“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tugging her hand from his grip. “I can’t. I simply can’t.”
She turned her back on them all just as they had once turned their backs on her, determined to walk away with her pride intact, if not her heart.
She’d only taken a few steps when Simon’s voice rang out. “I asked you once how long you would wait for the man you loved and you told me, ‘Forever.’ Was that a lie?”
Since she had no answer for him, she just kept walking.
“I’m not fighting for them. I’m fighting for you. And with or without you, we’re going to Balquhidder to take back Castle Kincaid.”
She stopped and turned around to find them all on their feet. Surveying Simon through a shimmering veil of tears, she said, “Then may God go with you, because I can’t.”
Chapter 23
Catriona huddled in the window seat of her bedchamber, enveloped in the worn folds of the Kincaid plaid. Robert the Bruce was curled up at the foot of her bed, looking equally doleful. Although another perfect spring day was dawning outside the window, it might as well have been deepest winter. She didn’t even bother to open the window and invite in the balmy, honeysuckle-scented breeze. She was content to watch through the thick layer of glass as the world went on without her.
Nearly a week had passed since the ball. Simon and her clansmen should be arriving at Balquhidder any day now. She closed her eyes, haunted by a vision of Kieran’s stubborn neck broken by a hangman’s noose, Simon sprawled on the ground, his golden hair matted with blood.
There was a curt rap on her door. Before she could tell whoever it was to go away and leave her alone, her uncle flung open the door and came charging into the room.
He stood with hands on hips, surveying her bare feet, the rumpled nightdress she’d been wearing for four days, the dried tear stains on her cheeks, her untouched supper tray still sitting on the chest at the foot of her bed.
Sighing heavily, he shook his head. “I never thought I’d say this, Catriona Kincaid, but I’m disappointed in you.”
She blew a tousled strand of hair out of her eyes. “I was under the impression that you’ve always been disappointed in me.”
“You may have tested both my patience and my temper at times, but I was never disappointed in you, child. And I never took you for a coward. I thought you were your father’s daughter.”
Catriona sprang to her feet, cut to the quick by the unfairness of his words. “My father was a fool and a dreamer! You said so yourself.”
“At least he had a dream!” her uncle thundered, sending Robert the Bruce darting under the bed. “If you want to know the truth, I was jealous of Davey—jealous of his ridiculous Scottish cause and his passion for it. I was the eldest son. I wasn’t allowed to defy our father’s wishes and go running off to have grand adventures and chase some noble dream. I had to stay here and learn how to manage the estate. I was required to marry for duty, not love.”
“Then maybe you were the lucky one because you never had to risk your heart or your life to have what you wanted!”
“Davey lived more in his short life than I ever will. He lived. He loved. He was blessed with two beautiful children and a wife who adored him. He may have died too young, but at least he died for what he believed in instead of dying in his bed of old age with a belly full of beef and a heart full of regrets!”
Stunned by her uncle’s words, Catriona sank back down in the window seat, hugging the plaid around her.
He reached into his coat and drew out a packet of papers tied with a ragged bit of string. “I realize you may very well hate me for the rest of your days for what I’ve done and I won’t blame you if you do, but I can’t keep these from you any longer.” He tossed the packet in her lap.
“What are they?” she asked, frowning down at the unbroken wax seals.
“Letters from your brother. They started arriving the month after you did and didn’t stop until three years ago.”
Catriona turned the packet over in her hands, then lifted her tear-filled eyes to her uncle’s face. “You kept them from me? For all these years?”
“I thought it was for the best. You were so young to have known so much tragedy. I thought if you could forget the past, then you could forget the pain as well. I was wrong. I know I’ll never deserve your forgiveness, but I am sorry.”
With those words, he turned and trudged heavily from her bedchamber, closing the door softly behind him.
Robert the Bruce crept out from under the bed. As he vaulted to the window seat and curled up in her lap, Catriona tugged the bottom letter from the stack and tore it open with trembling hands.
My dearest Kitten,
I should have known Mama made me practice my letters for a reason. She must have known that someday I would need every one of them to remind you to wash behind your ears and to scold you for not wearing your shoes in the winter.
Catriona smiled through her tears. Her brother’s teasing voice was so clear he might have been standing right next to her, rumpling her hair. She tore open one letter after another, hungrily devouring his words. The letters were filled with funny stories about Kieran and the other men and breathtaking descriptions of the Highlands in every season. Connor never once complained of being hungry or cold or being forced to steal from those more fortunate just so he could fill his belly.
She broke the wax seal on the last letter reluctantly, knowing it might very well be the last time she would ever hear her brother’s voice.
My sweet Kitten,
I don’t know when you’ll hear from me again. We’ve suffered some harsh losses in the past few weeks and paper and ink are growing ever more dear. Since I have never received any reply from you, I can only hope that you have settled into the life of a fine young English lady and are enjoying all of the pleasures and privileges our uncle’s rank and wealth can afford you.
A tear splashed on the worn vellum, smudging the faded ink.
