Adventures of a Scottish Heiress

by Cathy Maxwell

  What a fool she’d made of herself. Bending over at her waist, she hugged her plaid to her chest and wished she could hide.

  But she couldn’t and she knew who was at the door.

  Rising, she straightened her clothing as best she could, crossed over to the door, and opened it. Ian stood there holding a steaming mug of tea and looking completely refreshed and more handsome than any one man had the right to. “I thought you could use this. Maggie made it for us.”

  With her dream still fresh in her mind, she could do nothing but blush hotly. Taking the mug, she shut the door in his face. She knew she had to look terrible. Her face was probably all smooshed from sleeping so hard and her hair was a complete tangle. “No wonder he didn’t want to kiss me,” she muttered to herself.

  He knocked on the door again. She opened it. “We need to leave. We don’t want to be here when Anderson wakes.”

  Oh, yes. She wouldn’t be able to face him, not without losing her temper. “Absolutely. Give me a few minutes.” She shut the door again.

  And she truly meant to get ready. In fact, she gulped down the tea and put on her belt. However, as she was lacing it up, her gaze fell on the knapsack stored under the cot.

  She knew she should leave it alone. There was no time to dally…but her breath needed freshening…and Ian kept tooth powder in his knapsack.

  If she had any qualms about helping herself to his knapsack without asking, her curiosity squelched them. After all, she knew what some of the contents were—the gun, the dried beef, his tin cup.

  But what else would she find? What secrets did he hold?

  Her curiosity was overwhelming. With trembling hands, she pulled out the knapsack and opened the leather flap. She found the tooth powder immediately, with his shaving kit. The contents smelled of the strong soap he used.

  She should have stopped then.

  She didn’t.

  Instead, she pushed aside his pistol and the gunpowder flask. There was another cloth-covered packet that contained the dried beef, and the tin cup was in the bottom. She told herself she would need the cup for water and used the need as an excuse to probe to the very depths of the bag.

  That is where she found the packet of letters and the crucifix.

  For a second, Lyssa couldn’t move. She stared at the amber prayer beads. She’d heard of them before. Every English child was taught about papist idolatry. She knew that even in London there were Catholics, although she didn’t know any. A piece of ribbon tied the crucifix to the letters.

  Without untying the ribbon, Lyssa scanned the letters. The handwriting was definitely feminine. My dearest son was the salutation on one. Leafing through, she could see they were all written by the same hand. Lifting an edge, she saw the closing, Mother. Holding the letters, she sensed an overwhelming air of sadness and she could not have stopped herself from reading the first if she’d tried.

  Lyssa sat on the floor and glanced over a paragraph she could see without untying the ribbon:…Matters are much better. Please do not fear for your father and I. None of this was your—

  The door opened without a knock.

  Slowly, Lyssa turned fearing the worst. She was right. Ian stood there, his gaze dark.

  She pushed the letters and holy beads back into the recesses of the knapsack. “I…um, wanted to borrow some tooth powder.”

  “Did you find it?” His voice was flat, his expression guarded. She could not judge his mood.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  He walked over and picked up his knapsack. He could tell she had rifled through his belongings and she was ashamed.

  His gaze did not meet hers. “I’ll wait for you outside. I need to shave.”

  “Of course.”

  He left, and Lyssa wanted to collapse. She knew he was upset. She shouldn’t have pried…and she wished she’d not seen the crucifix.

  Quickly seeing to her morning ablutions, she was putting on her shoes when she discovered the tarot card where she had hidden it a day ago. The Knight was looking the worse for wear. The gilt was coming off the edges and she interpreted this as a sign she should not have snooped.

  Ian was a Catholic. She wished she didn’t know, and yet now she did. Perhaps in the back of her mind she had suspected but confirmation had taken her back a bit.

  She tucked the card in her belt, combed her hair with her fingers the best she could, picked up her plaid, and went out to face Ian.

  The hour was very early after a night of partying. No one stirred at the house. Maggie didn’t come out to wish them well. Even the village was quiet. Without a word, he filled his tin cup at the pump and offered her some dried beef. Her guilt had robbed her of appetite, but she took what he offered.

  They started down the road that would lead them to Appin and Amleth Hall.

  Neither of them spoke for a good hour. She kept her eye on the angry muscle working in his jaw. She knew she’d been wrong to go through his personal things.

  Still…had her father known he was hiring a Catholic?

  And even though she was silent, she was very aware of him. Since following in his footsteps was easiest, she couldn’t help but notice the strength in his back or the way the muscles of his legs worked when he walked. The day before, she’d thought she was getting to know him better than she did any other person of her acquaintance.

  Now, she didn’t know if she knew him at all.

  Ian’s silence was reserved for her alone. They met several travelers on the road and he always said the first word of greeting. A tinker walked with them a way, and his presence helped to ease the tension.

  Around luncheon, they came upon a farmer’s wife attempting to catch a runaway piglet. Ian charmed the pig into trotting right up to him and the woman was so grateful, she offered them meat pies she’d just made that day.

