“Much better,” he wheezed. Grabbing her hand, he cradled it against his chest. “Sometimes I have coughing fits. Bad lungs, you know.” He flashed her a warm smile. “Thanks for soothing it.”
“I did nothing really.” She fought the little flutter of her heart.
“Oh, you did plenty, lass. Plenty.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, then each knuckle, then turned it over so he could kiss her wrist.
“Colonel,” she said in a breathy voice, “perhaps you shouldn’t…that is…”
“Call me Hugh, at least.” His beautiful eyes played over her face. “And perhaps, if I might call you Maggie?”
“Yes,” she said, hardly realizing what she’d answered.
“Sweet, beautiful Maggie.” He leaned close as if to kiss her.
The door opened, and the innkeeper hurried in. “Are you all right, Colonel? My servant said you were unwell.”
The colonel—Hugh—let out a sigh. “I could be more right,” he said under his breath, his gaze dropping to Maggie’s mouth.
Her heart began to race in a most dangerous fashion before she shifted her gaze from him to the innkeeper. “Yes, he’s fine. But I’m sure he’ll feel better once he’s home.” She glanced at Hugh. “After all, the hour is late, sir.”
His brow darkened, but he nodded. “I suppose ye’re right. I should be going.” He stood and started to turn away.
“Wait, you said you’d tell me what men you hired,” she said.
With a furtive glance at the innkeeper, he murmured, “I’ll bring you a list in the morning, all right? We can have breakfast together.”
“Thank you, yes. That would be lovely.”
After he left, she spent most of the night wishing he’d stayed. So her first reaction when he didn’t come for breakfast the next morning was disappointment, followed swiftly by worry, since his note said he still felt unwell. She’d hoped he would at least send the list, but there was nothing with the note. He did, however, promise to attend her for dinner.
Except right before dinner he sent his regrets and promised breakfast the next morning. And still, no list. That’s when her suspicions became thoroughly roused. For a robust-looking soldier, Colonel Seton had more health problems than seemed normal: his bad foot, his lungs. Indeed, wasn’t it odd that a man with lung trouble would undertake a climb such as the one they’d gone on with Venetia ?
And why did his health difficulties always crop up at the most inopportune times—that day on the mountain, and now when she wanted to know more about what he was doing to help her niece? It could be nothing, of course, but still…
Perhaps it was time she learned more about the colonel.
Chapter Seventeen
Dear Cousin,
You should take care, too, or I will call your bluff. Be fair—I’ve never worked very hard to uncover your identity, because I knew that our agreement didn’t allow for such. But if it soothes your temper, I will refrain from annoying questions for the nonce. I wouldn’t wish to lose so valuable a friend for such a frivolous reason.
Still your relation,
Charlotte
The new day had scarcely dawned when Venetia awoke. It was hard to sleep when your heart was breaking.
Her heart? No, she wouldn’t give that over to a stubborn devil like Lachlan, no matter how lovely his kisses or how wounded his soul. She’d been foolish last night, but she wouldn’t be so in the light of day.
Her cheeks flamed, just thinking of how she’d practically begged him to marry her. How many times had Mrs. Harris said that a man could desire a woman without wanting her for his wife?
Once the heat of their desire cools, those ladies have to live in real houses and endure real hardships. Desire doesn’t make up for that.
Tears stung her eyes. She knew when Lachlan was just making excuses. He’d heard her speak of the Highlands, seen her endure difficulties on the road, yet he could still say that?
Yes, because of who she was. And because it didn’t suit his plans to marry her. He wanted to confront her father, and she got in the way of that.
Still, she could hardly blame him for his anger at Papa. She stared across to where Lachlan had finally found a comfortable position on his side. With his hands tucked under his head, he looked almost boyish, his scar hidden by a thick lock of chestnut hair and his dark lashes fringing cheeks that for the first time in days had a healthy color. Perhaps the comfrey and horse liniment had done him some good. He didn’t seem to be moaning anymore.
