“Where is she?” Maxwell’s desperation colored his voice.
Thomas stepped forward crossing his arms across his chest. “Gone to Kinross. I put her in the coach meself.”
Maxwell ripped his hat off and beat it on his leg. “You knew I was looking for her. Penny must have made that clear. Why didn’t you keep her here until I came for her?”
“Mr. Drake, no one knew when or if you would come.” Her tone sympathetic, Molly cocked her head to the side, a master at soothing men. “Her intention is to set you free to find someone you can love.”
“But I love her. How could she think I don’t? Why would she leave me after… I don’t understand.” Maxwell dropped in a chair.
“Her courses started,” Molly said so matter-of-factly it took Maxwell a moment to process the implications.
When he did, he leaned back in the chair and ran a hand over his jaw. “She’s not with child and means to release me from our agreement. How long has she been gone, and what did she take? Is there any hope I can catch her?”
“A mail coach,” Thomas said. “You don’t want to be on the road at night. You’ll freeze to death or get accosted. Anyway, she’s about to meet her grandmother, Drake. You don’t want to stop that reunion, do you? It was hard for Miss Bryn without a family who cared for her growing up. She needs this.”
Maxwell stared into Thomas’s understanding eyes. “Dammit, I know you’re right, but I hate to think Bryn is out there thinking I don’t…” He swallowed. Expressing his deepest feelings wasn’t easy considering he’d spent the past dozen years attempting to deny he had any feelings whatsoever. “I love her. Very much.”
Molly’s smile was kinder than he deserved. “Tell her that, and I have the feeling all will be right with the world.”
Jamming his hat back on his head, he rose and crossed to the door but stopped short of leaving. These two unlikely people had been true and kind to Bryn. And him, in their way. “Thank you for taking care of her.”
Thomas said gruffly, “O’course. I would do anything for Miss Bryn after what she did for my family. Kept us from starving, she did. Don’t know where we’d have ended up without those baskets.”
Maxwell swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and turned to face Thomas. “What did you say?”
“Baskets. Miss Bryn would leave us baskets full of food, even some clothes and shoes for the little ’uns. Saved our lives after Papa died. There were too many mouths to feed on the meager coin I earned. It was a while before I caught her at it. Stayed up for three nights in a row until I spied her creeping up the lane. At first I truly thought she was a fairy, but we both nearly screamed the house up when I grabbed her arm. We kept it a secret from Ma. Didn’t want to hurt her pride.”
His world spun and clicked into place. It had been Bryn. It had always been Bryn.
In Thomas’s eyes was a shared experience. He must have felt something very similar to Maxwell when he’d opened his door to find that first basket.
“I got baskets too,” Maxwell said.
“Aye. I know. I asked her once what made her start helping people like she did. Most people would want the recognition. But she said the first boy she helped had too much pride. That he wouldn’t have accepted help if she’d tried to give it freely, so she snuck him baskets. Said he was special, and she didn’t want him to die.”
“She was so young… How could she…”
“Loads of people have helped her with her little project through the years. Cadell, Mrs. Kidd, old Busby, Vicar Mitchell, me—once we were back on our feet. She has people on the lookout for shoes for the children, clothes, books, whatever their need.” Thomas raised his bushy black brows. “Surely you’ve noticed the way she has with people.”
“Of course. She charms them.”
Thomas laughed. “That she does. And she chose you. Of course, my Molly would call it destiny.” He held a hand out to her, and she strolled over to lay a buss on his cheek.
“That’s right, Drake.” Molly smiled. “She saved you, and then you come back and save her in a different kind of way. She’s your destiny. Just the way Thomas is my destiny.” Turning serious, she laid a hand on Maxwell’s arm. “Go after her.”
Maxwell took Molly’s hand and squeezed it. “You should count yourself a lucky man, Thomas, to have such a lady as Molly by your side.”
Thomas put his arms around Molly’s waist and pulled her close. “Don’t you worry. I know how very lucky I am.”
