Through the Fire

by Elizabeth Johns

  “What is it?” Gavin asked.

  “I was wondering what will happen if we do not find them before the ball? Then I remembered that there are not likely to be too many people attending.”

  He chuckled. “I imagine the room will be bursting at the seams. They willna turn away the chance to come to a ball, nor the castle.”

  He was smoothing the hair back from her face. Her husband liked to touch, she noticed. He was affectionate with the girls as well, she told herself, as her heart began to speed again.

  “We will find a way to keep you safe. I promise.”

  Then he leaned forward and kissed her softly. She closed her eyes, expecting there to be more, but he was suddenly gone from the bed. She felt foolishly bereft and full of longing. She opened her eyes to see him bend forward before standing up to pull on a dressing gown. It was long enough to see a tantalizing glimpse of his finely chiselled back. She should not be seeing him like this. It would only make leaving harder. She wished she were bold enough to call him back to her, but she did not know if he wished for her or not. She had never before been insecure as to whether a man desired her or not. But she was no longer perfect—not that she ever was, but she did not know if she could bear being rejected by him. He would probably consent. He was male, after all, but would he regret it? No, this could not happen again.

  She firmly resolved not to have any more nightmares.

  The next two days, Gavin scarcely saw his wife. He did not believe she’d had any more nightmares. He left the door between their chambers open so he could hear her, but he dared not sleep in her bed again. He was only human. He had seen the look of terror on her face when she had found him there a few mornings ago, and he could not bear to be the cause of any more pain for her. But, oh, he wanted to be there. He wanted her as a real wife. What had he been thinking, to offer her a marriage of convenience? He would have to distract himself. He was gone before she rose for the day, and he near fell into bed in the evenings.

  He found there was little need for him to actually help with the harvest. But he needed to be there to learn, and he wanted to support his men, both on the home farm and the tenant farms. And he desperately needed to distract himself from thinking of his wife. So he joined the ranks of the men in the field and threw himself into mind-numbing manual labour.

  He could not stop churning all of the pieces of this puzzle over and over in his mind, however. There had to be more to the story than met the eye. He could not dismiss the feeling that Iain’s death had not been accidental, but he had no proof or idea of how the Mulligans could have orchestrated that act and he resolved to do his best not to let Iain down, lest his death be in vain.

  Holdsworth and the other veterans were also there, helping where they could, and Gavin was pleased to see that the local men were making an effort to include them. Of Buchanan’s acceptance he’d had no doubt, but he was less sure of the Englishmen’s and especially Holdsworth’s, with his missing limbs. He need not have worried. Holdsworth was willing to work hard and treated everyone respectfully. It was all anyone needed for respect to be returned, Gavin reflected.

  For three long days, the fields were scythed and wagons loaded with sheaves. Once they were taken to the barns for drying, the wagons returned for more. The women of the village worked alongside the men, bundling as the men cut. It took a village to complete the harvest, he soon realized.

  Gavin wished Margaux could have been out here to share this with him. Perhaps that was a ridiculous notion, for she was raised to be a grand lady. Yet she had not seemed to be so when they had visited in the village. He also found himself gainfully employed as a physician several times, as the careless swing of a scythe cut someone or the repetitive motions of the tools against hands caused painful blisters. He was occupied thus when the carriage loaded with their luncheon pulled up.

  His heart nearly stopped when he realized Margaux had come to serve the workers. He had to stop himself from running to her side when he saw her. Instead, he walked calmly toward her, watching as she served the line of men and women who held out their plates. She was smiling and talking with them, calling them by name. They seemed to be thawing toward her, if reluctantly. She was magnificent. But she was also going to find herself killed.

  He reached her side and she ignored him.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Craig,” he said through a false smile.

  “Lord Craig.” She acknowledged him, at least.

  “Would you care to tell me why you have broken a promise to stay in the safety of the castle?” He bent down to whisper in her ear.

  “I did not promise.”

  “You agreed, nonetheless. How am I supposed to make sure you are safe, out here? Have you forgotten that someone has tried to harm you at least three times?”

  “I have not forgotten, but I cannot allow it to stop me from doing what I ought. I have stayed at home the past three days, feeling wretched,” she said, through gritted teeth and still not looking him in the eye. “And, I did not come alone.”

  She continued to smile and chat with the workers. Gavin had almost forgotten the Mulligans and the threat to his wife in the midst of the harvest. The ball was to be on the morrow, and he had done nothing to prepare for her safety there. He debated scooping her up and throwing her back into the carriage. He stood, trying to remain calm and not be angry. But how was he to keep her unharmed if she was to be reckless?

  He would escort her back when luncheon was over, and find Ashbury in order to forge a plan for the ball. He would say no more about her leaving the house today, for it was done. But she would have to promise to be more compliant tomorrow, or he would have no choice but to lock her away for the evening.

  When the workers had finished eating and the remnants of luncheon were packed back into the carriage, Gavin climbed in after Margaux. She looked at him with surprise, but said nothing. He was still unable to speak without saying something that sounded like a childish reprimand, so he held his tongue.

