Deception and Desire (A MacNaughton Castle Romance Book 1)

by Aubrey Wynne

  Chapter Eighteen

  From Fair Skies to Cloudbursts

  Sunday, August 22, 1819

  Fenella woke to the call of a costermonger, the wheels of his cart scraping along the cobblestones. She touched the small pouch around her neck, where she wore the flowers Lachlan had first given her. It had become part of her nightly ritual, pulling the soft satin ribbon over her head and settling the velvet pouch under her nightshift, close to her heart. Her eyes would close with the image of the handsome Scot. Last night, he’d stayed later than usual, the evening warm and heavy, the night sky bright with stars and a glowing moon.

  Tossing back the counterpane, she padded to the open window, leaned on the sill, and breathed in the crisp morning air. The late summer scent of honeysuckle in bloom wafted under her nose. The same scroungy dog she’d seen her first morning in Glasgow greeted the coal wagon. The same grimy boy jumped from the wagon bed, a heavy black sack over his shoulder as he went around the modiste’s house to drop off the load. The mutt still followed him with a bark and jumped on the boy’s woolen breeches as they returned. But now she knew the driver’s name was Michael, the boy was his son, Stephen, and the dog received a treat as soon as they were out of the older man’s sight. She waved to the trio and pushed away from the window.

  Rose knocked at the door to help Fenella dress. They chose a lavender muslin with a white ribbon under the bodice, trimmed with delicate white lace at the puffed sleeves and hem. Sitting before the mirror, her stomach growled, and she caught the reflection of Rose’s dark laughing eyes.

  “We’ll have time to arrange my hair later. Lachlan is not coming until this afternoon. I’ll meet you in the dining room for breakfast.”

  “Are you sure? It will only take a few minutes.”

  Fenella nodded and picked up the comb. She gathered the thick tresses with a satin lavender ribbon and let the curls fall down her back.

  Her grandmother sat at the table, reading the Friday issue of the Glasgow Herald while she sipped her tea. The usual white kertch covered her upswept hair, wire glasses perched on her nose. Rose had just finished steeping a cup for her mistress.

  “Good morning, dear,” Grandmama said with a smile, brushing crumbs from her champagne walking dress. “Ye look refreshed and ready for a day out with yer sweetheart.”

  She nodded and accepted the cup of tea. “I’m going riding later on the Green.” Her mind wandered to the first time she’d been alone with Lachlan. He’d brought her to that grove of trees overlooking the Clyde and told her it was his favorite place in Glasgow. A spot where he could think and get away from the din of the mill and the bustle of the city.

  “What did yer sister have to say in her letter?” asked Aileen. “Her correspondence has become quite regular as of late.”

  “My sister is presently at the country estate of Lord Brecken,” she announced. “They were invited to a party, and she and Mother will remain for two weeks.”

  “Weel, that sounds like a courtship in progress.”

  “It seems my mother has finally seen reason. I’m no longer required to marry a foppish, titled gentleman.” She slathered a biscuit with marmalade.

  “Ye’re heart is here in Glasgow now, I understand that.” Her grandmother frowned. “The fact still remains, ye’ve no’ told Lachlan about yer mother. It doesna matter she willna try to force ye into a betrothal with a nobleman. She still willna accept a Scot.”

  “I know. I will tell him today, after our ride, but”—she swallowed the anxiety down—“do you truly think he’ll fight for me?”

  “If ye’re honest with him, lass.” Aileen waggled a spoon. “Ye dinna tell him today, I will. I’m fond of the lad myself, and it’s no’ right to play with his heart like this.”

  “It’s not all her fault. She’s tried twice, and he’s kissed all thought from her head.” Rose giggled. “I can’t say I blame her.”

  The older woman snorted. “Today!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Fenella was just about to take another bite of her biscuit when a loud tattoo sounded at the door. “Who could that be so early in the day?”

  Rose stood to answer the insistent pounding as MacGregor burst into the dining room. “It’s Colin, and he looks like the sky has fallen.”

  Rose darted down the hall and collided with the giant. Fenella was on her heels and froze when she saw his face. “What’s happened? Is Lachlan hurt?” Her stomach clenched, her arms instinctively hugging her middle. She struggled for breath as he shook his head and held Rose close.

