If You Give A Girl A Viscount ib-4

by Kieran Kramer

  Daisy did her best to scream with the gag, but the sound was muffled and came out weak. No one at any distance would hear her.

  She bucked and writhed, but Perdita merely held her tighter and kept walking.

  Daisy was getting dizzy. Spots of red and black appeared before her eyes.

  “Hurry,” Mona hissed at Perdita. “We’ve only a few minutes before the sun goes down.”

  “I’m hurrying,” Perdita said. “Why can’t we just kidnap her and sell her as a slave?”

  A slave?

  “I know what I’m doing,” said Mona. “A slow death by bog will give me great pleasure. And there will be no evidence.”

  All Daisy could see was down. And below her, the ground turned from grassy and rocky to bracken covered. And then there were tree trunks.

  This was the copse not far from the Stone Steps. The one with the dangerous bog.

  Binney’s Bog.

  Daisy kicked and screamed to no avail.

  Mona laughed. “You’re angry. Well, now you know how I feel. For twenty years I’ve endured you, and I’ve had enough. Hurry, Perdy. If we’re going to make a run for it, you’ve got to do this fast. I’ll wait for you in the village.”

  “No!” cried Perdita. “Aren’t you coming with me?”

  “I said I’ll wait for you,” Mona said through gritted teeth, and left without even saying good-bye.

  Perdita hurried, which meant Daisy was scratched by twigs and branches. It got darker and darker in the woods. Finally, Perdita put her down. Daisy’s chest heaved as she tried to inhale through her nose.

  Don’t panic, she told herself.

  Perdita was breathing hard, too.

  Daisy blinked over and over. “Please,” she tried her best to say. “Please.” And then she looked down at the gag on her mouth.

  “You want to talk?”

  Daisy widened her eyes and jumped up and down.

  “I’ll let you say one thing,” Perdita muttered, “but that’s only because a prisoner usually gets one last chance to say something. I read that once.”

  She looked away from Daisy and gave what sounded like a snort. And then suddenly a series of sobs erupted from her homely face. “Daisy, I don’t want to do this. But I’m scared she’ll kill me if I don’t. I’m scared of her.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “If I let you talk, do you promise not to yell for help?”

  Daisy nodded her acquiescence.

  Perdita stuck her finger between the gag and Daisy’s cheek and pulled the cloth away from her skin for a brief second.

  “The Highlander would never do something so cowardly,” Daisy said quickly.

  Instantly, Perdita scowled. “I’m no Highlander. Just ask the Spanish marquis. He hates me for pretending to be one. And it’s all your fault.”

  She tightened the gag, and now Daisy was the one to cry.

  Perdita took a moment to wipe her nose on her skirt, then suddenly her shoulders sagged, her anger forgotten. She turned to Daisy. “There’s one last thing I have to tell you. I’m sorry I burned down your mother’s bungalow.”

  Daisy felt a jolt run through her, causing her knees to buckle. Perdita had caused the fire—and not she?

  “Even Mother and Cassandra don’t know I’m responsible,” Perdita said in a whisper that was loud enough to bounce off the trees. “You left it darkened, and then went inside to play cards with Roman and Cassandra. And I decided to go out there to cut up the dresses you’d made. I had to light a candle to do it. But one dress caught on fire, and then everything went up in flames. It was an accident, and I’m sorry. Not because you lost your dresses and the bungalow, but because I know I”—she let loose with a sob—“I’m the one responsible for your father’s death. He was a good man. And I’m bad.”

  Daisy inhaled a breath as best she could through the gag, but the shock of Perdita’s news made her limbs tremble violently.

  She hadn’t caused the fire.

  She’d been carrying a burden of guilt so heavy that it had crushed a part of her heart, making her afraid to love again, and it had all been so unnecessary.

  Dear God, how could this be?

  Tears sprang anew to her eyes, but they were tears of relief. She already knew she’d not been responsible for winding up in Roman’s bed. That had been Cassandra’s doing.

  It was an astonishing revelation that Cassandra and Perdita, each in their own way, had unwittingly set the tragedy of her father’s death in motion. And neither one had known what the other was scheming—not until it was too late.

