Viking Vengeance

by Maggie Foster

  He sighed heavily. He’d better go apologize again, and mean it this time. He crossed the hall and tapped on her door.

  “Ginny?”

  When he got no answer, he turned the knob. The door was unlocked and the room empty.

  She could be anywhere, of course, but his mind immediately flew to the worst case scenario. She had run out into the snow and would die of cold. She had gone for a walk and met with an accident or a wild animal or human predators. She had left him.

  Jim felt his heart racing and tried to talk himself down. Her coat was gone. She wouldn’t freeze. If she had her pistol with her, it was the wild animals and human predators who should be on guard. As for abandoning the trip, she had promised Himself she would see Charlie safely to Halifax. She might be unwilling to follow Jim’s instructions, but she would keep her promise to the Laird.

  He pulled his phone out and dialed her number. The buzzing that reached his ears showed him her phone, abandoned on the desk.

  Jim did a quick search of the room. The only thing missing was her coat, so she was on the grounds somewhere. But if he was going to find her in the snow-covered woods, dressed as she was in a white parka, he was going to need help.

  * * *

  Saturday Evening

  Beverwyck Homestead

  Ginny dropped the laundry on the floor of her room, closed the door behind her and leaned against it. All he wanted to do was keep her safe. Safe and out of danger. Safe at home, with the bairns, and the kine, and the cooking pots.

  Why did the thought of that life make her crazy? All she wanted was to be useful. She could be useful as someone’s wife, someone’s mother. Why did she want more?

  She pulled out her phone and dialed home. Her mother answered immediately.

  “Ginny, darling! Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Himself said there was trouble with Charlie, that you spent the night on the side of the road.”

  “Both true, but Charlie is safe and we are all three at the Albany Homestead.”

  “The news is full of the storm.”

  Ginny listened to her mother’s description of the damage and wondered how they had missed the downed power lines and tree trunks.

  “How are you and Jim getting along?”

  Ginny almost smiled. Her mother had an uncanny knack for reading her moods.

  “We’ve had a fight.”

  “What about?”

  “It’s the same old thing. No man likes to be shown up by a woman.” She explained about the wolf.

  Her mother sighed. “I don’t see that you had any choice.”

  “I know.”

  “How’s he taking it?”

  “He apologized for his bad mood.”

  “Oh? That sounds hopeful.”

  “Mother, you didn’t see his face! He looked like he wanted to scrape me off the bottom of his shoe. He’s very well brought up, but he couldn’t hide his true feelings.” And, in all honesty, it was better to know.

  “Maybe his feelings will change.”

  “And maybe pigs will fly. I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  “I wish I could give you a hug.”

  “Me, too.”

  “You know I love you very much.”

  “I know.”

  “And I’m very proud of you.”

  “I know.”

  “And Himself is counting on you to keep Jim in line, discreetly, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Ginny hung up the phone feeling homesick and depressed. She had asked her mother, once, how she had managed to find and marry Ginny’s father. She’d been told they were introduced by their parents, both sets having decided it would be a good match. They’d been right. Too bad that hadn’t been an option for her.

  She scrolled through her messages, finding a text from Pittsburgh, dated yesterday morning. The package had arrived. What were her instructions? Too late to ask them to send the talisman to Albany. She instructed them to send it on to Bangor.

  She set the phone down on the desk, pulled on her coat, and opened the door. The hallway was empty. She slipped out and made her way down the staircase as quietly as she could, hurrying past the great rooms to the back entrance and out onto the grounds, glad she hadn’t run into anyone, hadn’t had to speak to anyone. She struck out for the quickest way into the woods.

  She walked hard for twenty minutes, struggling to understand herself. She didn’t want to be a man. She didn’t even want to compete with men. The firing range was a good example. She took no pride in beating other shooters. She compared herself only to the numbers on the target and how well she had performed last time out.

