Roran whistled lowly, “Me respect fer yer Da just rose, me friend. That was a daring act.”
“Aye, it was. She soon came wi’ child but her faither came tae Scotland an’ took her back forcefully. Hector then went on to detail the recount of how the older Duke had punished his daughter for her ‘sin’ of loving and laying with a Scotsman by locking the pregnant lady in a dungeon.
“She gave birth tae a boy – me brother– and it was rumored that he was sent back tae Clan MacTavish but no one hae seen or heard from him,” Hector finished.
“And ye want tae find him fer yer faither’s last wish,” Roran nodded while getting up to clean away the bowls and knives. “I applaud ye, Laird – yer a faithful son.”
“Tell me that when I’ve found me brother,” Hector said dryly. Casting a look outside, he said, “Donald, I’m goin’ tae take care o' tha horses while ye rest.”
“I’m nae–” Donald started to protest but Hector eyed him, and he swallowed the rest of his words. “Aye.”
The afternoon had come faster than Hector had expected for a day in the long summer months. Had they been speaking for so long? After untying Euan, his steed, and Raudh, Donald’s, he moved them to another spot and as he had carried a brush in the saddlebags, brushed their coats, then brought pails of water for them to drink from.
The cool of the day was coming in, and Hector felt pressed to go back and spy out more of the Moore house. After making sure the horses were well, he took the same trail, only altering his steps to get closer to the manor’s grounds.
True to Roran’s word, the forest’s boundary came to an end on a sliver of land that was the border to the manor’s grounds, so close to the house that Hector afforded himself a closer examination of the structure. Then he saw the West Wing, and remembered that his father had burned it out.
Looking up he spotted a window on the second floor of the East Wing and saw a flash of brilliant blonde hair. Was that Aria? He blinked as his rational thought came to the forefront and displaced the fantasy. A lot of English women had blond hair, the odds were that he was just looking at a servant woman.
“All just as well,” Hector swore to himself as he turned around seething. “She cannae be a casualty if I raze that place tae tha ground.”
Chapter 10
“I’m sorry, My Lady,” Ross said, as he handed the unopened note to Victoria, “The owner said the two men left a day ago.”
Two men! She hadn’t known that there was someone with Hector. That was a surprise. A thrum of worry ran through Victoria as she took the note from the servant boy. Even if there were two, why would Hector leave when he knew she had more information for him? Was he not still searching for his missing brother?
No, she thought to herself. The emotions he gave off when speaking about finding his brother were not forged. The Inn’s price may have forced him to find another lodging so he might be somewhere around here.
“Thank you, Ross,” Victoria smiled gently to the boy and after folding the note into a tight square, closed her left palm around it. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Unsettled, she walked off, wondering how she was going to find Hector without raising any suspicion. Entering the Manor, Victoria looked at the formal arching staircase that led to the West Wing. It was still there for show, but Victoria knew that the entrance to that part of the house was blocked with a concealed door and bolted with numerous locks.
The West Wing was still a mystery to her, as no one but a handful of cleaning servants and her father were allowed inside it.
I must see the inside one day, Victoria vowed to herself while mounting the stairs to the East Wing and clasping the front of her powder-blue morning dress. Even if I have to take a key, I must see the inside.
Reaching her quarters, Victoria stepped in just as Helen was laying out her midday meal. “Good afternoon, My Lady, how was your morning walk?”
“Refreshing,” Victoria replied kindly, while taking her seat, and took her pastry fork up to cut into the tender crust of the meat-filled pie. “Thank you for asking.”
But then, before digging into the succulent meal, Victoria’s eye alighted on two letters near the tray. Dropping the utensil, Victoria took the first one and read her name written in her father’s hand.
My Dear Daughter Victoria,
I must apologize for my abrupt departure. I cannot say much as this matter is one of the Crown, but the French are in a war with our men in the Colonies. Our men have suffered a series of defeats against the French and their broad network of Native alliances. I fear war is upon us, my dear, and though I will do all in my power to return to you and our home, I cannot estimate a time. I am assured however that you will be safe under the governorship of Miss Ruth and the loyal staff we have. Please take care, Victoria, and I will come home when this issue is resolved.
Father
Victoria felt a strain of anxiety run through her. If a war was really on the horizon, there would be a good chance that she would not see her father for a long while. It was fortuitous, perhaps, as the absence of her father meant there was no allowance for Mr. Keating to try and court her.
Folding the letter, Victoria took the other one up and, with a quick glance to the writing, she felt her jaw go stiff in irritation. It was from Mr. Keating. Had this man not received the message? If Mr. Keating was such a scholar and a learned man, how was it that he was not able to understand her polite dismissal?
Even more, did he not understand her offhand manner at the dinner assembly? She had done as much as she could, within good manners, to endure him without snubbing him entirely.
Victoria knew that she couldn’t allow him much of her mental energy as she had to figure out a way to find the Scottish Laird. Pushing the letter aside, and deciding never to open it, Victoria took up her fork and dug into her meal.
