Karen Ranney

by The Devil of Clan Sinclair

  He easily flicked her away as he struck Hannah once more. When the maid didn’t rise, Paul grabbed Virginia by the arm, swinging her around until her back was against his chest.

  “How protective you are, Virginia,” he said, his breath rasping against her ear. “I can only hope you’ll feel the same for me and for our children.”

  He dragged her closer to the base of the hill, bent down and opened a basket she hadn’t seen until now. Throwing her to the sand, he knelt atop her chest. She struggled but was no match for his strength. When she would have screamed, he pressed a rag over her mouth and nose. She tossed her head from side to side, but he easily held her as he unstoppered a brown bottle and poured the contents on the cloth. The sickening sweet odor made her stomach roll.

  He released her and stood. She told herself to move, to run, but she was suddenly adrift in a pleasant and frightening lassitude.

  The last thing she noted was regret—that she hadn’t been able to save Hannah or herself.

  The flywheel of Macrath’s new ice machine laboriously turned, gaining speed.

  Jack and Sam’s jubilation was vocal and well-deserved. They’d all put in long hours to get the design to work. The steam engine powering the flywheel was loud, and they’d thrown open the doors both in front and back. The noise, if not their celebration, was attracting Drumvagen’s staff.

  Macrath would have gladly celebrated with them had he not had something else on his mind.

  How did he ask a woman to marry him when he was afraid her answer would be no? Twice, he’d come up with an appeal, and twice rejected it.

  Perhaps he should simply fall back on the truth. She couldn’t leave him. He couldn’t allow it. He’d send Hosking back to London. Everyone in Kinloch Village would know not to give her aid or provide transportation. In other words, kidnap her and keep her here against her will.

  He had not yet resorted to that. But he might, if he couldn’t convince her otherwise.

  Wasn’t love supposed to make the world a better place?

  His world had narrowed, compressed to two people—Virginia and Alistair. He didn’t care about going to France or traveling to India. He didn’t want to leave Drumvagen. If he had to travel, he’d take them with him.

  Wasn’t love supposed to make him happier?

  Wasn’t he supposed to be convivial? He didn’t want to talk to Jack or Sam. He didn’t want to hear Brianag’s concerns or questions. He didn’t want to greet a maid in the hallway or one of the young men he employed at Drumvagen. He felt like a thundercloud followed him wherever he went. He had never, even as a boy in the throes of poverty, been as gloomy a person as he was now.

  He wanted to be with Virginia, talk to her, explain his new ideas to her. He wanted to tell her about his plans for Drumvagen, for finishing the third floor. Did they need a ballroom? Did she want a conservatory?

  Was love supposed to enhance the senses?

  He could smell Virginia’s perfume across the house. He could hear her soft footfalls on the upstairs carpet runner or the swish of her skirts as she slowly came down the stairs. Her throaty laughter lingered in his mind. He could feel her soft skin on his fingertips. He could too easily see her smile and the beauty of her eyes.

  Except for those sensations, love made him miserable. Or perhaps the reason for his foul mood was the thought of living without the two of them. He could not consider life at Drumvagen without Virginia and Alistair. He couldn’t foresee the rest of his life, stretching out over years and decades, without the woman he loved beside him. Or being with the child who sparked amazement and an overwhelming protectiveness in him.

  All his life he’d been accused of being stubborn, and he had readily admitted it. But allowing Virginia to leave him wouldn’t be obstinacy as much as stupidity. Somehow, he had to convince her to stay.

  He couldn’t keep her prisoner here, and that’s what he was doing by refusing to allow her to take Alistair back to England.

  Did he have the courage to offer her the freedom to choose? What if she chose to return to England? What if she left this afternoon, or tomorrow? He would have to take the chance. Otherwise, love became only a collection of letters, a word meaning nothing at all.

  He’d have to be his most persuasive. Or, if that didn’t work, he’d be charming. She’d always thought him charming, although most people didn’t. They thought him too abrupt, too direct—not understanding that time was an enemy to him. He wanted to get what he wanted without delay.

