She was out of one outfit and into another before Mrs. Ramsay handed her the pair of worn boots she used for stalking the roads in her search for Dundaire’s highwayman. Once Cat was fully dressed, she slipped on her coat. “I’ll be back by morning. Whatever you do, please do not let Niall leave. Mr. Murray will see to it that his men take custody of the bastard.”
With a frown, Mrs. Ramsay nodded. “I think ye are making a mistake, Miss.”
“If I’m wrong, then so be it. But I cannot take a chance with getting justice for Moira.” And with those words, Cat was out the door and off to the stables to saddle up Sprite.
Chapter 11
At the first light of dawn, Niall was in the kitchen looking for Catrina. All he found was Mrs. Ramsay and a bare table. “Good morning.” He pulled out one of the wood chairs and sat.
“I have nae made breakfast this morning. Nae even tea.”
Something was wrong. “Where is Catrina?”
“She’s left. And I dunnae advise ye to go looking for her.”
Oh, God, not again. “What do mean she’s left?”
“Ye should have told her ye were The Christmas Rebel before ye took advantage of the lass in the barn yesterday.”
“I assure ye, Mrs. Ramsay, I am nae The Rebel.” He didnae address what they’d done in the barn, as that was not a topic he was about to discuss with Catrina’s cook.
“Then what were ye doing giving Miss Lennox, Mrs. Murray’s stolen necklace?”
“Come again?”
“The lass saw them on Mrs. Murray. The woman was wearing them the day Cat went to fetch a shawl she was to mend for her. Catrina often took in simple mending for the gentry. It is in part, how the lass keeps food on this table.” She knocked the wood surface in front of her.
Christ. He had no idea Catrina knew about the ruby and pearl necklace. “The necklace isnae Mrs. Murray’s.” Niall’s words came out clipped.
“Are ye telling me there were two of the same made?”
“No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep breath. “I have some explaining to do.”
Mrs. Ramsay glared at him. “Verra well. Sit yer sorry arse down and I’ll put on the kettle. But breathe one lie and it willnae be Mr. Murray ye’ll have to face, but the end of my pitchfork.”
He did as was requested as Mrs. Ramsay looked to be in a mood that would indeed see him facing the prongs of that damn pitchfork. “Mr. Murray was once my father’s business partner. One of several partners, in fact. When things went wrong, they blamed my da. But in truth it was Murray who gambled away their shipping company’s monies. And I have proof of it. Though my da didnae. He was forced to take the blame himself as well as bail out Murray. But it didnae end there. The bastard continued to ask for more money, even went so far as blackmailing my father. Or more precisely, my mother. My da had no choice at the time but to give Murray the necklace as one of the payments for the man keeping quiet about the blackmail situation. There are other details, but that is the sum of the story.”
Mrs. Ramsay placed a teacup on the table. “And how did ye come by the necklace if it was already in Murray’s possession?”
He hated to betray Robbie, but at the moment, Niall didnae see a way to remain loyal to his brother. “My brother, Robbie, stole all the items that Murray and his henchmen stole from others. On his deathbed, he asked me to promise him that I return all the goods to their rightful owners, and only after I’d done that, was I to also take what was left of his inheritance and bring it to Rose Cottage. Though Robbie never had the chance to tell me why he wanted his inheritance left here, as he died in my arms before finishing our conversation.”
With all color drained from her face, Mrs. Ramsay fell to her chair. “Dear Lord.” She blessed herself. “Yer brother was Moira’s love. Fergus’s father.”
“Aye. He was The Christmas Rebel.”
“Now it all makes sense to me. Why Moira remained true to yer brother. He was, as he had told her, coming back to her once he settled certain matters.”
“Aye. Robbie thought he could restore our family’s name on his own. Though he never told me what he was up to, until the night he died.” Niall stood and pushed back his chair. He went and fetched a kitchen cloth and pulled the tea kettle off the hook in the hearth. “I suspect Robbie didnae want Moira to go through the same grief our mother had suffered. It is the same reason I have said nothing to Catrina yet. As it was my plan to confront Murray after the season.” He poured Mrs. Ramsay a cup of tea.
