“Ye’ll be more comfortable,” the housekeeper insisted. “And look at your sister. The wee lass is already sleeping.”
Though she would hardly consider Amelia a wee lass, Juliette was thankful that at least one of her sisters would find rest tonight.
“I’ll come and fetch you when I want to be undressed,” she told Mrs. Larson. “No more than an hour, I promise.”
The housekeeper’s gaze narrowed. “Ye’re wanting to see him again, am I right? The handsome Dr. Fraser.”
“No,” she blurted out, startled that Mrs. Larson would think that. Her heart stammered at the thought of it. “I—I mean, he—”
Mrs. Larson crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Ye can hem and haw all ye like, Miss Juliette. But we both ken that Dr. Fraser would hurl himself off a mountain if ye asked him to.”
“I would never ask him to do anything for me,” she said. “We’re not suited at all.”
Despite Juliette’s protests, the housekeeper shook her head. “Give the lad a chance. He may not have a noble title, but he’s got a good heart.”
A title had nothing to do with her reluctance, Juliette thought.
“And he loves ye,” Mrs. Larson added. “That’s worth something, isn’t it?”
“He doesn’t,” Juliette insisted. “He couldn’t. We’re only friends.” She had to believe that. His letters had been filled with stories and funny moments during his medical studies. She would not remember the words of affection he’d written, nor the promise that one day he wanted to marry her. Friendship was all they’d ever have.
But even so, she remembered the feeling of Paul’s hands upon her shoulders and the look of interest in his eyes. She’d lost herself for a moment, his gaze pushing back the years to the girl she had been.
“If ye say so.” Mrs. Larson appeared unconvinced. “But ye did catch yer sister’s bonnet. All of us ken that ye’ll be the next to wed. Whether it’s Dr. Fraser or a nobleman your mother chooses, none can say.”
“No, I won’t be.” She didn’t care what their ridiculous superstitions were. She refused to ever marry and would let no one talk her into it.
“There’s a wager among the MacKinlochs. By next summer, Dr. Fraser will be yer husband. That may well be true.” The smug look on the housekeeper’s face was enough to push Juliette’s temper over the edge.
Had Paul said something to the crofters or boasted about them? He should know better than to do such a thing.
“Perhaps ye should speak with him,” Mrs. Larson suggested. “He’s outside now, talking with Mr. MacKinloch.”
Her first instinct was to refuse. Yet… what if he had said something to the others? She’d thought she’d made herself clear the last time, but perhaps it was time to put any thoughts of marriage firmly out of Paul Fraser’s head.
She borrowed a shawl from the housekeeper and added, “I’ll be back within an hour.”
Mrs. Larson nodded her approval. “Be assured, I won’t be telling Lady Lanfordshire about where ye’ve gone, if that’s what you’re fearing. Be careful, won’t ye?” Juliette nodded, already moving outside the bedroom while the housekeeper followed. “I suppose ye’ll find him if you’re quick about it.”
Juliette slipped down the stairs and toward the front door. Just as Mrs. Larson had said, she saw Dr. Fraser with Mr. MacKinloch. The two men were arguing, and though she couldn’t hear what he was saying, there was no mistaking the anger. She frowned, wondering what their disagreement was. The two men parted, Dr. Fraser moving toward the stables while Mr. MacKinloch went to join the crofters who were setting up tents upon the duke’s land.
She waited a few moments, uncertain of whether to approach. It was so late at night, and he might mistake her intentions. Behind her, she heard her mother’s voice, and the door opened.
Before Beatrice could see her, Juliette fled toward the stable in the cover of darkness. For a moment, she stood at the door, calming the rapid beat of her heart. There was no reason to be apprehensive about speaking to Paul.
She found him standing beside the horses. The scent of smoke mingled with the animal odors, and she stepped inside. Paul’s hair was wild, a dark tangle cropped above his ears. His coat hung open, and he’d rolled up his sleeves. At the moment, he was brushing one of the horses, as if to indulge in a mindless activity.
