The Groom Says Yes

by Cathy Maxwell

  “You know, Enright,” Campbell said, “I should notify the authorities you are here.”

  “And spoil the game?” Mac challenged.

  Instead of answering, Campbell said, “Did you know you are with a murderer, Miss Davidson?”

  “Did you know I don’t value your opinion at all, Mr. Campbell?” she returned.

  “There is a rebuke,” Mac said approvingly.

  “Go ahead and think you are clever,” Campbell said, taking a step toward the door. “But understand, they have a price on your head in Edinburgh, Irishman. It is a good one.”

  “That pleases me,” Mac replied. “I’d hate to be wanted for a paltry sum.”

  His humor did not sit well with the Scot. “You’d best be careful. The earl is deeply in my debt. He may decide to claim that reward. Certainly, that would save Annefield.”

  Money. Yes, money could be the motive for Campbell’s being here, but Mac didn’t think so.

  For his part, Tay held his glass as if it contained the meaning of life, and perhaps to him it did. He was not a well man.

  “My lord,” Campbell said, addressing Tay, “think upon what I said.” There was no mistaking the menace in his voice. “Miss Davidson, good afternoon. Enright or earl of wherever—God, I didn’t even know the Irish had titles.” He laughed as he said this, and Mac could hate the man.

  “Ballin,” Mac said.

  “Aye, Ballin,” Campbell repeated as if it were of no consequence. “I hope to see you hang very soon.”

  “Always a pleasure spending time with you as well,” Mac answered. Perhaps he would just rip the man’s throat out of his body.

  Campbell left, and it seemed as if a foul smell had gone with him. Mac turned to Miss Davidson, ready to say as much, but her focus was on her uncle.

  “What did he mean about saving Annefield?” she demanded. “Is the estate in danger?”

  The earl didn’t answer. Instead, he put down his glass and shuffled for the door as if he were a shell of a man. He stopped as he came abreast of Mac. “Why couldn’t you have hanged?”

  “Inconvenient of me, I know,” Mac replied.

  The man walked out the door.

  She watched her uncle, her expression stricken, and he knew her mind was churning over something.

  “All right,” he said, “what do you suspect?”

  “He has lost Annefield.” She made a sound of incomprehension. “How could he do such a thing?”

  “Tay’s a gambler. It is not unheard of.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense,” she countered. “My father is a good solicitor. He understood the family records. He told me that Annefield was protected. After all, my uncle has no male heir. Upon his death, the title and all that goes with it would fall to my father. Granted, my uncle has had to sell off most of the land, but the house was safe. Always safe.”

  “Unless there was an error that would allow the entailment to be circumvented.”

  She shook her head as if denying that such a thing could happen. “My father boasted that all was right.”

  Mac shrugged. He had a very different opinion of Richard Davidson. “We shall ask him when we find him.”

  “You believe he is fine and well?”

  “I’m now almost certain of it. And perhaps Mr. Kinnion is also alive.”

  “How—?” She started, but he shushed her quietly.

  “Not here,” he advised, taking her arm and leading her out of the room. Tay and Ingold were not to be found, and Mac was not surprised. The butler was a loyal man.

  He picked up his hat from the hall table and directed her outside. She waited until they reached the shelter of the trees lining the stable path before shaking loose of his hold and saying impatiently, “Why do you believe my father and the reverend are alive?”

  “Ingold. He was there the night of my escape. When the reverend was shot, a large man was the first to come running toward us. He had an unusual silhouette. I had bent over to see if there was something I could do for Kinnion, then I heard the sounds of people coming. Of course, I couldn’t stay. However, one man came out of the darkness as if he had been waiting. I did not mistake seeing Ingold.”

  She listened to him, her expression somber. “So what are you saying?”

  “That your uncle also helped me escape.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Conscience. Is there a better one?”

  She began walking down the path, her mind obviously working. He followed, waiting, knowing she would reach the conclusion he had.

  In the stable yard, Mac helped her into the cart, then climbed in himself, picking up the reins. Campbell and his fancy rig had already left. “Which way to meet Mrs. Bossley?” he asked, driving out of the yard.

  “To the north,” she answered, too subdued for his liking.

  He set Dumpling off at a good clip. Once they were down the drive and on the road, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ,” he answered. “Sabrina Davidson’s mind is never dwelling on ‘nothing.’”

  “Very well, what is Cormac Enright’s, earl of Ballin’s, mind mulling over?”

  “Are you still annoyed about the title?” he asked, puzzled. “I explained, I’m not accustomed to it. Furthermore, I received the title and a load of debts for which I had to leave the country—yes, I understand perfectly how trapped your uncle feels in his debts.”

  “Debts that may belong to my father as well, obviously.”

  “Not so obviously,” he argued.

  “We are family,” she pointed out. “My uncle may have the title, but Annefield has been in the family for centuries. I was raised to revere it.”

  “Times change,” Mac answered. “And sometimes people, in spite of good intentions, make mistakes. My brother didn’t expect to run his inheritance into the ground.”

  “How did he lose it?”

  “Well, there wasn’t much to begin with,” Mac answered. “We Enrights were always on the bad side of the political game. There is something inside of us that just can’t stomach the English.”

