A gambler survives by reading the face and physical movement and attitude of his opponent. The colonel must have read the danger he was facing.
“Would you two gentlemen be so kind as to have a drink at the bar?” Dunbar said to the other card players, never taking his eyes off Penn. “On me, of course, while I speak with the good captain. Then we’ll pick up our game where we left off. Shall we?”
When the room was left to them, Penn sat and started in directly. “Seven thousand pounds.”
The colonel stared at him, the scant color in his face draining away.
“I see the number rings a bell with you.”
“What can I do for you, Captain?”
Penn reached into his jacket and produced a folded paper, setting it on the table.
“You have a fortnight to come up with two thousand pounds to pay Whitey Boyd at Oban, who’s been known to gut men for less. And another thousand to Everett Read at Inverness in a month, and I hear he’s already put out the word he’ll have your head. And worst of all, you’re overdue with the four thousand you owe Jack MacDonald at Leith, who for all we know is waiting outside for you.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to give you your life back. I want to give you that money.”
Dunbar’s mouth opened as if he were about to speak, but he said nothing. He simply stared uncomprehendingly at Penn, who slid the paper across the table.
“I want to make a deal.”
Dunbar read the document, and Penn waited until understanding lit the unhealthy features. He pushed the paper away.
“You want me to give up Torrishbrae for a worthless title and nothing else,” he complained.
“And seven thousand pounds.”
“I barely come out even, if I sign this.”
Penn slid a bank draft for seven thousand pounds across the table.
Dunbar’s eyes grew wide at the sight of it.
“And since I feel particularly generous today . . .” He took a second bank draft from his jacket. “This will be in return for signing the contract now. And that brings the total to ten thousand. Would that suit you?”
Chapter Ten
Freya wanted to be on her way before Ella stirred.
Shona knew what was to be done, and the nursemaid was waiting in the sitting room when Freya tiptoed out of the bedchamber.
“What should I tell him when he asks?” Shona asked.
Freya cast a longing look at Gregory’s door as she fetched her greatcoat. “Tell him you don’t know where I went. Tell him I’ll explain when I return.”
“Won’t it be too late by then?”
Freya pulled on her coat and buttoned it. Too late for what? Too late to play on the conscience of a genuinely good man? Too late to make him change his plans and turn his life upside down? Too late to be rescued from a dismal future?
In her heart, she knew it was already too late. Nothing could change what she needed to do. She loved Gregory, and because of that, she would do nothing to interfere with the path in life he’d chosen. It was true that she’d altered her own path for her sister five years ago. But she’d been rewarded with Ella. A child that she could not love more if she herself had given birth to her.
After asking directions, Freya set off on foot toward the legal district on High Street.
The December wind whipped her blue greatcoat about her with savage fury. Freya forced herself to push aside the yearning of her heart. She needed to focus on the nuptials that were about to take place. She was not the first woman to enter into a loveless union. Hardly, she chided herself. And she had good reason for doing it. By all the stars in heaven, she would smile and lie and appear satisfied in the eyes of Lady Dacre. She would do whatever needed to be done to keep Ella safe with her.
But the unknown future was what continued to tear at her now.
She feared what her cousin would do to Torrishbrae and the people who depended on her. What if he were to assert his rights as husband and demand that she leave the Highlands? Her father depended on her to run the estate. The colonel had no attachment to the land. Once he had control of it, she had no doubt he would run it into the ground to satisfy those men he owed money to. Casting about desperately in her mind for solutions, she thought that perhaps there was a chance of negotiating with the man or the men her cousin was indebted to. Perhaps . . .
Her thoughts ground to a halt as she realized she was passing by the distinctive town building known as the Pillars. Two doors farther down she stopped at her destination.
She had to go in, but she couldn’t get her feet to move. The bell in a nearby clock tower struck nine, rousing her. Finally, with an act of sheer will, she dragged herself to the door of the building. Thinking of why she was doing this, she wrapped the iron fist of reason around her bleeding heart, squeezing into submission all romantic notions, all dreams, all hopes.
A passing clerk inside directed her up the stairs to the chambers occupied by the colonel’s solicitor.
The stairwell was dark and airless, it seemed, like a passage in an ancient crypt. With every anguished step she took, her time with Gregory appeared before her. The words they’d spoken danced in her mind. The memories of those stolen moments of passion—moments that she thought would keep her sane in the years to come—now threatened to choke her and drive her mad.
Finally, Freya found herself standing at the fateful door, summoning the strength to knock. Her chin trembled as the vision of Gregory and Ella sitting together by the fire emerged from the dark oak panel of the door. She saw the child cuddled against him, the look of wonder in her face as he entertained her with his stories. She recalled the patience he displayed whenever her niece was too tired and misbehaved. She thought of them all skating on the ice.
What kind of relationship did Dunbar have with Ella? Twice the colonel had come to Torrishbrae in the past five years, and each time he’d kept his distance from the “troublesome noise”—as he’d referred to her.
Tears burned a path down her face.
