Questions for a Highlander

by Angeline Fortin

  “I am a most fortunate woman,” came Abby’s voice, carrying a slightly mocking note. “However, nothing has truly been decided.”

  “You’re right, of course,” Oona readily agreed to Richard’s surprise. According to Jack, Haddington’s sole purpose in London was to marry off all three of his daughters in short order. “Given your unfortunate circumstance, we should all be happy to see that you’ve managed a beau at all. Shouldn’t we?”

  Richard felt a frown furrow between his brows. It amazed him that Oona managed to sound so sincere in her sympathies when she was obviously the one making certain to point out Abby’s ‘flaws’.

  Anger burned within him. How humiliating for Abby to be put down so by her own family, especially in the presence of others. It seemed Abby felt the sting as well, for in short order she was begging to be excused in a trembling voice. Was it sorrow or anger that brought the tremor to her voice? He could only hope it was the latter for, in his mind, Oona Seton Merrill deserved a thorough tongue lashing for her actions.

  A door closed below and footsteps sounded on the stairs. Abby was coming up.

  Richard reached the parlor door and opened it just as she was at the landing. For a moment Abby stopped, staring at him in surprise before she turned to continue up the next flight without saying a word.

  “Abby, wait! I’d like to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry, Richard,” she called over her shoulder as she hurried to the top and turned to climb another flight. “I truly have much to do.”

  Richard felt certain that he would have no teeth left soon if he continued to grind them so. He took off after her in long strides, climbing the stairs by twos in his pursuit. “Bloody hell, woman, if ye don’t stop I swear I’ll tackle ye to the ground.”

  Abby paused, glancing back over her shoulder at his tone. There hadn’t been many times when he’d ever spoken to her in such a tone, but when he did, ignoring him was not wise. Clearly she recalled the same, for her steps slowed immediately. Drifting to a halt outside one of the chamber doors, Abby nervously fingered the sweep of her hair across her cheek, irritating him all the more. She had to know by now there was little purpose in the act.

  Long strides carried him to her side. “Abby, look at me.”

  “I am.” This reply was directed to his feet, though she did cast a furtive look up through her lashes.

  Richard’s jaw tightened. Strange to think that less than a week past, that sidelong glance had seemed a seductive gesture. It had caused his pulse to race, his blood to warm. Now his blood boiled for a different reason.

  “No,” he said huskily, reaching out for her. Taking her by the shoulders, Richard turned her squarely before him, pushing aside the urge to shake her silly when she ducked her head and looked off to the side. “Look at me.”

  “I need to go.”

  “Abby,” Richard sighed, taking her chin firmly in his hand but Abby wrenched away from him reaching for the doorknob.

  “No! I need to go!”

  “No, damn it!” Richard shot back and opened the door himself. Pulling her inside, he closed it behind them and locked it with a glare that dared her to say a thing about it.

  But the fight had already drained from her. “So you know,” Abby said dully, walking to the center of the bright, cheery bedchamber. The yellows and whites, the daisies on the bedside table – even her pale yellow day dress – all at odds with the gloom that hung over her now.

  “I know about the accident, aye,” he returned more gently. “Let me see.”

  With an air of defeat, Abby turned to him, her head hanging low. Richard approached slowly, like he might a deer he was hoping not to spook. She was so petite that the top of her head did not reach his shoulder. She didn’t even need to duck her head to hide it from his view. Gently, he took her chin between his fingers, tilting her head up.

  In the bright sunlight, the long, curved scar was very obvious, Richard admitted to himself. It was wide and glossy, puckering just a bit along the way. Reaching up, he brushed it with his fingertips from forehead to cheek, ignoring Abby’s shudder. His fingers slid under her carefully styled hair and he noticed another, more uneven line beyond her hairline. This time, a tremor shook him and Abby stiffened, trying to pull away.

  Richard refused to let her go. Instead, he cupped a hand behind her head and drew her into his embrace, whispering into her hair, “My God, Abby, what were you thinking? You could have been killed!”

  She truly could have, he realized as the reality of the damage settled in. A blow to the head such as either of those might have been enough to kill her. She might easily have been lost forever, and he wouldn’t have known. He would never have known her as the woman she was today, would never have known how she could make his heart and body quiver with longing. Richard would never have known how precious she was to him.

  His arms tightened around her as the revelations became clear and after a few moments, Abby gave in. She stopped pushing against him and sank into his embrace with a sigh. For a long while he held her like that, thankful for her life. Then he recalled what he had heard below stairs.

  “I think perhaps that Oona and our sisters have done you a great disservice, Abby.” Richard broke the silence, stepping away. “I had the misfortune of overhearing Oona words to you when I arrived.”

  Abby’s cheeks reddened with shame.

  “She’s a spiteful bitch who cannot countenance that you’ve grown more beautiful than she,” he said flatly. Jack had told him that the woman had long been envious of her stepdaughter’s beauty, what better way to counter it than by diminishing Abby’s natural self-confidence, taking away what Richard thought was her most attractive quality? “She thinks to belittle you into feeling less than perfect, by expounding on flaws that are insignificant. You don’t truly believe such nonsense, do you?”