  “We were always on the right side. I remember as a child how well kept Annefield was. The stables are good, but my uncle could ruin those as well, couldn’t he? But he can’t lose Annefield. It is all we have. It is our legacy.”

  Mac didn’t answer. She was in an odd mood. He didn’t believe it was just worry over her father that made her quiet. She acted as if a light had gone out inside her.

  They were approaching the crossroads.

  Mrs. Bossley’s gig waited on the road while she paced, her maroon velvet cape flying around her. At the sound of their approach, she stopped and watched them, her expression anxious—

  Miss Davidson reached for the reins and pulled the pony to a stop well beyond earshot of Mrs. Bossley.

  She didn’t look at him as she said, “I believe we must part company, and it is best to do it now.”

  Mac frowned his confusion. “Part company? What are you saying?”

  Miss Davidson raised troubled eyes to him. “I can’t help you any longer,” she said. “You must go on your own.”

  “And your reason?” he asked, surprised by how upset her words made him. Without realizing it, he had started to think of them as allies, partners in vindicating his name.

  He trusted her.

  She disabused him of that notion as she said, “I can’t help you clear your name, not without destroying my own family.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Sabrina anticipated that he would be angry at her announcement. After all, she was saying she would side with his enemies. She had not imagined he would be hurt by her defection.

  And yet, she had no choice.

  Her father was involved in Gordana Raney’s death itself. She knew that, and so did Mr. Enright, whether he said it aloud or not. That is why he suspected her father was alive. He was protecting himself.

  She did not believe her father was capab
le of murder, but she would not rule out her uncle. Why else would Owen Campbell have attacked him?

  There were too many questions here, and she could perceive no answer that would be for the betterment of her family.

  Nor did she trust that she could in good conscience play a hand in bringing her uncle or father to justice. Not if the sentence was going to be death.

  She looked away from Mr. Enright. Otherwise, she would change her mind. Yes, she felt an obvious, strong physical attraction to him, but there was also something more. Something she couldn’t quite define and it had nothing to do with desire. Mr. Enright treated her as if he valued her opinion, as if he considered her a full partner in solving the mystery surrounding that young girl’s death.

  And she was painfully aware that she was throwing his trust away as if it didn’t matter.

  “I see,” he said.

  “I don’t know if you do,” she murmured, feeling guilty.

  “Then explain.”

  Sabrina wished he would just leave, and yet she also wanted to hold on to his presence as long as possible. She also found she needed him to understand.

  Before coming upon him in the bothy, every day of her life had been the same. Then he came along. He’d engaged her intellect, and she’d begun to believe the compliments he gave. She was starting to feel special, pretty, womanly.

  Of course, he’d had very few options in his choice of companions. No one else had paid attention to his story except her.

  But now the stakes were too high.

  “I fear my father has involved himself in one of my uncle’s schemes. Your suspicions about your escape may be correct. My father might have attempted to help free you because for an innocent man to hang based on his false testimony would go against everything he believed in. But I can’t betray my family. I don’t even want to think of the scandal.”

  If there were no Annefield . . . if her father was no longer the magistrate . . . then what would become of her?

  “Leave,” she told him. “Take Dumpling and the cart and leave this place. Sell them for what you can receive and flee the country. Save your life.”

  Desperation colored her voice. She reached for the door, ready to climb out, but he put his arms around her.

  “You would have me take an animal you raised and sell him to save your uncle’s worthless hide?”

  “We are family,” she said. “Our name is all we have.” Sabrina closed her eyes, wishing he wasn’t so close. Wishing that she didn’t have to tell him to leave. Wishing she had met him under other circumstances. “I have nothing else of value to give you,” she whispered. “I’ve given you everything, but I can’t help you destroy us.”

  He released his hold. “Destroy? That is something you did to yourselves.”

  The truth of his words almost crushed her.

  She didn’t know why her father had involved himself in her uncle’s affairs. In this moment, she didn’t care about Annefield. Everyone knew her uncle was a disgrace. But they’d respected her father and, consequently, respected her.

  “I think my uncle and father have done something for which they feel shame. But I don’t believe they are murderers. In fact, for all I know, you could have killed that girl,” Sabrina heard herself suggest.

  Those words did the trick. His body stiffened with the rise of his temper. In the next beat, he released his hold on her and climbed out of the cart.

  He began walking, jumping over the stone dike so that he could cut across the field.

  Sabrina watched him leave, and she felt as if her heart were being ripped in two.

  She wanted to call him back. To tell him that she was sorry, she hadn’t meant those words. She’d been rattled, afraid—but none of that was true.

  As he disappeared into the forest, she realized she’d pushed him away to protect herself.

  Dear God, she could barely breathe from the pain of letting him go, and it amazed her. He’d swept into her life and changed her in a way no one else could have. Now, nothing would ever be the same.

  He did not look back, not once.

  “Don’t return,” she whispered. “Be safe.”

  But he would not hear her words or see the regret on her face.

  For a moment, she feared she would lose consciousness from giving him up, and yet, what choice had she?