At that, Maxwell took his leave of the brothel, unsure of his destination. Selfishly he wanted to ride for Kinross and bring Bryn home, but Thomas was right. Bryn needed to reconnect with her grandmother after a lifetime apart.
The business about his father’s bequest weighed him like an anchor. Before he could claim Bryn, he needed to break the chains of his past. Then with nothing but possibilities ahead of them, he would win her back.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The mail coach rumbled to a stop. Bryn peeked out the window, seeing nothing but a wide lane off the main road. Winter had stripped the landscape barren. The misty fog only added to the feeling of foreboding. She clutched the door handle, her brain directing her to open it but her body not complying.
This was it. Her grandmother was in reach, yet fear of her welcome—fear of the future—ground her to a halt.
The carriage rocked as the coachman dismounted. He opened the door, letting in a blast of bracing air. “This is it, miss. If you’re still wanting to be left here.”
The uncertainty in his voice added to her trepidation. She had no choice. Once Molly had informed her of Dugan and Sutherland’s deaths, the last tie binding her to Maxwell had been snipped. No babe and no need for protection. He was free, and so was she.
From the outset, her goal had been freedom. She’d achieved it. She just hadn’t expected freedom to be so lonely. Or sad.
“Yes. I’m ready. Thank you.” She accepted his hand out of the carriage. Thankfully, she’d only shared it with one other woman, and she’d been dropped in town. The man gave her a tip of his hat and climbed to the driver’s bench. With a slap of the reins, the mail coach lumbered away, quickly swallowed by the mist.
She trudged down the lane, peering through the fog. A stately manor house materialized through the swirling white. Withered ivy clung to the dark bricked façade. What did she really know about her grandmother, except her mother had married the baron and never looked back? She almost turned around, cold feet and nose be damned.
No. She wasn’t the scared mouse she’d once been. At one time the situation may have triggered a panicked episode, but she’d made it through worse with her wits intact. She’d dodged bullets, delivered a babe, dueled barbs with her sister while wearing a fine ball gown, and got dealt a broken heart. She’d survived it all.
She squared her shoulders and picked up the knocker, rapping three times. Good or bad, this place was her birthright and her only family.
The door creaked open. “It’s a mighty cold day to come calling, I’d say. Who’s there?”
Framed in the crack was a woman with graying red hair and features so familiar Bryn blew out a breath like bellows emptying. Her voice came out thin and reedy. “I’m Brynmore McCann, ma’am. And you’re my grandmother.”
The woman swung the door fully open to stare at Bryn, her expression still a mystery. Suddenly she clapped her hands and smiled. Her eyes crinkled like laughing was a favorite pastime. All Bryn’s worries and trepidation melted away under the warmth.
Her grandmother took both her hands and pulled her inside, kicking the door shut behind them. She chafed Bryn’s cold hands in her own. “Alasdair, of course, sent word he’d run across you most unexpectedly. It took an enormous amount of self-restraint to stay here and wait, but it’s a good thing I did, or you might have found an empty house.”
“I’m sorry to appear on your doorstep. I sent a letter, but it’s not arrived. There were unforeseen circumstances, and I wasn’t sure where else�
�� to go.” To her utter horror, a tear leaked out. She dashed it away but not quick enough to escape her grandmother’s notice.
“Oh dear. Alasdair mentioned a gentleman. In my experience, these kinds of tears are the direct result of dealing with a stubborn arse of a man.” Her grandmother led her into a cozy sitting room with a warm fire.
A small laugh at her grandmother’s quip helped quell her emotions. Her grandmother went to a sideboard and poured two large tots of amber liquid, handing one over and keeping one for herself. Bryn took a sip and grimaced.
“All of it, dear. You’ll feel better for it. Warmer too.” She waited for Bryn to finish the glass. “You traveled on the mail coach? Alone?”
Bryn nodded.
“Alasdair thought perhaps your man would accompany you.”
“He’s not my man. Not anymore.” Bryn’s voice cracked. “He never was. Not really. Circumstances brought us together for a time, but everything has been satisfactorily settled. We’re both free to move forward with our lives. It’s good. The way it should be.” Bryn wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince.