  Abby shrugged but it was enough to incense Richard. “Good God, angel! You cannot be serious?”

  “Everyone thinks so, Richard, not just Oona.”

  “Everyone? Like who?”

  “My sisters.”

  “Jack tells me that Sara and Catharine are empty headed pieces of fluff who are just as superficial as Oona raised them to be.”

  Again she shrugged, but this time Richard could make out just a hint of a smile. “Jack can be very blunt.”

  “I’m sure that Jack and I both see the same thing when we look at you, Abby. No, don’t look away from me again. Don’t hide from me. The only thought that crosses my mind when seeing those scars is that you could have been killed. That is all, but in truth, it doesn’t matter what I think or what anyone else thinks.” Richard traced the line once more. “It only matters what you think. When you see those scars, are you as thankful for your life as you should be, angel? Or do you see what you think everyone else does?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you see when you look in the mirror?” he pressed. “Do you see the hideousness Oona taunts you with, or do you see what anyone with a lick of sense sees?”

  Abby stared at him so blankly that Richard gnashed his teeth in frustration. “It’s a simple question, Abby. Come, tell me. What do you see?”

  Abby just shook her head, and finally, Richard noticed what was missing in her room. There was no mirror to be found, not even over the vanity. Richard shook his head in disbelief. “Are you serious? You have never looked?”

  “I’ve looked,” she quickly denied but Richard could hear the half-truth in her words.

  “When?” he asked, then repeated more fiercely. “When, Abby? When did you look? Last year? Last month? When?”

  “It’s none of your business!”

  “When?” he persisted.

  “When it happened!” she replied at a near screech, all of her pain and frustration finally coming to the surface, before she dropped her face into her hands.

  “Then I think perhaps you’ve done a disservice to yourself,” Richard said more softly. Pulling away from her, he looked abou
t the room before moving into the attached dressing room, returning moments later with a large framed mirror in his hands. He knew there had to be one about. Any leased residence after all would have been fully furnished for its tenants.

  Richard set the mirror on the dressing table and leaned it back against the wall. Abby was still on the other side of the room, so he went to retrieve her, taking her by the hand and forcing her to the table. He turned her toward the glass, his hands firmly on her shoulders to keep her there. “Look in the mirror, Abby, and tell me what you see.”

  Chapter 22

  Love looks not with the eyes

  but with the mind.

  - William Shakespeare, A Midsummer’s Night Dream

  Abby knew the mirror was right in front of her but couldn’t bear to open her eyes. She knew what she would see, the scars on her hip and side were a ready clue to what awaited her. If that weren’t enough, the lingering stares, the painful winces of the people she met told her clearly enough. Richard might think that Oona had done her a disservice by making sure Abby was aware of how bad she looked but Abby did not agree.

  Those not-so-gentle jabs had more than prepared her for what her London Season had delivered in abundance. Oona had made it clear that no man would be prepared to wed her without the powerful lure of a dowry and she was right. She was certain even Harry Brudenall, as likeable as he was, had an ulterior motive for pursuing her.

  “Abby, open your eyes,” Richard commanded again from just behind her.

  “I cannot bear to, Richard,” Abby whispered through trembling lips. She didn’t have to look to know what it looked like. Oona had spent the past five years making sure of it.

  “Abby?”

  A single tear slipped down her cheek. “You don’t understand! You can’t know what it’s like to have people look at you with horror! When all you have is a small claim to beauty with little else to recommend you, to have it taken away from you. All I have left is everyone’s pity!”

  “Why do you need anyone else’s when you have your own?”

  Abby’s eyes opened wide with astonishment before releasing her breath in a rush. “You’re right, of course. But it happened to me! It ruined my life!”

  “No, it didn’t, but you are. You’ve got beauty, though I know that even if you bothered to look in that mirror you wouldn’t see it. It not just physical. You’ve far more beauty in your soul than I.”

  “The physical is all people care about, nothing else,” she told him bitterly.

  “So you won’t even look?”

  She shook her head stubbornly. “No.”

  “Then look at me instead.”

  Yes, that she could certainly bear.

  Abby opened her eyes and met Richard’s in the mirror. He was so beautiful, inside and out despite his rotten words regarding his soul. All the MacKintosh lads were lovely to look at, of course, but to her mind Richard was the most compelling. Though the merriment of youth no longer lingered on his face, the slightly drawn countenance she saw showed a man of character, a man who cared for others more than himself. She loved that about him.

  She loved everything about him.

  Abby studied him as he watched until she met his eyes once more.

  “Now look at you.” Richard stroked her cheek with his knuckles and her eyes were unwillingly drawn to the spot where her skin flamed before fading with a tingle. “What do you see?”

  The scar was blatantly visible as his hand dropped away. For the first time in five years, she looked, seeing nothing else. It was like a beacon to her, pulsating against her flushed skin, nothing could be so awful. No wonder everyone stared.

  “Do you know what I see?” Richard asked when she did not answer. The question prompted Abby to again shut her eyes tightly as if to brace herself for his criticism. “I see eyes like the sea, green and blue and so churning with feeling that sometimes it’s difficult to look away from them. When I do, though, I see a woman who mystifies me with her beauty.”