The realization was as sudden and certain as death. It was impossible. She might as well try to live without breathing. She couldn’t do it, not like this, not under Dunbar’s conditions as they were. There was far more than her own future at stake. Ella’s. Her father’s. The tenants at Torrishbrae.
She turned and hurried to the stairs. As she began to descend, the solicitor’s door swung open.
“Freya?”
Gregory’s voice made her clutch at the wall. She stopped and looked back at him. Light poured into the dark passage from behind him and his tall frame filled the doorway.
He stepped toward her. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
She stared in confusion at his outstretched hand, listening to the drumming of her heart. She was dreaming. She was imagining all of this. In fact, this couldn’t be Gregory, she told herself. He was back at the inn . . . with Ella and Shona.
He came down the few steps and wrapped an arm around her. “Will you come in with me?”
She blinked, allowing her gaze to move over his lips. She stared into the eyes that had enthralled her the moment she’d first looked into them.
Was Dunbar already there? she wondered vaguely.
Chaos reigned in her mind. How could Gregory also be there? Feeling as if she’d been struck by lightning, she allowed him to lead her back to the door.
Before they went in, he ran his thumb over the wetness on her cheeks and then brushed his lips against hers.
“I’m sorry you’ve had a shock, but I had a great deal to do this morning.”
“This morning?” she managed to murmur.
“I’d like you to come in and listen to what the solicitor has to say. Can you do it?”
“The colonel’s solicitor?”
“No. Mine.”
She felt herself being swept up on a wave of hope. “Why would your solicitor be here?”
“Just come in and sit down . . . and trust me.”
* * *<
br />
As his man Oliver Ogilvie explained what Colonel Dunbar had agreed to, Penn held Freya’s trembling fingers in his and watched her profile as she absorbed the impact this change would have on her future. She glanced at Penn for a moment as the solicitor laid the signed documents out before her.
“Although Colonel Dunbar will inherit the title of ‘baron’ after your father’s demise, he surrenders any future claim to Torrishbrae and its associated Sutherland land and property,” the solicitor summarized. “And, as is stated on the last page, he abandons any offers of marriage and releases you of any ‘understandings’ between the two of you. You are free, Miss Sutherland, to plan your future as you please.”
By now, Penn thought, Dunbar would be halfway to Edinburgh to cash the bank drafts he’d received in exchange for signing the document, and Freya was free to stand in front of Lady Dacre as a wealthy and independent woman. She was free to forge a future of her own. In any court of law, she could fight for the custody of her niece, for she now had the means to provide a secure future for Ella, even after her father was gone.
“If you have no questions for me . . .” the solicitor stated, rising from his chair. He turned to Penn and said, “I’ll be in the adjoining chamber, Captain, if my services are needed again.”
Freya waited until the man had left the room before standing and turning her teary eyes on him. Gregory stood, as well.
“How much did this cost you?” she asked. “How am I ever going to be able to repay you?”
He wrapped her in his arms. “I only ask you to answer one question.”
Penn could see his own face reflected in the dark jewels of her eyes.
“From the first moment I laid eyes on you, I found that I could not ignore my feelings. I could not ignore the changes I felt taking place in me. Day after day, my admiration grew, and with it my affection. And it wasn’t only your beauty that I fell in love with . . . it was your generous and selfless heart.”
He kissed her lips and drew back, looking steadily into that face he knew he could never again live without.
“I love you, Freya.”
* * *
She stood still, unsure of the reality of this moment, caught up in a storm of joy so strong that she felt herself going weak in the knees. Afraid to hope, afraid to let herself believe, she stared up at him.
“Please tell me this not all a dream.”
He smiled and held her tight. “If it is, the good news is that we’re dreaming together.”
Her vision misted over. “Then since we’re together—awake or dreaming—I should tell you that I love you too. But dreams are such fleeting things. And you have plans.”
A broad smile spread across his face. “We’re not asleep, my love, though this world is still our own. And I want you to know that I am not going off to Boston. That was a plan made by a man who was looking for a purpose in his life. A man who needed to establish a home, create a family. In you, I have already found both. If you’ll have me.”
Her palms flattened against his chest. Beneath her fingertips, she felt the strong beat of his true heart.
“Will you marry me, Freya?”
“But your family. Our stations in life are so different,” she cried. “I promised myself long ago that I would never be put in the same position my sister and Fredrick faced, what your friends John and Myrna have faced.”
“You won’t,” he interrupted, wiping the tears off her cheek. “My parents, my brother and sisters—they’re nothing like Dacre’s family. I guarantee you that they will embrace you and Ella as their own.”
She started to argue, and he pressed a finger to her lips.
“You can trust me, Freya. After all, the Penningtons are half Scot. They’ll love you as I love you. Say you’ll marry me.”
Emotions choked the words in her throat. All she could do was nod.
He kissed her, deeply and passionately.
“I don’t want you to think I was taking you for granted,” he said as they broke off the kiss. “But I took a chance and had Ogilvie draw up the marriage contract.”
“For us?” she asked. Love and happiness welled up within her until she thought she would burst.