  No, no, no! Her brain screamed. Not now, please not now.

  “What in heaven is going on?” demanded her grandmother’s calm voice of reason. “Answer us, mon. Is Lachlan hurt?”

  Colin shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. His blue eyes were dull with exhaustion. “I canna find him. I’m worried he’s… after I told him of Ian…”

  “Fergus,” she yelled only to find MacGregor right behind her. “Help this man to a chair. He needs to sit before he falls.”

  Fenella’s mind whirled. Colin was not supposed to return until next week. Yet here he was—without Ian—and Lachlan missing. Trepidation gripped her heart.

  “Stay calm,” commanded Aileen. She settled Colin in a chair and put a cup of strong, bitter coffee in his shaking hands. “Why are ye back early? What’s happened to Ian?”

  “He’s dead.” His eyes were dark with grief, and he took in an unsteady breath. “Killed Monday during a demonstration in Manchester. It was gruesome the way the cavalry came in. I got separated from him and—”

  “What?” Rose and Fenella cried in unison.

  “Drink and then we’ll feed ye.” Her grandmother pulled a chair over and sat next to the weary man. She reached up and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Ye willna be any help to yer clan if ye fall down from lack of sleep or sustenance.”

  MacGregor let out a low whistle. “So ye’ve ridden like the devil to get here with the news.”

  Colin nodded. “I made it to town in the wee hours and woke Lachlan. When he saw the coffin in the wagon bed, he went mad.”

  “Ye brought the body home, then?” Aileen’s brown eyes misted. “Och, ye poor mon. Ye must have driven straight through.”

  “What else could I do? I told the undertaker he had to get home to his clan.” His voice cracked, and tears filled his eyes. “I have to get him home.”

  Rose dropped to her knees before Colin and raised her arms, pulling his head to her breast. “Shhh, now. You’re a good man. Shh. Of course he must go home.”

  They waited in silence while he regained his composure. He swiped his face with his palms and sucked in a deep breath, his chest expanding. “I’m sorry.” With a blink and a shake of his head, he rambled on, “He didna die there on the field… I carried him to the infirmary, and he took his last breath that night.”

  Fenella dropped into a chair, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t understand.”

  MacGregor grunted. “Orator Hunt they call him. He was to speak at St. Peter’s Field. I heard people were traveling for miles to hear him. The mon advocates peaceful assemblies and champions the workers’ right to vote and be heard.”

  Colin nodded. “I didna want to go, but he insisted on attending. So, I went along.” He leaned back in the chair, his hand resting on Rose’s head, absently smoothing the hair back from her face. He’d regained control of his voice, and his deep timbre was once again the man they all knew. “It was almost like a grand fair when we arrived. I’ve never seen such a crowd. Women and children, singing and laughing and waving banners. A band played music as Hunt was escorted to the front and climbed onto a stage. He wore a white hat, and I remember how bright it shone above the crowd.

  “He’d only spoken a few words when I heard someone say, ‘The soldiers are here.’ And I thought, what the devil do we need soldiers for? Then someone else said, ‘They must be here in case there is any trouble.’ I thought, aye, that would make sense. I turned to see
the mounted soldiers lined up behind the throng. It happened so quickly.

  “They shouted at us, and the crowd shouted back, friendly-like, to my ears. Then the uniforms shouted again and raised their sabers. They pushed into the crowd, and we tried to move, tried to allow them passage, but the bodies were packed in so tightly. There was an angry shout, then the cavalry kicked their horses and began cutting their way through to make a path. The panic began, confusion as people tried to escape the horses and the blades…

  “A woman next to us held a bairn in her arms no more than two years of age”—he covered his eyes with his palms, as if trying to rub the memory away—“and a black steed reared and struck the bairn in the head. Its mother tried to catch it as it fell to the ground. Just before the hooves came down, Ian threw himself on the child. I saw him trampled by the horse, then by people running for their lives. It was like a battlefield with such chaos, bodies and blood everywhere. I couldna reach him in time… I couldna save him.” Colin’s voice faded, and he stared blindly at Rose, still stroking her dark hair.