  “How can you say that?” Abby choked out, tears filling her eyes at his lovely words.

  Richard was silent for just a moment before whispering softly into her ear, “We all have scars, angel, some more visible than others. Some on the outside, some on our souls.”

  “It’s hideous.” Even as Abby said the words, she knew it wasn’t as awful as she’d always feared. Certainly not as bad as it had been years ago. She looked at it once more, trying to be objective. Granted, it was no sliver of a scar, no fine line, but the swelling of years past was gone. The bruising had faded and the scabbed, puckered tear had healed over the years until only a wide, glossy smooth, white crescent against the blush of her cheeks remained. Looking at it made her recall the pain of the impact but not the revulsion that had filled her before. “It is hideous. Everyone knows it,” she insisted, though her words had lost their heat.

  “You want hideous?” Richard challenged. “Look at this.”

  Richard yanked his shirt out of his trousers and lifted it, presenting her with his back. For a moment, Abby was too taken aback by the sight of his dark skin to even notice what he was showing her. On his lower back to the right was scar about the size of a guinea. It was grossly textured but nothing in comparison. Then Richard turned.

  “The exit wound,” he added quietly.

  To Abby’s mind, it appeared as if a small animal had attempted to claw its way from Richard’s body. It was very red and angry, but, of course, it was a recent wound. The flesh was mottled and rigid from the bullet’s tearing departure. For all the physical damage, Abby couldn’t help but be amazed that Richard had been able to avoid internal damage as the bullet tore through him. And thankful.

  She saw the wound but thought only of him and his suffering… his miraculous survival. Hadn’t he asked if she saw the same when she looked at her own scars?

  Was that all he truly saw? Was it all she should see as well? A second chance?

  With a swallow, Abby pulled unbuttoned her tight cuff to the elbow before rolling it up to show him the perfect horseshoe mark on her arm. With raised brows, Richard shed his jacket and rolled up his own sleeve to reveal a wide white line across his upper arm that stood in stark contrast to his dark skin. “Saber.”

  Abby tugged her sleeve from her shoulder and showed him the scars on her shoulder. They were a particularly vicious trio of wide, shiny moons. “Horse.”

  Richard gave a little snort of dismissal, his eyes rolling with sudden humor and pulled of his cravat and loosened his collar to reveal another jagged wound on his upper chest. “Shrapnel.”

  A reluctant smile tugged the corner of Abby’s lips before she thoughtlessly tugged up her skirts to her thigh and thrust a hip toward him to display the series of ridged, half-circles that marred the skin above her silk stockings. “Very large horse.”

  Richard, however, did not share in her humor. His eyes no longer alight with amusement. Instead, his green eyes darkened as he studied her flesh.

  Richard stared down at Abby’s exposed limb with a sudden surge of hunger. For a woman so tiny, her slim leg was surprisingly long and muscular. Her sheer, pale pink silk stockings hugged every curve and dip right up to the lacy garters tied just above her knee. Then came the creamy expanse of her thigh, soft and silken. Richard swallowed painfully looking at that limb, clenching his fists to keep himself from reaching out and caressing the inviting flesh. “Perhaps it would be best if… I believe I made my point.”

  “Is something wrong, Richard?”

  There was confusion in her voice but when Richard looked up at her face once more, he had the misfortune of doing so just in time to watch her tongue dart out to wet her lips with innocent allure. Richard bit back a groan. It had been too long. Long enough that almost any woman would do but to have a woman like Abygail Merrill baring her flesh to him was almost too much to bear. “All those years we spent together, I never saw you as more than a child, more a lad than a lassie. You were like just another brother at times. It took seei
ng you again after all this time to see the woman in you. You stunned me from that first moment we met again.”

  “Really?” Her voice held surprise and more than a little disbelief. For which part of his ill-considered confession, he had no idea.

  Yanking his cravat back around his neck, Richard turned away. “You should tidy yourself.”

  “Do I truly stun you, Richard?” she asked, making no move to fix her bodice though she did drop her skirts once more. “You didn’t even recognize me.”

  “That’s because you didn’t look anything like the scamp I remembered,” Richard told her, once again surprised by his candid admission. He was even more astonished to hear himself continue, “I’d never seen anyone look so angelic, so perfect.”

  Abby shuddered at the word and turned away. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why ever not?” he asked. “You are a vision to behold, Abby, each time I lay eyes on you, I’m taken aback by your exquisiteness.”

  Richard took Abby’s arm and turned her back to face him. When she tilted her head back to look up at him, his hands reached up of their own accord to gently cup her face. “You may believe as you like, but you’re wrong. Any man worth his salt would see only the beauty you are. This,” Richard leaned in and brushed his lips across her forehead and cheek, “is nothing. I cannot even see it in the shadows of your radiance.”

  Abby trembled as Richard’s lips touched her scarred flesh but his words made her quiver even more. Did he truly mean his words? They were more poetic and heartfelt than anything she’d ever heard from him before, but then she’d never been the object of his seduction. She wanted to believe him though. Wanted to cling to those words.