A Highland Duchess

by Karen Ranney

  The silence of his own mind was strangely abrasive, rubbing against his composure. He had to think. He had to move.

  “Where to now, sir?”

  Ian looked up at the driver. He should give him directions. Where, though, should he go? Where could he go?

  Instead of giving the man his London address, or directing him back to the train station, Ian called out a list of the various establishments Bryce liked to frequent.

  Darkness fell over London as he entered the carriage.

  He’d try to locate his cousin, but if that chore was not immediately fruitful, he’d leave for Lochlaven. He needed to be home. He needed to return to his work. That was the only thought in his mind.

  He didn’t want to think of Emma.

  Pain is a part of love. He remembered reading that once. Which part, however? A sliver, or the whole of it?

  Somewhere past the border they encountered a storm. Wind buffeted the car in which they traveled, causing it to sway. Coupled with the sheer speed of the train, Emma found it difficult to do anything but stare out the window and wonder if the next turn would lead to her death.

  Bryce snored beside her.

  When the train slowed, she uttered a grateful prayer. A man dressed in a uniform passed through the car, speaking to the passengers. She waited until he drew abreast, then raised one hand to capture his attention. More properly, her husband should have flagged the gentleman down, but her husband was still in his sodden sleep, leaving her with no other choice.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, madam,” he said, his face arranged in a pleasant aspect. “But we are going to be stopping on the siding soon. It’s safer in the storm.”

  She, for one, was glad.

  “We’ll stay the night there,” he continued. “And reach our destination in the morning.”

  She thanked him, and lay her head back against the seat. Would she be able to emulate Bryce and find sleep? She doubted it. Instead, she looked out at the night, careful to think only of the present. It wouldn’t do to focus on the past, or even speculate on the future. The now was challenging enough.

  The wind intensified until the car nearly rocked on the tracks. None of the other passengers in the first class compartment looked disturbed, so she pretended a calm she didn’t feel.

  Lightning rushed from cloud to cloud like a knight in silver armor, thunder following a moment later in a clash of sound. Evidently, she was going to have to deal with storms, speed, and unfamiliar travel by herself. Her new husband was neither consoling nor considerate.

  Yet if he had been, would she have been able to reciprocate? She didn’t want Bryce’s avowals of undying love. She wouldn’t have believed him, regardless. But she had not been prepared for his total disdain for her.

  The train slowed further, the sound of the wheels on the tracks oddly comforting. Several moments later they ground to a stop, and only then could she hear the pounding of the rain on the car’s roof.

  One good thing about the train resting on the siding for the night. Her wedding night would be delayed. But it would come, soon enough, and she needed to prepare herself for it. The sooner she banished all memory of Ian, the better. Should she be so reluctant to do so?

  And why did that seem to be the most terrible chore she’d ever given herself?

  Chapter 17

  “What’s the delay?” Bryce asked, his voice too loud. Several people in the train station glanced at him, but he didn’t moderate his tone.

  The man standing at the entrance to the baggage car turned to face Bryce.

  “There’s a problem, sir, with your trunks. They cannot be found.”

  “What do you mean, they can’t be found?”

  “We’ve had a bit of a muck up, sir. We’re sorting it out now. If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes.”

  Bryce’s face turned red. “I do mind. I’ve already engaged a carriage, and I’ve been on your damn train for days.”

  Not days but certainly one whole day, and a few hours beyond that on the Highland Railway. Enough time that Emma felt soiled and in need of a good wash. Perhaps a soak in a tub like the one in her house in London. She craved hot water, perfumed salts, and the mechanical clank of the boiler as a backdrop to the slosh of water.

  Even the idea of a bath was enough to make her sigh in longing.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re sorting it out now.”

  “See that you do. I want my trunks, and I want them now! I’ve got a crate of damn fine wine in there!”

  The man touched his fingers to his hat, turned, and disappeared into the baggage car.

  Emma did not like being the object of so many stares. She motioned to Juliana to follow her to a bench some distance from the train.

  Bryce evidently was not at his best in the morning, despite the fact that he’d slept the whole night. She was not as refreshed but was certainly not going to take out her ire on the hapless man trying to make sense of the baggage issue.

  “Are we to take a carriage for the remainder of the journey, madam?” Juliana asked.

  “I believe so,” Emma said.

  However, Bryce had not conveyed anything more to her. He’d simply announced that they were going to Scotland, and here they were, in Inverness, after hours and hours of travel, tired, and without their trunks.

  “Will it take long, madam? I’m only asking because of our meals.” Juliana scanned the interior of the station. “There seem to be numerous places for us to purchase something. Shall I do so?”

  Emma nodded. “Please,” she said.

  She only had a small amount of money with her, the allowance her uncle doled out each quarter. Normally, if she wanted to buy something, she sent a servant after it, and the bill was proffered to her uncle. Since she wasn’t in the mood to go to Bryce with a request for funds, she gave what she had to her maid with the instructions that Juliana was to use her own judgment in how it was spent.

