Chapter Twenty-Three

Ben didn’t leave Sarah Ann’s side throughout the night, nor the next day. By the second day after their return from Glasgow, she was almost back to normal. He’d explained away the missing days by saying she’d had a fever and medicine.

She went riding on Peppermint, asking for Callum and being told only that he had resigned and gone to Glasgow. She remembered little of the time during which she’d been drugged. Still, the nightmares had returned.

While she was recovering, Ben wasn’t able to think of much other than Sarah Ann, and he’d been hesitant to leave her with anyone. He knew he had to discard that all-encompassing fear for her; he couldn’t stay with her every hour for the rest of his life. Though at the moment, he wanted to.

Everyone paid special attention to Sarah Ann. Barbara had brought her a small engraved locket. It had, Barbara said, once belonged to Sarah Ann’s grandmother; Barbara’s husband, Hamish, had given it to her. Ben had been stunned at the gesture, at the genuineness of it. There was no guile in her voice, no hint of flirtation, only concern.

Hugh also stopped in and even tried a poor joke. He was awkward around children, although Ben recognized that he was trying in a bumbling way to apologize for his curtness of the past weeks.

Sarah Ann took it all in stride, giggling at Hugh’s poor attempt at humor and expressing pleasure at Barbara’s gift. Ben felt immense pride … and amazement at the recuperative powers the child seemed to posses. Now, if only her nightmares would end.

Lisbeth stopped in each day, too, though she was extraordinarily reserved, her eyes clouded by demons Ben recognized from his own past. He tried to put her at ease, but she wouldn’t let him. She was like a block of ice, her body and face stiff, her words guarded. He read the guilt in her eyes, wanted to take her in his arms, and tell her none of it had been her fault, but he had no opportunity. Sarah Ann and often others were always with them.

Despite the help and concern that surrounded him at Calholm, Ben’s need grew by the hour to return to the west, where he belonged. If he asked Lisbeth, would she come with him? She was used to the best of everything. There would be no manors, no servants, in Denver. He wanted to believe that she wouldn’t care, that the Lisbeth he knew—his Lisbeth—was an independent woman with a pioneering spirit who would happily rise to the challenges presented by a half-tamed land. But he was uncertain—and afraid she would say no. If she did say yes, he was afraid that she wouldn’t totally realize the sacrifices she would have to make, the hard work that might border on drudgery. If he couldn’t adapt to wealth, how could she ever adapt to not having it?

Would she end up hating him?

All the guests left Calholm the morning after Sarah Ann’s return. Drew returned from Glasgow, bringing news with him. Callum Trapp had committed suicide in his cell, cutting a vein with a knife he’d somehow obtained. Lisbeth went very pale, and disappeared for hours.

Drew had unexpectedly become a friend, and it had been a long time, Ben thought, since he had allowed himself one. Only now did he admit to himself how much he’d missed by shutting others out, by allowing the fear of loss to keep everyone at a distance. And the Scot was a godsend for Sarah Ann, with his quick wit and card tricks.

On the evening of Drew’s return, after Sarah Ann’s eyes had closed for the night, Ben invited Drew to his room for a drink.

“I received a communication from John Alistair yesterday,” Ben said. “He will be here tomorrow for signatures and to discuss all the legal matters.”

Drew’s gaze sharpened. “It’s official?”

Ben nodded.

Drew was silent for a moment. “Then what?”

“I have some ideas.”

“You’ll stay?”

Ben shook his head. “The life of a country gentleman doesn’t appeal to me. I never intended to stay. I just wanted Sarah Ann to know her heritage, her family.”

“And you ended up opening Pandora’s box,” Drew finished for him.

“Something like that. I can’t simply walk off now, though, and negate the claim. It’ll be Sarah Ann’s decision when she’s old enough. For now, I would like the Hamilton family to survive. I’m no farmer, but Hugh … well, he has possibilities, I think, if given the chance. I’m not fool enough, though, to hand it over to him to ruin. I want Alistair to continue as trustee, almost as a manager.”

“And the horses?” Drew asked.

