Claimed By a Scottish Lord

by Melody Thomas

  ―Then someone has to know the girl is alive, or Hereford would not be receiving funds. Who controls the trust?‖

  ―Friar Tucker does,‖ a feminine voice said from the doorway.

  Recognizing it, Ruark turned into the room. McCurdy clamored to his feet, nearly spilling a cup of tea on his shiny blue satin breeches.

  Rose stood in the shadows backlit by the gray light coming through the corridor‘s window. He could not see her face, only the shape of her shoulders and waist, the curve of her hips and breasts perfectly feminine. Her hair seemed to pull color from the darkness.

  ―My apologies,‖ she said. ―Mary implied breakfast was being served and you were in the dining room. I had not expected to find anyone else here.‖

  ‘Twas a lie, he knew, since Mary had been the one to send the solicitor to the dining room to await Ruark.

  McCurdy bowed clumsily over his arm. He looked first at Rose then at Ruark. ―If you wish to finish breakfast, you may do so in the library, McCurdy,‖ Ruark said without looking away from Rose.

  The solicitor grabbed up his plate, and with a nod to Rose left the room by way of the glass doors that let out into the garden.

  ―Would you care to sit?‖ Ruark said when she joined him near the window, and then she took her place at the head of the table.

  Ruark hesitated. Perhaps she didn‘t know that was his place. She folded her hands and peered up at him. Her eyes widened. ―Have I sat in the wrong chair?‖ she suddenly asked.

  He reassured her that she should remain where she was and took the one next to hers. She glanced down at her hands, gathering her thoughts, and he seized the moment to study her, to examine again the fundamental softness of her profile and his own desire to protect her.

  ―Rose . ‖

  She inhaled deeply then gave him her full attention. ―Friar Tucker controls Kirkland Park through a trust set up by my great-grandfather,‖ she said. ―His father was vicar there for decades. I have an aunt living in France on my mother‘s side who appointed him trustee. I learned about her a few years ago when I learned about my great-grandfather‘s will.‖

  He studied her. ―Go on.‖

  ―He told me that when my father found me, he would have taken me from the abbey. But Tucker convinced him my anonymity protected all our interests.‖

  Every muscle in his body tightened. ―Your father has always known where you were?‖

  She swallowed. ―My great-grandfather‘s will states that if by one and twenty, I should . die, control of Kirkland Park and all its assets stays in the trust and everything is willed to the church. Father could never wed me to anyone for he would risk losing control of everything to my husband. He never feared I would wed for no union would be legal without his permission.‖

  After a hesitation, she continued, ―My father was promised that in exchange for leaving me at the abbey, he would receive the deed to Kirkland Park. For seventeen years, he kept his side of the bargain and left us alone. I accepted long ago that I would never know my ancestral home. Never touch my mother‘s things. Never know who she was. I had accepted all of that. But then you came along and shattered our well-laid plans.

  ―You would have to be willing to kill me to be any true threat to my father. Because when I am one and twenty, unless I am dead, he will receive Kirkland Park. My hope was that when this was over, he would have no more vested interests in me. I had hoped it would be enough to set me free.‖

  ―Why are you telling me this?‖

  ―Because I saw the look on your face this morning. I was afraid you might try to do something honorable.‖

  He sat back in the chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles as he pondered her impression of him. And he found himself looking away from her.

  ―All of my life I have wanted to be free of my past,‖ she said. ―If you can understand that. I think you can. Now I am looking for the courage to confront it.‖

  ―Why?‖

  He had no idea why her answer to that question was so pertinent to his future and to hers. Perhaps he was curious to see that they were more alike than different in many regards. Only he had not made the decision to confront his demons, merely to destroy them.

  The only person he loved in this world was living in a cold, dark cell, garrisoned at Alnwick Castle.

  ―I am no martyr,‖ she said, ―but you will not see your brother again if you do not follow through with what you have started.‖

  Ruark stood and walked to the breakfront. He removed the crystal stopper from the decanter and sloshed whisky into a tumbler. He viewed the tapestry in front of him of handsome lords and ladies riding and hawking in the parkland along the marshy banks, an innocent world he‘d known as a child.

  ―If you could go anywhere, where would you go, Rose?‖ he asked without turning.

  She must have realized it wasn‘t a rhetorical question. He turned to confront her silence now colored by deeper insight of his own motivations.

  He only knew that no matter his future or hers, he could not, would not allow a monster like Hereford the chance to get his hands on her.

  ―I would find my mother‘s family,‖ she said. ―I would go to France.‖

  He‘d been to the cliffs of Calais. ―France is nice,‖ he said.

  ―Where would you go?‖ she asked.

  The picture in the tapestry filled his mind, as did the white sands of the Indies, turquoise waters and warm breezes in the moonlight.

  Aye, he understood Rose‘s want for freedom. ―I am still looking,‖ he quietly said into his glass, then tipped it back and swallowed the burn.