  But Perdita was sobbing once more, and Daisy had to get through to her.

  She nodded her head. “It’s all right,” she tried to say. But her words were completely garbled in the gag.

  “Perdy!” From somewhere below them, Mona’s demanding voice called, “Are you done up there?”

  Perdita hesitated only a second. She picked Daisy up and then—

  Daisy kicked. Her other shoe flew off somewhere in the bracken.

  And then Perdita gave a mighty heave-ho, and Daisy was flying …

  Flying into the bog, where she landed with a mighty squishing noise faceup, thank God. There was a burbling of peat and water around her and the sensation of sinking into cold, mushy nothingness. She heard Perdita crashing through the woods, and she looked up and saw the pale white summer night above the branches overhead.

  She was alone, and she was sinking, being sucked beneath the peat.

  But before she could register that horrible fact, Perdita came crashing back again, this time toward her, and she was bellowing, “Hold on, Daisy! I’m coming to save you!” in a hopeful, noble voice—

  As if she’d never been the one to dump her in the bog in the first place.

  Perdita shoved the end of a branch at her, which Daisy couldn’t grab because her arms were tied behind her back. So Perdita angled the scrawny limb and then she was caught, just like a trout, her sleeve snagged by a knobby part of the wood that jutted out almost like a hook.

  She hung there, moaning and crying, and watching the gray shape that was Perdita apologize for being so cruel to her.

  “I am the Highlander,” Perdita said, holding firmly to the branch. “I hate Mother and her wicked ways. She may kill me, but I can’t do this. You don’t deserve to die, Daisy.”

  It was some few minutes that she spoke, genuinely whispering for the first time in her life words of comfort and sorrow and shame that she’d been so stupid and wicked. And then her words melded into more gray forms that were shouting and crashing through the woods. And just when Daisy heard Charlie’s voice cry, “Daisy! Is that you?” she let her eyes close and the sound of his voice carry her into a sweet, black nothingness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The hot bath had restored a healthy glow to Daisy’s cheeks. Now she lay in her old bed in the left turret at Castle Vandemere, safe and warm, bundled up and sipping a steaming mug of whisky punch Hester had concocted for her.

  Charlie couldn’t believe how close she’d come to being taken away from him.

  “You’ll stay here,” he said, doing his best to sound stern. “No going off to Rose Cottage.”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “All right. I’ll stay in my room one night, and then go back.”

  Not if he could help it.

  The ceilidh had disbanded—again. His family had returned to the Keep. He was here alone with her, except for Hester, knitting in her old kitchen, and Joe, who was busy putting back all the whisky from the secret cellar he’d removed not an hour before. Charlie told him he wanted everyone to return to Castle Vandemere and so there was no need for Joe to confiscate it in the first place.

  Charlie pulled Daisy’s new slipper out of his coat. “Here,” he said, feeling awkward. “I found this at the Stone Steps.”

  Daisy sucked in a breath. “Mr. Glass’s slipper. I kicked the other one off by accident, before Perdita got me to the bog.”

  He chuckled. “We’ll find it in the morning, yo
u can be sure of that.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her expression was drawn, and she was so quiet. So meek. It worried him.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you changed your mind and were planning to come to the ceilidh.”

  Her smile was tentative. “Your grandmother—my godmother—came to visit me. She brought me a beautiful gown”—her eyes filled with tears, and he took her hand and squeezed it—“that my … my mother once wore.”

  Charlie held on to her hand. “Grandmother told me the story. And she showed me the gown. I’m so sorry it was ruined.”

  Daisy wiped a tear away from her eye with her free hand. “I’m sad about the gown, but it saved me, in a way. My sleeve got caught on the branch Perdita was using to prop me up. It was like a hook, and I was the fish. A very grateful fish.”

  “You always were the fish I wanted,” Charlie told her.

  “Yes, Mona tried to tempt you with more elegant fish that day we ate the trout we caught together, but you were stubborn.”

  He grinned, and she grinned back.