“The horses are draining Calholm,” Ben said slowly. “Even if Shadow wins the Grand National, it will be years before there’s enough money to support a stable this size—and Calholm doesn’t have years.”

Drew sighed. “It’ll break Lisbeth’s heart.”

“Exactly,” Ben said. “But the Hamiltons—and that includes Sarah Ann and Lisbeth—could lose everything unless those horses are sold. And the training course is taking up valuable pastureland.”

“Shadow?”

“Shadow is hers. But the others have to go. Dammit, Drew, I know how much they mean to her.”

Drew hesitated. “They did,” he said finally. “I don’t think they do now, not after what has happened.”

Ben wished he believed it. But he’d listened to Lisbeth’s hopes and dreams. He knew how hard she had fought for them.

Rather than pursue a dead end, Ben changed the subject. “I think you should tell her that you’re her brother,” he said abruptly.

“No.” Drew shook his head. “She won’t forgive me for not telling her sooner. She’s already doubting herself, and the people she’s trusted. I can’t tell her that I’ve lied to her, at least by omission. Now now. Nor do I think she would appreciate learning her father is a rapist.”

Ben swore.

“You’re the only one who can help her now,” Drew said.

“And how do I do that?” Ben asked bitterly. “By taking away every thing that’s important to her?”

“You’re important,” Drew said.

Ben’s mouth twisted in a cynical smile. “It’s always been the horses, Drew. And I’m the original Jonah as far as women are concerned. Lisbeth won’t want anything to do with me when I tell her about the stable.”

“You underestimate her.”

“No,” Ben said. “I know she’s strong. But everyone has disappointed her, including me. And I can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

Ben could only shrug his shoulders. Gulping his whisky, he stood in a gesture of dismissal. He saw anger flit through Drew’s eyes but the Scotsman got the message. Lord Kinloch’s gaze was cool as he set down his empty glass, rose from his chair and offered Ben a distinctly frosty “good night.”

John Alistair arrived at Calholm the following morning to officially deliver the news: the petition in Sarah Ann’s behalf had been approved. The control of the estate was now in the hands of Sarah Ann’s guardian, the title and lands entailed for Sarah Ann’s son.

Hugh accepted the news with silence, Barbara with resignation, Lisbeth with the same icy calmness that she’d maintained since Trapp’s confessions.

Afterward, Ben met with Alistair for an hour alone, asking questions and seeking advice. The solicitor was not happy with his plans, but he finally agreed to do what was necessary to implement them. Still, everything depended on unanimous family agreement, and as yet, Ben knew he had no agreement at all.

Ben went in search of Hugh, asking him to join him in the library Alistair had vacated.

Hugh looked at him with resignation, but followed him. He accepted a proffered drink, then said abruptly, “I’ll be leaving tomorrow. I realize I no longer have a claim on Calholm. I’m grateful for your offer to settle my debts. It’s more than I expected.” His gaze dropped to the floor.

Ben paused a moment, then asked, “You still plan to go to America?”

“Why in the bloody hell do you care?”

Ben ignored the question. “And Barbara?”

Hugh shrugged. “Barbara will never leave Calholm. Especially for someone without a pence.”

“Have you asked her?”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said, anguish settling in his eyes. And pride.

Ben knew about pride. He knew way too much about it.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said.

Hugh looked startled. “What?” His voice rang of suspicion.

Ben had to smile. He remembered the last man he’d made a proposition to. It had been met with the same degree of suspicion and lack of enthusiasm. But then, Diablo had been facing a noose.

Hugh looked as if his prospects were as gloomy.

“Can you run Calholm? Profitably?” Ben asked.

Hugh’s stunned eyes stared at him. “Don’t play with me, Masters.”

“You’ve talked a good game. Could you really do it?”

He was baiting Hugh now, wanting to know exactly what the man was made of.

“Not with those bloody stables.”

“If we were to sell the horses, all but Shadow?”

“The training field?”

“Put that into sheep pasture.”

“The tenants?”

“They stay.”

Hugh continued to stare at him, obviously trying to determine whether he was mad, or merely cruel. “Why?” he asked finally.

