by Muir, L. L.
Had his destination of Scotland been coincidence or not?
He thought back to the lottery, that night when his name was drawn, but Northwick had hidden the tile and claimed it was his own lot that had been pulled from the small barrel. That deception was no longer significant, so he thought back a few moments earlier, to when Landtree had donated his cursed Scottish property to the loser.
Ash remembered his gut clenching, his heart jumping when the name of her country dredged up such strong emotion. Now he wondered if his longing for her somehow lifted his name to the top of the barrel. Did he will himself to Scotland by way of the lottery?
Ash’s name being drawn had set so many pieces in motion. Had a different lot been chosen, North would have never met Livvy. The grinning, love-struck pair would never have driven Ash from London. Ash would never have demanded the Scottish property in order to have a destination. And he would have never encountered that woman last night—a woman who’d dragged a heart-breaking memory from the mud of his soul and made him. . .want again.
But was it the woman he wanted, or absolution?
Of course he had regrets. He would readily apologize for believing she was allied with the men who had kidnapped Northwick. He wanted to beg her forgiveness for not tying her securely to a tree and keeping her from ever viewing the carnage that was Givet Faux. If he’d managed it, the big Scotsman would have never planted that doubt in Ash’s mind.
Scotia would have never been forced to kill that woman in defense of herself and her brother. But most important of all, she would never have heard Ash accuse her of duplicity nor have been convinced he wanted her dead.
And she would never have fled.
Ash’s friends would prefer he blame all his faults on Battle Fever, would have him believe that the red haze was too thick to allow any of them to think clearly. And yet, none of them had questioned her.
Of course Northwick hadn’t been in on the fighting, but after the Scot had taken the woman out of the keep, his too-thin friend had been carried away with rage to match Ash’s own. North had attacked the still-bleeding form of the Frenchman with all the strength he could find, until he, too, was splattered with as much blood as the rest of them.
And the following morning, North had granted Scotia’s boon without question. He’d let her go.
Ash felt fresh anger fill his lungs and a truth startled him.
God help him, he was angry with North!
Perhaps Ash had never allowed himself to be angry with the man earlier because until recently, North had been in a questionable state of mind. Perhaps now that his friend was recovered and, in truth, happier than he’d ever been, Ash’s anger could cause the man no harm.
“Damn you, Northwick!” Ash shouted. “Why the bloody hell did you let her go?”
The words died away with no one to answer them, but Ash felt better in any case.
Better, but still wanting.
A wide-eyed footman appeared at the door. Ash waved the young man away.
Heaven help him, how could one strange Scotswoman stir up so much? Worse yet, he’d placed himself in the heart of an entire country full of them! And the only one he wanted would never step foot on Scottish soil again.
He’d packed his bags and half a household. . .and delivered himself to the doorsteps of his own Hell.
Lucky for him, however, the road to Hell led out again.
But before he left, he’d put this Reaper fellow out of business. He’d do as he’d planned, get the property and its people back to prosperity and away from the devastation the previous owners brought about. Of course, Northwick hadn’t been among the vultures; he’d only owned the property for a few weeks before Ash had demanded the deed from him.
Soon, there would be no more need of a Robin Hood figure to sustain the crofters of Brigadunn. And if all went well, The Reaper would see justice of some sort. Ash hated to punish a man for helping his fellow Scots survive against greedy and inept landlords, but The Reaper had known what would happen if he were caught. He’d assumed that risk.
Laws were what raised men above the beasts. If there were no law, the world would be a madhouse, as France had been. At Givet Faux, Ash had taken it upon himself to be judge and executioner. And one day, he too would answer a higher law.
The similarity between himself and this Highland Reaper caught him by surprise.
Ash considered, for the hundredth time that day, the woman The Reaper had sent to steal Finn from him. They even had a similar taste in women!
Tolly appeared at the doorway and gave a bow.
“You bellowed something, yer lordship?” the old man asked innocently.
Ash could hardly take the man to task. After all, he had bellowed.
After a moment’s thought, he said, “Bring me the eldest son of Allen Balliol.”
Finn’s young gasp came from the hallway.
“Come to me, Finn,” he called.
The lad marched through the door with his quivering chin held high.
“Sit down. I’m told Shakespeare. . .is no longer with us. My sympathies.”
Finn looked at the velvet covered chair, then glanced down at his clothes.
“You won’t damage the chair, lad. Sit.”
He’d have to see about getting the boy some decent attire so he didn’t feel so out of sorts in Ash’s household. Since Balliol hadn’t tip-toed around the stately furnishings, the only thing that might give the boy pause would be the people who now inhabited the house, and all dressed a damn sight better than the supposedly royal Balliol’s. But perhaps the rags were the result of a lack of females in the lad’s household.
Poor Finn.
When Ash had returned from his near-maiming, he’d barked at the lad to get to bed, then taken his foul mood to his rooms. What had completely slipped his mind was the fact that Finn had attempted to stop him from pursuing the woman. The poor boy probably hadn’t slept all night for fear of what his punishment might be. Then Ash had made the lad wait all day before speaking to him.