  A little.

  Actually, not very much.

  He suppressed the feeling of panic that swelled in his chest and contented himself with the knowledge that she hadn’t released his hand.

  He mustn’t be selfish. She’d just been through a horrible trauma. He shouldn’t expect to see her happy grin so soon after.

  But the truth was, her happy grin was what he lived for.

  He wanted her to be his lover and his wife, his companion and his very best friend. And he wanted her to know all this … but was it the right time?

  Or a very wrong time?

  She sat quietly watching him.

  “So you liked the slippers?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “They were exquisite. And such a gift. It’s uncanny how well Lucy knows me—even though she hasn’t seen me since I was a baby.”

  Charlie took a deep breath. “I commissioned those slippers.”

  Daisy’s eyes widened, and she pulled her hand out of his. “You?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I bought them for you. With money.”

  “That’s the usual way you buy something,” she said pertly. “Oh, unless you’re in the Highlands. And then you can buy things with whisky. That’s what Joe says.”

  This time her grin was definitely a grin.

  “I was too green to know that,” Charlie replied, his heart warming. “And even if I had, I wouldn’t have done it. I wanted to use money. I wanted to lose the bet I made with my friends in London.”

  “The bet,” Daisy murmured. “You aren’t supposed to use money, especially to help Lucy’s goddaughter.”

  “Yes, I know. Because if I do, I’ll be thrust onto the Marriage Mart.”

  “Poor you,” Daisy said, some of her old sparkle reemerging.

  He pulled a tendril of hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear. “You see, there’s this girl I love. And I was very afraid to love her, even though she’s the most perfect girl in the world.”

  “She is?”

  “Oh, yes. Perfect for me. But I was hiding behind a silly mask—the mask of the misunderstood man of wealth—and I was using it to avoid facing the truth.”

  “What is the truth?” Her face was so close to his, her breath warmed his cheek.

  “The truth is,” he said, rubbing her shoulders, “that I was afraid I was worth nothing beyond my riches. But it was easier to blame the opportunists who longed to pilfer my wallet than to blame myself for allowing my life to mean nothing.”

  She nodded.

  “Remember you asked me what kind of man I was?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “At the time, I really didn’t know.” She reached up and stroked his cheek with her palm. He grabbed her hand and held it over his heart. “But I know now. It’s why I’m rebuilding Castle Vandemere and the Keep. I’m building a life for my perfect lady and me, right here in the Highlands. I’m no longer afraid she won’t love me without my riches. I know she loves who I am, the man who is poor without her.”

  “Charlie.”

  They kissed—a sacred, wondrous kiss. Her lips were soft and warm, a haven for his hungry soul.

  Just as he’d wrapped her in his arms, a droning began beneath the turret window. It was like a swarm of sleepy bees buzzing out of tune.

  Daisy pulled back, a question in her eyes.

  “I told three pipers to stay,” he whispered. “You haven’t forgotten The Legend of the Two Lovers at the Ceilidh on the Last Night of the Hunt, have you?”

  She shook her head, her eyes bright.

  He got down on one knee next to the bed and pulled her father’s ring from his coat pocket. “Darling Daisy, I love you with all my heart and soul. I long for you to do me the great honor of being my wife, to have and to hold for the rest of my life, with many of those years spent right here at Castle Vandemere with the children and grandchildren I hope to share with you. Will you marry me, my Golden Girl?”

  “Oh, yes, my Golden Prince,” she said softly, tears in her eyes.

  His heart nearly burst with happiness at her answer, and he slid the ring on her finger.

  She stared at it, her mouth agape. “Papa would be so happy!” she finally said. And then she laughed and wriggled up through the bedclothes to her knees and flung her arms about Charlie’s neck. “I love you to pieces,” she said with the grand abandon he’d come to cherish.

  And when their lips met again, the poignant, wild notes of “Will Ye Go, Lassie” floated up to them on the brisk mountain air, a Highland song celebrating a braw, bricht love—the kind that lasts forever.

  EPILOGUE

  Christmas 1828

  “Now?” Charlie whispered in his wife’s ear.