“Thank you for trying to put out the fire,” she began, not knowing how else to begin. The words she’d rehearsed earlier, of all the reasons why he needed to walk away from their friendship, caught in her throat and would not come forth.
“I was glad to help.” Paul didn’t turn toward her but kept his gaze fixed upon the horses. For a long minute, the awkward moment expanded until she thought about leaving again.
“You stopped answering my letters last year,” he said, finally facing her. With each step he drew closer, her guilt intensified. “You haven’t written me in months. Not even when I asked you to marry me.”
This was it, then. The chance she’d wanted, to discourage him from considering anything further. “It didn’t seem right.”
For it wasn’t. No words would undo her mistakes, nor breach the distance between them. She’d paid the postage to accept every letter he’d sent… but she couldn’t bring herself to open the more recent ones. His previous letters about medical school, and the loneliness she’d sensed in his words, had been a blade against her scarred heart. He was looking to her for friendship, and as the years had gone by, his letters had offered more. He’d bared his dreams to her, asking her to wed him when he returned.
But she was a ruined woman with another man’s son. Never could she confess the truth to him. And so, it was easier to bind up the letters and put them away unread.
“I’ll wait until you give me the answer I want to hear,” he said solemnly.
Then he would be waiting an eternity. It would be a kindness to tell him no, to do as she’d intended, and assure him that there would never be a marriage with him.
But not tonight. It would be easier to sever the ties when she went back to London. Then, at least, she would not have to face him.
Juliette struggled to think of what to say next, and offered the only question she could: “Who do you think set the fire?” She still wondered if one of Strathland’s men had somehow slipped inside their house amid the crofters.
Dr. Fraser hesitated, as if thinking about the answer. “I’m certain Strathland had a hand in it.”
At the very mention of the earl, Juliette’s stomach roiled. Though she’d tried to stay clear of the man, even his name made her skin crawl. Lord Strathland had constantly tried to insinuate himself with their family, and Juliette had been glad to escape him in London.
“Then there’s no reason to ask why, is there? He wants us gone from Scotland so he can control the land.” She made no effort to hide her distaste.
The earl had been buying up thousands of sheep, now that wool was at a premium during the war. Most of the soldiers were off fighting Napoleon’s forces in Spain, and wool was in high demand for their uniforms. Lord Strathland desperately needed more grazing lands for the animals, and her family had often found his herds trespassing on their property.
“I believe so, aye.” Dr. Fraser stared at her long enough for her to grow nervous, as if he could read the thoughts within her. He took a step closer, and she locked her feet in place, feeling as if the air between them had grown warmer.
Leave. Her mind uttered the warning, for if she didn’t go, her willpower would crumble into dust.
“I don’t know what we’ll do now,” she said, speaking faster. “Our debts are rising, and we’ve only just started to earn money with Victoria’s sewing.”
She hardly knew what words were escaping her mouth, for she’d grasped at any conversational topic. Yet Paul knew nothing about the sort of sewing they’d indulged in. Her sister Victoria’s scandalous line of undergarments had earned far more money than they’d ever dreamed. They had called the lingerie Aphrodite’s U
nmentionables. Fashioned of silk and satin, they were impractical for most women, but perfectly suited to the wealthy members of the London ton who were accustomed to wearing garments only once or twice.
“She’ll no’ be able to sew anymore, as a duchess,” Paul pointed out. “But it may be that the Duke of Worthingstone will help your family.”
“I hope so.” But she didn’t like relying on others to solve their problems. Instead, she hoped that she and her sisters could somehow continue the business. Though Juliette loathed sewing, she did enjoy setting the prices and keeping the accounts. Tallying up the cost of supplies, the delivery fees for Mr. Sinclair, and predicting the profits were ways of filling up the lonely hours.
Perhaps she could do even more to help, if she returned to London. It was a way of helping her family, and she could make herself useful again. Especially if she never married.
She stared off into the darkness, a softness catching at her heart as she remembered her sister’s face when she’d spoken her wedding vows to the duke. “It was a lovely wedding. I never thought Victoria would be the first of us to wed. But I’m glad for her.”