“Whatever brings you to my door, I’m thankful. My darling girl, if I’d had the slightest inkling of your existence, I would have swept into Cragian and brought you back here, the baron be damned. I never approved of the marriage, but Katherine was nearly as hardheaded as I was and determined to leave Kinross. She wanted to experience the world.”
“But Cragian is a poor, out-of-the-way village.”
“Aye, but she was lady of the manor there. She begged me for a season in Edinburgh, but I’ve never been one for the social whirl and refused her. I expected she’d settle down and find a lad in Kinross, but being a farmer’s wife wasn’t her fate. If I hadn’t been so stubborn…” Her grandmother trailed off, regret dampening the twinkle in her eyes.
“She seemed happy enough. Papa wasn’t a cruel man.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Her grandmother’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Tell me everything about yourself and your childhood and what you’ve been up to in Edinburgh.”
As Bryn talked about her years in Cragian, she found there were more good times than bad to share. Telling her grandmother about Cadell and Maxwell and the baskets filled her with a kind of peace. The most recent events elicited gasps, although Bryn glossed over the intimacies she’d shared with Maxwell.
In return, her grandmother shared stories about her mother, Katherine. She even gave Bryn a small miniature she had commissioned when Katherine was eighteen. In it, her mother looked happy and beautiful and full of hope. Much like she remembered her looking her last days in Cragian.
A comfortable silence fell as Bryn stared into her grandmother’s eyes.
“It’s uncanny,” her grandmother said.
“I look just like you.” Bryn smiled. A feeling of homecoming washed over her and smoothed the rough, raw edges of her hurt, not gone but honed to something that wouldn’t cut her to ribbons.
The next two days were filled with discoveries interspersed with a desolation that stole her breath. Alasdair Lowry, her step-grandfather, returned from Edinburgh with equal delight to find her in residence. The day her trunk arrived was the day she gave up on Maxwell.
The pain was almost unbearable. The only thing missing was the midnight-blue ball gown. She’d wanted the dress if for nothing but the memories it held.
Her grandmother patted Bryn’s hand. “The grief gets easier after a time. I’ve lost many people over the years, but if you keep your heart open, you’ll learn to love again. There’s many a handsome lad in Kinross when you’re ready.”
She’d never love another man, but she gave her grandmother a smile in an attempt to placate her obvious worry.
The winter winds calmed and the sun emerged, burning off the mist. Winnie, as her grandmother had insisted Bryn call her, took her to see the house she had inherited. Winnie prattled on about their ancestors, and Bryn drank in the most trivial details.
Filled with heavy old furniture that harkened back to a different era, the house was old and drafty yet beautiful in its simplicity. Bryn’s mother had grown up in the house, and laughter seemed to echo through the great entry. Aye, there might be ghosts here, but they were happy ones.
Bryn could picture it in the summer with wildflowers and children running and playing. It was meant to be filled with life. The dream would remain unfulfilled.
“Come the spring, perhaps we’ll hold a country dance to introduce you around Kinross?” Winnie asked with an expectation Bryn couldn’t bear to disappoint. Perhaps her heart wouldn’t be as broken then.
“Perhaps,” she replied noncommittally.
Her half-hearted acquiescence made her grandmother clap her hands and launch into plans. Mary had wanted to keep Bryn closeted away, but Winnie wanted to show her off. After one last glance around the house, Bryn joined Winnie in the carriage.
“We’re already halfway to Kinross, and it’s such a pretty day. The inn lays out a handsome tea,” Winnie said.
Bryn didn’t relish meeting new people and making small talk, but she nodded anyway. She couldn’t hide forever. “Sounds lovely.”
Winnie rapped on the door, and the carriage jumped forward. Kinross reminded her of a more prosperous Cragian. The homes were well kept and the businesses more numerous. Winnie seemed a popular figure in the village. She poured her considerable love and energy into her home and its people.
Many of those people stopped to stare at Bryn, especially the older residents who had known Winnie in her youth, to comment on their striking similarity. It made her feel self-conscious and proud at the same time. The strain of maintaining a happy façade throughout tea wore her flat and dry like a piece of parchment.