  When they arrived at the castle, his wife marched upstairs regally. A lady would not dare stomp, but he nearly laughed at the absurdity. He felt as if they’d had their first argument, but with nary a cross word.

  Gavin went in search of Lord Ashbury, but he was with the Potts, surveying Breconrae. He was tempted to return to the fields, but they were only clearing up, now. The servants were bustling about the house with last minute preparations for the ball. He did not know whether to run and hide or join in the chaos his life had become.

  He hid in his study.

  He pondered ways he could trap the Mulligans. Would it be too much of a risk? He suspected they would be sorely tempted to act at the ball, and he wanted to be prepared for such a possibility.

  He thought back to the interactions he’d had with them that fateful day. They had accused him of several sins. Associating with loose women and tempting the weak with drink were the basis of the allegations, if he remembered correctly. He knew their solution to dealing with loose women. He shuddered with repulsion. Would they also decide to punish him and therefore the whole village? He should set someone to guard the barns before the Mulligans decided to take a torch to those as well.

  Perhaps no lure need be set to trap them. Knowing Margaux was there, enjoying the frivolity of a ball, was likely enough to send the staunch zealots into a frenzy. The ball would be bait enough. But how would he keep Margaux safe?

  He stood and felt every muscle in his aching body. He strode over to the cupboard and poured himself a dram of Craig’s finest. He lifted a toast to Iain and his family as they looked down upon him from their resting place on the canvas above the mantel. What, he wondered, would his older brother tell him to do?

  He and Iain had been close, yet as different as night and day. Gavin had known he was the spare and had always been able to do as he pleased. His father had purchased a commission for him as was befitting a second son, but with his medical training, he had worked as a surgeon rather than enter the cavalry as was d
ue his name. It went against his nature to kill, so he had saved as many lives as possible in the medical tent. His father had never quite approved of his love of medicine. It was perhaps too shabby-genteel and was considered a profession. Never mind that farming was work.

  Iain would likely tell him to bed his wife and that would solve all of his problems. Gavin chuckled. Iain’s outlook on life had been ever pragmatic. Gavin had envied him that. Iain had preferred avoiding conflict and preserving people’s feelings. Gavin longed for the simplicity of his old life. How had it come to this?

  He shook his head and took a sip of his drink. The harvest had gone well, at least. If they could survive the ball, then he would turn his full attention to his wife. The veterans were beyond his expectations, and soon he would be able to leave the main running of the estate in their capable hands.

  He set down his glass. The whisky was not giving him clarity on the best method for apprehending the Mulligans, he reflected. It was making him feel as if he should try to make amends with his wife. It was as good of an excuse as any to talk to her.

  Chapter 19

  Margaux wanted to lie on her bed and sulk, but the seamstress had come for the final fitting of her ball gown. She had no desire to see the woman again, but her mother had assured her the gown covered all of her burns and there would be no unpleasantness. Margaux was beginning to become numb to people’s reactions. That was a good thing, she thought.

  She needed to find the girls and spend time with them as well. Her mother had taken them under her wing, which had given Margaux time to heal, but her parents would be leaving shortly and Catriona and Maili would become her responsibility once more.

  She reluctantly went to the parlour and reminded herself she was going to be indifferent. Her mother smiled and glided over to her when she entered the room.

  “Chérie, you will adore the dress. Madame has quite outdone herself.”

  Margaux thought spitefully it was probably to make up for her rude behaviour before. But when she saw the gown, she almost forgave the modiste. It was exquisite. Being honest with herself, Margaux had not thought she would have new ball gowns again. It was part of what she had forfeited when she had decided to abandon society.

  “Lady Craig.” Madame curtsied deeply before her. “May I assist you into the gown?” The woman looked directly at her, and her eyes pleaded for another chance. Margaux wanted to dress privately, as she had been trying to do lately. She would call for Catriona when she could not manage on her own. She could tell the modiste felt remorse for her previous behaviour. She could not blame her reaction, she supposed. Would she have reacted thus if she had seen something ghastly? Maybe, but she would like to think not. She nodded her head and stepped behind the screen. She had taken care to make sure her bandages were always in place since that day when they had last met.

  The gown was high-necked, which was not the normal fashion, but it was tastefully done so that it was not as large and frilly as it could have been. Instead, the neck was a flesh-coloured satin, made to appear as a false skin with a thin lace pattern on top. The underdress was a lavender colour, with an overslip to match the false neck. The colour was an acknowledgement of mourning, yet it still represented summer. It was unique and original. She had never seen anything like it.

  “It is beautiful,” she said with open appreciation.

  “Merci, my lady.” The modiste blushed.

  “It must have taken hours. I do not think I have ever had anything so fine.”

  “It was important to me to have it perfect.”

  Their eyes met, and Margaux understood this to be the woman’s way of apologizing. She smiled and stepped from behind the screen.

  “Se magnifique!” Lady Ashbury exclaimed.

  “Princess!” Maili shouted and ran over to touch the gown.

  Catriona and Maili were also trying on their new gowns for the evening. They were of a similar colour but appropriate to their age.

  “Catriona, you look like a young lady,” Margaux said appreciatively. “And Maili, you look like a princess, yourself.”