“Dammit, Hugh, can you?”

“It will take time, but I think, yes. Bloody hell, I know I can.”

That was the answer Ben wanted. He didn’t want fear, or bravado. He wanted commitment.

Hugh was eyeing him like a man might eye a tiger ready to pounce. “Why are you asking me this? Alistair was dead set against me having any part of Calholm.”

“Alistair was afraid you might gamble Calholm away.”

Hugh met his gaze straight on. “At one time, I might have. I’ve never had anything. I suppose you know that. Like Andrew Cameron, I had background and a noble family name and damn little else. But I have a talent for the land, and I finally realized I have no talent for cards.”

“Some people never learn that.”

Hugh snorted. “Like Ian?”

Ben nodded. “I want to return to America. I told Alistair I thought you could run Calholm for Sarah Ann. Sell the horses, but keep the tenant families. They can work with the additional sheep. You take half the profits you earn. The other half will be split three ways between Barbara, Lisbeth, and a trust fund for Sarah Ann until she comes of age.”

“And then?”

Ben shrugged. “Then it will be up to her. I can’t make promises, but I would hope she would sell at least part of it to you, whatever isn’t entailed. In any event, you’ll be doing what you want, and you should make money doing it. It would be a sight better than starting over in America with nothing.”

A number of expressions had crossed Hugh’s face: astonishment, cynicism, doubt, now hope.

“What about Lisbeth?” Hugh asked.

Ben sighed. “I haven’t talked to her yet, and this agreement depends on her approval. I don’t think she will object, though. She knows Calholm can’t support the horses any longer, and she’d still have Shadow.”

Hugh frowned. “I’m the last person to give advice, particularly where women are concerned, but you and Lisbeth …” He shook his head. “She and I have had our differences, but she deserves happiness, and I’ve never seen her … smile the way she has since you came.”

Until recently, Ben silently amended. There had been no smiles of late. Still, hope shot through Ben like a warm ray of sun on a cold day. Maybe …

Holding the thought within, he changed the subject. “Barbara loves you.”

Hugh’s smile faltered. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t underestimate her,” Ben said. “I don’t think very many people have given her a chance.”

“Do you always go around saving souls?” Hugh asked, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

Ben chuckled. He had tried to help Diablo, but he’d never thought he’d been saving a soul. Maybe he had, though Diablo certainly hadn’t thought so at the time.

“So, what do you think? Will you do it?” he asked Hugh.

Hugh nodded. “Yes. And I won’t disappoint you.”

“I wouldn’t have made the proposal if I thought you would.”

“I’d by lying if I didn’t tell you I think I should have had Calholm, but I also would be lying to myself if I believed I was ready. Going from nothing to everything is … well, it can be dangerous.”

Ben knew in that moment he’d been right. Hugh’s disappointment had made him strike out at everyone, but there was common sense under that exterior, and a growing awareness of his limitations. God knows, it had taken him long enough to find his own, Ben thought.

He held out his hand, and Hugh took it. “You’ll have free rein for the most part, though I’ve asked Alistair to keep an eye on things.”

“Fair enough,” Hugh said, though he winced slightly. “When will you leave?”

Ben hesitated. He still had several matters to resolve, one very important one.

“I’m not sure,” he replied.

“Thank you,” Hugh said quietly. For the first time, they exchanged friendly smiles.

Despite the successful meeting with Hugh, Ben felt only despair.

How was he going to tell Lisbeth?

He walked slowly up to Sarah Ann’s room. Lisbeth was with her, sitting in a chair, a book lying facedown in her hands. Sarah Ann was asleep, a very pregnant Annabelle in her arms. She was clutching the scarf again, after having abandoned it for several days before the kidnapping.

His eyes went to Lisbeth, who rose and looked as if she were about to flee.

“I came to see how she was,” Lisbeth said almost apologetically, and Ben knew that she felt guilt as strongly now as she had days ago.

