She blinked. “Again? When did my father ever bully you?”
A flush touched his cheeks, and he dropped his gaze to his boots.
“There’s something you haven’t told me, isn’t there? Something else between you and my father.”
“Nothing of any importance,” he said, though he wouldn’t look at her. “Not compared to the money.”
Well, she’d find out about it somehow. “You’re forgetting that I want to make sure you get the money.”
“Aye. By taking me out of the discussion.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t allow it, and that’s an end to it.”
Oh, he was such a proud fool! “I’m just trying to avoid a fight between you and Papa. Why can’t you see that, curse you?”
“I told you I won’t call him out. That’ll have to be enough.”
She wrapped the arisaid about her and belted it, then strode up to lay her hand on his arm, gentling her voice. “And will you promise not to fight with him at all, no matter what he says or does?”
Anger flared in his face. “You can’t expect me to promise something as foolish as that, lass. I have to defend myself if he attacks me.”
That’s exactly what she was afraid of. “So the result will be the same as if you did call him out. You’ll argue, tempers will get hot, he’ll go for your throat, and before I know it, you’ll be beating him to a bloody pulp.”
“Would you rather he beat me to a bloody pulp?”
“No!” She read skepticism in his face, and hurt scored her heart. “How could you even think that? I don’t want anyone’s blood shed!”
“Too late for that, lassie—blood has already been shed.” He nodded to the pile, where her virgin’s blood stained the fleece. “And that blood ties you to me, damn it, me. So you’ll let me, yer husband, decide how this is handled.”
She gazed up into his anguished features. “And what about your clan? Don’t they get a say? They need the money, but they need you more. What will happen to them if you’re arrested for murder? Or worse yet, are murdered yourself?”
He scrubbed his hands wearily over his face. “They’ll get on. Besides, that’s not going to happen.”
“Can you promise that?” When he hesitated, she pressed her advantage. “Because I swear that if you let me speak to Papa first, there will be no bloodshed.” That much she was certain of. If she could only get Lachlan to agree.
For a moment, she thought that appealing to his protective nature had done the trick, that he would be sensible about this whole thing.
Then his body stiffened, and his eyes hardened. “You ask too much of me.”
She stood there stunned, watching him become the Scourge once more, a man whose uncompromising principles were sure to be the end of him.
“So nothing has really changed,” she whispered. “I’m still Duncannon’s daughter to you.”
Temper flared in his face. “I don’t think of you that way, and you know it.”
“Don’t you? You’re still certain I’d take my father’s side in any discussion. You still can’t put aside your vengeance for me.”
“It’s justice I want, not vengeance!”
“The trouble is, I want neither. I want peace. For you and your clan. And peace won’t be found if you and my father go at each other with daggers drawn.”
“You don’t want peace, lassie,” he said, eyes glittering. “You want peace at all costs. Sometimes peace isn’t worth the cost. Not if it means a man doesn’t have justice. I will have my justice, and yes, I will have it at any cost.”
“Then I can’t marry you.” She turned for the door so he wouldn’t see the tears starting in her eyes. “Because I fear I will lose you to your justice.”
“You won’t lose me.” He hurried up behind her and, catching her by the arm, swung her around to face him. “I won’t let you go, lass. At the very least, I mean to give you my name before yer father comes.”
“Why? So I can live as your widow? That’s how I’ll end up after you’re murdered by my father. Or if you kill him—” She broke off with a sob. “I’d rather take my chances being ruined and alone, thank you.”
“Venetia,” he said hoarsely, trying to draw her back into his arms.
“Don’t.” She resisted his pull, and when that made him only more determined, she added, “I’ll scream, I swear I will. I’ll scream until my father’s men come running, and then I’ll tell them that Sir Lachlan Ross is alive and well and trespassing on my father’s property.”
She held her breath, praying he didn’t call her bluff. She could never risk anything happening to him at the hands of her father’s men, but she had to do something to make him leave her right now. Because if he began kissing her again, she didn’t know how long she could hold out.
He released her with a curse. But as she reached for the door, he murmured, “Don’t be thinking I’ll let you go that easily again, lass. I know you need time to sort things out. But I mean to have you as well as my justice. You can be sure of that.”
With those words ringing in her ears, she drew the arisaid over her head and hurried out the door.
But she’d gone only a short way before she ran into two Scotsmen. They looked as startled to see her as she did them. Then one demanded, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry, I got lost,” she mumbled, aware that Lachlan was probably on the verge of leaping out of the cottage to protect her. “I’ll be leaving now.”
The man lunged toward her as if to stop her, but just then a racket erupted from the cottage loud enough to alarm even the sheep. As the nearby flock scattered, the men rushed inside to investigate, leaving her to run neck-or-nothing for the bridge.
She only had time to glance back and see Lachlan slip from behind the cottage and melt into the woods before the men dashed back outside and began looking around for her. Fortunately, she’d reached the bridge, and within seconds she was safe again on Ross land.
But as she hurried up the road toward Rosscraig, thanking heaven for her narrow escape, she wondered if she’d ever really feel safe again.