  “Grand-mère says we must behave properly to make Papa Craig proud.”

  Margaux looked up at her mother in surprise at hearing her called grandmother. Her mother winked back at her.

  “Oh, you will make him proud. I am very proud of you, too.”

  She bent over and kissed each of them on the cheek.

  “Now you must stand still for Madame to make sure everything is perfect. Then we must take off our beautiful gowns so nothing happens to them before the ball.”

  Maili pouted at this command, but she did as she was told.

  The girls went on their way to have tea in the nursery, and her mother stayed behind with Margaux in the parlour after the seamstress departed. She could tell her mother wished to speak about something. She had that look. She sat and waited.

  “Chérie...” Her mother paused.

  “Oui, Maman?”

  “I wanted to speak with you alone. Your father and I wish what is best for you, of course. We were delighted you found Lord Craig and married, but you do not seem happy.”

  Margaux looked sharply at her mother.

  “It has been a difficult few weeks, Maman.”

  “Oui. I believe it will improve. He is a wonderful man, and he will love you with all of his heart if you give him the chance.”

  Margaux looked into her mother’s eyes and wanted to weep. How could she tell her mother that she had made an agreement with him? That he said he could not fall in love again? Besides, she was not the same, beautiful woman he had married. Unfortunately, she had already fallen deeply, hopelessly, in love with her husband. She could not stop the tears from falling, and her mother came to her and wrapped her arms about her.

  “If you wish to have the marriage annulled, we will help you,” her mother said softly. She had misunderstood her daughter’s tears.

  “I do not know what to do, Maman.”

  “You love him,” Lady Ashbury stated. Ah, she had not misunderstood.

  Margaux could not look her mother in the eye, but nodded and wept the tears she had needed to weep since the fire.

  “You underestimate your husband, chérie. You think he cannot love you because of your burns?”

  Margaux nodded. “I did not look like this when we agreed to marry. How could he ever want to touch me? You see how people react to me. My maid could not even look at me!”

  “Have you seen how your husband looks at you, my love? He is not disgusted by these things. He chose to be a doctor because these things do not bother him. However, your burns are healing. Your face may have a little different colour, but it is still beautiful, nevertheless.”

  “Not being repulsed by my burns and being intimate is quite different.”

  “Oui, it is. But you do not give your husband credit to see your real beauty. You have always been the one to feel your physical beauty was a burden. Your husband is just as handsome as you are beautiful. He must know how you feel. I believe he can see beneath your skin.”

  Could her mother be right? But how was Margaux to know? He had never given her any indication of more tender feelings. He had done no more than give her a chaste kiss.

  “How, Maman?” she whispered.

  “You must show him his attentions are welcome.”

  Margaux looked at her blankly.

  “You must flirt, chérie. Sometimes I despair that you have no French blood in you!” Her mother shook her head.

  “You want me to bat my eyelashes, and simper and fawn over him?” she asked, in disbelief.

  Her mother sighed audibly and dropped her head in her hands.

  “I have failed.”

  “I am certain you tried to teach me these things. But it was never necessary to pretend such affectations before, to know a man was interested.”

  “No, I suppose not. Perhaps it is Lord Craig’s lack of experience in society that makes him less flirtatious. He may be intimidated by your so
phistication.”

  “My sophistication?” Margaux asked in disbelief.

  “Oui. You come from different backgrounds. He may be the son of a baron, but he went off to join the army, and has lived in a small village practising medicine ever since. He did not move to London and take up the life of a ton beau.”

  “True. Thank God.” Margaux had not considered how she might appear to him.

  “I also think you are insecure because of your burns. I think a few more smiles and simple touches will go a long way, my dear.”

  “I will try, Maman.”

  Her mother hugged her again and kissed the top of her head. “Besides, he will swoon when he sees you in that gown.”

  She laughed and rang for tea. She hoped it would be that simple.

  It was dinner before Gavin saw his wife again. She was looking as beautiful as ever, sitting at the opposite end of the table. He was ready for the ball to be over, and for the nightmarish Mulligans to be caught so they could be alone and he could woo her properly. His blood ran warm thinking about it. He should most certainly not be thinking about it at the dinner table, but when he met his wife’s gaze, there was something different in her look. It gave him hope.

  After dinner, he met up in the study with Lord Ashbury and the other men, trying to forge a plan to keep Margaux safe.

  “As uncouth as it may be, I think you need to be assigned to Margaux for the night. Meaning, appear to be besotted with your new wife and sit in her pocket.”

  Gavin did not find the thought distasteful at all.

  “He will need to find someone to back him up if he has to attend to something,” Mr. Peters, the Chief Runner, added.

  “Of course,” Gavin agreed.

  “I agree with you, Craig, that the Mulligans will be drawn here like moths to a flame. They have been lying low for three days, but I do not think, with all of the sinful activity of a ball, they will be able to help themselves,” Lord Ashbury said with obvious distaste.

  “I remember them being vehement that I close the distillery. I believe they will try to strike there. Perhaps even as a diversion to allow them to find Margaux,” Gavin said quietly.