  Was she sorry she was a good shot? No. Was she sorry she’d had to use that skill? That was more difficult to answer. She’d worked very hard to get that good. Why? So she could save a life? Maybe. Her own, maybe. Someone weaker than herself, maybe. A child, an elderly person. Someone who actually needed to be rescued.

  He’d been on the ground with the wolf on top of him, its teeth clamped on his gun arm. What, exactly, was the definition of ‘needed to be rescued’? Even if Jim had managed to get his gun out and shoot the wolf dead—with his weak hand and at close quarters—he could not have gotten Charlie back to the car unaided. Could he?

  Ginny found her imagination working overtime. Jim had pulled his gun from his waistband, fired into the face of the wolf (splattering gore everywhere), avoided the death spasm that was said to prevent prying the animal’s teeth apart, risen to his feet, picked up Charlie with his good arm, and the two of them had hobbled out to the car on Charlie’s broken leg, carrying all the gear, Jim losing blood at every step, the wolves following, waiting for one or both to fall so they could attack. Right.

  The image of his face, the expression on his face as she knelt to inspect his wound, rose before her eyes. His opinion of her at that moment had been clear.

  She blinked hard, scolding herself for being foolish. It didn’t matter what she felt. He was the one who mattered. He would be Laird of Loch Lonach. Male. A physician. A good choice.

  She had thought, for a while, she might be useful, but it didn’t have to be her. Anyone would do. In Jim’s eyes she was superfluous. Worse, a liability. It made sense to let someone else teach him. She would go home and let someone else take over.

  Ginny was fighting hard to be rational, to banish emotion, but she was human and the feelings would not be denied. She found herself ankle-deep in snow, staring at the trunk of a fine, old oak. She balled up her fist, her soul aching to lash out.

  How dare he despise her? How many times did she have to prove her worth to him? How many ways? She hauled back and hit the tree, feeling the shock run up her arm and across her shoulders. It hurt, but it was a good hurt. Physical pain was so much easier to bear than psychological pain. She did it again.

  There was a low sound coming from deep inside, forced out between clenched teeth, an elemental cry of protest at her own helplessness. She had saved his LIFE. And he hated her for it.

  She hit the tree again, harder, trying to make the anger and frustration and disappointment go away. WHY couldn’t he appreciate her for who she was? WHY did he have to be such an arrogant, self-righteous, STUPID male? AND WHY DID SHE CARE?

  She was pounding the tree with both fists now, grinding her teeth, shrieking with anger and impotence and completely unaware that she was no longer alone. A hand came around from behind her head, caught her wrist in mid punch, and held it, turning her away from the tree, pulling her into his arms, holding her tightly.

  “Stop, lass! Ye’ll hurt yerself.”

  Ginny struggled to break free, pulling back and trying to twist out of his grip. She couldn’t speak. It was all she could do to breathe.

  “Easy, lass. I’ll not hurt ye.”

  She looked up to find a tall man with bushy white eyebrows. He was surprisingly strong for someone clearly no longer young. She stopped struggling, knowing he would let go sooner i
f she cooperated.

  “That’s better.”

  He was looking at her, studying her and she blushed at the realization that she had been caught making a fool of herself.

  “Come wi’ me, lass.”

  “No!” Ginny tugged again, this time succeeding in pulling free, and backed away. She hadn’t meant to sound so rude. It had just come out that way.

  He crossed his arms, and she saw the eyebrows come together. He was clearly trying to decide what to do with her and the intensity of his gaze made her take another step back.

  She saw him blink, then his expression softened.

  “Dinna be afraid, lass. I’ll no hurt ye. I’m Gordon.”

  Mrs. Gordon’s husband. All right. Fine. But she was in no mood for company. She took another step back, intending to run.

  He made no move to stop her, instead reaching into his pocket and pulling out a phone. She watched him select a number then lift the phone to his ear.

  “Angus? I’ve Ginny Forbes here. She’s a wee bit upset and I thought ye might wish tae speak wi’ her.” He held the phone out toward her. “Yer laird, lass.”