  “Fergus, get the mon settled in the servant’s quarters, it’s the closest bed. He must have some rest.” Her grandmother took charge. “Rose, get some hot water. He’ll need some hot compresses to get him to sleep. And some words of succor, I’d imagine, that would be best coming from the woman he loves.”

  Rose wiped her cheeks with both hands and nodded, rising to help MacGregor guide the man down the hall. Fenella thought it must have been sheer stubbornness that had gotten him this far.

  “Fenella, do ye have any idea where Lachlan might have gone?”

  Her eyes lingered on the retreating trio. “No, Grandmama. I haven’t a…” The grove on Glasgow Green. “Wait. I can think of one place. There was a pretty spot on the Clyde that he said he went to when he needed to think.”

  “As soon as Fergus has Colin settled, I’ll have him bring round the phaeton and take ye there. If ye find him, get him home and to bed as we’ve done Colin. These men will need a good night’s rest before they take Ian home. If the body’s been prepared properly, one more night willna make a difference.” Her grandmother opened her arms wide. “Come to me, sweetheart. We both need comfort right now, and ye’ll need to be strong for yer mon.”

  The two women hugged each other, swaying as the tears streamed down their cheeks. Tears for Ian, for his wife, for Lachlan and Colin. Tears for the poor unfortunate people who had gathered on St. Peter’s Field and lost their lives.

  *

  “Pardon the choice of vehicle, but if I ken my kinsmen, he may no’ be in a condition to climb up into the phaeton.” MacGregor snapped the reins, and the horse and cart rolled into the street. “So, where are we going, lass?”

  “The Green. I only pray I’m right.” Fenella did say a few prayers as they made their way across town.

  They parked as close as they could to the grove. MacGregor paid a waif a farthing to stay with the cart, and they made their way toward the spot overlooking the Clyde. She saw Brownie first, standing tall over her master. The dog’s tail thumped as they approached, and she let out a sorrowful howl. When they crested the slight incline, they found Lachlan passed out and propped up against the trunk of a tree. He reeked of whisky, an empty flask still clutched in his hand. His hair was tangled, his shirt stained and damp from the morning dew and summer grass, no stockings covered his calves beneath the leather shoes. The deerhound whined, licking his face as if letting him know help had arrived. He stirred, mumbling incoherent words, the irritation evident in his tone.

  Fenella fought back tears of relief, thankful they had found him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Loss, Love, and Solace

  “Weel, lass, this willna be easy,” mumbled MacGregor. “As I suspected, he’ll be dead weight.”

  She nodded and crouched next to him, pushing a thick damp curl from his forehead. What would happen when he woke? Rage at the injustice? Tears? Both? Brownie whined again. “Good girl. We’ll take care of him now.” She gave the hound a hug and received a wet cheek for her effort. “I’ll take this side and you take the other?”

  MacGregor nodded. Together, they managed to get the half-conscious Scot to his feet and leaned him against the tree. “I’m afraid it will be easier if I just carry him like a sack of coal.” The stocky man bent, put his shoulder at Lachlan’s waist, and hoisted him up. “Now stand next to him and help me keep him balanced.”

  The trio and canine made their way back. MacGregor thanked the wide-eyed boy and dumped his burden into the cart. None too gently, Fenella noticed. Lachlan groaned, and his eyes opened, slits against the morning sun. He covered his face with his hands, rolled over, and passed out again. Brownie jumped in and lay at his feet.

  By the time they arrived at the townhouse, Lachlan was able to sit up. Between the footman and MacGregor, they got him up the stairs. Fenella waited in the hall while they undressed him and put him to bed.

  “It’s no’ proper for ye to stay by his bed unchaperoned,” complained MacGregor as he prepared to leave. “Yer grandmother will have my head for it.”

  She jerked a thumb at the deerhound, curled up next to the fireplace. “I won’t be alone.”

  He huffed. “A beastie doesna count.”

  “Do you really think he’s in any condition to harm my reputation?” she asked, poking the now prostrate lump on the bed. “I can’t imagine him waking, let alone ravishing me.”

