Adventures of a Scottish Heiress

by Cathy Maxwell

  She saw her father at midday and then for supper. They were both quiet, having little to say to each other.

  After supper on the evening of the second day, he sought her out in the sunroom, where she had wandered to be alone for a moment. Night had fallen and the room was dark save for the glow of her single candle.

  “Lyssa?”

  She turned toward him in the chair she was sitting in. “Yes, Papa.”

  “I have a gift for you.”

  She unwrapped the package and found a book of poems by Lord Byron.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I know you need something to occupy your mind. After all, your other books were destroyed in that fire and Lord Byron was one of your favorites.”

  She nodded without enthusiasm and opened the book. The words leapt out to her from the page and she read aloud,

  I would I were a careless child

  Still dwelling in my highland cave

  Or roaming through the dusky wild

  Or bounding o’er the dark blue wave—

  Her voice broke as tears stung her eyes. She shut the book. She took a moment to compose herself before asking, “Has he left London for good yet?”

  She didn’t expect him to truly answer her, so his reply caught off guard. “He left on the first tide. Parker and I didn’t give him much time.”

  No, she had assumed they wouldn’t. “Parker can be very efficient. Where did you send him?”

  “To a place of his choosing.”

  “Maryland?” she guessed.

  Her father frowned. “How did you know?”

  “It is where we both would have gone.” She hugged the book to her chest.

  Coming around to sit on the footstool in front of her, her father placed his hands gently on her arms. “The ship is gone, Lyssa. He can’t come back. He and I agreed.” He paused and then said, “I know I may seem harsh to you, but someday you will understand.”

  “I might.” She shook her head. “Would mother have?”

  “Unfair, Lyssa.”

  “No, Papa, I’m being honest. At least tell me you paid him well?”

  Her father snorted. “I paid him his weight in gold,” he said and for the first time since Ian’s leaving she wanted to smile.

  “Good. He earned it.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Papa.” She rose, forcing him to sit back, and started for the door.

  His voice stopped her. “Lyssa, I am sorry.”

  “No, you aren’t,” she replied without heat. “But perhaps all parents think they know what is best.”

  She didn’t wait for his response but left to go to her lonely room.

  The Davidson tartan was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. She pulled the pins from her hair to set it free and put on her nightdress. Wrapping her plaid around her, she sat in a reading chair by the window. Candlelight was not the best to read by, but she had no choice. She needed to read the rest of the poem and savor its haunting words.

  Someday she’d feel complete again. But right now, it was as if she’d lost half her soul, half her conscience, half her reason for being.

  So she could be excused if when she saw Ian’s face framed in the branches of the tree some two feet outside her dark window, her first thought was she must be dreaming—until he reached to knock on the glass pane and almost fell out of the tree.

  Chapter Twenty

  “LYSSA, open the window. Let me in.”

  It was Ian. She hadn’t made him up out of dashed dreams and lost hopes.

  Lyssa bounced out of the chair and raised the sash. “Ian.” She said his name like a blessing.

  “Aye, and I’m not good at climbing. Nor do I like heights.” He reached for her window ledge. The branch shook under his weight. “And this bloody branch wasn’t made to hold my weight.”

  “Be careful,” she warned.

  “I’m trying,” he promised just as a crack sounded. He leaped the distance and practically fell into her arms, taking both of them to the carpeted floor.

  Lyssa hugged him close and drew in a deep breath, reveling in the scent of warm male and fresh air—Ian’s scent. “What are you doing here?” she asked happily. “You are supposed to be on your way across an ocean.”

  He brushed her nose with his. “I can’t leave without you.”

  Struggling to make sense of everything, Lyssa asked, “What of your sisters and their children?” Ian had started nibbling the tender skin beneath her chin. She placed a hand on each side of his face and made him look at her. “That’s how my father made you do his bidding, isn’t it? He threatened your family.”

  “It is—”

  “I thought as much. His behavior goes beyond being misguided or bullying. To threaten your sisters and their children is reprehensible. No wonder he’s been acting so guilty.”

  “Well, it’s good to know he has a conscience,” Ian observed dryly.

  “He’ll have more than a conscience when I’m through with him,” she flashed back, her temper rising. She would have scrambled to her feet and gone in search of him, except Ian rolled her over on top of him and held her still.

  “Lyssa, listen to me. Fiona and Janet are on the ship and they’re safe. And you and I must hurry if we are to catch up with them.” He sat up so that her legs cradled his ribs. He kissed her nose. “So are you coming, Lyssa? Are you ready for an adventure the likes of which you will never have again?”

  “You want me to go with you?” she repeated dumbly, scarcely believing her good fortune.

  “I told you I wouldn’t leave without you,” he said somberly. “I would never leave you behind.”

  And he kissed her. Fully, completely, thoroughly.

  He drew back. “You’re crying?”

  Lyssa put her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder, and sobbed. She needed at least a good minute of this before she confessed, “I didn’t know if I could live without ever kissing you again. I felt as if something inside of me was broken and would never be repaired. And now, here you are and you feel so good and smell so good and kiss so—”

  Ian kissed her again, gently, brushing her curls back from her face. When the kiss broke off, he whispered, “I want to kiss you like that every morning and every night for the rest of our lives.”

