by Karen Ranney
The old woman smiled, then slowly placed the mirror back on the table.
Mary turned and spoke to her granddaughter. “Go and fetch your husband to me. I’d see him again.” After Elspeth left the cottage, the old woman turned to Veronica.
“Ask me your other question, child. I see it in your eyes.”
“My parents told me I have a Gift,” she said slowly. “I can feel what others feel.” She glanced down at the scarred table, ran a finger over one particularly interesting gouge.
“Are you asking me if this is true?”
Veronica shook her head. She knew, despite what anyone said, that her Gift was real. “What I want to know is this. Can someone talk to the dead?”
Old Mary reached over, placed her hand over Veronica’s again, and asked with genuine curiosity, “Why would you want to?” Her smile was a simple curve of closed lips, but her eyes were warm. “Life is for the living, my child. Not the dead.” She pulled back her hand and sat back against the chair.
“In this land, ghosts are plentiful. We’ve kilted warriors, peddlers, Edinburgh dandies playing at war. We’ve young women swathed in plaid and children destined to be forever young.” She stared off into the distance. “You would have enough to do if you spent your life seeking them out.” Her smile faded. “You’d have none of your own life to live.”
She leaned forward again, patting Veronica’s hand. “Go and live your own life, child. Leave the dead to their graves.”
Veronica didn’t say anything for a moment and Old Mary allowed her the silence. When she did speak, it was softly, the words coming with difficulty.
“I want to see my parents,” she said, feeling as if her throat were closing. “I want to say goodbye.”
“Then say goodbye,” Mary said, surprising her. “In your heart. Do you think they wouldn’t know?” She reached over and patted her cheek. “In your heart, child. That’s all you need to do.”
Veronica smoothed her fingers over the cool surface of the mirror, feeling the gold warm to her touch. She knew, coming there, what she would do.
Slowly, Veronica stood, then impulsively bent and kissed the old woman on the cheek.
“May I leave the mirror with you?” Veronica asked.
“I would be pleased to return it to where I found it,” Mary said. “A full circle.”
“Thank you,” Veronica said softly, and left the cottage.
Her attention was caught by a figure on a nearby hill. As she watched, she realized it was Montgomery standing there. She raised her arm to signal him, and he responded in kind.
A borrowed Scot? Not that man. He looked at home, striding with confident steps as if he belonged in Scotland. He did, but would Montgomery realize it?
Chapter 30
Montgomery had left his carriage in Inverness, and when they arrived back in the city, he sent Veronica’s coachman on an errand, to find Edmund Kerr and tell him he was needed at Doncaster Hall.
Instead of remaining overnight either at Perth or Inverness, they’d chosen to return home. Another dawn found them nearly there, his arm around Veronica’s shoulders as she dozed.
She hadn’t mentioned what she’d discussed with Old Mary, and her only comment about the mirror had been that it belonged with the Tullochs. He’d not disputed the claim or pressed her for more details. They’d said farewell to Elspeth and Robbie, who were going to stay with Elspeth’s relatives another day or so before returning to Doncaster Hall.
“Won’t you miss her help?” he’d asked, as they were leaving Perth.
She’d sent him a look that warned him it had been a foolish question.
“I never had a maid of my own until I married you.”
“Many things have changed in the last two months.”
She’d only smiled at that remark.
He gently cradled her as she slept, grateful beyond measure he’d gone to the Society of the Mercaii that night.
Once home, they slept for a few hours. He loved Veronica at dawn, slipping inside her, their bodies rising and falling in a slow, seductive, drugging rhythm. He’d wanted to pleasure her but pleased himself as well, lost in her. He slid one hand beneath her buttocks, lifted her, intent on giving her more, needing to give her more. She arched against him, a sound of surrender escaping her full and well-kissed lips.
Later that morning, he returned to the distillery to find Ralston had been busy in his absence.
The rest of the envelope had been retrieved and lay on the grass in strips. The silk was too damaged to be used again, but he thanked Ralston for his effort regardless.
“I’m going up tomorrow,” he told Ralston, waiting for the other man’s response.
“In what, Your Lordship?” Ralston asked, frowning. “The envelope is in shreds, and you’ve removed the baffles from your balloon to use on the ship.”
He smiled, pleased at Ralston’s knowledge. “You know that, and I know that, but no one else does. I’d like you to spread the word I’ll be flying again tomorrow.”
Ralston’s brow furrowed. “Your Lordship, wide ears and short tongues are best, but I’m curious. Why?”
“Someone wanted my airship to fail, Ralston.”
The other man nodded, suddenly understanding. “You’re setting a trap, then, sir?”
“I am,” he said.
“May I assist you, sir?”
He smiled. “Indeed you may. First, I’d like you to spread the word. Second, let me know when Edmund arrives, and third, join me back here once it’s dark. Bring Tom. We’ll need reinforcements. But no one else is to know.”
Ralston nodded, looking pleased at his assignments.