  For the next two days, Rose managed to avoid crossing paths with Ruark, which was not difficult on an estate the size of Stonehaven. She no longer spent her time in her room, but took walks in the garden. She had no desire to talk to anyone or see anything of Stonehaven. The courtyard below her window became her haven. With its unkempt flower beds long ago abandoned by loving hands, the place had drawn her and she spent time weeding the beds.

  Even as McBain examined her leg this morning and pronounced her sound, she didn‘t feel sound.

  And as another day closed in on her life, and she sat on her knees in the garden staring out across the reflection pool, she felt a sense of hopelessness taking root for reasons she could not account. She wondered if this was how Julia felt facing the world every morning.

  Until Ruark had entered her life, Rose had been so sure of her goals, self-righteous in her courage. She could slay dragons. She didn‘t know what she was fighting for now. Ruark had muddled her heart. In her mind, a man who did bad things even for good reasons was still beyond pardon. Ruark had even admitted to his transgressions, all the while accusing her father of heinous crimes.

  Perhaps the biggest crime of all was that she believed Ruark. He had no reason to lie to her. Her growing anger reflected her own fallibility. No wonder people hated her so.

  ‘Twas one thing to be the daughter of a man guilty of using his power for political gain and another thing entirely to know he had ordered the destruction of a merchantman, killing everyone on board. For a man capable of such a cold-blooded act was capable of killing a young boy for vengeance.

  How did one reconcile oneself to the reality that a mother she had idolized would not throw herself off a cliff rather than wed herself to such a man?

  And as Rose worked on her hands and knees in the garden pulling weeds from the dark loamy earth, she thought her heart might burst from the constriction in her chest.

  She wanted to hate her mother for being weak. Rose thrust her fingers into the soil, ignoring the first drops of rain, when suddenly the dark clouds churning in the sky opened. Sheets of icy water fell over her. Elbows deep in mud, she raised her face to the sky and let the rain wash over her, hating her father most of all. The sentiment was different from before, she knew, when a part of her had held out a deep-seated childlike hope that her father was not as people painted him. Different, for it was like a poison that seeped into he
r veins and touched even the most sacred, precious memories she held of her mother.

  Rose didn‘t know how long she remained on her knees in the garden. No one came out to fetch her inside. Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself walking past storm-lashed trees, no longer aware of the dull ache in her leg or her heart. No longer aware of anything at all.

  Her feet sinking in the mud, she pushed past low-hanging branches and entered the parkland, past sheep huddling against the rain, through a clove-covered field, and kept walking, farther and farther from Stonehaven. Even if she had nowhere to go. Even as a part of her mind acknowledged that Ruark Kerr might be a self-admitted pirate and smuggler, but at least he was an honest and courageous one.

  By the time Rose made the long trek across the open divide and emerged onto the top of a small hill, the rain had spent most of its fury and so had she. She sat for a while and rested where the hill sloped away in a breathtaking fall of rocks that spilled into the head of a lovely glen. The fecund scent of wet earth and fragrant pine filled her nostrils. As the sun began to set, she pushed away from the rocks and continued walking.

  Water sluiced over granite boulders, disappearing into mossy crevices. She crouched to avoid a low-hanging branch and as she maneuvered her way down the narrow footpath, she thought she heard the faint whicker of a horse. Through the mist, she could see an aged chapel ahead. A three-foot-high iron fence surrounded the chapel yard. She approached a cemetery, wet leaves muffling her footsteps. This was Ruark‘s family cemetery.

  She followed the fence around the chapel. She could see Stonehaven‘s rooftop in the far distance through the thinning branches of the trees.

  She almost laughed.

  For all the time she had spent traipsing across the parkland and through the woods, she had somehow walked in a circle. It occurred to her then that no matter what she did, she could not seem to escape Ruark or her fate. Surely, there was irony to be found somewhere in that observation.

  She peered at the chapel where moss had grown over the stones turning the entire north side a deep green. The building looked sad and alone standing among the stone monuments of the dead.

  The mist began to thicken and she shivered as she looked around the empty yard. Her gaze fell on the horse tied to a wooden hitching post off to the side of the chapel.

  Loki.

  Rose looked around but saw no sign of Ruark. She drew back the iron lever on the gate, wincing slightly as it screeched on rusty hinges. She entered the yard and walked among the stones to where the horse tore chunks of grass from the wet ground, chewing thoughtfully as he eyed her approach. No one was near to prevent her from taking the horse and riding away. But something stopped her.

  All her life, she had felt trapped by other people‘s decisions about her future, leading her about like a horse wearing a halter, telling her what she could do or not do, who she could be or not be. She found that even drenched as she was and with mud caking the hems of her skirts, she had never felt more in control of her own fate. Even if the illusion of choice falsely empowered her, ‘twas her choice to not take Loki and run.