Why would Hector leave when he has such an important matter to attend to? Victoria mused. That is, if he did truly leave. I do not think a man burned with such purpose would disregard it entirely unless he just happened to come across the missing man by pure happenstance– which in itself is doubtful. There has to be something more– but what?
Finishing her meal, Victoria excused herself and went to her desk drawer where she had placed Mr. Mark Johnson’s message. She read over it all, but one section stood out for her.
“If I am correct, he will be arriving in Crowland this evening and staying at the Barton Inn as he is desirous of speaking to His Grace.”
Could it be that Hector had gone to prepare to ambush the Manor, or even destroy it? Her body started trembling in fear, but then she forced herself to think rationally. Had Hector seemed angered or tense when she had met him?
No.
Had Hector used harsh words or given any notification of rash plans?
No.
Had Hector disregarded her words entirely, or seemed to distrust her?
No.
Why then would he try to attack them after he had pledged to hear the rest of her story? If he were the sensible man she thought he was, he would have stayed to hear all she had to say before acting. Right?
It was a tremulous hope that he was still in the area, one that was fragile like a leaf fluttering in the wind, but it was one she hoped could hold. However, what could she do? She had no idea where the men had gone. Sighing, Victoria pressed her fingertips to her brow.
That question stayed with her all day, through the afternoon, and deep into the evening. By the time dusk was coming in, Victoria felt the pains of a headache coming on as she had wracked her mind over and over trying to solve her dilemma.
Pushing her half-eaten dinner away, Victoria looked around the room and felt the pressing need to leave these bland four walls. The weather outside was calm, balmy, and cool enough for a simple walk. Changing into an older dress that wouldn’t get damaged much if she did walk in mud, and slipping her boots on, she took the same cloak from the night she had gone to meet Hector and slipped it on in case of a sudden evening ch
ill.
Most of the servants were occupied with their duties, and Victoria knew that Ruth was resting. It was not proper to walk by herself, but Victoria was not afraid to bend the rules a bit. Besides, it was the lands of her home. If she needed assistance, help was in earshot.
The evening was just as calm as she had expected and she took a path that circled the perimeter of the land. An old wall used to cage the manor in, but after the Scots had destroyed it to get to her Aunt Emily, it hadn’t been rebuilt.
While walking beside it, Victoria took cautious pains to avoid stepping on the rubble. Across from it was a stretch of land that led to the forest line, and the deep green of the trees was a barrier of the land in itself.
Standing there, facing the line, Victoria allowed her eyes to slip closed and the evening wind to flutter her hair. The sensations were so soothing that she felt her headache easing, but was not prepared for another sensation, one much more alarming.
“Aria?”
Victoria’s eyes flew open just as she jumped and skittered back with her heart beating furiously in her chest. She grabbed at her skirts in preparation to run when she saw Hector coming from behind a nearby tree and advancing toward her.
Oh, no! Victoria thought frantically. No, this should not be happening!
She barely stopped herself from whipping her head around to look for a way out, even though she knew there was none. She was out in the open, and, worse, in the middle of Moore’s land. He must be thinking, what was she doing here? Had she just unintentionally revealed her secret?
Shocked but recovering, Victoria bravely lifted her chin to meet him. The daylight was waning, but it was more than enough for Victoria to see him - fully see him - and when she did, a stirring started in her chest.
Hector’s figure was powerful and a bit intimidating. His lean body had a musculature that was impossible to ignore, and he walked with a fluid stride. His broad shoulders tapered to a strong chest, corded hips, and sturdy legs. Victoria wrapped her arms around herself and forced herself to be calm.
“Aria?” Hector asked, his thick brows lowering over mesmerizing green eyes, “Are ye well, lass?”
Swallowing a little, Victoria nodded, “I am, thank you. Why…why are you here instead of at the inn?”
Hector’s eyes had not moved from her person, and his steady gaze was making Victoria both worried and fluttery. “I could say tha vera same fer ye. What are ye doin’ here, Aria?”
“I–I live close by,” Victoria replied, hoping with all her might that he’d accept the lie. “From when I was a child, His Grace has allowed me to walk in his grounds. He’s a lot more compassionate than you might think.”
Hector scoffed darkly as his head twisted to look at the manor behind them, his expression clearly displaying his disagreement, and noted in disgust, “I’ll believe that if I see it, blood follows veins, Aria.”
Knowing that the Laird was thinking of how the older Moore had deprived his father of his son, Victoria could not find a way to disagree with him. She cleared her throat, “And you haven’t told me why you are here instead of the inn.”
Hector turned his verdant eyes back on her, and without fail, Victoria’s breath caught in her throat. “A man whose Clan supplied mine wi’ sheep wool has allowed me an’ my companion free lodgin’ in his home, not too far from here. Just through tha’ woods, actually.”