“You’re tired,” Winnie murmured.
“A bit.” An understatement if she’d ever uttered one.
“Go on and wait in the carriage while I make our excuses.”
Her head down, Bryn threaded her way through the tables toward the door. The crisp air would be a balm to her lungs after the smoky common room, and the silence of the carriage would be a balm to her soul.
She bumped into a man who entered as she exited the inn. She jerked back, her body igniting with recognition. From the tips of his boots, up his legs, hips, chest, her gaze finally came to rest on the face of Maxwell Drake.
Had her subconscious summoned him as a spirit? No. The dark circles ringing his eyes and the strain at the set of his mouth were new. He was grim, like someone had died.
“Maxwell.” Inanely she asked, “Do you have business in Kinross?”
A half smile lightened his face considerably. “Business of a sort. But that’s a rather pragmatic, unsentimental way of approaching such matters.”
Her heart took a flying leap off the nearest cliff.
“And who might you be, young man?” Winnie took Bryn’s arm protectively.
“I can see now why Mr. Lowry was so shocked.” Maxwell blinked, his gaze flitting between them. Turning his hat in his hands in a rare show of nerves, he said, “I’m Maxwell Drake, a friend of your granddaughter’s.”
“A friend, eh? A friend wouldn’t break my granddaughter’s heart,” Winnie replied hotly.
* * * * *
Maxwell caught Bryn’s horrified expression and her whispered plea. “Winnie, no.”
She was wan—a bit thinner, pale, dark eye circles, and freckles standing out prominently. Christ, she looked nearly as bad as he had in his shaving mirror that morning.
Bryn’s grandmother—Winnie?—steered her out the door. “We are taking our leave, Mr. Drake. My granddaughter is tired. You may call on us tomorrow if she so desires.”
Not bloody likely. He’d waited too long already. He’d not be put off another hour. Even if he had to do battle with her dragon of a grandmother.
“I’ve ridden two days straight from Cragian, and I’ll see Brynmore today.”
Bryn cast glances between them. “Follow us, Maxwell. It’
s time we finished things once and for all.”
Her words pierced him, and he took her arm as she was turning to leave, whispering, “Things will never be finished between us, Brynmore McCann. You need to understand that once and for all.”
She stiffened but leaned into him infinitesimally. The small betrayal gave him hope.
The weather was cold, and his welcome at the house even colder. Bryn’s grandmother spent a fair amount of time energetically rearranging the ancient battle swords hanging on the wall of the drawing room.
Bryn dropped a whispered word in her grandmother’s ear. The woman harrumphed, and with one last scathing glance in Maxwell’s direction, she retreated but left the door cracked. Maxwell wouldn’t be at all surprised to find her ear pressed against the seam. Bryn’s meddlesome, protective grandmother aside, he would have his say.
After they settled themselves on the settee as if they were old, amiable acquaintances, Bryn fired the opening salvo. “My trunk arrived. I have money now and can pay you back. The blue gown wasn’t included though. I’d like it back.”
Maxwell had vowed to reveal the truth of his feelings no matter how difficult. “The blue gown reminds me of you, so I kept it.”
A portion of her distant coldness evaporated. “That’s… sweet.”
“Is it? I wasn’t feeling sweet the morning you left me without a word or note. Do you have any idea of how terrified I was when I found you gone in the morning like a wisp of smoke? I thought one of Sutherland’s men—” He was unable to put the dark, twisty paths of his imagination into words.
“I wasn’t sure you would care.”
“I did—I do—care. I went to Sutherland’s straight away and found… Well, I assume you’ve heard.”
“I have.”
“After the magistrate arrived, Mary and Craddock made insinuations that I might be responsible for their deaths. Eventually though, the truth emerged.”
“I know Vicar Mitchell would be mightily disappointed in me, but all I felt was relief it was over. And then unbearable sadness that we were over.”
A Reckless Redemption (Spies and Lovers Book 3) Page 28