“Ye are a good man, Mr. MacHendrie. Stubborn, but good.”
He put the kettle back on the hook. “Where did Catrina go?”
“Och, Jesus.” Mrs. Ramsay was out of her chair so fast, she nearly dropped her teacup. “She rode out to Mr. Murray’s house.”
God, but he had to stop her. He had to settle the matter with Murray before the man went and did more damage to the MacHendrie name. “I’ll be back,” Niall said, dashing into the hall.
He didnae have to go far as the side door slammed open, Murray charging through, a rifle pointed straight at him.
He was nae going to let the man kill him. Nae now, nae when he had his life almost back. “Before ye think to shoot me, Murray, ken this, I have the proof about yer sins that my father could never find.”
“I dunnae believe ye, Mac Hendrie,” Murray said, the rifle still aimed in Niall’s direction.
Cat remained behind Murray, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Niall. I had no idea…”
“Dunnae fash yerself, lass. This is nae yer fault. I should have told ye everything the moment we were reunited.” He started toward the door.
Murray jutted his left arm out, blocking Niall’s way. “She’s mine.”
“Ye willnae take anything else from me, ye bastard.”
“Yer mother would never have betrayed me.” Murray glared at Niall.
“But she did,” Niall said. “On her deathbed she confessed to me, and to Edgar and his wife, Grace. As well as to Lord Lycansay.”
“She confessed our indiscretion? Even to Lycansay?”
He kent that would get the bastard. Lord Lycansay never said a word to anyone, as he kent Niall wanted to discuss the matter with Robbie first. But now there was no reason to keep things secret anymore. “Aye. She insisted on trusted witnesses. And since Lycansay is a distant cousin, she kent the man would keep Robbie’s true lineage a secret until he had time to discuss it with the lad.”
He stepped forward. “And do ye ken the worst of it? Ye killed yer own son. As Robbie was The Christmas Rebel. He was merely taking back that which belonged to Mother all along.”
“Oh, God.” Murray’s face went white as snow.
Niall grabbed Murray’s rifle. And then he punched the man square in the jaw, forced him to fall to his knees. “I will see ye hang for my brother’s death.”
“And my sister’s,” Cat said, her hands fisted at her hips.
A coach pulled into the yard.
Through the open door Niall watched Edgar and Lord Lycansay, along with the authorities, exit the carriage.
“Yer time is up, Murray.” Niall pulled Murray to his feet and turned him over to Lord Lycansay.
Catrina ran to him. “I’m so sorry, Niall. I truly had no idea. I thought….”
“Shhh… ‘Tis all right, lass. ‘Tis all right.” He held her tight. “I love ye, lass,” he whispered. “Always have and always will.”
Epilogue
Dundaire Abbey
Early summer, 1777
With her belly swollen due to her carrying Niall’s child, Catrina waddled onto the terrace and attempted to sit herself down at the table. She wasn’t having much luck.
On the other side of the short stone wall lining the terrace, she spied Niall pulling Fergus in a small cart. Her nephew squealed, as usual.
Niall glanced up. He immediately stopped to retrieve Fergus from the cart and ran up the steps leading to the terrace, where he handed the boy over to Mrs. Ram
say who was only now emerging from the Abbey.
Niall dashed to Cat’s side and pulled her chair back further giving her the access she needed to easily sit. “I wish ye wouldnae come outside anymore, lass.”
“I am tired of staying in bed.”
“But the bairn will be here soon.”
“Yes, and he or she will be quite fine. Even better if I get some sun and some fresh air.”
“She’s right,” Mrs. Ramsay chimed in. “Ye cannae keep Mrs. MacHendrie boxed in like a fragile china doll.” She tsked, then sat Fergus in his highchair.
Niall remained at Cat’s side. He unfurled her napkin and placed it on her lap.
