Through the Fire

by Elizabeth Johns

  They passed by the now-golden fields in silence. The wagons were waiting to receive the grain that would be scythed and tied into bundles. He watched Margaux look out over the harvest and back towards the house. She repeated this gesture several times. Was she looking for the Mulligans? He had also been keeping an eye open, but he couldn’t see everything and mind the gig. He appreciated her awareness after wandering on her own the day before.

  “Do you see something?”

  “No, but I have that eerie feeling again.”

  “Again?”

  She looked guilty.

  “Yesterday and the day before, when I was out alone, I felt like someone was watching me. They probably were.” She had leaned in close so he could hear her.

  He felt like he had taken a blow to the gut. It kept getting worse and worse. They pulled into the village safely, and he heard her sigh with relief.

  Chapter 17

  Where shall we start?”

  “I have no notion who anyone is,” she said quietly.

  “Verra well. I am not certain I ken either, but a few people remain from my days here as a youth, I collect.”

  He helped her down from the gig and took her arm while holding the invitations in the other. The reception they received was, in a word, strange. The villagers seemed genuinely delighted to see her husband, but Margaux only received the chilliest of greetings. No one would overtly cut Lady Craig, but they were just shy of it. Cottage after cottage, it was the same; no offers of tea, or to come inside for a cosy visit. It was acutely uncomfortable—as was the smile she kept plastered to her face.

  “Is your village always so…” She couldn’t think of the proper word.

  “Rude?” He filled in his own word.

  “I understand they are leery of me.”

  “But you are their patroness, for goodness’ sake! I canna believe it of my people,” he said with disgust, and ran his hands through his hair, dishevelling it in a most alluring fashion. She was not the only one who found her husband attractive, for the village women looked equally as enamoured of him as they displayed their contempt of her.

  “I am a stranger to them. I was perhaps too forward in my independence when I arrived, determined to prove myself.” She smiled. “I think they meant to send me to Jericho, not marry their most eligible bachelor.”

  He laughed at that.

  “I had not thought of it in that light. It serves them right. Perhaps they are jealous of your beauty. These parts have never seen the like, and they doona even ken you yet.”

  She stared at him. He had never said such to her.

  “Did I say that aloud?”

  She nodded in disbelief. She had always thought beauty a double-edged sword, but when the compliment came from him, it felt genuine, as if he could see into her instead of her surface. His beauty affected people, but she had no doubt he was adored as much for himself.

  “Perhaps it would have been best if I had stayed at home.”

  “Nay. They would have criticized you more for it. At least you show your courage, and they canna find fault with that.”

  They continued on, though the reception was the same. She recognized some of the ladies from the shop and some from church. She smiled and did her best to appear unaffected. Once they knew her better, they would perhaps relent if she remained. If not, they risked being cut off from their lord. If they were so foolish, she would be better off without them. It still hurt to be treated as if she were a fallen woman. She was thankful she was made of sterner stuff or it would have cut her to the core. Town society would have welcomed her once she was married, she reflected. Marriage erased virtually any wrong in their eyes. Not so, here, apparently.

  She was growing weary—mentally and physically—but she was determined to see this duty through. She clung more tightly to Gavin for support and hoped he did not notice what a burden she was.

  When they reached the last house, they received the only kind welcome they were to have. Gavin knocked and was let into the house by a servant. When they were shown into the parlour, they were greeted by a loud exclamation.

  “Why, Master Gavin, ye are a sight fer sore eyes, lad,” she said with a chuckle.

  “Muime! I didna ken you were here,” he said and affectionately wrapped the woman in a hug.

  “Iain set me up in me own cottage after his bairns didna need me. Do ye be needin’ Muime?”

  “Maybe,” Gavin said with a blush and realized he had not introduced Margaux. “May I introduce my wife, Margaux, Lady Craig. This is my nurse, whom we refer to as Muime.”

  Margaux nodded politely to the plump woman, who must have seen at least fifty or more summers. She seemed very warm-hearted. Even Margaux felt like giving her a hug.

  “Please sit down an tell me yer news. I had heard ye were here, but I didna ken if I would see ye.”

  “I would have been here as fast as my horse would carry me had I ken where you were.”

  The woman winked and smiled. “Flummery will be rewarded with yer favourites.” She rang for the maid and asked for tea and tablets.

  Margaux wondered what kind of treat a tablet could be, but kept the query to herself and enjoyed watching her husband with his old nurse. She had not seen him so light-hearted. She wished she could bring him such joy. When she was paying attention again, Gavin was regaling Muime with how they had met at Alberfoyle, but were courting other people, who had in the end, married each other. Muime laughed heartily at this and wanted to know how they had come together. Margaux had to blush.

  “She saved me from myself. Fate had brought us both here and I needed her. You ken about Iain,” he said sadly. “We had been friendly at Alberfoyle, and she had tired of society and came here to live quietly and help with their orphans. I begged ungraciously for her to be my helpmeet and she finally accepted.”

  “He is too modest, Muime,” Margaux said, in her now quiet voice. “I was being shunned in the village and needed him as much.”

