Wasting disease. “Cancer?”
When Mrs. Gordon had nodded, Isobel had struggled to a bench in the garden and sat down. “Is there anything to be done?”
Mrs. Gordon had said no.
And Isobel knew at that moment that she would do whatever was possible to make Delilah’s last weeks or months as comfortable for her as possible.
“She’s very private. Before I was informed, I may have been suspicious a time or two, but she never let on there was anything wrong. Thank heavens Mrs. Gordon noticed the change in her.”
Rosalyn nudged her. “You can call her Fen.”
“I will not,” Isobel said fervently. “She’s a formidable woman, she is.”
“Look who’s calling the kettle black.”
Isobel drew back. “I am not formidable.”
“My dear, you are the only person who thinks that way. You are, in a very good way, as daunting as Fen Gordon.”
Isobel huffed a little, unsure if that was a compliment or not.
“Will you be able to keep Delilah here until the end?”
Sadness swamped Isobel. “She will live with us here. She still has a lot of strength and I don’t intend to see her simply waste away, doing nothing. I’ll let her do whatever she’s able to do.” Isobel fought tears. “She raised me, you know. She’s as close to me as my aunt was, and after Paula died, Delilah was all I had.” She absently put her hand on her stomach, praying that Delilah would be around when the bairn was born.
“I’m sure Duncan is fine with it,” Rosalyn murmured.
“Aye, he has fond memories of her when he was a lad here before. And Duncan has such a positive view on everything. He’s cheerful and optimistic and I must admit some of that has rubbed off on me.”
“You’ve changed, Isobel, and it’s a very good change.”
Isobel released a deep sigh. “Aye. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Have the two of you come to some kind of truce regarding the furnishings of your new home?”
“He has convinced me that my old furniture will be someone else’s treasure, so indeed, I’ll have to adjust to new things.”
“Gone is the Isobel who vowed she’d never fit in.”
“Aye. But I’m still not comfortable being called Lady Isobel and I don’t think I ever will be. Actually, it makes me want to collapse into fits of laughter. Delilah and I sometimes do, you know.”
“Collapse into fits of laughter?”
“Aye; the first time she curtsied and called me ‘My Lady’ we laughed so hard it was difficult to catch our breath.” She still stifled a giggle when she thought about it.
“I never really found it all that humorous,” Rosalyn mused.
“Of course not; you weren’t born and raised in a brothel, where anyone who watched over you was a prostitute, a madam, or a big, black woman from Africa.”
“But you don’t sound bitter,” Rosalyn noticed.
“Nae,” Isobel answered, remembering her childhood. “I was loved and cared for, fed and given a proper education. I didn’t have what many young girls had; I never had a gown that wasn’t sewn by either Paula or Delilah. The nicest pair of shoes I ever had was an old pair that one of the girls in the house didn’t want anymore. I was taught to be frugal, and it simply stuck.”
And she continued to be thrifty and she still had a pall lingering over her heart, for she now knew she was pregnant, as Delilah had suggested. Not that she wouldn’t love having another of Duncan’s children, she just couldn’t be sure the life she currently lived was the one that she would be living a few years from now. Would she ever be certain of her future? Nae, she thought not.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Duncan met with Archie and learned he had found three carpenters, a mason, and a roofer, plus a couple of men who could do a number of jobs. Duncan was anxious to get the project underway. There were also some younger fellows who would help with the demolition, hauling the rubble away.
The two of them sat at Danny’s by the Glass, each nursing a pint.
“So, have ye a plan for the building?” Archie asked.
Duncan pulled out the floor plan that had been drawn for him by an architect in Edinburgh and spread it out on the table between them.
Archie nodded as he studied it. “Looks mighty fine.”
Duncan rolled it up and placed it back in his leather satchel. “Archie, you’ve been a great help to me through all of this. I went out and saw your shed; it’s finely constructed. I’ve talked with the men you recommended; they all speak highly of you. Most consider you a leader in the community. I’d like to offer you the position of supervisor over the workmen.”