  She could have melted right on the spot.

  However, Ian had other plans. “Quick, let’s get going, because if your father finds me here, we’ll both be done up.”

  He didn’t have to tell her twice. She scrambled to her feet and started changing into a simple day dress. “What I need are breeches,” she said, her head in her wardrobe as she fetched her well-broken shoes. “If I had breeches, I could climb, I could ride.”

  “You’d be a Mistress of Running Away,” he agreed.

  “I’m serious.”

  He held up his hands. “I don’t doubt one word you’ve said. I’ve learned my lesson.”

  She stopped in the act of putting her foot in her shoe. “I love you,” she said fiercely.

  Pride shone in his eyes. “And I love you. Now come, let’s hurry.”

  “Can I take anything else?”

  “Whatever you think we can carry down the tree.”

  Lyssa pulled up short. “We’re going to climb down the tree? On the branch your weight just broke?”

  “I don’t have another plan,” he admitted candidly. “Between packing my sisters and the children and getting them and the horses on the ship, I’ve been a bit busy.”

  In two steps she stood before him. She gave him a hard buss on the mouth. “I’m pleased you could think of me.”

  “I could think of little else,” he answered, and her heart soared. Ian was here and all would be right in the world. They would make it out this night. Anything was possible.

  Lyssa stuffed three dresses in a small portmanteau, grabbed her hairbrush, a length of ribbon, tooth powder, and scented soap and she was ready to go—until her eye fell on the book her father had given earlier. It was a
slender volume and would not take up much room.

  “Another book, Lyssa?” he asked quietly.

  “My father gave it to me to start my new collection.”

  “I hope it isn’t Homer’s Odyssey.” Ian took the book from her hand and opened it to the title page. “Byron. I should have known.” He closed the book and handed it back to her.

  “Oh, but you should read this poem,” she said and would have reopened the book to share it with him, except for his common sense.

  “Lyssa, we can read on the ship. In fact, we can do a good number of interesting things on the ship—like invent our own poetry.”

  For a second, the images his suggestion conjured caught her spellbound, until he prompted, “Pack the book, Lyssa.”

  With a shake of her head, she came to her senses, tucked the book in the bag and pronounced herself ready just as a soft knock sounded on the door.

  Both Lyssa and Ian froze.

  “Lyssa, are you asleep yet?” came her stepmother’s voice.

  Lyssa could not answer. She’d lost her voice and perhaps because she did not say anything, the door slowly opened.

  “Lyssa?” The duchess looked to the bed, and seeing it empty lifted her gaze until she saw Lyssa standing beside Ian. “Lyssa,” she whispered in horror. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving.” She touched Ian’s arm. “He’s come for me and I must go. Tell Father I will be fine.”

  “I don’t know…?”

  “Please, Frances. I won’t be happy unless I’m with him.” This was the first time Lyssa had used her stepmother’s Christian name. She’d asked Lyssa to use it years ago when she and Lyssa’s father had married, but Lyssa had stubbornly refused. Now Lyssa was embarrassed by her childish behavior.

  The use of her name worked like a talisman on the duchess. She moved into the room, cradling the weight of her pregnant stomach with one arm. “Have you thought this through?”

  “I knew what I wanted before I stepped foot back in London,” Lyssa answered. “He’s everything to me.”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Ian promised. “She’ll be safe.” Frances frowned. “Please, we belong together,” he said.

  It was his final plea that softened her. “Yes, you do,” she agreed softly. “And I haven’t seen anything. I wasn’t even here.”

  She backed away, ready to leave, but the door suddenly flew open, Lyssa’s father stood there.

  Lyssa gave a frightened cry, but Ian seemed completely unafraid.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” her father said. “You should be on a ship for America!”

  “I could never leave without her.”

  “We had a bargain.” Her father opened the door so the light from the hallway lanterns flowed into the room.

  “No, you gave orders,” Ian corrected. “And I did leave on the tide, but I found I forgot something very important to me and I’ve returned to claim her.”

  “I’ll not let you have her.”

  Lyssa dared to defy him. “What will you do, Father, have him horsewhipped?”

  Her soft words gave her father a start. He stared at her as if truly seeing her for the first time and realizing she was all grown up. “Where did you hear about that?”

  “Ramsey Davidson bragged about it, Father. He laughed as he told the story, but I know that one incident was enough to drive you to best them.”

  “It was,” he agreed. “I made something of myself and for your mother and what are they?”

  “Nothing,” Lyssa said quietly.

  “You’re right, lass,” and for the first time in a long while, she heard the hint of a proud brogue in his voice.

  But then, his expression changed. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t compare us, Lyssa. I’m nothing like this Irish upstart.” Before she realized what could happen, he charged Ian, his fists doubled. His actions were so out of character, both Lyssa and her stepmother were caught off guard.

  To his credit, Ian moved back. He could have settled the matter with one blow. She’d witnessed him doing it more than once. Instead, he allowed Lyssa and Frances the time to put themselves between the two men.