“What of you?” he asked. “Did you enjoy your Christmas in London?” There was a sharpness to his voice, as if he’d imagined her mother parading her around to potential husbands.
“I enjoyed visiting with my aunt and her son,” she confessed. My son, she corrected inwardly. At the memory of Matthew’s round face and the way he’d attempted to stuff his fist into his mouth, she couldn’t stop her smile. But when she thought of having to leave him, her throat tightened. The stolen moments with Matthew were worth the terrible cost of giving him up. And if she could never marry, she wanted to be close to him, as often as she could.
She added, “My sister Margaret loved every moment of it. She made lists of every eligible bachelor and ranked them all.”
Her sister was nothing if not ambitious. Juliette met his gaze, continuing, “Though I know she’s happy for Victoria, I imagine Margaret was quite chagrined that our sister found a better match than she did, without having a single Season.”
“And was there a gentleman you fancied?”
She stiffened at the question, sensing the jealousy in his tone. Though she’d cooperated with her mother’s wishes, attending gatherings where her aunt had introduced her to titled men, she hardly remembered any of the potential suitors. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
He hung up the saddle and went to work unfastening the bridle. Without looking at her, he said, “I embarrassed you earlier today, when I caught Worthingstone’s hat.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” she began, though they both knew that was a falsehood. “But you did embarrass me, yes, with the way you were watching me.” She didn’t want him to be humiliated when it became clear that she would never marry him. Her face tightened, and she clasped her hands together. “You shouldn’t. Others might think that—”
“That I’m in love with you?”
There was a simple truth in the words, one that devastated her. You’re not. You can’t be.
But once again, she gave no reply, unable to speak at all.
“And I’ll wager I wasna the only man looking upon your bonny face.”
“I’m not the woman for you, Paul,” she whispered. She had to put an end to this, even if it meant hurting him. “You should turn your eyes elsewhere. I don’t intend to marry anyone at all.”
“Especially a Scottish rebel?” he dared.
That wasn’t it at all, but she couldn’t say so. Juliette lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “It’s dangerous, the way you ride out with the others.”
“I’m a doctor. I ride many places.” He took her hand in his, locking their fingers together. “And I’m no’ the only one who was watching you. Ever since I returned from Edinburgh, I’ve seen Strathland riding near the borders of your land.”
“Don’t speak of him.” The thought of the earl shadowing her brought a rise of fear. Juliette wrapped her arms around her waist, adding, “I don’t want to even think of that man.”
“He wouldna hesitate to take advantage of a young lass like yourself.”
And wasn’t she well aware of that? She dropped her gaze, afraid he would see the terror on her face. Paul drew closer, and she sensed the invisible tension between them, though she needed to hold her distance. “I followed you, when I could,” he admitted. “So you had someone to watch over you.” A bleakness slid over her at his confession. If only he’d been there a year ago. If only she could go back and warn the innocent girl she’d been. Slowly, she pulled away, wondering if she could ever find the courage to admit the truth to him.
He released a slow breath. “I would ne’er ask for more than you’re able to give, Juliette. I’ll do naught except be a silent guard, when you’ve the need of one.”
“I appreciate your friendship, Dr. Fraser.” She steeled herself for what she had to say. “But find someone else for your attentions. I’m not the one for you.”
And with those words, she left him standing alone.
Paul spent the night tending several crofters who’d suffered minor burn injuries when they’d tried to put out the fire. He’d mixed a healing salve and bandaged the hands of a few men before walking out to stand in front of Loch Monel. Against a clouded moon, the ripples of the water appeared like silvery fins. He stood there for nearly an hour before he heard footsteps approach.
“You’re looking restless, Fraser.” Cain Sinclair held out a cup. “I’ve brought ale. No’ enough tae get drunk, but it’s a start.”
Aye, it was a welcome beginning. He raised his cup and offered, “Slainté.”