She fisted her hands beneath the covers, trying not to think of how he’d groaned in his sleep earlier in the night whenever he’d shifted position. Every groan had been a nail in her conscience. How could Papa order that a man be beaten so awfully? What kind of monster must he be?
No, Papa’s hirelings were the monsters. Surely he couldn’t have commanded anything so brutal. Papa was a gentleman, for heaven’s sake! They didn’t do such things to other gentlemen, not even gentlemen thieves. Did they?
Unable to bear her thoughts, she sat up. No point in trying to sleep anymore. She kept seeing pictures of Papa fighting Lachlan, of Lachlan being shot or Papa bleeding to death—
No, it mustn’t happen. She had to stop it. She would return and convince Papa to repay the loan, argue on Lachlan’s behalf. Because if Papa confronted Lachlan in person, there was sure to be bloodshed. With two men so proud and stubborn, neither would ever back down.
Edging from the bed, she scooped up her corset and shoes, then crept to the door, where the key still lay in the lock. Both she and Lachlan had forgotten about it last night; indeed, until now she hadn’t realized how easily she could escape.
She glanced at him, at the bandages on his arm and leg, and regret knifed through her. Who would change them? Who would crush fresh comfrey and plaster it on his flesh? What if his wounds worsened?
Her sigh blew a strand of hair from her face. Better wounded than dead.
Careful not to wake him, she turned the key and slid the door open. Then she locked it again on the outside to slow his pursuit.
She headed down the stairs on cat feet. First she had to find her clothes, which she prayed would be dry. After dressing, she would walk into town. Annie had already arranged for a gig—Venetia would just claim to be fetching it.
With plans churning in her brain, she snuck into the kitchen…then froze. Annie was kneading bread dough at the kitchen table with her back to the door, and Venetia wanted to cry. She could see her clothes draped over chairs by the fire just beyond Annie, but they might as well have been in China .
What should she do now? Ask Annie to help her leave? Rummage for clothes elsewhere in the house?
That was decided for her when Annie turned and spotted her. “Ah, my lady, you’re up early.” She beckoned to Venetia to enter. “Come in, come in.”
As Venetia padded into the kitchen, Annie caught sight of her bare feet. “Heavens, you must be freezing! Come sit here by the fire and warm yerself.”
“I came to get my clothes,” Venetia said, her mind racing with how to broach the subject of Annie helping her return to London .
“Ah, yes. They should be dry enough to wear by now.”
“If you could help me put on my stays,”Venetia said, aware of time slipping away, “I would vastly appreciate it.”
Annie shot her a veiled glance, but went to get it. “I suppose you’re hoping to be dressed before yer husband rises.”
The comment brought Venetia up short. Had Annie guessed—
“I know how it is for newly married couples,” Annie went on. “Sometimes men can be such randy beasts in the morning, and they don’t realize how difficult that can be for an untried young woman.”
Venetia blinked. Annie thought…she’d assumed…
But perhaps that could be used to her advantage. “Exactly,”Venetia said, not having to feign a blush. “I’d rather he didn’t awaken to find me in my shift.”
As Annie came over with the c
orset, Venetia drew a heavy breath. “That’s not the only reason, however. The truth is, I’m thinking that I might…well…I’m very anxious about my family, you see. Lachlan and I fled so suddenly, and now there’s some sign that my father is in pursuit.”
“Oh, but you and the laird are married now, so there’s naught yer father can do to stop it.” Annie laced her up, then went to get the other clothes.
“He could kill Lachlan .” Or Lachlan could kill him, the more likely scenario. “He protested the marriage most strenuously. So I think I should go back and reason with him.” Which was very near the truth.
“That would do no good, dearie.” Annie clucked her tongue in sympathy as she held out a petticoat for Venetia to step into. “If you leave your husband, it’ll only convince yer father that you’re unhappy.” She cut her eyes slyly up at Venetia . “And you’re not, are you?”
“No,” she said hastily, “but I’m afraid that if Papa catches up with us, I’ll end up a widow. They are both so stubborn, you see. I only want to soothe Papa’s temper, assure him that I’m happy.”
