Karen Ranney

by The Devil of Clan Sinclair

  She was his, and he’d prove it to her.

  Chapter 30

  Brianag’s distinctive voice came through the door, followed by a maid’s laugh. Despite the housekeeper’s glower, laughter was a common sound at Drumvagen.

  Virginia was in Macrath’s library, a room she’d visited every day since the arrival of the crate of broadsides. When she wasn’t in the nursery, she was here, at least as long as Macrath was occupied with his new ice machine.

  When she questioned him about why he worked so hard, he smiled at her, reached over, kissed her, and said, “I’m creating an empire.”

  She only nodded, remembering their conversations in London. He’d told her about Drumvagen then, but in her mind she’d seen it as a black fortress, a formidable stronghold. Instead, it was a palatial estate set in a storybook setting.

  The last few days had been enchanted ones. She pretended she belonged at Drumvagen, that it was her home. Her son, as its heir, was cosseted, and she, his mother, treated almost the same. Even Brianag had stopped grumbling around her and sent her a gap-toothed grin from time to time.

  Macrath was the most enchanted part of it all, a prince in this castle. He made her laugh, and brought her to tears with his tenderness. They slept close to each other, and when she woke in the middle of the night, he was there when she wanted to touch him.

  At dawn he loved her until the sky grew pink and the seabirds started their morning squawk.

  This morning she’d been visited by her monthlies, which meant she’d escaped the consequences of this hedonistic week. No doubt this time of the month was the reason she was also so tearful. She could weep at the mention of the weather, a smile from Mary, or a question from Brianag.

  Hannah noted her mood, but except for a quick look from time to time, hadn’t questioned her.

  After cutting the rope binding the next bundle of broadsides, she grabbed half the stack and returned to her chair. How much easier to forget about her own life and read about the terrible story of the midwife who confessed, on her deathbed, to killing a dozen babies. Or the song written about the murder of poor Bessie Smith.

  She started to read, caught up in the story.

  Come all false hearted young men and listen to my song.

  It’s of a dreadful murder that lately has been done;

  On the body of a damsel fair, the truth I will unfold,

  The bare relation of this deed will make your blood run cold.

  The poor girl had gone into service and been courted by a young gentleman. On discovering she was with child, he’d lured her to a grove and killed her despite her pleas of mercy for their unborn baby. The young gentleman had slit her throat and now awaited hanging for the crime.

  Saddened for the girl, she placed the broadside facedown on the table.

  What would Macrath have done if she’d written him while he was in Australia? If he’d discovered she was with child, he would have whisked her from London and installed her here in Drumvagen as his wife.

  Yet he’d never once mentioned marriage to her in all the weeks she’d been here.

  Did he still distrust her?

  There was so much left unsaid between them. She had never once told him how much she loved him. He had never said the words to her.

  They lived in the now of their moments, afraid to recall the past, and with the future so uncertain neither mentioned it.

  She lay her head against the back of the chair. Did it matter what he felt about her? Even if he confessed he adored her, what difference did it make?

  Right or wrong, she’d created a birthright for Elliot. He was the eleventh Earl of Barrett, with all its attendant rights and honors. He could sit in the House of Lords. He would have her father’s fortune at his command.

  Could she strip it from him?

  He’s a Scot. Better a Scot than an earl. She could almost hear Macrath’s voice.

  She smiled. How arrogant Macrath was. How certain he was right in all things. Yet he’d had to be hadn’t he? From the time he was a boy, he’d had to help support his family. He’d done that and more.

  He wanted a clan, the Sinclair Clan, known throughout Scotland for their achievements.

  Elliot was Macrath’s firstborn son. How could she take the child away from the man? Look how he was with Elliot. He consulted with her and Brianag about his diet, was concerned if Elliot sneezed, and delighted in his every smile.

  How could she be faced with this choice? Why hadn’t she thought about this moment, this predicament?

  If Cliff House hadn’t been sold after her father’s death, she would have retreated there, taking Elliot with her. For a few years she would have hidden from the world, or at least from society.

  She couldn’t remain at Drumvagen. Worse, Macrath hadn’t asked her to stay. As far as he was concerned, she could leave today as long as she didn’t take Elliot.

  A soft knock on the door blessedly interrupted her thoughts. She called out, and Hannah entered, a silver salver in her hand.

  “Your ladyship,” she said, “they’ve returned from Kinloch with the post. There’s a letter for you.”

  Hannah presented the salver, bobbing a curtsy as if to remind her she was the Countess of Barrett. She felt less like a countess and more of a sham, a fraud, a cheat, and a liar.

  The black-bordered letter rested on the tray, daring her to pick it up and open it.

  What would Hannah say if she told her to take it away and destroy it? She didn’t want to open it. She recognized Ellice’s handwriting, but rather than anticipation she only felt a cold prickle of dread.

  How could she possibly cope with any more bad news?

  Slowly, she reached out her hand and picked up the letter, thanking Hannah. The other woman glanced at her curiously but didn’t say anything as she turned and left the room.

  For a minute, maybe two, she stared at the front of the envelope before opening the letter and smoothing her fingers over the paper.