  It was half past twelve a week before Christmas.

  “Tell me when we’re going to get another chance,” Daisy whispered back. “The weather’s been so fine, tonight I’m sure all the guests will arrive.” She beamed round the long plank table situated in the cozy kitchen at Castle Vandemere, where they took their noon meal. “Davy, you, Padric, and Duncan will chop down the mistletoe.”

  “Yes, Mummy,” said Davy.

  Daisy absolutely refused to let her children call her Mother. She’d made the decision to be the informal mistress of a charming Scottish castle.

  Davy scooted back his chair and tipped his chin to his brothers. “If either of you dares throw a snowball at my back, I’ll rub your faces in it. Promise not to?”

  Padric and Duncan exchanged a wicked glance. “We promise,” Padric said.

  “Me, too,” echoed Duncan.

  “No making promises unless you mean to keep them,” Charlie interjected.

  Padric’s brow furrowed. “All right, then, Davy. I take it back.”

  “Me, too,” Duncan said once more.

  Daisy and Charlie exchanged dry glances.

  Davy narrowed his eyes at his brothers. “I won’t let you shake the mistletoe down if you’re going to be that way.”

  “Is that right?” said Padric. “Just try to catch me. I’m going to beat you out there.”

  “Me, too,” said Duncan.

  It was all he ever said. Every day, Daisy hoped he’d say more.

  All three boys bolted from the table.

  “Boys!” called Charlie, and the three of them stopped as one, hurried back to the table, and the two older ones said in unison, “Delicious dinner, Mummy. May I please be excused?”

  “Excused?” added Duncan, after the fact.

  Daisy and Charlie exchanged a secret, happy glance, then Daisy returned to Mummy mode. She knew that if she mentioned Duncan’s triumph to him that he would be mortified. So she simply nodded graciously, and they took off like a shot again.

  “Now be nice to each other!” she called after them. “And don’t go out without your scarves and mittens!”

  Two hasty Yes, Mummy’s followed.

  Duncan was silent, as usual.

 
; But … he was improving. Daisy was so glad for that.

  She turned to the girls. “Meg and Laurel, you’re in charge of Kathleen and Elizabeth. Take them to the attics, please, and allow them to help you bring down the Christmas boxes. They’re big enough girls now.”

  Kathleen gasped with pleasure. Elizabeth laughed and clapped her hands.

  “Don’t you dare break anything,” said bossy Laurel to her two younger sisters.

  Meg patted Laurel’s hand. “The way you did last year?”

  Laurel blushed. “I—I forgot about that.”

  Charlie arched one brow at Daisy.

  She gave a little chuckle.

  Their children provided them with endless entertainment. But they were also a handful, as children tended to be.

  Daisy and Charlie had a pact, that no matter how many children they had—and seven in seven years seemed quite a lot—they would never, ever stop whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ear and keeping their marital bed warm.

  It was a challenge, but having a love nest helped.

  “Shall we?” Charlie held out his arm to his wife.

  Daisy took it. “Yes, my dear.”

  “Where are you going, Mummy?” asked Elizabeth. She had very sharp ears as blindness had made her sensitive to every sound.

  Daisy refused to feel guilty about leaving her youngest daughter in the care of her big sisters. “Your father and I have some catching up to do. Won’t you enjoy being the big girl while we’re gone?”

  Elizabeth nodded, grinned, and sucked her thumb. Kathleen yanked Elizabeth’s thumb out of her mouth.

  And Elizabeth popped it right in again.

  As they ascended the stairs, Charlie snorted. “The ones that act like you suck their thumbs to win us over.”

  “And the ones that act like you,” Daisy said, “are quite bossy and don’t try to win us over at all.”

  Charlie chuckled and linked his arm through his wife’s. “But I love each one of them deeper than I ever imagined I could. I’d lay down my life for every one of those little mites.”

  Daisy sighed. “Me, too.” She smiled as she recognized Duncan’s favorite phrase, and her breath caught. “I—I can’t wait for tonight. Can you? I’m a bit nervous. I always get this way.”