  Ian and Lyssa sat by the road to enjoy their bounty…and she finally gathered the courage to say, “Even though we’ve been living by our wits, we’ve managed to eat well.”

  He shrugged.

  This was going to be harder than she imagined. He gave her no choice but to confront the issue directly. “I didn’t mean to pry.” She took a bit of pie.

  He didn’t even look at her. “Yes, you did.”

  Her mouth full, she nodded, conceding without words that he was right. She took her time chewing. He was almost done. If she wasn’t more forthcoming, she knew matters would not be settled between them.

  And she did not like this distance between them.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t speak.

  “Are your parents still alive?” she dared to ask.

  “No.”

  One word. No more.

  She studied the crust of the pie in her hand. She broke a piece off. “I suppose I knew that. Otherwise, your sisters would not be with you.”

  She knew she should leave the subject there. She couldn’t.

  “The beads are lovely.” She didn’t look at him as she said the words. However, she could feel the heat of his silver gaze as, at last, he swung around to look at her. “Do you practice?” she dared to ask.

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “No.”

  “Then why do you have the beads?”

  “They were my grandfather’s. He gave them to my father, who passed them down to me.”

  Lyssa nodded. She ran her thumb along the top of the pastry in her hand. “I’m not very religious.”

  She was afraid to look up and see what he was thinking. She feared he’d be even more angry.

  His hand tilted her chin up to look at him. The hardness about him had softened.

  Tears of relief stung her eyes and she struggled to hold them back, not wanting to embarrass herself.

  Still intent and serious, he ran his thumb along the line of her lower lip.

  Her heart pounded in her chest so hard, she knew he must hear it. She waited for him to speak, wanting him to open to her, to trust her.

  Instead, he made a soft, self-de
precating sound before saying, “Come, Cailín, we need to move on.”

  “Cailín? What does that mean?”

  “ ‘Girl.’ It’s the Irish for ‘girl.’ ” There was a melancholy about him. He removed his hand and stood. “Come, we must keep going.” He helped her rise.

  The wall had been breached between them, but it was not the same.

  For the next few hours, they talked in generalities much as they had the previous days, except that she was painfully aware of the change. Lyssa had opened a Pandora’s box, and now it wasn’t the secrets that kept them apart, but the truth.

  By dusk, they were both tired. Ian called a halt. “We’ll arrive at Amleth Hall toward midday,” he predicted. “Let’s get a good night’s rest, since we didn’t have one last night.”

  His plan was fine with Lyssa. She was exhausted. He found a place for them to camp in a small clearing protected by a thicket a fair distance from the road. After building a small fire, he made a bed for her of pine needles over which he placed her plaid.

  For their dinner they ate the last of the meat pies. Again, Lyssa didn’t have much of an appetite. She discovered that instead of being excited at reaching their destination, she was sorry to let the journey go.

  Ian stretched out on the ground three feet from where she lay with the scent of pine around her. Clouds blocked the moon and the fire was welcome, although sleep did not come. No matter how tired she was, she was too aware of him. And she shouldn’t have been.

  “So do you think you will marry Grossett?”

  His unexpected question caught her off guard. “No, I will not.”

  “Good.” She heard a smile in his voice and rolled over onto her stomach so she could see him. She would not tell him she had no intention of returning to London once she reached Amleth Hall. Honesty could only go so far, or so she reminded herself, and matters were still tenuous between them.

  “What of you?” she asked.

  He rolled over on his own stomach and rested his chin on his hands. “I’ll go on with my plans.”

  “To leave England.”

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t like the idea of him being far away.

  “You don’t have to leave. My father is always looking for good men.” She studied her thumb-nail, worried by her own audacity. “He owns numerous farms and could put you in charge of one. You could raise your race horses and your sisters and their children would be happy.” Of course, if she didn’t return with Ian, her father would be angry with them both. But she wanted to believe all could work out. There had to be a way for her to have everything she wanted.

  “I can’t stay, Lyssa.” His voice had gone flat again. “There’s a price on my head.”

  For a moment, she thought she hadn’t heard him correctly. She sat up. “A what?”

  “A price.” He was watching her closely and she didn’t know how to react.

  “For what?” she dared to ask.

  “Treason.”

  Chapter Twelve

  IAN had never told another soul what he’d just said to Lyssa. His family knew, of course. He’d destroyed their lives with his foolishness.

  But he had to tell Lyssa. She had to lose the starry look in her eyes. Even when he’d captured the runaway pig, she’d looked at him as if he were a hero.

  And he wasn’t any damn hero.

  But when she spoke, she surprised him. “Is it a very large price they are asking for you?”

  “Why? Are you planning on collecting it?”

  Tossing her magnificent mane of hair over her shoulder, she said, “I don’t know. I’m assuming that men who do housewives a favor by chasing their pigs can’t be that dangerous.”

  “Lyssa, that is a silly thing to say. Any man can be dangerous given the right provocation.”

  “Not you,” she said seriously. “You’d not hurt anyone without cause.”