How long had it taken him to rid himself of it? Days. Weeks. Months. Even now, he thought of Mary May—and the blood—and felt the burden on his conscience. He guessed he always would. But he’d had Sarah Ann to look after, and in every real way she had offered him salvation. He’d come to love her for herself, but taking care of her, raising her, being a good father to her, also had provided him a way to work off his debt to Mary May. He owed Mary May a life, and it was merely his incredible good fortune that giving his life to Sarah Ann had turned out to be the best thing he’d ever done for himself. But who did Lisbeth have to save her?

Ben held out his hand. “Lisbeth.” It was a request, made softly.

She looked down at Sarah Ann, hesitant to leave.

“Duncan will keep watch over her,” he said in a low voice. “I think I actually saw a tear in his eye when we brought her back.”

“You did,” she said. “She’s won his heart, as well as everyone else’s.”

“Yes,” he said, although they both knew Sarah Ann had not completely won Callum Trapp’s heart.

The unspoken words seemed to hang in the room.

“Drew said he’ll be leaving soon,” she said nervously. “Sarah Ann will miss him.”

“He’s a good man,” Ben said.

Her gaze finally met his. “How did you two—”

“Come to a truce?” he finished for her. He wanted to tell her who Drew was, but that was Drew’s secret, not his. Instead, he shrugged. “He’s a very capable man.”

She looked at him strangely. “Not many people believe that.”

“I believe that’s his aim,” Ben said. “The gambler’s greatest advantage. No one takes him seriously. That way he hears and sees things few others do.”

His hand was still extended, still untaken. “Lisbeth, come take a ride with me.”

She looked surprised. He hadn’t left Sarah Ann’s side except for the meeting with Alistair.

“Sarah Ann is safe now. I can’t stay with her every moment until she’s grown, although sometimes I’d like to. We’ll leave Henry with her and I’ve already asked Duncan to keep an eye on her.” He wanted Lisbeth away from the house, away from the others.

“Henry and Duncan—a peace-loving dog and an ancient retainer,” Lisbeth said with the first trace of whimsy he’d seen in her in days. “A mighty combination.” She hesitated a moment longer, then reluctantly agreed. “I’ll change into a riding dress and meet you at the stables in a few minutes.”

“I’ll have the horses in front,” he replied, leaving quickly. For years, he’d thought he had no emotions or that whatever he had were under control. But they whipped inside him now like a rawhide lash.

He was going to hurt her, and he didn’t know how to avoid it. His only consolation was that she would never lose her home, that she would have the funds to live well, here or anyplace, if not to support a large stable of hungry horses.

Ben wanted Lisbeth to be with him. He couldn’t imagine life without her now. Sarah Ann had lit one candle in an existence that had nothing but darkness; Lisbeth had lit another. But he could offer so little. At best, he and Sarah Ann would have a small house in Denver and he would engage in a struggling law practice, in what was little more than a boom town. He had a bad leg and would never be rich—for he wouldn’t touch anything of Sarah Ann’s. Lisbeth’s opportunities were here. She was lovely enough to find someone else, someone of her own rank and social class.

But, God, he didn’t want her to find anyone but him.

Ben saddled Bailey and Shadow, finishing as Lisbeth appeared in her moss-green riding dress. Her expression was wary, yet there was pride in her bearing, too. Pride despite having already endured so many kicks.

He wanted to take her face in his hands and kiss her.

Instead, he disciplined his expression and helped her into the sidesaddle. As she arranged her skirts, he thought of the first time he’d seen her, flying over a stone wall in boy’s clothing. He would probably remember that as long as he lived.

“Where would you like to go?” he asked.

She hesitated. “The ruins.”

It was the last place he wanted to go. But he nodded, and they cantered together down the road.

The morning mist was gone, burned away by the sun, and the distant dark green hills were lovely.

Ordinarily, Lisbeth loved the hills on rare clear days like this one. But today she felt a heaviness and foreboding that created its own mist, one without magic but shrouded, instead, with dread.

Her heart was breaking, and she didn’t know how to prevent it. Ben was going away. She knew it deep inside. She had known it for days. She’d seen that faraway look, the firming of resolution. The past few days had only confirmed a decision he’d already made.