Montgomery had taken the precaution of arming himself with the pistol he’d brought from Virginia. He hid it behind one of the abandoned whiskey kettles, studying the layout with an eye to tonight’s performance. He’d settle himself into a depression in the earthen floor and wait.
First, however, he had another, even more important, task to perform.
He found Veronica an hour later, a good distance from Doncaster Hall, standing atop a knoll.
“What are you doing?” he asked when he reached her.
“Saying goodbye,” she said, not turning.
“Goodbye?”
She nodded.
“To me?” Damned if his heart didn’t skip a beat or two.
“No,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “To the past.”
He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him.
“Look around you, Montgomery Fairfax. What do you see?”
Green, rolling glens gave way to brushy hills covered by undulating flocks of sheep with black faces and shaggy coats. Beyond, the mountains were dark gray, the color of shale, punched into relief by black shadows, and highlighted by a midday sun. Even farther, the high peaks of mountains, already dusted with snow, poked at the sky.
Slashes of color brightened the landscape: a touch of purple, a soft blue, and here and there, a flavor of yellow in the form of an intrepid wildflower blooming brightly against a rock wall.
A soft wind blew from the west, ruffling the surface of the river to the left. The scent was one he’d come to recognize as uniquely Scotland: a hint of chill in the air, the smell of moss, and a something he’d been told was peat.
In the distance, the ruins of a crofter’s hut attested that someone had lived here once, braving the weather and the isolation with the same insouciance as the sheep still did.
“Scotland isn’t just the scenery,” she said, turning in his arms, curving her palms around his elbows. “It’s a place. A feeling. Spirit, will, struggle, the essence of life itself. It’s all here. There’s power here, Montgomery, can’t you feel it?”
He looked down at her. Her face was luminous, as if she were lit from within. She took his breath away.
He loved the sound of her voice, the way she pronounced words, the lilt of it, the flavor of Scotland in her speech.
“A
nd sheep,” he said, looking where she gestured. “Don’t forget sheep. No wonder we eat so much mutton.”
She laughed, the first time he’d ever heard her laugh like that, freely, completely. He found himself charmed by the sound, wishing she would laugh again. Perhaps she hadn’t laughed before because he hadn’t been amusing.
“Mr. Kerr called you a borrowed Scot,” she said, startling him. “Will you prove him right or wrong?”
“A borrowed Scot?” He wasn’t certain how he felt about that.
“Did you know he was a Fairfax?” she asked.
“I just discovered it.”
To his surprise, she looked annoyed.
“There wasn’t exactly time to tell you,” he said. “I was occupied in chasing you all over Scotland.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t accused me of trying to kill you.”
“Forgive me,” he said, kissing her temple, then trailed his lips down her cheek. She deliberately turned her head away, and he smiled.
“I didn’t think.”
She slowly turned her head again.
She looked so desirable, he decided that it might be time to talk sternly to that part of him springing to attention. Instead, he drew her closer, in the grip of something he didn’t quite understand. She melted against him as she always did, responsive, enticing, surrendering so easily and with such delight he was the one vanquished.
Need arrowed through him as he crushed his mouth to hers. She gripped his shirt, pulled him to her, wrapped her arms around his neck, and buried her face against his throat.
“I want you, now,” he said, knowing damn well that now was not appropriate.
He kissed the curve of her ear, grabbed the lobe between his teeth, then trailed a heated path down her throat.
He forced himself to release her.
“How do you do that to me?” he asked, pulling away and staring into her face.
She blinked several times, as if trying to surface from a dream.
“I thought it was you,” she said, her lips curving in a smile.
“Perhaps it’s us,” he said.
“Is that bad?”
“No,” he said, leaning his forehead against hers. “It’s not. But I’ll be damned if I’ll take my wife in the middle of a glen.”
She sighed. “Really?” she asked, sounding disappointed.
“I came to tell you something,” he said, stepping back from her. He couldn’t touch her without wanting her. At her look, he smiled. “You’ll hear I’m taking my airship up tomorrow.”
Her expression was carefully expressionless, but he knew to look in her eyes.
“I came to tell you not to worry,” he said, tracing his finger along her jaw.
She looked away, her view of the abandoned crofter’s hut evidently of great interest. Finally, she turned to face him, her regard steady and unwavering.
“How do I do that?” she asked.
“Trust me to know what I’m doing,” he said.
Again, that look.
She nodded, finally, almost a reluctant concession.
He didn’t care how he protected Veronica but protect her he would. He wasn’t a borrowed Scot, damn it. He was as stubborn, determined, and as Scots in his way as Veronica was in hers.
A few hours later, Veronica decided she was not going to tolerate this behavior from Montgomery anymore. He could not reveal the secret of his past in Virginia one moment and, in the next, retreat into silence. He’d not come to dinner. She hadn’t seen him since this afternoon.
She was going to have to tell him exactly what she wanted. If, in time, she divulged her emotions, then so be it.
He would know she’d fallen in love with him.
Perhaps he wouldn’t ridicule her, but he might get that look in his eyes, the one that said she confused him. But if he thought he was going to push her away again, however, she was having none of it.