  “You might want to purchase some wine as well,” she told Juliana.

  Perhaps some spirits would mollify Bryce. A drunkard and a bully, what a delightful man she’d married. Yet even with those failings, Bryce McNair was a substantially better husband than Anthony had been.

  A few minutes later Bryce strode toward her, his expression thunderous, his face still red.

  Emma stood, preparing for the expected confrontation.

  “Why aren’t you at the carriage?” he asked.

  Since she had no idea where the carriage was located, that was an unfair accusation.

  “Have they found all our trunks?” she asked, as calmly as possible.

  “All but one. It’s one of yours. You’ll have to do without it. At least the fools didn’t lose my crate of wine.”

  She stared at him. “I can’t do without one of my trunks,” she said. “I only have two.”

  He stopped and turned, making no effort to hide his irritation. “We’re leaving now. Whatever you need, you can replace.”

  He began to walk, glancing back at her. Evidently, she was to follow him. He continued for some distance, finally stopping beside the carriage he’d hired.

  When Juliana joined them a few moments later, Bryce addressed her maid. “Where have you been?”

  Juliana gave him a look as if to remind him that she was a lady’s maid and not subject to the treatment he might give other servants. “Getting a meal, sir. A selection of meats and cheeses.”

  Bryce reached out and uncovered the basket on Juliana’s arm. “Any wine?”

  “A bottle of red.”

  “Only one?”

  He shouted up to the coachman. “Open up the case of wine from London,” he ordered. “This day won’t be a total loss.” He waved his hand in the air as if that were a signal to follow him before rude
ly entering the carriage before Emma and her maid.

  Emma stared after him, wondering how two people could have such a conflicting opinion of the same thing. It had been an absolutely miserable day and didn’t look as if it were going to get any better.

  Ian couldn’t find Bryce anywhere in London, which was just as well because he was in a mood to pay him off and send him packing to America or Australia—as far away from Scotland and England as possible.

  Bryce seemed to be lacking in compatriots, let alone friends, but his creditors were only too easy to locate. Evidently, his second cousin had fled London owing a great deal of money. Ian paid off seven men who held markers for Bryce, and requested statements from two gaming establishments.

  By the time he decided to return to Scotland for the second time in as many days, he was in a raging mood.

  He scrawled off a letter to his mother that managed to be moderately polite. His lies, however, niggled at him all the way to the station. He’d told her that Bryce would be at Lochlaven, that she needn’t worry about him, and to enjoy her visit to France.

  When he returned home, he would spend a good long time in the church in the neighboring village, praying for forgiveness of his many sins.

  * * *

  For the next hour, Emma occupied herself by studying the scenery. Unlike the train, a carriage ride was slow enough to appreciate the changing topography.

  The road hugged Loch Ness for the majority of their journey, and in places seemed too narrow to accommodate a carriage. When they turned at a crossroads, she lost sight of the lake, and several minutes later was surprised to enter a forest. For a quarter hour they were surrounded by trees, the forest swallowing the sounds of the carriage wheels and making her feel as if they were cocooned in silence. When the trees thinned and they were suddenly bathed in bright sunlight, Emma gasped aloud. Surrounding them were tall blue-gray mountains that she hadn’t seen before, as if they’d crept up on them unawares while they traveled through the forest.

  Scotland exceeded her expectations.

  She’d never traveled, other than to Chavensworth and back to London, and as a young girl between their country home and London. Traveling to Scotland had always been something that she’d wanted to do. She’d once had a forbidden thought that if Anthony were to die, she’d be permitted some degree of freedom. She could travel as she willed, see the world and all the places within it that sparked her curiosity. However, freedom hadn’t come. Instead, her uncle had taken over not only her fortune but her future.

  A future that looked dire unless she changed it.

  Very well, she’d not been prepared to love Bryce McNair. After all, he was a stranger. But she had been inclined to tolerate her new husband, to withhold judgment until such time as his character was revealed to her. She’d thought they might be, if not friends, then amiable acquaintances, people who’d been forced together by circumstance and who could find a common purpose.

  This man, however, in just a few short hours, was proving to be unlikable. The idea of loving him was as incredible as her wishing Anthony back from the grave.

  Ian would have told her their destination. Ian would have described the whole of the journey to her. Or, if he’d noticed she was bored, would have offered to share his scientific journals with her. Or described an experiment. He would not have treated her as if she were an inconvenience, an annoyance.

  How very strange that she’d compared her husband to Ian and not Anthony, as if Ian were someone who had mattered in her life.

  She’d known him only three days, hardly long enough to judge a man’s true worth. She’d labeled him a thief and a brigand, but he’d turned out to be a scientist and a mystery. Perhaps that was an indication of how wrong she could be. Perhaps Bryce would become a much more enjoyable person in time.

  Perhaps she’d gone about this marriage all wrong. Had she truly made an effort to be a good wife? Had she tried to become acquainted with Bryce?

  “Tell me about your family,” she said, forcing a smile to her face.