Her eyes widened a bit as she realized he had someone with him just as her suspicions about him leaving the inn were justified. However, what was she going to do with this information? There was no way she could visit him there.
“That’s very gracious of him,” Victoria nodded, as she decided to solve that problem at another time. “But again, what are you doing here, on the Moore land?”
“I was tryin’ tae find oot more aboot me enemy,” Hector admitted without any shame. “Aria,” Hector said while reaching out to lay a hand on her arm, “Noo that I’ve found ye, d’ye hae time tae continue with tha’ tale, lass? I dinnae hae much time tae waste. I need tae find me brother.”
‘If he’s still alive,’ Victoria thought.
This close, an arm’s length away from Hector, Victoria could see the thickness of his dark hair, that had a light brown sheen, and the slight crookedness of his nose. She recalled the feel of his touch on her cheek and could not hold back a shiver at the memory.
Hector snatched his hand back quickly, probably thinking his touch was the reason for her shiver, and though he was right, he was not completely accurate in his supposition.
“Ach, lass, if I made ye uncomfortable--” Hector started to apologize.
“No,” Victoria replied, after looking at the lowering sun. “No, it was not your touch, and I can stay a while. But not here, not in the open, where we can be overheard…come with me.”
With Hector behind her, Victoria led them to an old building at the end of the broken wall. It was the remains of a guardroom that had stood a house for the manor’s guards for decades. Folding the coat under her and gently bending her legs, Victoria sat and felt when Hector sat close beside her.
When she twisted her head, her forehead bumped right into Hector’s chin, and she jerked back with her heart pumping furiously. This close, the Scottish Laird’s form was doing strange things to her stomach.
Disconcerted, Victoria ducked her head and a generous part of her hair cascaded over her shoulder. She went still when Hector’s hand softly curved around the thick wave and gently rested it on her back. The hooded green gaze that met her eyes had an emotion that Victoria did not allow herself time, strength, or fantasy, to decipher and the soft heat that was coming from his body was not helping her for strong concentration, either.
Frowning softly to her knees, Victoria recalled where she had left off in her narration that night under the inn’s tree. “That babe was born alive, but His Grace told the men who guarded Lady Emily in her cell t–”
“What?” Hector exclaimed angrily while looking at her, “What cell?”
The righteous anger Hector was displaying terrified Victoria for a moment, and even though she knew it wasn’t directed at her, she still shivered.
“When Lady Emily was reclaimed from Clan MacTavish,” Victoria said gently, “The Duke, Barnard, ordered to have her locked in a cell in the manor’s dungeon with his guards until she gave birth to her – in his words – bastard child.”
The rage that darkened Hector’s entire face, and the tenseness of his muscled arms, and even the stiffness of his extended shins, told Victoria that he was enraged, but he held it in admirably.
“Bastard,” Hector snarled with his eyes narrowing and hands clenching, “Tha’ boy was a bastard tae him? So, we Scots are no’ men but animals, scavengers or bloodsuckers. Is that what most o’ ye English ken we are?”
Victoria reacted without thinking and grabbed his arm, “No, please, you have to understand. The Duke of Crowland hated the Scots because it was bred into him from birth. I told you, this land hates your kind because of a nonsensical view that we English are superior.”
The Englishwoman’s whole body was begging the enraged Laird to stay calm, her words, and even more were her pleading eyes that had met his. “Not all English hate Scots, Hector, please do not think so, and do not do anything rash thinking we do.”
The Laird was still fuming, but he nodded, and after another stifled moment his shoulders sagged in defeat, “I ken, I am not angry at ye Aria, it’s just yer whole race that kens we are savages.”
“And I apologize on behalf of all of us who are wise and human enough to know the difference,” Victoria replied, as she felt consuming guilt for the wrong actions of her predecessors overtake her. She slowly sat back and took a look to the sky judging how much time she had left before it got too dark.
“The guards could not help Lady Emily when she was delivering the child, and a servant woman was called in to help her. The Duke then ordered the woman to kill the child when it was born, but the servant did not do so. She
had more compassion than all who were around her and hid the child while telling the guards that he was dead.” Victoria sighed, and clutched at her skirts, “Unfortunately, Lady Emily, the love of your father’s life, did die.”
A solemn air covered the two as Victoria looked to the pensive man beside her and felt a well of sympathy for him. If it weren’t for her cold-hearted grandfather, this man wouldn’t have been there, trying to follow old clues to solve a macabre puzzle. “I’m so sorry.”
Hector’s lips were thinned, but he released a slow breath from his mouth, “It wasnae yer fault Aria, yer no’ tae blame.”
“It still isn’t right,” Victoria replied as the sky darkened more, “Hector…”
“I ken ye need tae leave noo, eh?” Hector stood up first and reaching down helped her up at her nod.
Standing up, the fleeting sense of wanting to be held in his arms came and went in a moment. With a small, tremulous smile, Victoria pulled away only to feel caged.
Highlander's Forbidden Soulmate Page 9