  Jack suddenly turned his back on the open door and the crowd that had been attracted by the noise of the ice machine. His assistant moved out of the way, making a point of hiding behind the wall of the machine before peering out at the onlookers.

  Macrath rounded the corner and stood with hand pressed against the metal sheath.

  “Who are you looking for?” he asked Jack. “Or avoiding?”

  His assistant glanced at him, face reddening.

  Before he said a word, Macrath smiled. “A woman?”

  Jack nodded, then looked toward the group staring up at the flywheel.

  “I thought your mood due more to someone in Edinburgh. But it’s closer to home?”

  “Aye, sir. Or not.”

  He didn’t know how to respond, so he kept silent.

  “Women,” Jack said. “They’re confusing creatures.”

  Now that he could answer. “True,” he said. “They are.”

  “She says she likes you and you make her smile.” Jack glanced at him, his mouth twisted in a grimace. “Then, in the next instant, she’s crying on your shoulder. What’s a man to do?”

  Macrath didn’t know if he should offer commiseration, advice, or simply keep quiet.

  It seemed quiet was the answer.

  “She could leave any minute, sir. Then what am I to do? Go to London after her?”

  “Hannah,” he said, finally understanding.

  Jack nodded. “Hannah.”

  “Does she know how you feel about her?”

  “How can she, sir, when I’ve no idea myself?”

  Macrath smiled. “You’d be surprised what they understand, Jack. Sometimes even before we know what’s happening.”

  Did Virginia know how he felt about her?

  “What I don’t understand is why you’re avoiding her.”

  “I’ve no sense around her, sir. I can’t think. I can’t speak more than a word at a time. My brain goes to jelly.”

  He hesitated, then gave Jack some advice. “Maybe you’re afraid she won’t feel the same.”

  “She might not.”

  Macrath nodded. “There’s only one way of knowing, though, isn’t there? She’s not going back to London, Jack. That I can promise you.”

  Jack grinned, his color mounting as he glanced at the door.

  “Go,” Macrath said. “Find her and tell her how you feel.”

  He watched as Jack threw his gloves down on the workbench, then pushed through the people at the door.

  Maybe he should follow his own advice.

  He’d gone about this all wrong.

  He’d open up his heart and tell her how he felt. He’d expose himself to her. Women liked that sort of thing, didn’t they? Did it even matter what other women wanted? Virginia was the only woman he cared about. What did she want?

  Forgiveness.

  The thought rolled into his mind like a boulder and refused to budge. She wanted acceptance and understanding. If he gave those to her, maybe she’d also want him.

  The second maid he’d stopped knew Virginia’s whereabouts.

  “I saw her go into the library, sir,” she said, smiling brightly.

  After thanking her, he entered the room, only to find it empty. He noticed the letter on the table and was tempted to read it but didn’t, dismissing his curiosity in favor of Virginia’s privacy.

  The door to the grotto passage was ajar and the lantern missing from its hook inside the passage. Had Virginia taken it? For that matter, why had she gone to
the grotto?

  He smiled. Was she waiting for him?

  She wasn’t in the grotto, but the lantern was, resting on the stone floor beside the passage to the beach.

  The wind bearded the waves with a white froth and pushed the tide higher onto the shore. The blazing afternoon sun heated the air, glinting off metallic bits in the rock formations.

  The beach was narrow here. Why had Virginia come in this direction?

  When he saw the crumpled figure, he started to run.

  When she surfaced, Paul was smiling down at her, blotting her face with a handkerchief.

  “There you are,” he said. “I understand you might be feeling ill. An effect of the chloroform, coupled with the motion of the carriage.”

  She closed her eyes but the world didn’t steady. She could still feel him touching her face and the movement of the wheels beneath her. She wanted to be at Drumvagen. She wanted to be standing on the beach watching the waves rolling in. The problems she had earlier, before she saw Paul, seemed so much easier to resolve than this situation.