  Behind her, the door to the chapel stood slightly ajar, and she found herself stepping inside. The interior smelled old and musty like mildew, beeswax, and a hint of incense that had been burned into the stone walls over the decades. A beautiful mural of angels colored the domed ceiling high above her head. She thought a candle burned in the loft. She turned up the stone staircase to her right. This was a crypt. The wall bore the names and ages of the various Roxburghe earls along with their wives, sons, and daughters for the last two centuries. A small, narrow room opened at the top of the staircase. A candle burned in a ceramic holder.

  Someone had set it on a narrow table in front of an engraved stone built as part of the wall. Rose bent and read:

  RUARK JAMES LINDSAY KERR

  BELOVED FATHER AND HUSBAND TO JANELLE HIS ENGLISH BRIDE

  1650–1685

  CHANCE NOT. WIN NOT.

  A profane statement about one‘s destiny.

  ―He was my great-grandfather.‖ Ruark‘s voice came from behind her and she spun around alarmed. He stood on the stairs. ―I surprised you,‖ he said. ―I apologize. You were absorbed.‖

  She had not seen him when she entered, but it looked as if he had been up here awaiting her.

  She gestured to the angels floating against the ceiling. ―This area looks newer than the rest of the chapel.‖

  ―The loft was added during my great-grandfather‘s tenure as earl, after a candle caught fire and burned the timbers in the old chapel roof. So he has been granted his place of prominence . despite the fact that he was presumed to be a traitor and distrusted by many on both sides of the border. He was a privateer in the service of King Charles the Second.‖

  ―Perhaps he was also a smuggler and pirate. I cannot imagine any relative of yours selling out so completely, no matter appearances.‖

  Ruark climbed the stairs, stopping just before he reached the landing where she stood. He‘d tied his hair at his nape with a leather thong. Soft leather riding boots hugged his calves.

  His cloak and hair were damp as if he had not been long out of the rain. She could smell the clean scent of soap on him. He walked to where she stood and peered out the window as if to make sure Loki remained tied.

  ―I considered it,‖ she said. ―Escaping.‖

  ―I know.‖ Leaning a shoulder against the cold stone wall, he folded his arms. ―I was beginning to think you had got lost.‖

  ―You knew I would be coming here.‖

  ―I saw where you went into the woods and knew where you would be exiting. There is only one path.‖

  ―You left Loki unguarded?‖ she accused him. ―I could have stolen him!‖

  ―And yet . you did not.‖

  She felt trapped by the fact that he had not so much left Loki in the open, but that he would have let her take him.

  ―I have been watching you, wonderin‘ how I should approach you,‖ he said. ―I know that learning about your father came as a shock—‖

  ―Why would you care?‖

  He smiled briefly. ―I could not rightly say,‖ he admitted, scratching his head and eyeing her with bemusement. ―You do not much like me—that is true, I think, and deservedly so. You have only tried to cut my throat and bash my brains with a rock. Maybe I do not like having the advantage between us, love.‖ He paused, then said softly, ―Maybe I have been where you are. Trapped.‖

  Folding her arms, she dropped her gaze to her feet and swallowed past the constriction on her throat. The smell of burning candle wax made her nose itch. After a moment, she sat on the wooden bench in the alcove next to the narrow stairway. As if she‘d invited him, he settled his large body next to her making her scoot a bit to accommodate him. She could not help staring, for his warmth burned through her damp clothing. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and they remained thus in companionable silence. She could feel his eyes on her profile. His leg remained in her field of vision and she glanced at the stone engraved with his great-grandfather‘s name.

  ―He isn‘t buried here,‖ she said.

  ―He perished at sea a year after Janelle died giving him a son.‖

  ―I . am sorry,‖ she said, compelled to say something.

  ―Aye, but ‘tis a fact of life. Loved ones die. Ships vanish.‖

  Most ships that vanished remained so forever. No one ever knew the fate of the crew or passengers. Like her mother. Ruark could have so easily met such a fate. ―You are his namesake. How is it you managed to follow in his footsteps?‖

  He didn‘t answer immediately and she sensed some kind of struggle within him. ―My father made the decision for me,‖ he said watching the candle sputter. ―He and I did not have the best relationship. More often than not when it came to settling our differences, he won. One day after a particularly . violent disagreement, he shipped me off.‖

  ―McBain told me . ‖

  ―It w
as a long time ago,‖ he said. ―The reason no longer matters.‖

  The tenor of those words told her that at one time nothing else had mattered more. But something had changed inside him just as something was changing inside her whenever he was near.

  ―Is it true then that you tried to kill him?‖

  Humor twinkled in his eyes, though his gaze was at once direct. ―Aye. I was not known for my restraint in the tender years of my youth.‖

  ―But thirteen years ago you were barely an adult. How is it that you eventually became captain of the Black Dragon?‖