“Finn Balliol,” he said as he walked to the mantle and took the seat opposite the lad. “You are to be commended for keeping your word last night.”
“Pardon?” The lad’s grip on the chair’s arms relaxed not a whit.
“That woman was clearly determined to rescue you from my dastardly clutches and yet you fought her off. I merely thought you should know your actions did not go unnoticed.”
Finn was speechless. Ash bit his lip to keep from laughing.
“Actually, none of your actions went unnoticed.”
While Ash carefully laced his fingers and laid them across his lap, Finn swallowed, then swallowed again.
“I wonder, who is this woman that you would risk all to help her get away?”
The boy took a deep breath and folded his arms. Then he looked Ash in the eye, but said nothing.
“I wonder who are you, to this Hecuba, that she would risk all to come to your rescue?”
Finn’s eyes began to swim just before he looked off into the distance.
So, he knew the woman.
“Will you give me her name?”
The boy shook his head only once and salty tears began to pour.
“You will not be punished for trying to help her, Finn. There is no dishonor in coming to a lady’s aid.”
The boy nodded absently, far too distracted to properly appreciate Ash’s generosity.
“What is it, son?”
Finn shook his head. “May I be excused then, yer lairdship?”
“Sir will do,” Ash reminded.
“May I be excused, sir?”
“Your brother will be here forthwith. Do you wish to see him?”
The boy’s eyes flew wide and he shook his head most fervently.
“Obviously, you do not. Well, your brother will feel differently.”
The tears flowed afresh and, though irritated, Ash could not resist giving the lad some relief.
“Well, I shall let him have a p
eek at you, but you’re not to speak to each other, is that clear?”
Finn nodded, his small head quickly bobbing up and down, the flow of his tears ceased immediately.
“Can you read? Write?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Then you will hie yourself off to my library and I shall find a book for you about this Hecuba woman.” Ash stood and urged the boy out of the room.
“Aye, but she was no woman, sir.” Finn seemed to forget his troubles before the tears had a chance to dry on his cheeks. “She was a queen, and woe betide those who killed her boy.”
Ash took up his coat. “And who taught you Greek history, Finn? That sister of yours?”
“Aye, sir. She told me the tale just before. . .just before she went away.”
Perhaps the sister’s death was still weighing heavy on the boy’s heart. Hopefully that was all that had brought him to tears and not some current worry. But on the way to the library, Ash couldn’t help but ask why Finn didn’t want to speak to his brother.
“I. . . I dinna want to be tempted, aye?”
They paused at the library door and Ash turned the boy to face him. “Tempted to do what, may I ask?”
The lad’s boys flew wide, but he recovered quickly.
“Tempted to run away,” he said, then smiled as if he was pleased with his own quick thinking.
Ash opened the library door and ushered his hostage inside, and for the life of him, he could not imagine what the boy was keeping from them all.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Mary Dowds is gone,” Coll announced as he entered the tent. “That’s three this week and the blighter hasna done much more than feed a few crofters and promise better times to come.”
Blair gave a nod, but hid her reaction, knowing Coll was testing her. He’d stood beside her since she’d first donned the guise of The Highland Reaper, but he was forever waiting for her to break. It would only be natural, he’d said, if she suddenly tired of the fight and decided to go home. What he’d really meant was, “Surely a woman canna hold out long.”
So each morning, when she emerged from her wee room in their shared cottage, Coll would raise a brow in surprise before bidding her a good morn.
As their following grew, as more and more Scots came to depend on her protection, she’d expected that surprise to fade, but it hadn’t. And since their numbers were lessening every day, she could feel Coll watching her, waiting for some signal to jump to his feet and hold the door for her as she fled.
But he would never understand. Even if he left, and there was none in The Vale but her, she’d not go home. She’d leave her beloved country before she’d beg her father to take her back.
Mary had been one of the first to put herself and her children under The Reaper’s protection. It wasn’t as if Blair felt Mary owed her some sort of loyalty, for she knew well how Mary missed her husband, but Blair would miss the woman’s five children terribly. They were a clever bunch that seemed to understand the difference between superstition and truth, but who knew how long they would remember what they’d learned? Blair would simply hope the older ones would keep passing their educations along.
“That’s ten children in but seven days,” Coll pointed out.
She realized Coll might not be prodding as she’d thought. He’d become as attached to the bairns as she was, since Coll looked upon all their young wards as his own. Unfortunately, he looked upon their mothers with the same eye. What the man sorely needed was a clever wife who could keep his attention.
“Aye,” she said. “Ten more mouths for the Anglishmon to feed. Thirteen, including their mothers. He’ll be changing his tune in a month’s time, I’ll wager.”
Coll sat on the cot and began unlacing one of his boots.
“I’ll not take that wager, thought I believe ye may be wrong, Blair. And what then? If ye lose them all, what do ye then?” He pulled off the boot and gave it a shake. A pebble popped out and rolled under the cot. “Will ye go away, as ye’ve said ye must? What if the bastard turns greedy in a year and takes it all away again? How many will die before another Reaper rises up to save them? A hundred this time?”
Coll stomp his foot back into his boot. His angry fingers worked the laces back into place.