She stretched for the teapot, but her hand didn’t make it that far as Niall plucked the pot and poured her a cup of tea before she had the chance to do so herself. “I am capable of doing things on my own, you know.”
“And if ye spilled the tea? Then what?”
She removed her napkin from her lap and placed it back on the table. “Enough, Niall. The bairn will be fine. I will be fine. No wonder Robbie ran off with Moira. I have half a mind to do the same at the moment.”
Edgar rounded the table. “Please let me ken when ye are leaving, Mam. Me Grace and I would like to accompany ye.” He glanced at Niall. “And it matters not where ye are going.” He pulled the chair out next to Cat and nudged his head for Niall to sit.
Catrina stifled a laugh.
“Ye reckon this is funny, wife?”
“I do. Verra much so, yer lairdship.”
“Speaking like a Scot now, will get ye nowhere Sassenach.” Niall huffed.
Edgar continued to glare.
“Oh, all right.” Niall flopped in the seat. “Are ye all happy now? Am I far enough away from the Lady of Dundaire for all of yer approvals?”
Edgar shrugged.
Mrs. Ramsay merely rolled her eyes.
Cat reached for his arm. “It’s a start, dear. A small one, but a start just the same.”
Niall leaned forward. “Just remember, lass, there was a time when ye welcomed me being near ye. Verra, verra near ye. In fact, I remember ye even leading me precisely to where ye wanted me to be.”
Her face flushed. “Niall! You are wicked.”
“Och, lass. Ye kent that about me before ye wed me.”
So she had. “Even wicked, ye are the Scot most wanted by my heart.”
Niall winked at her.
Edgar’s wife, Grace, came out to the terrace and placed a cold raspberry tart on the table. She turned to Cat. “Wait ‘til ye taste the pear tart, Mam. I make it every Christmas Day.”
“I am sure it is a delight,” Catrina said, then looked over to Mrs. Ramsay who was staring at the raspberry tart almost as if she wanted a slice, but didn’t dare request one for fear of giving Grace the upper hand. “As is your plum pudding, Mrs. Ramsay.”
Her trusted cook beamed. “Perhaps this Christmas we will have two desserts on the table?”
Grace remained silent.
Edgar clipped her with his elbow as he served Cat a slice of raspberry tart.
“That would be a delight,” Grace finally said smiling at Mrs. Ramsay.
Niall leaned forward and dragged a teacup off the silver tray in the center of the table. “By the way, my little Sassenach witch,” he said to Cat.
“I am not so sure I am little at the moment.”
“Ye will always be little to me. But please, let me finish as I have some verra good news to share with ye.”
“Go on.” She brushed a crumb of peach tart from her gown’s blue skirt.
“Edgar and I found Robbie and Moira’s wedding license this morning. It was in a trunk my brother kept under his desk.”
“So he and Moira were indeed married!” Cat had never been so glad in all her life. “Then that would make Fergus a legitimate MacHendrie. According to the law, at least.”
“Aye,” Niall answered, a genuine look of happiness on his face.
“Do you think Murray will be a problem?”
“No. For the man to acknowledge that Robbie was his, he’d have to also acknowledge the crime he’d committed against my mother. She never told anyone what he’d done to her, how he’d forced himself on her one night in the dark hallway of his own manor during a winter ball, until the man blackmailed my father saying he and my mother had had an affair. It wasnae true. He did the unspeakable to her, and she never wanted Robbie to carry that burden. On her deathbed she officially told us everything. And my father never looked at Robbie as anyone but his own son. And he’d kent for a long time what Murray had done. Lycansay will remain true as well, unless Fergus ever cares to ken the truth.”
“The secrets we all have,” Cat said.
“Aye. And in this house, there are many.”
A low vibration shook the ground.
“Did you feel that?” Cat quirked an eyebrow.
Niall smiled at her. “Some say the houses of Dundaire are living, breathing structures.”
“Surely that’s a myth.”
Niall shrugged. “If there is any truth to it, I reckon Dundaire Abbey would say its family is nae a perfect one, but a loving one.”
And she’d agree with that, wholeheartedly.