  The old lady watched the two of them with a knowing eye, but only nodded.

  “I had heard some of what ye say.”

  “Have you heard anythin’ in the village as to why my wife is still being treated ill? Yours is the last house, and none but yours so much as welcomed us in.”

  The nurse paused for a moment and appeared to be thinking about what to say.

  “Please do not spare my feelings,” Margaux said.

  “Verra well. It is the Mulligans. That woman had spread venom about ye afore she’d seen yer face. She ne’er did approve of ye taking fallen girls to Breconrae.”

  “I see. And now that I have dismissed the Mulligans? Do they blame her?”

  “I doona ken. I have ne’er been so pleased to see the backside of their nasty arses,” Muime said with a chuckle. “There, see? Ye best find a young, happy vicar so I can get me soul back into church. I’ve shocked yer wife.”

  Margaux could not believe what she was hearing. Why centre all the hate on her when her father had set up the home for girls?

  “Ye were an easy target, lass,” the older woman said, as if reading her mind. “Ye came as a wealthy lady from London, a rare beauty, to be sure, and planning to set up as independent. Ye represented evr’thin’ she abhorred.”

  “It matters not that she is now Lady Craig?”

  “It matters, but even if they dislike the Mulligans, the seed was planted and it will take time to undo her lies.”

  “Guilty until proven innocent.” Margaux’s voice sounded empty.

  “Aye. I’m afeard so.”

  “We believe the Mulligans set fire to Breconrae and are responsible for Mrs. Bailey’s death and Margaux’s injuries,” Gavin explained.

  The older woman sat quietly, watching him intently.

  “There was a fire at the dower house as well as the manor house. Only yesterday, a rock was thrown through the drawing room window shattering glass amongst a crowd of my guests at our home. Thankfully, no one was hurt.”

  “How
do ye ken it was them?” Muime asked.

  Gavin hesitated. “The fire happened the night I had dismissed them, and also the house-mother at the orphanage had been seen in dispute with Mrs. Mulligan. Yesterday, they left a note on the rock.”

  Margaux turned to stare at him. He had not mentioned any note.

  “Well, tell us, boy,” Muime insisted.

  “It said: an eye for an eye, the whore must die,” he said aloud with a painful cringe.

  “Mrs. Bailey was Mrs. Mulligan’s sister,” Muime explained.

  “Heavens,” Margaux whispered as she made the connection. “She blames me, though I did not set the fire.”

  She could not speak. She could not breathe. The next thing she knew she was in her husband’s arms and being placed into the gig.

  “I am sorry, lass. I shouldna told you. Forgive me,” he pleaded.

  All Margaux could think was she needed to leave this cursed place, and fast. They drove back as fast as the mare would go, but Margaux remembered little of it. She was too dumbstruck and numb to think. She tried to repress all memories of her time here, and think of her beloved home in France when she had lived in blissful ignorance and harmony with her siblings. That time before Napoleon had forced them to England and into the life she had come to despise. She closed her eyes and fought back the desire to sob. How could she fight against what she could not help and was innocent of? If people chose to assume the worst, how could she prevent it?

  Soon, her husband would grow weary of defending her. She was alienating him from his village. He had dismissed their vicar because of her and her family’s controversial orphanage, and he had enough on his plate without having to doctor her. She would speak to her parents. They would understand when she told them what Muime had said. She wanted to leave for France. It would be her gift of love to Gavin.

  Margaux had said not a word on the return trip to the castle. Gavin could sense her retreating into herself and he could not blame her. This madness had to cease. He desperately wanted life to return to normal, and for her to choose to stay with him. She was rubbing her hand subconsciously, the only sign that she was inwardly in pain.

  He did not know what he could say to make her feel better. He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and whisper sweet assurances in her ear, but he doubted she would welcome such obviously empty words. Would she welcome the physical affection? He did not know and he worried she would not.

  They pulled between the gates, and Gavin waved to the men on guard. Margaux grabbed his arm suddenly.

  “Hurry!” she said with panic.

  “What is it?” he asked as he urged the mare to move faster.

  “I cannot say. I feel strange again.”

  It was then that an arrow whizzed past their heads, narrowly missing them. Gavin pushed her down into his chest and sunk as low as he could, trying to protect them. The horse sensed something was amiss, and began to spook, voicing her displeasure with a shrill neigh. Gavin crooned to the mare, and she settled somewhat, until the second arrow caught her in the hindquarters and she reared in pain. She bolted before Gavin could stop her and they held on for dear life. The mare galloped straight to the stables. Gavin shouted for help as they came near, and for the men to go after the attacker. The grooms ran to assist them and took care of settling the horse, while Gavin held on to Margaux and ran with her into the house. He was yelling for everyone as soon as they made it through the door.

  “Which way were they shooting from, m’lord?” one of the men was rational enough to ask, as the house was suddenly in an uproar of activity and the male servants were gathering.

  Gavin had to concentrate. It had happened so quickly. Margaux reached up and touched his hand.

  “South,” she said quietly. The same direction the footprints had led, toward Breconrae.

  “Aye. To the south,” he directed and started to go with the men as they went to search out the killers, but his wife reached out for him.