  Dearest Sister,

  I trust this letter will find you in good health and recovering. We have heard so little from you of late it is with misgiving I write you now.

  Will you be returning to London soon? Or has your health worsened? Is my dearest nephew well?

  Could you write and let me know when you’ll return? I know our mother’s cares would be eased by your presence. She has taken to sitting in the garden on a fine day, staring off into the distance. She will not hear talk of Eudora, not even to gently recall her. I worry about her so, and have no one to talk to of my concerns.

  Lawrence’s cousin has visited, but Mother will not see him. She will not see anyone, I fear.

  The staff seemed subdued by our loss. I have tried to remember all Mother’s lessons on economy, but she has not looked at the household accounts for weeks now. Without Albert here, I feel myself inadequate to the task. I would appeal for help from Paul, but he left us unexpectedly recently, having come into a fortune. Hosking is much missed here, as is Hannah.

  Please, dearest Virginia, come home. I do so need someone to talk to, and I miss you and dear Elliot.

  Your sister,

  Ellice

  Tears filmed Virginia’s vision. Lifting her head, she defied them to fall.

  She hadn’t mourned Eudora properly. She’d never once thought of Ellice’s plight, or her mother-in-law’s deep grief. Instead, she’d been too immersed in her own misery to see the needs of anyone else.

  She felt so sorry for her sister-in-law. Enid was evidently still grieving for Eudora, to the extent of forgetting about her other child.

  Ellice’s comments about Jeremy, Lawrence’s cousin, disturbed her as well. What could he want? What could he suspect, for that matter?

  She had to return to London. Somehow she had to make this right.

  What could she possibly say to Macrath?

  “I love you. I love you and I’m going to hurt you. More than I hurt you before. I’m going to turn my back on Drumvagen and you, and I won’t b
e back again. I beg you not to acknowledge Elliot as your heir. I beg you to let this ruse go on. Find someone else to love. Find the woman who will help you reach your dreams, Macrath. Be happy, my darling.”

  No, she couldn’t imagine giving him that speech or leaving Elliot at Drumvagen. She wanted Macrath to love her. She wanted to remain here with him. She wanted Elliot to laugh, run, and explore the woods. She wanted him to point out a buzzard to Macrath and demand an answer for what it was. Why was the sky blue? Why was the grass the same shade as the trees in the forest?

  She wanted to laugh with Macrath, discuss politics, read broadsides from Edinburgh, and argue over whatever came to mind. She wanted to share his big, wide bed, feel his arms around her at night, and know, somehow, that around him she was a different woman. One who was courageous, daring, and never afraid.

  Was it too terrible to want to live her life with him?

  Yet she had to leave. She had to leave Drumvagen and return to London with Elliot.

  Her only recourse was to involve the authorities. Elliot was her son and Macrath had no legal right to keep him here. Perhaps being the Countess of Barrett would come in useful for the first time.

  Involving the authorities, however, would put a wedge between her and Macrath, one that would never be removed.

  Standing, she went to the bellpull and tugged on it. She would give Hannah instructions to pack their belongings, and tell Mary and Agatha it was time to return to London.

  Only then would she go to Macrath and tell him of her decision. A conversation she dreaded but one that had to happen if she ever hoped to be free.

  Paul stood on a hill overlooking the ocean. All around him were clumps of tall green and brown grasses clinging to the edge. Below him the earth was scooped out as if by a giant spoon. At the base were rocks, gradually giving way to toast-colored sand.

  “Are you certain you understood?” he asked, looking down at the beach.

  “Yes, sir,” William said. “The grotto’s to the left. Down that bit.”

  He was doubtful the other man had gotten the directions correctly. The beach was more rock than sand, ending in a formation of stone covered by lichen on one end and an outcropping of rock at the other.

  “How do we get down?” Paul asked.

  William shook his head.

  Not a font of information, was he?

  Was he supposed to slide down?

  He turned to ask William if he’d thought to bring a rope and saw he’d moved a few feet away. “Here, sir,” William said, pointing to a divot in the earth.

  Paul peered over the edge. Not as bad a descent as he’d feared.

  “You stay here. Lower the basket once I’m on the beach,” he said, afraid the bottle inside might break during his descent.

  William nodded and squatted on the edge of the grass, the basket in his hands.

  Paul disliked nature, or perhaps it was simply the absence of civilization. He was a city man, born and bred.

  He slid down the hill, annoyed it was the only way to reach the beach. Once on the rocks, he called up to William, who lowered the basket to him.

  Now, to find Virginia.

  “We’re leaving?” Hannah asked, her eyes wide. “We’re returning to London?”

  Hannah had never questioned her instructions.

  Virginia folded the letter, placed it on the table, and studied her maid’s thinned lips and slumped shoulders.

  “Have you developed a fondness for Scotland, Hannah?”

  “Drumvagen is a very pretty place,” her maid said. “Although I’ve been told the winters can be fierce.”

  “You knew we weren’t going to remain here.”

  Hannah nodded slowly, staring down at the floor.

  “Is there a reason you don’t want to leave?”

  “No, your ladyship,” Hannah said softly.

  “You and I have gone through a great deal together.”

  Hannah glanced at her, then away.