I mean to have you as well as my justice.
That’s precisely what she was afraid of.
It was long after midnight in Edinburgh when Maggie hesitated on the steps of the colonel’s town house. No lady ever went alone to a gentleman’s abode, and certainly not this late. But if what she suspected about Hugh was true, she dared not twiddle her thumbs at the inn.
After a few quick raps with the knocker, she awaited the servant impatiently. But the colonel himself answered, lacking coat, waistcoat, or cravat, with his shirt unbuttoned and the tails hanging free. The sight of him with tufts of chest hair showing and his manly chin jutting free of collar points and cravat was most unsettling. Hugh was even handsomer in dishabille than fully dressed.
Though a faint odor of brandy clung to him, it wasn’t unappealing, especially since his eyes were clear as he gaped at her. “What in blazes are you doing here at this hour? I told you—”
“You told me a great many things, Colonel Seton,” she snapped as she pushed past him, forcing herself not to notice his virile appeal. “About the men going after my niece, about the daily reports—”
“Yes, yes, and they haven’t arrived yet. I explained all that—the men may not be able to find a postmaster very easily. Such things take time, you know.”
She whirled around to find him stuffing his shirt into his trousers and trying to make himself look presentable. The gentlemanly gesture further infuriated her. She’d begun to consider him a man she might actually care for—until she’d found out that all his understanding and sympathy had been a lie.
She stiffened. “Yes, things take time, especially when there are no men. No riders. No reports. When the entire mission is concocted from thin air.”
His head shot up so fast that she knew she’d hit on the truth. And the look of panic in his eyes told her that it was probably even worse than she’d feare
d.
“I thought so,” she said, turning for the doorway.
He grabbed her arm, holding her in a surprisingly powerful grip while he thrust the door shut. “Now, Maggie, don’t be a fool just because ye’ve got some daft notion—”
“Don’t you dare call me Maggie, you sly bastard!” she hissed as she broke free of him. “I allowed it when I thought you were a gentleman, but I shan’t stand for it now that I see what you really are!”
Eyes the color of rain-drenched slate stared her down. “And what is that?”
“A liar. A blackguard. An accomplice to that scoundrel, the Scourge.”
He let out a low oath, then seized her arm again. “It appears you and I need to have a discussion, Lady Kerr. But not where the servants might hear.”
He marched her down the hall with an officer’s brisk command, ignoring her attempts to get free.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so hasty in rushing over to accuse him without her manservant to protect her. Her alarm intensified as Hugh forced her into what appeared to be his study, then shut and locked the door behind them.
This wasn’t the blundering colonel she knew. This man was used to ordering soldiers about…and forcing women to do as he pleased. Good heavens.
She backed away, glancing about for a weapon as he strode past her to light more candles on the mantel. Two were already lit on the desk where he’d obviously been sitting when she’d knocked at the front door, and beside them lay a letter opener. It wouldn’t do much good, but it was something.
Keeping a wary eye on him, she edged in that direction. “I should warn you that I instructed my servant to go to the authorities if I don’t return shortly,” she lied. “He knows all my suspicions. If I go missing, this is the first place he’ll come looking for me.”
“I see.” He flexed his jaw angrily as he set the lit candles into their holders. “So you’ve got yer mind set about me, have you?” As he turned from the mantel, he fixed his gaze on her mouth, his voice softening. “How could you even think I could hurt you, after last night?”
Last night, when she’d foolishly allowed him to kiss her in the hall outside her inn room. She’d told herself it was just to allay his suspicions until she heard her manservant’s report, but that was a lie. Hugh had a way of touching her that made her feel youthful and full of energy. She found that quite hard to resist after her years alone. Indeed, they’d kissed rather shamelessly until someone had come up the stairs, forcing them to break apart.
It horrified her just to think of it now.
Standing before the desk, she seized the letter opener behind her back. “Last night was only your way of taking my mind off what you were really up to.”
“And what might that be?”
“Aiding and abetting the Scourge in kidnapping my niece.”
“Ah, yes, of course. You’ve decided I’m a villain.” With a forced smile, he came toward her. “But if you’d give me the chance to explain—”
“Halt right there, Colonel Seton!” she cried, brandishing the letter opener. “Or I’ll gut you like a fish!”
He flinched, then swore under his breath. Altering his direction, he went behind the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a knife the length of her forearm. Then, seizing it by the blade, he offered her the hilt over the desk. “If you mean to gut me, at least use a weapon that’ll do some damage. That pig-sticker will scarcely draw blood.”
As she gaped at him, he said, “Take it, damn you! Or put that toothpick down so we can discuss this rationally.”
His flinty gaze didn’t waver, but she took comfort in the fact that he’d offered her a blade. With a sniff, she laid down the “toothpick,” then planted her hands on her hips. “How long have you been the Scourge’s accomplice?”
He slid his knife back in the drawer. “What makes you think I am?”
“I had my manservant investigate to discover who you sent after the scoundrel.” She choked down the anger roiling in her belly. “He visited every regiment situated in the area, then informed me tonight of what he’d learned. No one has been tapped for any secret missions. No one.”