  He chuckled but she didn’t think she’d amused him with her question.

  “My family, my dear wife? I have no family.”

  “Then why are we in Scotland?”

  “Did the Duke of Herridge tolerate your curiosity?” he asked, reaching for the last bottle of wine. Bryce had already finished the bottle Juliana purchased, as well as a second bottle. Only one remained of the two the coachman had removed from the crate.

  So much for attempting to be pleasant. It was hard to converse with a drunkard.

  He drank from the bottle without apology for his bad manners or the fact that he evidently had no intention of sharing the wine with anyone. He sat back against the seat and regarded her steadily. She returned his look, perhaps one of the first times she’d ever attempted to stare a man down.

  This marriage was going to be different from the beginning. She was prepared to feel reluctance, perhaps even repugnance, boredom, impatience, and frustration, but she would not tolerate fear.

  She was not going to be afraid again.

  “Will you answer my question?” she said finally. “Or am I to be left in ignorance as to your family and our destination?”

  He addressed the window, his gaze on the passing countryside. “You’ll nag until I tell you all my plans, won’t you?”

  “I do not consider it nagging to be kept informed.”

  “I’ll wager you never talked to your duke in such a tone,” he said.

  She didn’t respond, merely waited.

  “My parents died when I was young,” he said finally. “I was brought up in a household of relatives. I was, you might say, the poor relation. The one without any funds who was dependent upon those with a benevolent nature.”

  Of course he would want to parade his new heiress in front of those people. However, she didn’t particularly want to be on display.

  She exchanged a glance with Juliana, then forced herself to look away.

  “I’m sure I shall like Scotland,” she said. “I’ve never traveled here before.”

  “I don’t give a flying farthing if you like it or not, dear wife.” He smiled, the expression almost genuine but not mirrored in his eyes.

  “Will we stay at an inn tonight? Or is that another question you choose not to answer?”

  Several moments passed in silence.

  “We should reach Lochlaven by afternoon,” he said.

  “Are you quite all right, madam?” Juliana asked a moment later. “You’ve become very pale.” She reached over and patted one of Emma’s gloved hands.

  “Lochlaven,” Emma repeated very calmly.

  “My family’s home.”

  The air cooled around her. Her face felt too warm, especially around her hairline. She untied her bonnet and removed it, thrusting it into Juliana’s hands.

  She turned toward the window, closing her eyes, and praying that her stomach did not disgrace her.

  When she could, she glanced over at him. “I thought you said you have no family.”

  “Let’s just say it’s where my relatives live.”

  Lochlaven? She could not go to Lochlaven. The one place in the entire world she should not go, and it seemed it was their destination.

  She looked at Juliana with panic in her eyes, needing some reassurance that she hadn’t heard the word. But of course, all Juliana did was look back at her curiously. Of course, she didn’t know. No one knew. No one knew that a Scot named Ian, a brigand of the worst order, a scientist with talent for passion, lived in a place called Lochlaven.

  Dear God, what was she to do?

  Bryce looked over at her disinterestedly. “If you’re taking ill, Emma, I will not order the carriage to stop.”

  If he could have married a fortune without it being affixed to a body
, he no doubt would have done so. If only she could have handed him her fortune in a bag and bid him be on his way, that would solve her problems, too. But no, this new husband was making her life miserable.

  Nor did the future look very promising.

  “How long shall we be at Lochlaven?” she asked.

  “I have not yet decided. It has a great deal to do with our welcome. My cousin is the Earl of Buchane and the Laird of Trelawny and sees himself as father to the family. There’s an equal chance that we will be feted with Scottish hospitality as being asked to leave. That is, if he remembers our last meeting. The welcome might be less, shall we say, welcoming.”

  “What is your cousin’s name?” she asked, needing the confirmation, the words spoken aloud.

  He glanced at her. “McNair,” he said. “Ian McNair.”

  Chapter 18

  Emma sat in the corner of the carriage, trying not to think. When she thought, she remembered, and when she remembered, she wanted to smile. Bryce would think that the smile was directed at him and nothing could be further from the truth.

  She was faced with two impossible and contradictory futures. She was married to Bryce. She was traveling to Ian.

  Both could not happen.

  She slitted open her eyes and looked at Bryce. His head lay back against the seat, his mouth hanging open. Either he was supremely relaxed or inebriated. Try as she might, she couldn’t see much familial resemblance. Ian’s hair was black, while Bryce was fair. The color of their eyes was similar, their physique possibly alike.

  In the whole of her life, Emma had never once questioned her destiny or her duty. It had simply been there, like her hands or feet, part of what made her who she was. She was the Earl of Falmouth’s daughter, and as such, expected to marry well. She’d done that. She’d been the Duke of Herridge’s wife and had endured her marriage as well as she could have. As Anthony’s widow, she’d behaved impeccably, unless you counted three days stolen from her hermitage.

  She’d sought comfort in prayers, and tried to understand why God had allowed those nights at Chavensworth. But she’d never been angry at God until this moment.