  Her faith in him conquered his reticence. “All I wanted was what was right. I wanted justice.”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “Then tell me the story and I’ll be the judge.”

  Ian ran his hand through his hair, not certain where to start.

  “It’s about your being Catholic?” she guessed.

  “Hardly. It’s more about Ireland being free to rule herself.” The moment he said those words, the old passion rose strong inside him.

  Lyssa doused it. “The Irish can’t do that,” she said logically. “The country is part of Britain.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid there are many people who would disagree.”

  “I’ve learned that lesson. The hard way,” he admitted. He sat up, resting his arm on a bent knee. “Lyssa, we are an independent country. We have the right to our own Parliament and our own religion—whatever that religion may be.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t religious—”

  “I’m not,” he said, cutting her off. “I was the bane of the priest and my mother. However, I should be able to choose.”

  She didn’t answer right away. He knew what he’d said was so radical to the thinking of the English mind, he didn’t know if she’d be able to digest it. And that was the crux of the matter. He wanted her to understand. He wanted to believe she could grasp the depth of his passion that had led to such folly.

  Tracing the red line in her plaid, she asked quietly, “So are those beliefs the reason you have a price on your head?”

  “A price!” He waved the thought away dismissively. “Ten quid. Hardly enough for anyone to trouble themselves over…but enough to get me transported to Botany Bay if I should be turned in.”

  She took a moment to digest this piece of information. Releasing her breath on a sigh, she asked, “So, why are you telling me?”

  Because I’m falling in love with you.

  But that would be a foolish thing to say. He couldn’t have her. Could never have her. “You should know.”

  “So that you can warn me off?”

  Her precise assessment surprised him. “Yes.”

  She hummed a response as if words failed her. He wished he knew what she was thinking. He wanted her to care—even knowing it was wrong, even knowing nothing could ever happen between them, he wanted her to care.

  However, for once, he could not read her thoughts.

  “All right,” she said at last, as if coming to a decision she feared she might regret. “Tell me your tale.” She drew her knees up to her chest, tucking her toes under the hem of her skirt, like a child ready to hear a bedtime story.

  “I don’t know,” he hedged. “Everything was so long ago.”

  “Oh, no.” She shook her head. “You have played me hot and cold and the time’s come, Ian Campion. You’ve trusted me this far, tell the rest. I have to know.”

  And he sensed she did. Besides, why not clear the air between them? Then, when they parted, as they must, she would understand he was the worst possible man for her—and be thankful he hadn’t given her the kiss she’d requested.

  He began, “It all started after I returned from London. I’d been reading the law at Lincoln’s Inn,” he said, referring to one of the Four Inns of Court where he’d started his apprenticeship to be a barrister.

  “You read the law?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m surprised.”

  He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “Because I’m not as illiterate as you had assumed? I speak Latin and Greek along with your much-vaulted French and Spanish. Then of course, I’m conversant in Irish.”

  “I never thought you were—” she started, and then broke off. Indeed, she had insulted his intelligence on numerous occasions when they’d first met and well she knew it. The stain of embarrassment crept up her cheeks, yet Lyssa was one to hold her own. “What I meant is that I’m surprised…I mean, I didn’t know Catholics had access to, um…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Education?” Ian supplied. This was going to be a long conversation. “Catholics are educated,�
� he said quellingly. “Granted, no university in England would accept us and we’d not attend a Protestant School in Ireland, but there are ways. Some of my friends were sent abroad for their education. My father tutored me. He was a learned man, and I had no trouble with my studies. I was even preparing to be called to the Irish Bar.”

  “A Catholic?”

  “Lyssa! I don’t practice the religion. But even if I did, there are places for Catholics in the law.” Granted, it was a small place with numerous restrictions, but a place nonetheless. After all, they had to take a stand for their rights somewhere.

  But Lyssa’s active mind had moved on. “I surmised there was something more to you than met the eye,” she said victoriously.

  “You caught me off guard when you accused me of sounding like a barrister,” he admitted and she grinned, pleased with herself. “At one time, my family had been a great and wealthy one. But our fortunes fell with the passage of each oppressive law over the years. We still had our property and raised the finest race horses in Ireland, but make no mistake about the matter, Lyssa, we knew we lived on borrowed time.

  “Then I heard Daniel O’Connell speak. That man can speak. I can recall his words even now. He was a lawyer and a Catholic and he knew how to stand up to the English. I wanted to be exactly like him. So, with my parents’ blessing, I left for London, where I did very well until I returned to Ireland.”

  “What happened?”

  “I became too full of myself. I involved myself with a students’ group. We were radical. We were angry.”

  “Wasn’t that dangerous?”

  “Yes,” he said baldly. “In the beginning all we did was write a few pamphlets and hold a rally. However, the English have always been nervous.”

  “There have been uprisings in Ireland, Ian. The government has a reason to be nervous.”

  “They’d have no reason at all if they let the people who pay the taxes have a voice in the making of the laws that govern them.”

  He leaned back. There was no sense in being frustrated with Lyssa. She was merely parroting what she’d been taught and her attitude made him realize the differences between them.