“That’s all you want, is it?” Annie looked skeptical as she went to shove a loaf into the dutch oven. “Then I advise you against going back. Lachlan wouldn’t take well to having his wife run off so soon after the wedding.”
Venetia forced a smile. “I’m not running off—”
“And you’ve got no money, no transportation.”
As she pulled on her gown she fought for calm. “What about the gig you arranged?”
“They’ll not let it go without my word. So unless you mean to walk back—”
“I’ll do what I must,”Venetia bit out.
“Don’t be a fool,” Annie snapped. “You’d get no more than a mile out of Kingussie before yer husband caught up to you. The whole idea is daft, it is.”
Frustration tinged Venetia’s voice with impatience. “Daft or not, I have to go, don’t you understand? And you have to help me get away before Lachlan awakes.” She tried a pleading tone. “I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.”
Setting her hands on her hips, Annie pierced Venetia with a sharp glance. “This isn’t about soothing yer father’s fears, is it? You’re just unhappy with Lachlan . I know he can be a rough man, but you have to give him a chance—”
“I don’t have to do anything, curse it!”Venetia burst out.
Then she forced herself to take a calming breath. In ballads, it was always easy for a woman to run from her husband; she just took off with the tinker man. A pity that life wasn’t more like ballads. “You don’t understand.”
“Oh, but I do,” Annie said in a cold voice. “Here I was thinking you might be better for him than that Polly. But you’re the same as her, only worse.”
The words stung, which was simply absurd. Lachlan didn’t even want to marry her, for pity’s sake! What did it matter if Annie thought her a horrible wife?
But now that Annie had raised the ghost of Lachlan’s former fiancée, she couldn’t rest until she knew about her. “What exactly did this Polly do?”
“Abandoned him, that’s what, and with little more cause than you’ve got.” Annie cast Venetia a considering look. “Or mayhap you just don’t realize what he went through with her.”
Venetia sighed, feeling her chance to escape evaporating.
Annie dragged out a chair. “Sit down, and let me tell you about yer husband. After I’m done, if you can still walk out on the man, I’ll help you. I’d rather see you break his heart quick and easy than fracture it a bit at a time like Polly.”
The mention of Polly was too intriguing to resist. And it wasn’t as if she had a choice. Annie was right—without help, she wouldn’t get far before Lachlan caught up to her. “Very well.” She took a seat.
Her brow beetling in a frown, Annie strode over to turn Lachlan’s clothes in front of the fire. “They met right after he returned from the war. She was a merchant’s daughter and set her cap for him—and his new baronetcy—right away. She wanted to be Lady Ross something fierce, she did.”
Annie shook her head. “Lachlan couldn’t see that scheming part of her. Men hardly ever do, though I daresay a beauty like her would have dazzled any weary soldier fresh from battles and blood. They had a quick courtship while he was still taking stock of his father’s properties, but as cattle prices fell and the place wasn’t earning what it ought, he had to keep putting off the wedding.”
Venetia caught her breath. How painful that must have been for him—to be setting up a life of a certain kind for himself and realize it wasn’t to be.
“Even a fool like Polly began to see she wouldn’t have the fancy life of a baronet’s wife she’d hoped for.” Annie scowled. “Then after he came back from a trip to London and told his people they’d have to tighten their belts, she grew downright cool toward him.”
Venetia winced. That must have been when he’d tried getting Papa to repay the loan.
Annie’s hard gaze bored into her. “Lachlan made excuses for her, but his heart was starting to crack even then. He started spending time away from the estate, going who knows where at night. She wasn’t getting coddled like she wanted, so she up and took off with some jumped-up knight’s son with piles of money. Broke Lachlan’s heart right proper, she did.”
And further fueled his hatred of Papa.
Venetia stared down at her hands, remembering his words. You wouldn’t be happy at Rosscraig…ye’re too fine a lady for that sort of life.
Could she really blame him for assuming she would never belong in the Highlands? Especially after she’d been so missish at first.