  “Stay,” she commanded, yet at the same time pleading with her eyes.

  Right now, he wanted vengeance. Blood. The lunatics needed to be stopped. They had dared to harm his wife and kill Lord Ashbury’s housekeeper, not to mention the attempts that were still happening. He forced himself to be calm and sat down next to Margaux. He waited for her to speak once the room had emptied.

  “This will stop if I leave.” She took a deep breath.

  “No.” He spoke before he even considered.

  “Think. The Mulligans are growing desperate enough to attack in daylight. What if it had been one of the children? My parents can take me away. When they realize I am gone, they will stop.”

  “We shouldna taken you out today in an open carriage. We will catch them soon. They grow bold in crossing into Craig property. They could see you leave and follow you. We canna take the risk. And there is no guarantee they will not redirect their anger towards others. They must be caught.”

  Gavin stood and rang for tea, and began to pace the room. He wanted to be out there doing something, but it was clear his wife wanted him here. He watched out of the window to the south, looking for any sign of the men out searching. The Runners had been out with the hounds again, but they had not reported back on the day’s efforts.

  At that moment, Lord and Lady Ashbury entered the room.

  “What is the commotion, chérie?” Lady Ashbury crossed the room to join Margaux on a sofa.

  Margaux explained to her parents what had occurred, but when she suggested leaving, both of them disagreed with her. Gavin had said not a word, but watched his wife, trying to determine her true feelings. He did not blame her for wishing to leave. Someone was trying to kill her, for heaven’s sake, and he had failed to protect her. He could not quite come to terms with the fact. But, would she want to stay with him after this was all over, once the lunatics had been caught? And they would be caught, he swore to himself.

  Her parents continued to try to comfort Margaux. Gavin watched on with longing, wishing he could be the one whom she wanted to console her and make her feel secure. But their marriage had been one disaster after another. Perhaps she was right. Should he force her to stay in this marriage when she clearly wanted to leave? When phrased that way…

  Tallach entered the room.

  “Mr. Peters is here, my lord,” the butler said impassively.

  “Show him in,” Gavin directed.

  The stout man, wearing a scarlet waistcoat to match his ruddy nose, entered the room, trying to catch his breath.

  “What have you found, Peters?” Lord Ashbury asked impatiently.

  “We found evidence they been stayin’ in the ruins of the Dower House.”

  “At Breconrae?” Lord Ashbury asked incredulously.

  “Aye, m’lord,” Peters affirmed.

  “How do you ken it was them?” Gavin questioned.

  “It was obvious they left in a great hurry. But they left this behind.”

  The man held up a Bible and opened the page to reveal the name Mulligan.

  “That only confirms what we already believed. They must be caught.”

  Chapter 18

  Margaux felt a warm arm draped over her and began to panic. She tried not to move, but her heart was thumping and she could feel her chest rising with rapid breaths. She wanted to scream and run. Had she been kidnapped during her sleep? Had they drugged her or hit her unconscious? She did not feel any odd sensations or pain. She willed herself to remain calm and assess the situation. The offending arm was still, and it appeared to be coming over her from behind. She dared to open her eyes, and she appeared to be in her chamber, by the dim light sneaking its way through the curtain. Thankfully, she had not been taken away.

  She bravely looked at the arm. It was definitely male. The fine hands bore a remarkable resemblance to her husband’s, down to the dark hairs that covered the back of his fingers. But whatever was he doing in her bed? Had he? Had they? She felt no different. No, she certainly would have remembered her wedding
night, would she not? She needed to move and be out of the bed before he awoke. She did not know how she felt about him being there. It would certainly complicate everything. She wondered what to do. Could she successfully manoeuvre out from under him without waking him?

  “Moi stor,” she heard him say quietly.

  She froze.

  “You had a nightmare,” he offered, by way of explanation.

  “A nightmare?” She turned over to look at him then, conscious of the fact she was only in her nightgown. Oh, how she wished she would have been away before he had awoken. It hurt, physically hurt, to see him looking at her with tender eyes and hair tousled from sleep. They were facing each other in the bed. She was rigid with embarrassment, and he was speaking as if he were talking to any old acquaintance.

  “It is understandable, considering,” he said quietly.

  “I am sorry I disturbed you. You must not feel you need to come to me.”

  She looked down and he was rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand. When had he taken her hand?

  “Doona be sorry. I was worried something had happened.”

  “Have you any news?” she asked awkwardly, trying not to be aware of lying in bed with her husband for the first time; trying to concentrate on rational thought as if this large, warm, male were not there, touching her with his bare arms.

  He looked away at the question. “No, lass. I wish I had more news for you, but we will find them soon. Unfortunately, we must carry on with the harvest. I want you to stay inside and with someone at all times while I am away today.”

  She nodded. She did not need to be told. She would have to be dragged outside until those people were caught. She wished he did not have to leave her, but she knew the harvest was here. It also meant the ball was a mere four days hence. How were they to keep the castle safe with so many people inside?

  She wrinkled her nose. Perhaps no one would come if her reception in the village was anything to judge by.