. Niall MacDonald had come round and told them a ship would arrive in a day or so and ferry them back to England. “A MacDonald ship,” he’d said. “Cousins of mine, then.”
All they had left to do was wait.
Bernadette moved like the dead through each day, wandering listlessly from room to room. She could think of little else other than Rabbie, of how he’d felt inside her, of how she’d felt when he’d held her. She thought of the things he said, of how his words had spilled into her heart. She loved him, and realizing that she did made it all the more painful. She wished she could turn back time. She wished she’d never taken a walk that day and seen him standing on the edge of the cliff.
What was he doing since she’d fled Arrandale? Did he mourn her? Hate her? Every sound, every jangle of a horse’s bridle, she thought was him. Part of her hoped he would come to her. Part of her hoped she never saw him again so she’d be spared the agony. All of her wished she could lie down and sleep for all eternity, and wake up with no memory of what had happened here.
Two days after Lady Kent and Avaline had departed, she heard a horse on the drive and her heart skipped. She was certain it was Rabbie—who else could it be? There was no one left to come to Killeaven. She threw aside the linens she was packing away in a trunk and ran to the door, her heart thudding with relief and anxiety at once. She threw open the door—
It was not Rabbie who had come up the drive, but two men, one of whom she’d seen before, on the path by the sea. Their coats were caked with the dirt of the road, their uncombed hair tied in queues. They came down off their mounts and sauntered forward, taking in the house and peering curiously at her.
Bernadette was relieved when she felt Charles at her back. “Yes, my lords?” he said, stepping around her as he walked out to greet them.
“Who might you be, then?” one of them asked.
“Cha
rles Farrington, sir. I am the caretaker here.”
“No’ for long, lad. No’ for long,” the other one said, and chuckled darkly as he walked past Charles, brushed past Bernadette and carried on into the house, as if he was master here.
“I beg your pardon,” Charles said gruffly to the other man, who appeared twenty years older than the first. “Who are you?
“Bhaltair Buchanan,” he said, and bowed with an exaggerated flourish before rising up. His gaze raked over Charles. “You’re a wee bit lean for a caretaker in these parts if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Charles said.
The man grinned, showing the absence of a pair of teeth, then fixed his gaze on Bernadette. “Well, then, here you are, lass. No’ lost at all.” He deliberately moved his eyes down her body to her slippers and back up again, as Bernadette worked to suppress a strong shiver of revulsion.
He grinned again, then walked on, following the other man inside.
“What does he mean, ‘you’re not lost’?” Charles asked gruffly.
“I met him on the path by the sea one day,” Bernadette said. “I thought he was only passing by.”
“No,” Charles said. “These are the men that ride up on the hill to have a look at Killeaven. Let’s see what they’re about.”
Bernadette and Charles followed the two men inside, then stood stiffly by as the two of them roamed about the house as if they were owners here, remarking to each other in Gaelic as they pointed at this and that. When they had apparently satisfied themselves with the tour, they returned to the foyer.
Bhaltair Buchanan paused, and his eyes drifted to Bernadette. “Are you part and parcel of the property, then?”
Charles immediately moved forward to stand in front of Bernadette. “We take our leave in four days, sir,” he said. “You may have entry then.”
The man’s gap-toothed smile was cold. He nodded at the younger one, who opened the front door. “We’ll come back when we please and toss out any rubbish that remains, aye?” His gaze slid to Bernadette again. “Or find a new use for it...if Mackenzie hasna done it first.”
Bernadette’s heart climbed to her throat.
“Good day,” Charles said briskly, and gestured for them to carry on outside.
He followed them out on to the path, standing before the door with his legs braced apart until the men had disappeared from view. Only then did he turn back to Bernadette. “I don’t trust them.”
“No,” she said. She was shaking, she realized.
“We should send to Balhaire for help,” he said, his expression stern. “I don’t trust them and we have no means of protecting ourselves. You know how they feel about Englishmen here.” He walked into the house, calling for Ina. When she appeared, he said, “Fetch me one of the stable boys. Tell them to be ready to ride.”
“No, wait,” Bernadette said. “You’re right, we should send for help. But I’ll go.”
Charles hesitated.
“At least the Mackenzies know who I am. They won’t know a stable hand and they’d not give him an audience with the laird.”
“You’re right,” Charles said, nodding. “Then go. Take one of the stable boys with you and make haste. None of your meandering walks.”
“No, of course not,” she agreed, and went in search of her boots.
She and the young stable boy arrived at Balhaire a little more than an hour later. She walked up the high road and into the bailey, and pushed through a gathering of dogs wanting a good sniff of her boots. She went to the massive entry door and used the door knocker several times before it finally opened.
Frang, the dour butler, stared down his nose at her. “Aye?”
“Good afternoon,” she said.
Frang did not respond.
“I’ve come with an important message for Lady Mackenzie. Will you please announce me?”
“The lady is away from Balhaire,” he said.
Bernadette felt a tiny tic of panic. “What of Miss Mackenzie?” she asked.