He visibly tensed. “The men I sent weren’t soldiers.”
“Then give me the names of the men you did send.”
Feathering his fingers through his graying hair, he muttered a curse.
“You can’t, can you? Because there are none.”
“It isn’t what you think,” he growled. “I didn’t want to risk your niece’s life by doing what the Scourge said not to.”
“Try another excuse, sir.” She glowered at him. “My manservant learned that until a few days ago, you’d been seen several times in the company of two Highlanders. You told me that day on the mountain that the kidnappers had gone north to the Highlands.”
“An idle speculation, nothing more,” he said.
“One of the men you were seen with was scarred in the same fashion as that fellow at the masquerade ball. The fellow you claimed not to know, who made a point of dancing with my niece before disappearing mysteriously later.”
He groaned.
“So who is he? Who is this ruffian who is probably at this very moment debauching my poor niece?”
“He wouldn’t,” Hugh protested. “He’s a gentleman.” When she stared at him, shocked that he’d actually admitted his culpability, he sighed. “If I tell you everything, will you muzzle yer manservant before he does more harm than good?”
“It depends on what you have to say,” she retorted, her heart aching. After years of protecting herself from bounders and cads, how could she have been swayed by a scoundrel? “I shan’t let some villain hurt Venetia.” She leaned over the desk to scowl at him. “Who is he? Tell me, or I swear I will go straight to—”
“Enough!” His heavily whiskered jaw flexed spasmodically. “The man is Sir Lachlan Ross. Chief of the Clan Ross.”
Shock kept her motionless. “Alasdair Ross’s son? But he’s dead!”
“No, though not for want of Duncannon’s trying.”
She blinked. “It can’t be…how can…young Lachlan is the Scourge?”
“You know him?”
“Of course I know him. The boy’s parents were my brother-in-law’s friends for years. I saw them often when I visited.” She shook her head, unable to fathom it. “Lachlan always was a wild one, but for him to become a thief…”
“He only wants what Duncannon owes him. That’s why he takes it from the man’s friends.”
“Owes him?” She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?”
“No, I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
He stared at her, seemingly perplexed by that. “Well, then, perhaps we’d better puzzle it out together.” He nodded toward a chair. “Sit down, lass. It’ll take me a while to tell you the whole of it.”
She did as he asked, her chest tight with apprehension.
He paced his study, relating a tale of deception and broken promises. When he was done, she sat back in the chair, stunned. She’d never heard of the loan between Quentin and Alasdair, but it explained so much—Lachlan’s becoming the Scourge, Quentin’s odd refusal to hunt the man down, everything.
Thank heaven for one thing: Lachlan wasn’t likely to hurt Venetia. He knew her and had even seemed to be fond of her when she was a girl. Besides, if he meant to get what he wanted, he didn’t dare harm a hair on her head.
Maggie glanced at Hugh, who’d halted near her chair. “Are you sure that Lachlan doesn’t know why Quentin never repaid the loan?”
“I’m sure. Duncannon brought all of this on himself, in my opinion, and—”
“Yes.” She squeezed her hands together to quell her sense of impending doom. “Unfortunately, I think I do know why Quentin never repaid the loan.”
“Why?”
She rose. “No time to explain. I must reach Rosscraig before Quentin does.”
“Now see here, lass, I promised Lachlan—”
“Do you want your friend to die? Because that’s what will happen if I don’t stop this nonsense before Quentin gets to Lachlan. Quentin will never pay that money to any son of Alasdair Ross. He’ll see Lachlan dead first.”
The colonel gave her an assessing glance, then nodded. “Very well. But I’m going with you.” He tied his cravat hastily about his neck, then went searching for his waistcoat.
“We cannot travel together, for heaven’s sake!” Panic seized her at the very thought of spending days alone in Hugh’s company. “It wouldn’t be proper.”
He cast her a wry smile as he donned his waistcoat. “We’ve gone far beyond proper, don’t you think? Bring along yer manservant if it suits yer propriety. But I’m not letting you travel across Scotland alone, and I’m sure as hell not letting you get in the middle of this thing with Duncannon and Ross. It’s not safe.”
“As if you care,” she said in a low voice, turning toward the door.
Catching her by the arm, he pulled her close. “I do care, no matter what you think. I hated having to hide the truth from you, do ye ken? I never expected it to be so hard. You were so trusting, so concerned, so—”
“Foolish,” she finished, with a hard little smile. “A silly old fool who thought that a man might want her despite her short temper and fading looks.”
With a heavy sigh, he bent his head close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath on her hair. “The only thing fading about you, Maggie, is yer good sense. Do I seem like a man who could pretend to fancy a woman when he doesn’t?”
She couldn’t look at him. “I don’t know.”
He muttered an oath, then released her to drag on his coat. “Then you’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. Because ye’re not traveling to the north without me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dear Charlotte,
I’ll do my best, but gathering information about Scottish affairs is more complicated than passing on trivial bits of gossip about gentlemen in society. It will take me some time. But do try not to fret over it as you are wont to do.
Beware a Scot's Revenge Page 22