He nodded. “So what would you think about two weddings? One here, now, and the second in a church where your family and mine can share in our joy?”
* * *
Exchanging their vows was bliss. Signing and swearing to the oath before Mr. Ogilvie was simple. Consummation, however, was certain to present a few difficulties. At the top of that list was a little girl named Ella.
Between breathless kisses during the carriage ride back to the inn, Freya learned that her niece had met with Gregory last night and told him about the arrival of Dunbar. Now, as the two sat hand in hand in the sitting room, sharing their news with the five-year-old, Ella first bounced with joy and then took immediate credit for it all.
Then the inquisition began.
“Are you married like Captain Simpson and Mrs. Simpson?” her niece wanted to know.
“We are indeed,” Gregory answered.
She addressed the next question to Freya. “Are you married like Shona and Dougal?”
“Yes.”
Ella made a face, as if she might not be too keen on that arrangement. “Am I allowed to come to your bedchamber when you are in bed?”
“No,” she said.
“But if you knock,” Gregory explained, “one of us will fetch you. But not until we’re ready for you.”
“Why?”
“Because it would be inappropriate,” Freya told her. “A husband and wife need their privacy.”
“Why?”
Freya didn’t recall her niece being as curious with regard to Shona and her husband. “Sometimes we need to . . . talk. Just the two of us.”
“I’ll cover my ears when I come in.” She covered her ears with her hands, showing them how she’d do it.
“Still, you need to knock,” Freya reminded her. “And wait.”
Ella pulled her legs up and sat cross-legged on her chair. She was settling in for the long haul. “Only talk? How about dancing?”
Gregory sent Freya a troubled look, and she was sure he was remembering the day Ella became upset in the carriage, thinking that dancing was responsible for making babies. She looked at her niece.
“We’ll be dancing too,” she said softly. Ella’s gaze immediately fixed on Freya’s stomach. “But I’ll be fine, my love. I won’t leave you.”
The child’s expression bespoke her doubts, and Freya lifted the girl onto her lap.
Holding Ella tight in her arms, she whispered, “I love you. We’ll never leave you. You’re going to be ours.”
Satisfied, Ella extricated herself and dived into Gregory’s arms. Freya watched, somewhat misty-eyed, as the little hands cradled his face and she looked into his eyes.
“What do I call you now?” she asked.
“Penn? Papa? Gregory? Uncle? Anything you like,” he said gently.
Ella nodded thoughtfully, placed a kiss on his forehead, and then pointed to her own forehead. Gregory returned it with a smile. Kisses were then exchanged on each cheek before she scrambled to get down.
Standing in front of them, she looked from one to the other.
“Fie and Gag,” she said.
“I like it,” Gregory said, pulling Freya against him.
Chapter Eleven
Rules are rules, but making love while traveling with a five-year-old bent on getting one’s attention at the worst time was proving to be a challenge. After an extra day in Dundee and two days in Stirling, Ella was continuing to burst into their room at the most unexpected moment. A stomach ache. A bad dream. Shona’s loud snoring. And last night, she claimed she was starving and couldn’t possibly go to sleep.
The first night, Shona had kept Ella away for at least half the night. Since then, Freya and Gregory found themselves making love anytime and anywhere the opportunity presented itself, stealing moments that were exci
ting, fiery, and tremendously satisfying.
In the carriage on the way to the top of Dundee Law while Ella taught Dougal to play backgammon back at the inn. Against an ancient wardrobe in their bedchamber while Shona bathed the child by the fire in the sitting room. In Stirling, where Gregory knew an old friend who was stationed at the snow-covered castle, they’d made love in his private office while the major showed Ella, with Shona trailing along, the gardens of the former royal residence. Freya still blushed at the memory of the ecstasy she and Gregory shared on the man’s desk.
Freya’s gaze lifted from her book to her husband. He was sitting with Ella across the drawing room of the Pennington’s lovely townhouse in Edinburgh. The two had their heads together, whispering quietly and sending her occasional looks of mischief.
She loved them and she loved seeing the bond that had formed between them. Freya was especially appreciative of Gregory’s understanding and patience regarding Ella’s nightly interruptions. He understood that while they were on the road and away from her regular routines at home, the child needed attention.
Shona looked up from her sewing and cocked an eyebrow in the direction of her charge. It was past Ella’s bedtime.
Freya started to remind her niece of it, but paused with surprise when the little girl hugged Gregory and then crossed the room to give her a good-night hug too.
“I’m relying on you, Fie,” she said. Taking Shona by the hand, Ella led her nursemaid out of the drawing room and up the stairs.
Relying on me? She gazed after her niece, wondering about the girl’s happy disposition.
A few moments later, Gregory rose to his feet, and the smile he gave her tightened her chest with the love she held in her heart. She didn’t think she would ever get used to how handsome he was or how breathless she felt when he looked at her like that.
“What does she mean, ‘relying’ on me?” she asked as he strolled lazily across the room. He took the book out of her hand, laid it aside, and pulled her to her feet.
“Come on,” he said, threading his fingers into hers and leading her up the stairs to their bedroom.
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