  “Dunmore, stop this,” Frances ordered sharply and to Lyssa’s surprise, her father listened, perhaps because of the baby she carried, perhaps because of something else.

  “You’re taking leave of your senses,” she told him. “It’s done. Lyssa is going and you will not stop her.”

  Her father looked to his wife. “But we’ll not see her again.”

  The tone of his voice revealed a depth of pain Lyssa had not imagined. Her victory turned bittersweet.

  Frances took her husband’s hands. “She’s no longer yours, darling. It’s the way of the world and the way it must be. You have the child and it needs you, but then it must go and create its own life. You can’t keep her forever…and she loves him. Loves him enough to defy all wisdom and convention. Just like I love you.”

  “She’s my last link to Isobel.”

  “I know,” Frances said with the understanding only a woman who truly loves her husband can give. “But Isobel would want it this way, too.”

  Slowly, her father moved to where Lyssa stood with Ian’s arms around her and she realized with startling clarity that he’d been younger than she was now when he’d run away with her mother. “He’s Catholic.” His accusation had no bluster, but a quiet sense of resignation.

  “He doesn’t practice,” she said.

  Her father’s frown deepened. “But someday, when you have children, he will want his church.”

  “I love him, Father. I respect him. We will find some agreement, some middle ground. Certainly, if two people care as much for each other as we do, God can only be pleased.”

  For a second, her father appeared ready to protest again, but then Frances said, “Dunmore, it is time.”

  In his sad acceptance of what was to be, her father appeared to age right before her eyes. Frances touched him on the shoulder and he covered her hand with his. Now Lyssa was glad her stepmother was in their lives. She would protect and care for Lyssa’s father.

  “Don’t let any harm come to her,” her father said to Ian.

  “None will,” Ian swore.

  “Then go,” he said with a curt motion of his head.

  Lyssa was not about to leave him like this. She left Ian’s arms and crossed to her father to hug him one last time. He smelled of lemon oil and spice. His shoulders were still strong and she knew he would be fine…but it didn’t make the parting easier. “I shall think of you every day. And we shall see each other again. I will want to see my half brother.” She kissed his cheek and then kissed Frances, too. “Thank you,” she murmured before facing the man she loved. “Let’s use the door. I have no desire to climb on that tree branch you cracked.”

  Her change of subject seemed to spark life in her father. “He came in the window?”

  Lyssa nodded. “It was a very dramatic entrance.”

  “Well, leave it to the Irish,” her father said, but there was no longer anger in his words.

  Ian picked up her portmanteau and held out his hand. Lyssa placed hers in his and together, they left the room. She didn’t even need to look back.

  As they went down the stairs, he said, “There is a sloop waiting for us. We should reach the ship by tomorrow morning.”

  She nodded, stepped down to the landing and found Parker waiting there. For a moment, their three gazes met. Lyssa spoke first. “Good-bye, Parker. Please take care of Papa and my stepmother.”

  “I will, Miss Harrell.” He looked to Ian. “Obviously, I’m not the only one who knows how to make swift arrangements.”

  “No, you’re not,” Ian agreed and reached to open the front door.

  “Good luck, Mr. Campion,” Parker said and Ian grinned.

  They were free.

  The sloop was waiting exactly as Ian had said it would. As they set sail, Lyssa and Ian stood at the prow, his arms around her waist, watching night-darkene
d London drift away. The wind through her hair was exciting and after days of sadness her spirits soared.

  He held up his hand. In his finger was a card folded and worn from being carried from one end of the kingdom to another. The Knight of Swords. She was surprised he had it, having assumed she had lost it during their sojourn in the bothy.

  “Are you ready for an adventure?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she agreed, taking the card from him.

  “Then follow me,” he said and he led her to his private quarters…and it was a very fine adventure indeed.

  Epilogue

  IAN thought he’d go to pieces the night he and Lyssa’s first child was born.

  It was storming, a powerful lightning and thunderstorm that shook the earth. One of many things they’d liked about their new country were the magnificent storms, and of course, the baby would choose the occasion of one to make its first appearance in the world.

  Fiona and Janet took matters in hand, giving Liam strict orders to keep his uncle occupied. “No matter what, don’t let him enter the birthing room,” Janet had said.

  “I won’t,” Liam had promised and was true to his word. He blocked the door with the tenacity of a Beefeater.

  The lad had taken to his new surroundings. Of course, the horses helped. After all, they were in his blood, and where he used to use his speed to serve as lookout for others or to filch an occasional fob chain for himself, he now dreamed of racing. Irish Fortune had just won his first race, bringing in a good purse. Ian knew Liam hoped to go along when he took Fortune to New Jersey next month for another race.

  Racing in the United States was not as disciplined as in Britain, or the stakes as high, but Ian thought they could do well, and after all, horse breeding was horse breeding. Given a few more wins, Fortune would be in demand.

  Ian had even started reading the law again and hoped to soon be called before the Maryland bar. Here, he could practice all aspects of law.

  Maeve and Johnny were adjusting well, too. But then children always adapted easily.