With a smile gracing her lips, Catrina leaned back and enjoyed watching her husband, Little Fergus and Mrs. Ramsay. She may have lost Moira and would never get over of the pain of her sister’s death, but she had a happy family once again. And for that, Cat was grateful.
About Angelique Armae
USA TODAY best-selling author Angelique Armae has published over forty novels and novellas. She is a native New Yorker who, thanks to amazing ancestors, is half Italian, can trace her Irish roots back to the Scottish Highlands, and has a whole plethora of other ethnicities in her. She loves all things royal and is owned by a long-haired Tuxedo feline. As a child her favorite toy was Emerald the Witch, a small doll with green eyes, green hair and purple skin. She spends most days writing, unless her cat deems otherwise.
Browse Angelique’s gorgeous books, on Amazon
Visit Angelique’s website to discover more and to sign up for her newsletter
Join Angelique’s Facebook group
Follow Angelique
On Bookbub
Secretly Marvellous
by Virginia Taylor
Chapter 1
Lady Mary Thornton stared blindly at the uneven stone floor of her local church as she trailed out into the vestibule. The hollow sound of her footsteps emphasized the emptiness in her chest. Her shoulders sagging and her heart heavy, she made her way outside. Her only ambition to date had been to marry and have children. Seeking this end, she had been a dutiful daughter, kept herself neat and tidy, learned how to run a household, and worked for charitable causes.
The outer edges of her mouth lifted cynically with the knowledge that she had been wasting her time.
The rectory gate closed behind her with a protesting squeak. Being a Thornton, she couldn’t let down the side. If she happened to see anyone, she would appear to be her usual bland self. She knew she had no looks to speak of, and no talents other than reading music notes correctly, and being able to sing in tune. In her spare time, she had helped the village children, who had recently begun rehearsing Christmas carols for the coming season, by playing the piano two days a week in the rectory.
She began to shuffle along, focusing on the ground beneath her sturdy walking shoes, now understanding how cleverly used she had been.
Although disillusionment sat heavily on her shoulders, she stopped for a moment and blew her nose. After hauling in another deep breath, she trudged past a line of bare winter trees. With no other choice than to make the best of her situation, she began to form a plan to persuade her brother, Lord Eden Thornton, to take her back to London with her older sister. Eden and his wife, Della, planned to return next week in the never-ending quest to marry off Lady Lucy.
Eden had been trying to marry off Mary’s sister for the past two years, but w
ith no success. She had refused her first two offers. According to Mama, the season had worn out Lucy, who had been brought back two days ago to be nurtured at home. With little else to do, Lucy had been refurbishing her London gowns. As well as her ability to sew a fine seam, Lucy took the opportunity to show off her other talents, namely answering questions put to Mary, and laughing at Mary’s attempts to have her own opinions.
Her eyes still a little watery, Mary heaved a shaky breath, and decided to take the quick way home rather than trailing through the soggy fields where she would be tempted to mire herself in the mistakes she had made in her life.
In the normal run of things, Mary would have made her debut at eighteen, but with her prettier sister still dithering, twenty year-old Mary would not be making her debut next season either. Until today, she hadn’t particularly minded, for she disliked idle chitchat and talking about other people. She honestly enjoyed organizing the household for Mama who depended on Mary for keeping the house running smoothly.
With the cool air blowing on her face, she began to walk toward the wide main road between the rectory and her brother’s house, her pace slowing into a shuffle as she reached the harder packed soil.
She had barely straightened her shoulders and wiped beneath her wet chin when the air began to vibrate with the thundering of horses’ hooves. She stopped, turned, and stepped back onto the grassy verge. A high perch phaeton pulled by two glossy chestnuts raced quickly toward her. The driver looked mountainous, his many-caped overcoat flapping in the breeze. His tall hat sat angled low in his brow and his face was half-covered by a brown woolen scarf. He didn’t spare her a glance. Normally, on a country road, a driver would tip his hat as he sighted a walker, but this one was in too much of a hurry.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 76