  “You have to take me back,” she said. The words had to be pushed from her lips, seemed to hesitate there before leaping into the air. An effect of the chloroform?

  “We’re not going back to Drumvagen. Or to London, my dear. We’re going to America. The two of us, together.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere with you,” she said faintly, nausea sweeping through her.

  “In America, people won’t know you’re the Countess of Barrett. They won’t care. In America, I’m no longer a servant.”

  “People do care who you are,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. Her sickness was easier to cope with if she didn’t see his smiling, triumphant face. “People will care you abducted me.”

  “They’ll never know. You see, by the time we get to America, you’ll be carrying my child.”

  She blinked open her eyes, staring at the ceiling of the carriage. A movement to her left made her realize they weren’t alone. A young man sat opposite them. She closed her eyes again, realizing the enormity of her situation. She didn’t just have to fight Paul, but a stranger as well.

  Dear God what was she going to do?

  She wanted away from him, as far away as the confines of the carriage would allow. Slowly, she sat up, pushed herself into the corner and drew up her legs. Thrusting her hands over her skirts, she pressed down on the hoop to collapse it. She didn’t want any part of her touching either man.

  “Come, my dear, I know you’re feeling the effects of the chloroform. I would have done something else if I had thought you would be amenable.”

  When he reached out for her, she batted his hands away and wedged herself into the corner even farther.

  Please, God, let him leave her alone. Let him change his mind. Let him suddenly announce to the driver they were returning to Drumvagen.

  “Why me? I’ve never given you any hint of affection. Why would you think I would want to go with you anywhere?”

  “I’ve never forgotten our night together,” he said. “I remember how you kissed me. I knew, then, how you felt about me. Regardless of what you say now, Virginia, that was real and true.”

  “I thought you were my husband,” she said.

  “Except Lawrence couldn’t abide you,” he said. “When he offered you, I leapt at the chance.”

  She’d been reared to respect the dead, but at this moment she loathed Lawrence Traylor.

  “He was a fool,” she said. “A vengeful fool.”

  “Oh, I can’t disagree,” Paul said. He reached into the basket and withdrew a flask, offering it to her. “Just a little medicinal brandy.”

  She wasn’t going to drink anything he offered her, for fear it would be drugged. When she turned her head away, he laughed.

  “Lawrence allowed his emotions to get the better of him, I’m afraid. But then, so did I.”

  She glanced at him. “Even if those emotions aren’t returned? How can you want a woman who wants nothing to do with you? What can I say to convince you?”

  “Nothing. You see, Virginia, I’ve paid a price for you. You’re my reward for years of struggle. For bowing and scraping and being endlessly subservient. I knew you were mine the minute the marriage was announced. It took Lawrence a few months to realize that.”

  Was he insane? From the glint in his eyes, she could almost think he was. How did one reason with insanity?

  If he could viciously strike Hannah, what chance did she have with him?

  Paul glanced at the window. “Ah, we’re here,” he said, turning to her. “I am sorry, my dear, but you can’t be allowed to make a scene.”

  He reached for her. She beat at him, using her hands and feet, but he dragged her back over the seat. The other man handed him something and the cloth was suddenly over her face again, the chloroform sending her mind spiraling somewhere distant.

  Hannah lay sprawled on the beach. For a moment Macrath didn’t know if she lived, but a pulse beat sluggishly beneath his fingers.

  “Hannah,” he said, rage racing through him as he knelt on the sand, placing his hand gently beneath her head.

  Her lips were bloody and her nose appeared broken.

  Her eyes blinked open. “Sir.”

  He raised her a little until she was almost sitting, supporting her with one arm. Gently, he brushed the sand from her face. Had she been assaulted? Would she tell him, if so? He didn’t want to leave her, but he needed to summon help.

  Thank God Brianag had some skill at healing.

  “Who did this to you?”

  A bloodcurdling yell like the Highlanders of old split the air. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jack racing toward them, his feet kicking up clouds of sand.