  She swallowed, then stepped closer, reaching for the device. She tried to lift it to her ear, but her damaged hands wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Let me.” He took the thing back and pushed a button. “Angus? Yer on speaker.”

  “Ginny?”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m here.”

  “I see ye’ve met Dr. Gordon.”

  Doctor? “Yes, sir.”

  “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “Yes.”

  With Gordon holding the phone, Ginny could not walk away. She had to stay close enough to be heard. He was watching her and Ginny felt as if he was eavesdropping.

  “Yer mither tells me ye and Jim had a wee fallin’ oot.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me, lass.”

  Ginny drew in a shuddering breath. She didn’t want to talk about Jim. “There’s nothing to tell. I did what I had to. He wasn’t happy about it. End of story.”

  “Weel, tha’ doesnae sound sae bad. Ye’ll be makin’ it up afore long.”

  Ginny felt the cold seeping into her bones and started to shiver. She needed to bring this conversation to a close. She would be polite, she decided, but firm. Instead she found herself blurting out what she really wanted to say.

  “I want permission to come home.”

  There was a short pause on the other end of the line.

  “Ye’ve no forgotten why I sent ye on this journey?”

  “I have not. He doesn’t want my help. Nor does he need it.”

  “And wha’ makes ye say that?”

  “I’m just getting in his way. Let me go back where I belong, where I can do some good.”

  She heard another pause.

  “I’m thinkin’ my reasons fer sending ye still hold. Yer there tae keep him oot o’ trouble. Where would he ha’e been if ye’d no’ been there tae deal wi’ th’ wolf?”

  Ginny drew in a ragged breath and tried again.

  “Your grandson is a good man. He’s strong and brave and capable. Please let me come home.”

  “What did he do, lass? What did he say tae ye?”

  Ginny felt her heart constrict. “Nothing!”

  “It must ha’e been something, tae bring ye tae this point.”

  Ginny put her face in her hands and tried not to disintegrate. She could hear Gordon’s voice, close to her ear, speaking into the phone.

  “Gi’e me a chance tae talk tae them, Angus. I’ll call ye back.”

  She was shivering, hard, her face still in her hands, her eyes closed. How had she managed to screw this up so badly? Instead of a quiet hour or two exorcising her frustration in solitude, she had two powerful men hovering over her while she tried to escape a third.

  “Here, lass.” Gordon slipped the phone into his pocket, then put his arm around her shoulders and steered her down the path. Ginny had just enough self-control left to stay on her feet and keep moving.

  He took her back toward the main complex, then veered off to what had to be his house. He let her in the front door, sat her down in the kitchen, and put the kettle on. While the water boiled, he cleaned and bandaged her torn knuckles, then applied ice packs to control the swelling.

  He put the first aid kit away and came back with a bottle, adding some of the liquid and a thick syrup to the hot tea. Honey and whisky. Ginny sipped at the hot toddy and felt all the comfort of that mixture sliding through her veins. By the time he had settled down across from her, his own drink in front of him, she had stopped shivering.

  He regarded her across the table, then pulled out his phone again. Ginny listened to his end of the conversation.

  “Mother? Aye, I’ve got th’ lass here, wi’ me.” He listened to the reply, then shook his head. “I think no. Tell him she’s safe, but naught else.” He listened for a minute longer. “Aye. I’ll do that.”

  He hung up and put the phone away, then his eyes settled on her.

  “Now, lass. Tell me the truth. Why are ye running away from Jim Mackenzie?”

  * * *

  Chapter 28

  Saturday Evening

  Beverwyck Homestead

  Jim sat in the dining room with Mrs. Gordon. She had carefully explained that Ginny was with the Laird of Beverwyck and the Laird was a psychiatrist. She was safe, but Jim could not see her until they were finished talking.