  “True enough.” He turned to the footman. “Ye keep an eye out, or I’ll have yer head, ye ken?”

  Alfred gave an impassive nod. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you see how Colin fares and send me word.” She turned to the footman. “Could you have the maid bring up warm water, soap, and towels?”

  Both men nodded and left the room. Fenella sat on the mattress and stroked the side of his cheek with the back of her hand. His face was unshaven, and creases had appeared around his eyes overnight. She could not imagine losing Evie, let alone in such a violent way. Her eyes burned, and she blinked several times. Tears would not help him now. He needed tending.

  When a thin redhead appeared at the door, curtsying with a bowl of water and towels thrown over her shoulder, Fenella managed a wan smile. “Thank you… what is your name?”

  “Leila,” she said with another bob.

  “Leila, could you bring me some tea? And open the windows. Fresh air will do all of us some good.” She turned back to Lachlan, who was stirring. Setting the basin on the bedside table, she dipped the corner of the towel in the warm water and rubbed the wet end with soap. He’d hit his head, and there was a small gash behind one ear. She dabbed at the minor wound, pulling away his thick auburn hair, now dark with dried blood. When the light scab had been removed and bright red stained the towel, she took a smaller cloth and held it to the spot until it stopped bleeding.

  Leila returned with a tea tray, left it by the hearth, and shut the door as she left. Fenella drank a cup and returned to her patient. With slow, gentle movements, she washed his face, careful not to get the suds too close to his eyes. As she rinsed the reddened skin, his lids opened. Glassy blue stared at her as she began the same ministrations to his neck, but he remained silent. Then the cobalt orbs glistened, and she knew he was remembering.

  He held out his arms, still without a word, and she lay next to him, her head on his chest. His tears dampened her hair and coursed down his neck, wetting her own cheek. Soon her own joined his as they held each other in silence, her heart breaking for him.

  It was late afternoon when he stirred again. Fenella sat by the window, watching a squirrel scamper along a branch.

  “How long have I been here?” he croaked. “My mouth feels like I sheared sheep with it.”

  She smiled. “Four or five hours. How is your head?”

  He moved his neck back and forth, then winced. His fingers gingerly touched the wound behind his ear. “I think I remember hitting my head as I sank against the tree. I’m sorry
ye had to see me like that.” His hoarse voice cracked. “Could I get a drink?”

  She nodded. “I have some lukewarm tea. No liquor for you, I’m afraid.”

  He gave a mirthless laugh. “I think I’m still half-bosky.” He sat up and accepted the cup while she arranged pillows behind his back.

  “You certainly smell like it. Here’s something for your stomach.” She perched next to him and handed him a piece of peppermint. “You really need to be more careful of your poor head. One of these days your skull will crack, and no one will be able to fix it.”

  “Aye, my ma always said I was the clumsiest of her bairns.” He chewed the sweet while he sipped the tepid liquid. “I hate to ask this, but could ye step out for a moment? I need to…”

  Her face flushed as she realized he needed to use the chamber pot. “Of course, I’ll be in the hall.” She placed the china on the tray and left the room.

  A few minutes later, Lachlan called to her. She went back and found him in a clean nightshirt. “Now I’m presentable for a lady. Come sit with me before I prepare to leave.”

  “Not today. Colin is exhausted and under my grandmother’s care. She’s made arrangements, and you will both set off tomorrow morning after a good night’s sleep. Alfred will have… the trunks packed.” She couldn’t bring herself to mention Ian’s name until Lachlan did.

  He sat against the feather pillows with his arms crossed, a thoughtful look on his face. “I suppose one day doesna matter. We can take turns driving on the way back.” His jaw clenched. “We’ll need to inform the workers.”

  “I’ve sent word to Sorcha and will meet her in the morning.”

  “Would ye do me a favor?” His voice sounded almost shy, embarrassed.

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  “Would ye read to me from the Bible? I think I left it on the mantel.”

  Her heart clenched. It was not what she had expected. A side of this complex man she had not known. With a simple nod, she moved to the hearth and found a small book, its leather binding cracked and worn. On the aged cover were fractured gold letters: The Bible. She recognized it as the King James version as she flipped through the pages.