“So if you run off now…” Annie began.
“I’m not running off.”Venetia shifted her gaze to stare out the mullioned cottage window at a rooster strutting among the hens. “I just didn’t…I couldn’t stand the thought of him getting hurt by Papa.”
“They’ll have to come to terms with each other eventually, lass,” Annie said, her voice softening. “The sooner the better, I say.”
Annie didn’t understand, and Venetia couldn’t explain without revealing who her father actually was. She doubted Annie would be so keen to champion the marriage if she knew. But neither would she want to help Venetia escape.
“I don’t want you thinking he’s got no prospects, though,” Annie went on. “The whisky is selling right well, I understand, and Jamie says they’re starting to grow their own barley—”
“Whisky?”
“Aye, that’s how yer husband is keeping his crofters working—with whisky stills.” Annie’s eyes grew alarmed. “You knew about that, didn’t you?”
“Oh, yes, I merely forgot,” Venetia said quickly. “But I thought most stills in Scotland were illegal?”
“So is his, but a man’s got to make a living somehow. And there’s thousands of them. Until England stops taxing them so heavily that a man can’t afford a licensed one, there will be thousands more. So although the laird can take care of you, it ain’t going to be fancy and it ain’t going—”
A roar, then a pounding from upstairs made them both flinch.
“What the devil?” Annie cried.
“I believe my husband is awake,” Venetia said, her heart thundering. “I locked him in, you see.”
“Ah.” Annie gathered up Lachlan’s clothes, then approached Venetia. “If you still want to leave him—”
“No.” Venetia rose, her mind made up.
This was probably insane, but she couldn’t leave—not now. Lachlan deserved to have his day. He’d gone through fire to get here; she’d just have to pray that once Papa reached Scotland she could make him recognize that.
Flashing Annie a wan smile, she took the clothes from her. “I’d best let him out before he breaks down the door.” She started to leave, then paused to look back. “Thank you. He would never have told me those things himself.”
“I know. Stubborn as the very devil, he is.”
That was the trouble. She raced up the stairs. Hi
s stubbornness could very well get him or her father killed. But which was better for her : go home and risk that Papa would lock her up while he continued north to murder Lachlan? Or stay so she could try to stop it?
She must see this to the end, must be there for any confrontation. It was the only way to make sure nothing awful happened.
Pausing outside the door, she wondered if she was making a huge mistake. The door shook with the force of his blows, and the thought of facing his anger again was rather daunting.
But really, she had no choice. Setting his clothes aside, she unlocked the door with shaky hands, then jumped back as it swung open to reveal Lachlan in his drawers, looking like the devil himself as he sprang forward.
Then saw her standing there. That cleared the scowl from his scarred brow. “You’re here,” he said inanely. His breath came in heavy gasps. “You didn’t leave.”
“I considered it,” she said archly. “After all, I don’t particularly like being dragged about the countryside with my hands bound.” She gestured to his bandaged arm. “But who would dress that? Who would torment you with hour after hour of ballads? And who—”
Jerking her to him, he gave her a thoroughly wanton kiss that sent her traitorous pulse thumping. Then he drew back, instantly contrite. “Forgive me, lass. I had no right—”
“It’s fine,” she said, breathless after such a show of ardor, even knowing it was only borne of relief. “I understood the sentiment.” Bending, she picked up his clothes and held them out. “You’ll need these. Leave the bandages in place until tonight. Then I’ll dress your wounds again.”
As she turned toward the door, he asked, “Where are you going?”
“To help Annie with breakfast.”
“Ask her if she’ll pack a lunch for us, too. I’ll pay her for it. Or if you’d rather, we can stop at an inn to eat.”
Hiding her surprise, she said, “What I would like even more is not to have to relieve myself by the side of the road.”
“All right.” His voice softened. “We’ll stop whenever you need to, wherever you want.”
“I would appreciate that.” She turned to smile at him. “In exchange, I promise not to sing at the top of my lungs.”
Beware a Scot's Revenge Page 17