  Through the haze of his fear, he heard those words, over and over again. She had been found, taken in, was being cared for. Over and over, he saw her face during their last conversation, heard his grandfather’s rebuke, heard his own words to her. Uncharitable at best. Peevish. Selfish. Self-centered. He suffered flashes of chagrin, then anger alternating with raw fear. She was safe, but that might not be enough if she was also through with him.

  “Tell me about her.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me about Ginny. How did you meet?”

  An image of that evening rose before his eyes. Ginny in full bloom, dressed in velvet, her thick braid curled on her head like a crown. Hard on its heels was the vision of her the next day, the day he started to love her. He sketched the evening for Mrs. Gordon.

  “What’s she like, as a person?”

  Jim thought for a moment before answering. “Curious, tenacious. She wants to understand things. She can think clearly, which not everyone can do. She can dance and sing and—” He had been going to say, “shoot,” but felt it would open up a subject he wasn’t prepared to discuss. “—cook. And she’s very good at organizing things.”

  “A useful talent. What does she want to do with her life?”

  “Do?” Jim stared at the woman across from him.

  “Does she want to continue bedside nursing, or move into management? If she’s good at organizing, she’d make a good Director of Nurses.”

  Jim found himself at a loss. He’d never considered what would happen to Ginny after he married her. Had he expected her to give up her career? To devote her life to him? He licked dry lips, then nodded. “Yes, she would.”

  “Or maybe we could use her in one of the Homesteads. Is she good with numbers?”

  “Numbers?” He was beginning to sound half-witted.

  “You know, budgets, bookkeeping, managing money.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Does she want children?”

  Jim tried to remember if she’d ever said. All he could hear was his own voice, telling her what he wanted. “I think so.”

  “Not all women do, especially those with successful careers.”

  Was it Jim’s imagination, or was there a barb in that comment? Mrs. Gordon took a sip of her coffee, her eyes still on him. “She was engaged to that other man, I think you said.”

  “No, thank God! He asked, but she turned him down.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “Yes.” Everyone said so. Everyone but him.

  Jim wasn’t sure he could
handle much more of this. He looked at his watch, again. “Will it be much longer?” he asked.

  “I shouldn’t think so. Are you hungry?”

  Jim shook his head. Nauseated was more accurate. Sick with fear. He’d never fully understood that phrase before. He did now.

  * * *

  Saturday Afternoon

  Beverwyck Homestead

  Ginny met Dr. Gordon’s eyes.

  “How did you know I was there?”

  “Th’ cameras are motion activated. When ye left th’ complex, my wife was notified and she alerted me.”

  “You spy on your guests?”

  “’Tis a dangerous place and we’ve needed th’ surveillance tae help us find missing bairns. Why were ye hittin’ the tree?”

  Ginny looked down at her hands. “I was frustrated.”

  “And ye needed tae hit something?”

  “Yes.” She lifted her eyes to meet his. “I thought I was alone.”

  “Yer never alone, lass. Not as long as ye belong tae a Homestead.” He took a sip of his toddy. “I took th’ liberty o’ calling yer laird this afternoon when th’ three o’ ye came in.”

  Ginny waited.

  “Angus and I go way back, ye ken.”

  Of course.

  “Here’s wha’ he told me. Yer headed fer Halifax. Yer traveling wi’ two men, one o’ whom is the young Mackenzie. An’ yer boyfriend recently proved tae be no friend.”

  Ginny knew Angus Mackenzie well enough to know he would have a motive for telling Gordon about her. Not just gossip, either. Angus never did anything without a reason. He wanted something from Gordon. Something to do with her. She looked across the table at him.

  “Are you the Laird here, sir?”

  “Aye, lass.”

  That made him her host. As such, she owed him a certain amount of obedience. Also thanks for taking them in, and for the medical care. In lieu of a curtsy, she bobbed her head. “We are very grateful for your help.”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed one long leg over the other.

  “Tell me about yer parents, lass.”