Pleased, Archie reached out to shake Duncan’s hand. They had a deal.
• • •
A few days after that meeting, Fletcher had just come out of the livery when he noticed Duncan returning from delivering the wreckage from the brothel, his wagon now empty. There were more young lads who were interested in being hired on. Fletcher hated to turn any of them away, so tried to see that each had a job they could do.
He strode toward Duncan and paused when he saw someone walking toward the cannery site. It was Hamish, and he was leading a young woman and a girl of perhaps six or seven, both of whom had to hurry to keep up with the big man’s strides.
Duncan sprang from the wagon seat. “Hamish?”
“Aye, mate.” Fletcher noticed the fisherman didn’t smile. He gave Duncan a withering glance, left the woman and girl, and strode back to the pier.
Fletcher moved into the shadows as Duncan gazed at the woman, whose smile was wide and shiny and whose hair under her bonnet was a glorious shade of gold. “Kitten?”
Fletcher frowned and looked at the woman. Kitten?
The woman ran to Duncan and flung her arms around him. “Daniel!”
Fletcher blinked. Daniel?
The two embraced like long lost lovers. Duncan swung her around and then embraced her again. “I can’t believe it’s you.” His voice was filled with tears. “I thought when Kye took you away, you wouldn’t be safe, that you even might die. I worried so…”
Who were these two, and what had they to do with Duncan? Fletcher had a sick feeling he might know. Knowing he should find out just what their relationship was, he also knew he was too angry to approach the three of them.
He watched as Duncan held the young woman from him and studied her. There was such a look of adoration on his face, Fletcher had to look away. And he’d seen enough. Turning back toward the livery, he retrieved Ahote and rode swiftly to the castle with this unsettling news.
• • •
Rosalyn paced the library, wringing her hands. “Are you sure about this? I mean, maybe she’s just an acquaintance from Texas or somewhere.”
Fletcher’s hands were balled into fists at his sides. “I’d like to believe that, but you didn’t see his reaction when he saw her. Or hers, either. They embraced like long lost lovers. There wasn’t a hint of guilt or remorse in Duncan’s manner or what he said. Whoever she is, he thought she was dead.”
Rosalyn whipped around, her skirt whirling in a circle. “Oh, God, you don’t think…”
“That because Duncan thought this lovely, golden-haired creature was dead, he’d willingly decided to propose to Isobel?”
Rosalyn’s shoulders sagged, and she stumbled to a wing chair by the fireplace and sat. “What this will do to Isobel, I just can’t imagine,” her voice quivered.
“And here I thought everything was going along so well,” Fletcher said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Then there’s the little girl she has with her.”
Rosalyn sat up. “A daughter? Could…” She clamped her lips shut and finished the question with her eyes.
He gave her a quick, sympathetic nod. “The coloring and the time is right; she appears to be about seven, which means she was conceived when he was fighting in the war. I guess Duncan hasn’t changed as much as I’d hope he had.” He swore and
pounded the top of the desk with his fist.
“What will we do?”
Fletcher swore again. “What will he do?”
They were both quiet, each thinking things they didn’t want to say out loud. “Poor Isobel. She was uncertain about this marriage from the very beginning. She was sure he didn’t truly care for her; he just wanted to be a father to Ian. Think how this will affect her.”
“Well, we’d probably better not jump to any conclusions until we’ve talked to Duncan, but on the surface, it doesn’t look good.”
There was a noise behind them, and both Rosalyn and Fletcher turned to find Isobel standing in the doorway.
Rosalyn shot to her feet and ran to her sister-in-law, grabbing her hands and giving them a loving squeeze. “Oh, my dear, what did you hear?”
Isobel was nauseous. There was a lump of dread in her stomach so debilitating she nearly stumbled. She let Rosalyn help her to a chair. “I heard enough,” she managed.