“Collier McGill!” She could hide her frustration no longer. “Bite yer tongue and swallow yer teeth.” She put her fists to her hips. “They’re my people and I’ll not be leaving them to the English wolf wearing the skin of a sheep. Do you truly believe I’d be so easily swayed? Ye’re forever thinking I’ll slink away in the night and I’m through with yer lack of faith in me just because I’m a woman.”
He stood and brought his nose close to hers, his pose a mirror of her own. “Ye think I suppose ye’ll bolt because yer a woman? Hah! It has naught to do with what ye have, or haven’t, beneath yer skirts, Blair Balliol.”
“Then what is it? How could you think I’d abandoned ye all?”
Coll took a deep breath but his frown remained. “Ye’re always sayin’ we’re a family, and that all in The Vale is yer clan. But we ken what ye’ve done to yer real clan, aye? Ye allow the family of yer blood to mourn and miss ye. What will keep ye from doing the same to the family of yer heart?”
She shook her head while she waited for his words to make sense.
“Ye’re wrong,” she whispered. “It was my father who chose to mourn me as soon as I left home. My brothers. . .well, my brothers know the truth now.”
Coll scoffed. “An accident you never intended.”
“No matter.”
“Yer wrong, Blair. It matters. It matters that ye keep the truth from yer father. He’s a good man. Ye canna deny that at least.”
“A good man? Aye, sure. A good man; a poor father.”
“Hah! Then ye both have forgiveness to beg. A tit fer a tat.”
Blair felt tears rise behind her eyes and was grateful for the dim light.
“What would ye have me do?” she asked. For fear of others overhearing, she lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. It was all the restraint she had left. “Show meself? Do I tell him all, that I’m The Highland Reaper? Or do I let him believe as the others do, that I share The Reaper’s bed? Do I beg him to call me daughter only to have him believe he was right—that I’d end as a whore? Better for him to believe I’m dead and gone.”
Eventually, Coll’s shoulders dropped and he nodded. He lowered himself onto the cot once more. With the matter finally settled between them, at least for the moment, it seemed they had little else to discuss. The tent was suddenly too small for two, so she looked about for her cloak, intending to take a stroll.
He spoke again. “Since my first ride with The Highland Reaper, I’ve known the days of glory were numbered, that there would be an end to it, one way or another. But I always supposed it would end with The Reaper leaving, not the valefolk.”
Blair smiled, glad for the chance to erase the awkwardness between them. “Are ye afraid for the people, or afraid of so many women returnin’ to their husband’s beds?”
Coll cut her a look that said she’d hit close to the mark, even though his lips curved up in a smirk.
“Or is there a particular lass ye prefer would never go home again?”
He came to his feet and stretched. “And what of ye, Blair Balliol? Have ye gone soft on the man who holds young Finn hostage? What happened that night that ye’ve yet to tell us? Why are ye suddenly warm on the idea of his success? What might he have said that makes ye allow the bastard to remain on Scottish soil, eh?”
She shook her head. “T’isn’t so. I swear it. But it’s been two years for Mary and some of the others as well. Ye canna blame them for wanting to go home. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to hold them in the vale against their wishes.” She raised her chin. “But letting them go has nothing whatever to do with the Englishman. He’ll go, and soon. Dinna doubt it.”
The risk of allowing another greedy landlord sink his talons into the land and her people was too gre
at. Better to shoo the man away, and fast, as they had the previous lord, Landtree.
Coll sighed, then reached for her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and set his chin on her head. “Auch, lassie. I fear for me own happiness is all, for I have been happy in the vale with all those bairns needin’ a man to look up to. Forgive me for bein’ sae selfish. I just dinna like it when things change, aye?”
She gave an unladylike snort. “And yet ye change beds often enough.”
Coll laughed and pushed her away. “Auch, nay.” He winked. “Never often enough.”
He left the tent and Blair collapsed on the cot, her knees a bit too shaky for a stroll. If she was to run off this large Englishman, it would take more than a simple harassing to convince him to go. She would have to frighten him to the bone, frighten him enough to sacrifice his pride and flee. And to do it, she would need to go to Brigadunn yet again. Close work was required. But getting close would mean coming far too near Allen Balliol, and the thought brought a shiver up her spine.
Allen Balliol had said she was dead. Allen Balliol believed she was dead in truth. And if there was one thing Allen Balliol would not permit, it was for someone to make a liar of him.
Blair wrapped her arms around herself and thought of Mary Dowds. . .and wished there was some place on this earth she could run home to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Oh, there ye are, me laird.” Tolly pointed out the obvious and entered Ash’s study the next morning with a salver in one hand and an envelope in the other. At the last moment, he slapped the latter onto the former and held them out—almost within reach.
Ash sat forward and glared at the man, but it was no use. The Scotsman was far too cheerful and oblivious to be running the household staff of the most dangerous gentleman of the ton. He’d never last. One of these days, Ashmoore would find a dungeon in which to toss the old duff and let him contemplate the errors of his ways. It might take years, and thus Ash would no longer be on hand to accept his plethora of apologies.