  Jack dropped to his knees beside Hannah, his hands trembling as they stretched toward her. He stopped inches from touching the girl, fingers curved around the shape of her face.

  “Hannah. Oh, Hannah.”

  Tears streaked her face as she blinked up at Jack.

  “Who did this to you?” he said.

  “The countess—” she began.

  “What about her?” Macrath asked. His rage disappeared. Instead, fear punched him in the chest. “What about her?”

  Hannah grabbed his shirt. “The countess,” she said. Each word took a week for her to utter. “He’s taken her.”

  “Who’s taken her?” Macrath asked

  “Paul. Paul Henderson,” she said slowly, enunciating each word around her bloody lips. “He’s taken her, sir.”

  He nodded, outwardly calm while his mind raced. He’d have the fastest coach readied for the trip to London.

  She gripped his shirt when he would have stood.

  Patiently he listened, then altered his plans, hoping what she told him would lead him to saving Virginia.

  When he would have lifted her, Jack shook his head, taking his place and gently raising Hannah into his arms, cradling her damaged face to his chest.

  All the way back to the grotto, he heard Jack speaking, soft words to reassure her. He doubted Jack could take away Hannah’s pain as he promised, but he understood the need for the other man to believe it.

  Sometimes a man had to pretend to be powerful even when he wasn’t.

  In the grotto, before they sought out Brianag and endured the questioning sure to come, he turned to Jack.

  “I’m going after him. You’ll look after Hannah?”

  “No sir,” Jack said. “I’ll leave Hannah to Brianag. I’d be in the way. But I’ll see to the bastard myself.”

  Jack had aged in the last ten minutes. Gone was the lad he’d known, and in his place a man with a face as stony as the rock formation around them. His gaze was direct, his rage barely checked.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until I’ve had my turn, Jack,” he said, clasping the other man on the shoulder.

  Jack nodded. “You can have him first, sir. But I get him next.”

  “Macrath?” Virginia groggily asked, blinking
her eyes.

  She was being carried somewhere. Above her was the wide blue sky, seabirds circling. Was she at Drumvagen? She closed her eyes as a wave of nausea swept through her.

  After a moment she opened them again to see tall masts filled with sails.

  Sails?

  Was she dreaming? Was she back aboard the ship carrying her to England? No, that made no sense.

  Why was Macrath carrying her? Had she fainted?

  “You’ll have to forgive my bride,” he was saying. “She’s had a bit too much excitement today, I’m afraid. Could someone show me the way to our cabin?”

  She turned her head. That wasn’t Macrath’s voice. She blinked up at the man. Nor was that Macrath’s face.

  “Paul?”

  She tried to raise her hand, but it felt too heavy.

  “Don’t worry, my dear,” he said. “We’ll soon have you somewhere you can rest.”

  “What am I doing here?” she asked, dizzy again. A sour taste lingered in the back of her throat and her tongue was swollen and dry.

  He smiled down at her, turned sideways and spoke to someone, before descending a series of steps with her in his arms. She closed her eyes as the sky vanished and a timbered ceiling appeared.

  What was she doing here? She couldn’t remember. The lack of memory frightened her almost as much as he did, crooning to her.

  “I’ll take care of you, my dear,” he said. “All you need to do is rest now.”

  He turned sideways again and the ceiling changed once more. She moved her head to find it was a room, dominated by a wide bed placed up against a wall. A cabin, she corrected herself. If she was aboard ship, it was a cabin, and the bed was a bunk.

  What was she doing aboard ship?

  What was she doing with Paul?

  Elliot. Where was Elliot?

  “What did you do to me?” she asked, not surprised to hear her slurred words. Talking seemed to be a difficult task. Not simply speaking, but forming the words in her mind.

  A bottle. A rag. He’d put the rag over her face and she’d smelled something overpoweringly sweet. Simply recalling it made her nauseous.

  Chloroform. He’d given her chloroform not once but twice.

  “You tried to kill me,” she said as he placed her on the bunk.