She dressed in her new emerald dress, a shade that brought out the green of her eyes and made them sparkle. Since Elspeth had not yet returned, and since she hadn’t wanted to bother Mrs. Brody for a temporary replacement, she left her hair loose, spread over her shoulders.
She took the servants’ stairs to the back of the house since she didn’t want to be seen heading toward the distillery. They should call the building something different going forward. The Airship Building, perhaps.
The distillery was dark when she stood in the doorway, but before she could call out for Montgomery, she found herself grabbed and hauled bodily behind a kettle. She would have screamed if a hand hadn’t suddenly clamped over her mouth.
“What are you doing here?” Montgomery whispered, relaxing his hand.
“Looking for you,” she whispered back. She turned in his arms. “Why are we whispering? And why are we in the dark?”
When he didn’t speak, she slapped her head against his chest. “Talk to me, Montgomery.”
“I’m laying a trap.”
“Why?”
“I know who sabotaged my airship,” he said.
“Were you going to tell me?” she asked.
“No.”
She took a step away from him. “You weren’t?”
“Not until it was over,” he said.
She folded her arms in front of her.
He grabbed her and pulled her close.
“I didn’t want you involved,” he said softly, “because you could get hurt. He’s after me, not you.”
“I don’t want you hurt, either,” she said, standing stiff within his embrace.
He lowered his head until his forehead touched hers. “I’m supposed to protect you, Veronica,” he said.
“You do. Without telling me, though?” She pulled back again. “He?” she asked, just now realizing what he’d said.
“Edmund Kerr.”
“Mr. Kerr?”
“He’s made no secret of the fact he thinks me a poor lord,” Montgomery said. “Had it not been for my grandfather, he’d be the 11th Lord Fairfax.”
She thought about his revelation for a moment. “I didn’t like him when I first met him,” she said. “I told myself I must be mistaken.”
“You should have told me.”
She placed her hands on her hips and regarded him. “When, Montgomery? As I remember, you didn’t think much of my Gift.”
Before he could answer, they heard a sound.
A shadow appeared on the wall: a creeping creature with a glowing heart.
“What is that?” she whispered.
Montgomery shook his head, placing one finger against her lips. She nodded her understanding as he moved to stand in front of her. She watched as the figure moved inside the old distillery, carrying a lantern, body curved over it to contain the light, and walking unerringly to the corner.
Montgomery left the shelter of the kettle, advancing on the intruder as the figure lifted the lid of the blue-and-white barrel. She followed, fear chilling her.
The person lifted the lantern as Montgomery approached. In the next instant, Veronica saw that it wasn’t Edmund Kerr standing in front of the barrel of paraffin oil but a woman.
“Millicent?” she asked, startled. “What are you doing here?”
The next moments were a blur. Millicent pushed the barrel over, then threw the lantern down on the stream of paraffin oil. Montgomery whirled, pushing Veronica in front of him. Before she could question him, before she could even speak, he’d grabbed her, thrown her over his shoulder, and was racing for the door.
She didn’t have time to protest.
A whoosh of air preceded the explosion. Billowing orange clouds limned in black rolled out of the doorway, carrying fire into the night sky. The air cracked open, deadened her hearing, and sucked the breath from her lungs.
She and Montgomery fell, thrown onto the graveled path by the force of the explosion. Pieces of roof, rendered almost molten by the blast, and shards of brick fell on them as Montgomery covered her with his body. She h
eard his groan of pain as something heavy struck his shoulder, and clutched him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and counted each screaming second.
Would they even survive to have a future?
Chapter 31
The ground shook, the air heated; Veronica was trembling beneath him. The explosion seemed to go on forever, forever being measured by minutes. The gradual slowing of the rain of pebbles was the first indication it was ending.
He got to his knees, helping Veronica up. They knelt there in the glow of the fire as he studied her carefully. Her dress had been singed on one sleeve. Her cheek was reddened where he’d probably been too rough in throwing her over his shoulder. A bruise, however, was a small price to pay for survival.
He finished his survey, just now realizing she was doing the same to him.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded, placing her palm against his cheek, her thumb gently brushing against the corner of his mouth.
“Are you? Your face is covered in soot.”
He rotated his right shoulder, feeling the pain and discounting it in the same movement.
“I’m alive,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”
He stood with some effort and pulled Veronica up. For a moment, they simply leaned together, each supporting the other. Together, they staggered to the bridge.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice faint.
“She set the paraffin oil on fire. It explodes,” he said.
“What was she doing?”
He slung one arm around her shoulder. “It’s why the burner failed,” he said. “The oil was contaminated. Anything would have done it, but I suspected she was using dirt and grass.”
“So, she was coming back to do it again?”
He nodded.
Suddenly, Ralston was there. Ralston, with his shirt half off his body and his face covered in red-and-black welts. His white hair was standing up in tufts, and for the first time in their acquaintance, Ralston looked angry.
“Are all right, sir?” he asked, voice quavering.