No matter where you may go in this world, never forget that you have Kincaid blood flowing through your veins and that anything worth crying over is also worth fighting for. I shall ever be…
Your devoted brother,
Connor Kincaid
Catriona sat there for a very long time, studying that untidy masculine scrawl, then jumped to her feet, dumping Robert the Bruce unceremoniously to the floor.
“Uncle Ross! Uncle Ross!” Catriona took the long, curving stairs two at a time, barely resisting the urge to slide down the freshly waxed banister.
She sprinted across the entrance hall and went dashing around a corner, nearly knocking a footman juggling a tray of polished silver clean off his feet.
Two parlor maids watched her fly past the drawing room doorway, their mouths hanging open. Catriona skidded to a halt.
Smiling sweetly, she said, “By the way, you were both wrong, you know. My husband only requires one woman in his bed, and that woman is me.”
“But miss,” one of them said, looking genuinely perplexed, “I didn’t think ’e was your ’usband no more.”
“Well, he will be again. Very soon.”
Hiking up the hem of her nightdress to free her strong, slender calves, she took off at a dead run down the corridor.
Alice and Aunt Margaret were just emerging from the breakfast room bearing steaming cups of chocolate. Alice wasn’t as fortunate as the footman. Catriona barreled right into her, spilling the chocolate all down the front of her ruffled bodice.
As Alice shrieked in outrage, Aunt Margaret exclaimed, “Oh, dear, would you look at that!” and muffled a titter behind her handkerchief.
“Look what you’ve gone and done now!” Alice spat, snatching Aunt Margaret’s handkerchief from her hand and using it to mop at her ruined bodice.
“Ever so sorry,” Catriona blurted out, looking utterly unrepentant. “You know what a clumsy cow I’ve always been.”
The earl’s head flew up as his niece burst into his study, her hair and eyes equally wild
. She looked much like the barefoot wild child who had once roamed his estate with her kitten and her tattered copy of the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.
“Uncle Roscommon,” she said, planting both hands on the desk and looking him dead in the eye. “If you want to atone for keeping my brother’s letters from me, this is your chance. I need your help.”
As the mail coach rocked its way up the narrow trail, Catriona didn’t realize she was holding her breath until the lone remaining tower of Castle Kincaid came into view. It stood silhouetted against the bright blue of the spring sky, its weathered stones looking both ancient and timeless. As she saw the green and black banner flying proudly from the ramparts, her jaw dropped in astonishment. She could even hear it flapping in the wind, just as her papa had described.
The vehicle lurched to a halt. She threw open the door and scrambled down from the coach, then turned to help Uncle Ross heft his own bulk to the ground.
He tested his legs, groaning with each step. “Who ever heard of an earl being forced to travel in such a crude conveyance?”
“Now, Uncle Ross, you agreed it was our only possible hope of reaching the castle before Eddingham destroyed both it and Simon.”
He glanced back at the carriage, lowering his voice. “I just hope you appreciate how much it cost to have the driver make this little special delivery. I’d have been better off just tossing my purse to the nearest highwayman.”
“Don’t despair,” she said, glancing around nervously at the rocky outcroppings shadowing the deserted road. “You may still get the chance to do that.”
He drew out a handkerchief and mopped his brow. “My father sold his soul to escape this wilderness and now here I am, right back where he started. How on earth is a person expected to breathe up here? There’s entirely too much fresh air. And sky,” he added, shooting the sweeping bowl of blue a mistrustful look.
“I suppose you miss those nasty clouds of soot that always hang over the city?”
“What I miss are the comforts of my own bed and hearth. I haven’t had a decent cup of tea since we departed London.”
“I thought you always wanted to have a grand adventure.”
He sighed. “So did I. But perhaps trying to coax your aunt Margaret into giving me a goodnight kiss and finding a husband for Alice is all the adventure I’ll ever need.”
Catriona gave his arm a fond squeeze before glancing back at the open door of the carriage. “Will you wait here until I summon you?” she asked softly.
He squinted down at her, unable to hide his concern. “Are you certain?”
She nodded, offering him a tremulous smile. “More certain than I’ve ever been in my life.”
“Very well. But you should know that if a highwayman comes along, I’m going to scream just like Alice.”
Catriona laughed. “That should scare him off, as well as every bird and squirrel from here to Edinburgh.”
Lifting the hem of her redingote to spare it from the worst of the dust, she started up the steep trail that led to the castle. She’d once ridden up the very same hill on her papa’s shoulders, flush with the confidence that only a parent’s love can give. She could almost feel her papa walking beside her on this day, urging her to live—and love—with the same zest that had brought such joy to his own all-too-brief life.
Her pace quickened with each step. She’d finally learned that home couldn’t be found in a place, no matter how beautiful or beloved, but only in the arms of those who awaited you there. She could only pray that those arms were still waiting to welcome her.
Dragging off her bonnet so her hair could blow free, she crested the top of the hill. She had expected to walk into the disorganized chaos of full-blown battle preparations, but all she saw was a lone man stretched out on a bench of tumbled stone, a book in his hand and a blade of grass tucked between his fine white teeth. The sun burnished his hair to a ripe gold.
He glanced in her direction, his eyes widening, then narrowing. As she approached, he slowly came to his feet, his stance wary.