“Aye, gone too,” Frang said.
Bernadette swallowed down her pride. “Please, sir, is there someone I might speak to? It’s really rather important—”
“No. None of them here, aye?”
“Bernadette?”
She twisted around, surprised by the sound of Rabbie’s voice. And then she was overwhelmed by it, relieved and grateful and wanting nothing more than to collapse in his arms.
He frowned with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Has something happened, then?”
“Yes, something...” She swallowed.
“Come,” he said, and put his hand to her back, ushering her past Frang and into a sitting room. “Sit,” he commanded her. He strode to the sideboard, poured a glass of water and returned with it, sitting next to her as he handed her the glass. His presence next to her kicked up the dust of her feelings, still so raw, and they began to eddy in her. Desire. Want. Love. All of them mixing together and making her reel.
He laid his hand on hers and said, “Take a breath, leannan, then tell me what has happened.”
The feel of his hand on hers was more comforting than she had a right to expect. “Two men came,” she explained. “Bhaltair Buchanan and another one. They said they would return and throw out any rubbish that remained.”
Rabbie nodded.
“They—they were rather menacing, and Charles, the footman, thought we ought to ask for help, because we both had the sense they mean bad business. If help can be spared, that is.” She swallowed. “I’d not ask, I wouldn’t bother you at all after what...” After what she’d said to him, words that still burned in her gullet. “But we’ve no protection for ourselves, and we are English...”
“Bloody bastards, the lot of them. Aye, stay here,” he said. He stood abruptly and walked out of the receiving room.
Bernadette waited. She drank the water, put the glass aside and stood, too restless to sit. She began to pace before a narrow window. Her palms were damp, and she rubbed then along her sides. Her heart felt erratic, as if it couldn’t beat quite fast enough, but then again, it was beating so fast that it felt uncomfortable in her chest, and she wondered if perhaps her heart, made so heavy in these last few days, was giving way.
A few moments later Rabbie swept into the room. “Niall MacDonald will take two men to Killeaven and remain there until the household sails,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said with a rush of gratitude and reassurance.
“You are welcome here, Bernadette. You will be safe—”
“No, thank you,” she said quickly. She couldn’t bear it. “I am needed at Killeaven.”
“Then I’ll take you back,” he said.
God in heaven, she couldn’t bear that any better. She couldn’t ride with him and feel him at her back, his arm around her middle, and hold her emotions in check. She would break apart into pieces. “Thank you. But I’ll walk.”
Rabbie frowned. He moved closer. “I know why you have put this distance between us, I do,” he said. “I know the truth about you, leannan, and I donna care.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “Pardon?” No, he couldn’t possibly know all of it, and Bernadette began to shake her head.
“Donna hide from me, lass.”
“I don’t know what you think you know—”
“Daisy recalled your name,” he said quietly.
Her body felt as if it was floating, even though she still stood before him. Surely he hadn’t heard everything. “I told you that I eloped—”
“I know there was a bairn, Bernadette.”
The mention of her lost baby caused Bernadette’s knees to suddenly wobble. She grabbed on to the back of a chair to steady herself, and he caught her arm, leaning over her.
“My de
epest condolences, lass. I canna bear to think of your pain.”
Her pain. He had no idea how deep her pain was. Bernadette hadn’t thought of that night in so long. She’d struggled to put the horror behind her, but at a single mention, it all came smashing through her windows, the force of her memories startling her.
It had been a beautiful summer night, the lawn lit by so many bright stars. She’d been seven months along in her pregnancy. As her belly had grown, so had her father’s hatred of her. He’d once adored her, had called her his princess. But he’d never forgiven her elopement or the child growing in her. He’d worked hard for his wealth and had set his sights on substantial social connections, and in his eyes, Bernadette had ruined all he’d worked so hard to achieve.
That night, at the top of the stairs, as he’d gone up to bed and she’d gone down for water, he’d said she disgusted him, and Bernadette...oh, how it hurt to think of it.
She put both hands on the back of the chair, fearful that her knees would give away.
“Bernadette?” Rabbie asked, but it seemed as if he was at some distance.
Her father had looked at her with such venom in his eyes and voice and had said, “You disgust me,” and Bernadette, who had kept her mouth shut and had accepted his vitriol against her all those months, could bear it no more. She’d said, “And your utter lack of regard for your own grandchild disgusts me.”
What had possessed her? Why that night, what that remark?
To this day, Bernadette didn’t know how it had happened—had she been standing so close to the top of the stairs? Or had he pushed her? What she remembered was that her father had reacted harshly and instantly, backhanding her across her mouth. She didn’t remember the fall at all, only coming to at the bottom of the stairs, the pain in her belly already pressing against her spine and her heart.
She’d started bleeding an hour or so later. The midwife was called. The pain became unbearable and in the throes of it, she’d heard the midwife tell someone that the baby must come out. But it had been too early, and Bernadette had begged them not to take her baby, but her words were only a strangled cry.