  He’d asked for freedom. Now, he had it. The Davidsons had done enough to destroy him.

  As she picked up her horse’s reins, she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that she’d made the worst mistake of her life. And no amount of common sense, of telling herself she barely knew him or using any rational reasoning could erase her unease.

  He’d been the one.

  She recognized him now. He’d been the man she’d longed for in her life, that she’d always believed was out there.

  Of course, she hadn’t danced at the valley assemblies or given the local lads a bit of time—she’d been waiting for Cormac Enright, the newly minted earl of Ballin. He was “the one.”

  And now, she had no choice but to go on with her life.

  But it would not be as barren as what it had been before. No, he’d changed her.

  She drove up to where Mrs. Bossley waited.

  “Where did Mr. Enright go?” the widow asked.

  “He had to leave,” Sabrina answered.

  “To go where? I thought he was going to help us find Richard?”

  “Perhaps if Mr. Enright is gone, then Father will return home. After all, there will be no reason for him to hide.”

  “Richard is hiding?”

  “I’m not certain, but I sense my uncle knows where he is.” She didn’t mention Owen Campbell. “With Mr. Enright gone, Father is safe.”

  And all would be as it was—except she didn’t know how she would react toward her father in the future. Or if she could ever forgive him for what he’d done to Cormac Enright. Her opinion of her sire had changed.

  The widow placed a hand on her arm. She was apparently not fooled by Sabrina’s false bravado. “What is it? Why did Mr. Enright truly leave?”

  “Because I told him to do so.” Sabrina had wanted to keep it all in, but there were some things that could not stay contained. “My uncle may have killed that girl. Certainly he was involved in something terrible. I could see that it weighed on his mind. And he probably owes money to Owen Campbell. He may have lost Annefield.”

  “But that shouldn’t be your father’s worry.”

  “If any of this involves the house, then it is part of his concern.” Sabrina tried to explain to Mrs. Bossley. “My father would protect the family’s legacy.”

  “So he would lie to a jury and see an innocent man sentenced to hang? Over a house?”

  Sabrina stared at Mrs. Bossley. Annefield was everything to the Davidsons.

  But was it worth a man’s life?

  Having one’s beliefs, especially those honed since childhood, challenged was unsettling. Sabrina had never known a time when the title wasn’t important. What people thought of the Davidsons was always a serious matter. Everyone knew her uncle was a wastrel, but he was still titled. And her father and her standing had rested on their connection to Tay.

  But things were changing. Her cousins, the earl’s daughters, had gone off and married men who mattered to them. Men whose positions in society were built on something other than ceremony.

  Men whom they respected and loved.

  Men like Cormac Enright.

  “If your father is the sort of man who would lie to condemn an innocent man,” Mrs. Bossley was saying, “then I would have nothing to do with him.”

  “But what if Mr. Enright isn’t innocent?” Sabrina had to ask.

  “Do you think him capable of murder?” Mrs. Bossley wondered.

  “I don’t know what he is capable of. I barely know him.”

  And yet she did know him. She felt as if she’d known him forever.

  Oh, dear God, what had she done?

  Mrs. Bossley e
choed the doubts in her heart when she said, “Seeing the two of you the other night, I sensed there was something powerful stirring between you.”

  “How can there be?” Sabrina wanted to know. “We are very different people.”

  “Aye, but sometimes, it all happens like that. And quickly.” Mrs. Bossley leaned on the side of the pony cart. “Love doesn’t come about because a couple is courting for a certain length of time and knows all the same people and are from the right families. Sometimes it just blossoms on its own.”

  “Love?” Sabrina attempted to laugh, but the sound rang false even to her own ears. Yes, she cared for Mr. Enright. Yes, she felt a connection to him. But she was a sensible woman.

  Sensible enough to lust for him . . . or had her instincts known something her mind had yet to accept?

  Still, Sabrina had to deny it. “Men as handsome as Mr. Enright don’t profess love for women as plain as myself.”

  “Plain?” Mrs. Bossley repeated. “Where did you gain that idea? You are a lovely girl. A very handsome one. And any man would be lucky to have you. Besides, when love is part of what happens between a man and a woman, looks are no longer important. There is beauty in admiration.”

  “Men admire beautiful women.”

  “On the surface,” Mrs. Bossley agreed, “but do not sell them short. Men have great hearts. Oh, yes, there are the shallow ones. I’ve met enough of them. But most men, the ones I know, the good ones, they can hold a deeper love than even women. Your father is one of those.”

  Sabrina made a disrespectful sound. “My father? The man who barely spent a moment’s time with my mother when she was dying?”

  “Well who is good at that?” Mrs. Bossley countered.

  “I was,” Sabrina said. “I was there. But she wanted him. She wanted her husband by her side. You need to know this, Mrs. Bossley. He was not there for her. Don’t romanticize him.”

  “I don’t, lass. But I don’t hold him to high standards either. He’s human. He didn’t know what to do.”

  “He could have sat by her side.”

  “Watching someone he loved die? It wasn’t possible for him. And you know, when the time comes, and if I go before him, he’ll do the same to me, and I’ll understand because I love him. We all have our strengths and weaknesses.”