Rosalyn patted her hand and motioned for Fletcher to get her some port. “We don’t know the whole story yet, dear. We were just—”
“You were just assuming what’s probably the truth.” Isobel’s voice reached barely above a whisper. This was her worst nightmare. She knew things had been too good to last, but she hadn’t wanted to think about this…
Fletcher offered her the wine. With shaky fingers, Isobel took it and had a small sip. What would she do now? She was pregnant with Duncan’s child, and an old love, who probably also had a child by him, had returned to stake her claim on him. With difficulty, she asked, “Is she pretty?” She knew why that mattered; she’d never felt pretty in her life and to be pretty usually meant you got whatever you wanted.
Rosalyn shot Fletcher a warning look but Fletcher ignored it. “You’ll see for yourself sooner or later, so I won’t lie to you. She’s quite lovely.”
“Fletcher!” Rosalyn scolded.
He grimaced at his mistake. “She would have seen for herself. Maybe now the worst is over.”
“Of course the worst isn’t over. This is just the beginning of what could become the most horrible thing to happen to this family. Ever! And that includes you being in the stockade for murder.” She bent down beside Isobel and glared up at her husband. “Now go. Go and find your brother; you have to learn the truth.”
Fletcher went to the door. “What if this is the truth?”
Rosalyn gave her husband a fierce look. “Then I may have to do away with Duncan myself.” She gathered Isobel in her arms and they sat there, quietly pondering the dreadful future.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Fletcher rode Ahote hard into Sheiling and went to the cannery property. No one was about. He was so angry with his brother he wanted to ball up his fist and smash him in the face. Never had he been this outraged before.
He rode to the docks and found Hamish working on his boat. He dismounted and strode to the big fellow.
Hamish raised his head in greeting. “Looking for Duncan? He—”
“I want to talk with you first,” Fletcher interrupted. “How did you come to meet this young woman?”
Hamish drew out his pipe and stuck it between his teeth. “I was returning from sea and when I got off me boat, she and the lassie were standing there.” He pointed to the decking that was built over the water. “I asked her if I could help, and she told me who she was lookin’ for, y’see. I was confused at first, her callin’ him Daniel and all, but then she described him, y’see.”
“And you don’t know anything else about her?”
“Nae. But from what I did see, my poor Izzy is going to be heartbroken.” His eyes clouded over and his expression became cruel. “I’d like to take that brother of yours and toss him into the ocean as shark bait.”
“Get in line,” Fletcher growled. He glanced over and saw his brother leave the tea room and walk toward them.
He waved and smiled. As he approached them, he said, “I just got Kitten and Dannie—”
Fletcher planted his fist in his brother’s face, the shock of the impact racing up his arm and into his shoulder. He hoped he broke Duncan’s damned nose.
Duncan simply lay there and stared at his brother as blood ran into his mouth. He spat it out and wiped his nose with his sleeve, wincing at the pain. He didn’t get up right away. “Fletcher, what in the hell is wrong with you?”
Fletcher swung around, unable to control himself. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you, you big jackass!”
Duncan slowly got to his feet, glancing at Hamish, who glared at him, his meaty arms crossed over his massive chest. “What do you mean?”
“What do you mean?” Fletcher mimicked, itching to toss another punch.
Duncan pulled out a handkerchief and blotted his nose. “Hell, I think you broke it.”
Fletcher got into his face. “I hope to hell I broke it, you bastard.”
Duncan frowned and continued to baby his nose. “What’s this all about?”
“It’s about a pretty little ‘Kitten’ and a kid who has Indian blood. Do you think I can’t add?”
Duncan’s eyebrows shot up as he understood his brother’s insinuation. He glanced away as if unwilling to meet Fletcher’s angry glare. When he returned his gaze, he said, “So, you think Dannie is mine?”
Now both Hamish and Fletcher stood before him, feet wide apart and arms crossed over their chests, eyebrows slammed down over their eyes.
“Convince me differently,” Fletcher ordered.
Duncan sucked in a deep breath through his mouth. He nodded slowly, a sardonic half smile on his face. “You know what? I don’t have to explain a damned thing to you.”
Fletcher was ready to punch him again. “How do you think Isobel feels?”