Paul took a deep sip of the ale and then admitted, “I learned who set the fire. ’Twas Joseph MacKinloch, their footman.”
“For God’s sake, why?” Cain demanded.
“Strathland’s men took his sister hostage. They threatened to kill her unless he set the fire. He thought they’d let her go if he did it.”
“And the daft idiot believed them? Strathland canna be trusted.” Cain swore and tossed back his own cup. “Where is MacKinloch now?”
“I told him no’ to show his face here again. Punishing him willna bring back the house. The bloody fool.”
Cain sobered, falling silent in agreement. He crossed his arms and stared out at the water. “Speaking of fools, were you daft enough to bother her again, Fraser?”
Paul didn’t have to ask who Sinclair was talking about. Everyone knew he wanted to wed Juliette. He’d overheard the wagers on how long it would take her to say yes.
“I’ll ask her as many times as I have to.”
“And still, she’ll say no.” Sinclair drained his own cup and let it hang from his fingertips. “A man should ken when he hasn’t a prayer of winning the woman he wants.”
“Why should I give up?” He drank the ale, but though it quenched his thirst, it did nothing to allay the bitterness. “She just needs convincing, that’s all.” He shrugged, as if it were naught to worry over. But Sinclair came closer, his face serious in the moonlight.
“I shouldna be sayin’ this to you. But you’ve been a friend, ye ken? There’s a reason why she says no.” He let out a slow breath, as if choosing his words carefully. Glancing down at his empty cup, he cursed and then muttered that he was wanting another drink.
Paul waited, but the longer time passed, the more Sinclair hesitated. “There’s not someone else, is there?” He didn’t want to think that Juliette had given her heart to another. It seemed impossible, given the way she’d accepted his casual touches in the past day. But she had avoided him, especially after he’d returned from Edinburgh.
He stared hard at Sinclair, not wanting to hear the reasons. And yet, he needed to understand her reluctance.
“It’s no’ someone else. It’s because she was hurt, Fraser.”
Hurt? Every tendon within him tightened with a fear he could not name. A coldness descended over him, for he suspected h
e would not want to hear any of this.
And yet, he needed to know. “What do you mean, hurt?”
The man said nothing for a time, staring out over the water. “It was over a year ago, in autumn. You were still in Edinburgh.” He kept his words neutral, but with every pause, Paul’s uneasiness grew. “I came out looking for my brother Jonah, who’d been fishing. When I found him, Jonah told me he’d heard a woman crying.” Sinclair stared hard at him. “I followed him to the grove of trees over the rise of hills toward Ben Nevis. It’s on the earl’s land, north of Eiloch Hill.”
The pieces of Sinclair’s story started to form together, and Paul made no move to interrupt.
“When I found Miss Andrews, I thought she’d been lost or twisted an ankle,” Sinclair said. “She was sitting on the ground, sobbing. Her hair was undone, and her bodice all torn up. When she saw me, she begged me no’ to tell.” The man’s face turned violently angry, as if remembering what he’d seen.
Ice froze up the rivers of blood within him, and in his mind, Paul saw a vision of Juliette, frightened and alone. Her hair fallen around her shoulders, a wrenching terror on her face.
Her words came back to haunt him: If it’s a wife and children you want, you should look elsewhere.
He replayed the sadness on her face when he’d spoken to her hours earlier. She’d claimed that she couldn’t give him the life he wanted… that she didn’t want to marry any man. His mind tried to put together another reason, anything else that could have happened.
But he knew. In his gut, he knew that Juliette would never have gone off on her own. Someone had taken her to an isolated place. Someone she’d trusted… or perhaps she’d been forced there against her will.
And that someone had hurt her.
The force of his rage, that someone would dare to harm the woman he loved, reverberated within him like a violent storm. “Who did this?” he demanded. If the man wasn’t already dead, Paul had no qualms about murdering him for what he’d done. When Sinclair didn’t answer, he repeated the question, grabbing the man by his shirt, letting the violence stream through him. “For God’s sake, who?”
Unraveled By The Rebel Page 4