“So what gifts have you brought this time?” he asked. “Boots, books or bagpipes?”
Letting her bonnet tumble to the grass, she spread her empty hands. “I’m afraid all I have to offer is myself. If you’ll have me, that is.”
He tilted his head to study her, his eyes smoky and unreadable. “Why, Miss Kincaid, I thought you’d sworn off embarrassing speeches!”
“Only those involving the noble Highland spirit and freedom from tyranny.” She nodded toward his abandoned book. “Brushing up on your Robbie Burns, are you?”
He sighed. “If I’m going to throw in my lot with a bunch of sentimental savages, I don’t suppose I have any choice, do I?”
Frowning, she scanned the deserted ruins. “Just where are those sentimental savages?”
He shrugged without a trace of concern. “Around.”
She dared to draw a step nearer to him. “Have you agreed to be their chieftain?”
“Only until their true chieftain comes home to stay.”
“According to Kieran, Connor isn’t coming back. And if he doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”
“I wasn’t talking about Connor.”
Drawing in a breath that was shaky with longing, Catriona took another step toward him. For a dizzying moment, she mistook the thunder of approaching hoofbeats for the thundering of her heart.
Until she caught a flash of scarlet out of the corner of her eye and turned to see two dozen English soldiers racing their mounts across the vale below.
The redcoats were coming.
Chapter 24
A black cloud of panic enveloped Catriona, choking off her breath. The redcoats were coming. They were coming just as they had before, to take away everyone and everything she loved. For a paralyzing fraction of a moment, all she wanted to do was hide. To crawl into some small dark hole, squeeze her eyes shut and press her hands over her ears so she couldn’t hear the dying screams of those she loved.
Then Simon’s hands closed over her shoulders, pulling her out of the past and into the present. Making her believe in the future.
By the time the soldiers drove their mounts over the crest of the cliff and into the ruins of the courtyard, she was standing tall and proud at his side, no longer haunted by the ghost of her childhood terrors.
Not even the sight of the familiar black-garbed man in their midst could quell her spirits.
“Why, hullo, Ed,” Simon said as the marquess slid off the horse and to his feet. His spurs jingled as he strode toward them. “I heard you were in the neighborhood. We were hoping you’d stop by for tea.”
Giving Simon the cut direct, Eddingham sneered down his nose at Catriona. “I must confess that I’m surprised to find you here, Miss Kincaid. Or have you come to your senses and decided to accept my rather generous offer?”
Simon’s eyes narrowed. “What offer?”
Catriona smiled cheerfully. “Oh, the marquess graciously invited me to become his mistress. Since I’m damaged goods, he couldn’t be seen with me in town, of course. But he promised to visit my bed here in the Highlands whenever he got bored.”
“How very benevolent of him,” Simon said smoothly, sounding as dangerous as Catriona had ever heard him.
“You’re trespassing and I want you both off my land right now.”
Before Simon could react to Eddingham’s demand, Catriona marched forward, boldly stabbing a finger into the starched ruffles of the marquess’s cravat. “You’re the one who’s trespassing, sir. These are Kincaid lands and no worthless scrap of paper will ever change that. The blood of the Kincaids has watered this land for four centuries and I can promise you that every drop of that blood will cry out for vengeance if you so much as remove one stone from this castle.”
“Bravo,” Simon murmured. “Nice speech.”
Catriona spared him a scowl before returning her attention to Eddingham. She pointed toward the road. “I’ll have you know that my uncle is
waiting for me at the bottom of that hill. If you insist on trying to evict us, he has every intention of suing you for breaking your betrothal contract and my cousin’s heart.”
Eddingham rolled his eyes. “You must be joking. Everyone knows that shrew has no heart.”
“Then perhaps my uncle will force you to honor your agreement and marry Alice.”
Simon shuddered. “A fate worse than debtor’s prison, I assure you. If I were you, Eddie, I’d give the lass whatever she wants.”
Eddingham bit off a vicious oath. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and listen to any more of your ridiculous threats. Arrest them both!” he commanded the soldiers. “And if they resist,” he added, plainly hoping they would, “shoot them.”
A dozen of the soldiers slid from their mounts. Catriona took an involuntary step toward Simon’s arms.
“I wouldn’t be so hasty to follow the marquess’s orders if I were you.” Simon slipped a document from his waistcoat and handed it to the officer nearest him.
Shooting Eddingham an uncertain glance, the man warily broke the wax seal and unfolded the creamy sheet of vellum. His lips moved as he read, his eyebrows climbing higher with each word.
“What are you waiting for, you numbskull?” Eddingham snapped. “Arrest this ruffian and his whore!”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” Simon said gently. “He works for me now.”
The officer sighed and turned to Eddingham. “I’m sorry, my lord, but I am under a direct order from the Crown to arrest you for the murder of a Miss Elizabeth Markham. It seems the King has received evidence from a very reliable source—the Duke of Bolingbroke himself—that you were directly involved in the young lady’s death.”
As a half dozen soldiers flanked him, every ounce of color drained from Eddingham’s face, leaving it as stark and white as a death mask.