Alarmed, Duncan asked, “What has Isobel got to do with this?”
“She already knows about Kitten.”
“What?”
“What happened,” Fletcher asked. “Did you promise to marry this Kitten, thought she was dead, so came home to court Isobel? Or had you already married her and then thought she was lost, so then came back to Isobel? Don’t even think you can lie to me; I saw how the two of you embraced, like long lost lovers.”
Duncan’s face was unreadable. “How does Isobel know Kitten is here?”
Fletcher still had his hands balled into fists. “Trust me, she knows.” Before he could take another breath, his brother took a swing and hit him in the face. Defending himself, he lunged at Duncan and the two brawled on the pier. Suddenly he was in the water, as was Duncan, both flailing and treading water. Fletcher looked up to see Hamish on the dock, dusting off his hands.
“Christ almighty,” the fisherman growled, “do ye know how ye look? Two grown men, one the laird and ’tother his brother, wrestling on the pier like a couple of ruffians. Now get up here and straighten this out, Duncan, or I’ll have me a piece of ye meself.”
• • •
Rosalyn returned to the library with a tray, a teapot, and two cups. She put it down on the desk and looked over at Isobel. Her heart sank. Isobel sat there like she was in a trance. Rosalyn didn’t think she’d moved since she’d sat down after hearing the news.
Suddenly Isobel spoke. “I’ve lost him.”
“We don’t know that, dear.” Rosalyn poured Isobel a cup of tea, added just a few drops of whisky, and handed it to her.
Isobel’s hand shook, but she took the cup, lifted it to her lips, and took a sip. “I can’t bear the thought of losing Duncan now, after all we’ve…” She shook her head and gave Rosalyn a sad smile. “What does it matter?” She returned the cup to the saucer and pressed her hand over her stomach. “The only thing I will regret is that…” She glanced at her stomach and rubbed it, her expression both joyful and sad.
Startled, Rosalyn asked, “You’re pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I would have, sooner or later, but with Delilah’s condition and everything in such an upheaval, I didn’t think to do so. And I�
�m not so far along that I’m showing anyway.”
“So Duncan doesn’t know.”
Isobel shook her head, fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. “And now I can’t tell him.” She looked up at Rosalyn. “What if he married her and then he thought she was dead? Our marriage wouldn’t even be legal, would it? And I’d have another bastard.”
“Oh, Isobel,” Rosalyn said, “let’s not go there. We don’t know anything for sure, yet.”
“But I’ve always been prepared for the worst. In everything. It’s how I coped with life. I was always grateful when the worst didn’t happen, even if what did occur wasn’t particularly pleasant, because at least it wasn’t what I had dreaded.
“And I shouldn’t be surprised at this turn of events.” Isobel shook her head. “No, I expected something to happen. I knew I couldn’t be happy forever; it just isn’t the way life is for me. I just didn’t think…” She sniffed again. “I just didn’t think it would be this.” She put her face in her hands and wept.
Suddenly there was a racket in the foyer. “Isobel! Izzy?”
Both she and Rosalyn turned toward the door as Duncan, Fletcher, and Hamish came crashing through.
Fletcher’s eye was beginning to blacken and Duncan’s nose was swollen and his face was bloody. Their clothing was wet and clinging to them.
Rosalyn stood. “What happened to you two?”
“Later,” Fletcher replied.
Duncan stood in front of everyone, flashing Isobel a tender look. “I have a story to tell, and I don’t want any interruptions until I’m done.”
Both women sat, eagerly awaiting his explanation.
“When I got shot in the war, Kitten and another man saved my hide. At first I was grateful, then I realized that the big, old, fat slob of a man had shackled me to the bed where I was to recuperate. He discovered I had done some irreversible damage to one of the Yankee boats and there was a bounty out on me if I was delivered alive.
“He smacked Kitten around, left bruises on her and, well, I shouldn’t have to mention what else went on in that little cabin in the swamp.” His anger spread. “His name was Daddy Beau and he played both sides of the war.”
The Scoundrel's Pleasure Page 21