  “You know my secrets, Hannah, and I trust them with you.”

  Hannah nodded.

  “I can’t stay at Drumvagen, but there’s no reason why you should not if you wish.”

  Hannah took a deep breath, exhaled it on a sigh. “No, your ladyship. My place is with you.”

  “Then we will both miss Drumvagen,” she said. And the men who lived here. “If you’ll also inform Hosking,” she added when Hannah turned to leave.

  The maid nodded, hesitating beside the bookshelf. “Is there really a secret passage?” she asked.

  Macrath himself had said there was no secrecy about the grotto. Otherwise, she would have deflected Hannah’s curiosity.

  Virginia walked to where she stood. “Would you like to see it?”

  She went to the door, opened it by pulling the sconce straight down. Once the bookcase was ajar, she and Hannah pushed it open.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Hannah said, peering inside.

  Virginia grabbed the lantern from the hook inside the passage, lit it and held it aloft. “Would you like to see where it leads?” she asked, daring herself.

  Hannah smiled. “I would. It will be a grand adventure.”

  “Our last at Drumvagen,” she said.

  She was grateful for Hannah’s company traveling down the long passageway. The last time she was here, she’d been desperate with fear.

  “Oh, your ladyship, it’s magnificent!” Hannah said when they reached the opening to the grotto.

  The bright afternoon was the perfect time to first view the stone room. Sun poured in through the chimney hole. The arched window revealed a view of a sparkling sea and glittering sand.

  Virginia extinguished the lantern, set it on the stone floor and glanced away from the window embrasure. She didn’t want to recall those moments with Macrath. Not now, when she was leaving him.

  Leaving Hannah to wonder at the marvel of nature, and strolled to the other entrance. She’d never been there before, had never thought to explore this short passageway. From there, she could see the beach, and beyond, the endless water.

  The ocean was a patient predator, waiting, always waiting. The tide rolled in like a hungry tongue, licking at the sand, tasting the toes of her shoes. She backed away from the foam. The sea had a voice, or maybe it was the wind, tasting of salt, flicking her hair into her eyes. She pulled the loose strands away, tucked them behind her ear while staring out at the gray green Moray Firth, and beyond to the North Sea.

  Macrath had said the ocean made him feel insignificant in comparison. How could he ever think that? He was the Sinclair, the Devil of Drumvagen, the taskmaster and genius who had vowed to create an empire when he was sixteen and done so by the time he was thirty.

  Macrath was an entity to himself, a man who had created his life out of an idea, a dream. How foolish she was to think he would simply do what she wished because she wished it.

  She didn’t want to summon the authorities. She didn’t want to appear before a magistrate, or whatever the Scots called their judiciary. She especially didn’t want to cause a scandal, one that would reverberate to England.

  Hopefully, the threat of what she was willing to do would be enough to convince Macrath to release Elliot.

  The tide was like a heartbeat, the sound of it rhythmic and almost hypnotizing. Gripping her skirts, she turned to the right, daring herself to step out over the sand, as close to the ocean as she’d ever been. Here, there was no vessel beneath her feet, only the tide lapping at her shoes.

  She felt almost nauseous as she kept walking, hating the fact she was afraid of the ocean. Hating, too, the coming confrontation with Macrath.

  Who was she to dare the ocean? What did she expect would happen, that the seas would part, the tide would roll back and allow her to walk on dry sand?

  Who was she to dare Macrath?

  At the end of the narrow beach was a rough black and brown arch, created by centuries of battering by the waves and tinged green where lichen clung to it in drama
tic defiance. She headed toward it, her footsteps soundless on the sand.

  When she could walk no farther, she turned to head back, congratulating herself on this small demonstration of courage.

  “How fortunate I’m a patient man, even though my patience was wearing thin. I’d almost decided to lay siege to Drumvagen. But here you are, coming to me.”

  Chapter 31

  Virginia froze, then forced herself to turn.

  Paul Henderson stood there, his face made even more attractive with his smile. Anyone looking at him would think he was a genial man, unless you looked in his eyes and realized there was no humor there.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I’ve come to rescue you.”

  She frowned. “I don’t need to be rescued.”

  “I think you do.”

  Paul took a couple of steps toward her, which was when she realized there was nowhere to escape. The outcropping of rock was behind her. The sea was to her right. A tall embankment was to her left. He was between her and the grotto, and it didn’t look like he was going to give way.

  “I’ve come to take you away from this place, Virginia. I’ve booked passage to America.”

  She took a step back. “I’m not going anywhere with you and certainly not America.”

  Even though they weren’t far from the house, she was still alone with him. She most definitely didn’t want to be alone with Paul Henderson.

  “I planned this out carefully,” he said. “By the time we get to America, you’ll have changed your mind. You’ll be with child, and grateful to be my wife.”

  “Your ladyship?”

  She glanced beyond him to see Hannah standing there, halfway between Paul and the grotto entrance. Before Virginia could shout a warning to her maid, Paul was after her. With the back of his hand, he struck Hannah, knocking her to the sand. She was up in the next instant, and he hit her again, this time with his fist.

  Virginia launched herself at Paul then, beating him on the back and screaming at him to stop.