She wished with all her soul that he would take her with him, but she hadn’t a prayer that the thought had even crossed his mind. He had never said he loved her, not even when they’d made love so frantically just days ago. She’d thought she’d felt love in his touches, but then she’d been wrong about so much.

She wasn’t sure what she would do after he left, whether she would stay or go. She felt lost, aimless, all her anchors swept away by Callum’s treachery. She wanted nothing to do with the horses. They had cost too much in human terms: Jamie’s life, almost Ben’s and Sarah Ann’s.

They had cost her everything. And for her, Calholm would be ever full of ghosts.

When they arrived at the ruins, Lisbeth allowed Ben to help her down, and they walked in to sit on what remained of the once-fortressed walls. The view was magnificent, the loch and the grassy hills beyond, dotted here and there with the white forms of sheep.

The scene seemed so peaceful, a stark contrast to the wracking pain inside her. Ben was silent beside her—trying to find the words, she guessed, to tell her what she already knew. She wanted to take his hand. She wanted to touch him. She wanted him to touch her. But Callum Trapp loomed between them like a wall. And so she sat there, as still as a statue.

“I’ll miss this,” he said softly, looking out over the Scottish hills.

She’d sensed his decision in every fiber of her body, and yet the words hurt more than she’d ever expected.

“Then don’t leave.” She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.

He took her hand, and a tingling reached upward through her arm and spread throughout her body.

He finally broke the strained silence, his voice low and hesitant. “I told you I used to be a lawyer … a solicitor. I used to be good at it before the war. I was in practice with my father, who’d pushed me toward it from the time I was very young. I would have done anything to please him. Anything.”

Lisbeth heard the frustration and bitterness of having failed in his voice. “He told me the law was a noble profession, and I believed him,” Ben continued. “Filled with that nobility, I went off to war, only to find there was nothing noble about killing people. And when I got home, my father had died, and I discovered that he’d represented war profiteers. Men who had sold shoddy goods to the army: shoes that fell apart, guns that backfired.

“After I discovered that, I wanted nothing to do with his practice,” he said, “nor did I want to stay in Chicago where my former fiancée lived with her husband. I decided instead to find that Rebel who helped me. A quixotic quest, to be sure, but I needed some kind of … redemption, I suppose. Paying that debt was one way of getting it.”

Lisbeth’s hand had tightened around his. “But now you want to go back to the law?”

He nodded. “Diablo became an outlaw because of a corrupt government. And as a marshal I was an instrument of that government,” he said slowly. “After his pardon, I realized I could do more to change the law in a courtroom than on horseback chasing wanted men back and forth across Indian Territory or evicting hardworking farmers from government land. And I was ready. Sarah Ann made it necessary, but I was looking forward to it.”

The rare passion in his voice made Lisbeth realize then how much this trip had cost him. Ben had delayed his own dream for Sarah Ann. So many of his dreams had been smashed. She wouldn’t detain him any longer. She would make it easy for him.

“I wanted Sarah Ann to have a family, to know her heritage,” he added slowly. “It was never my intent to take anything away from those who belonged here.” Slowly, he shook his head. “But now I can’t turn my back on its future.”

“Sarah Ann has always had the greatest claim,” Lisbeth said. “It was what her grandfather would have wanted. Do whatever you feel you must do.”

“I’ve got to go back, Lisbeth. I’m not a farmer. I never will be.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I always knew you would leave.” But the pain of the reality is so much greater than I expected. She hesitated, then asked, “And Sarah Ann?”

“Sarah Ann belongs with me,” he replied. “She’s an American, though Scotland will always be a part of her life. We’ll come back from time to time.”

Lisbeth had never felt so empty. She wasn’t going to cry, though. She wasn’t.

“Lisbeth,” he said, his fingers tightening briefly around hers, “I think Hugh can run Calholm with Alistair’s help. I’ve talked to him, and he wants to do it. But I won’t sign a contract with him if you don’t agree. He knows that.”

It took her a second or two to gather her composure. Then she said, “Of course I agree.” She wanted to stand and walk away before he saw her grief. He would think it was for Calholm, the loss of the horses. But it wasn’t. Her anguish was for the loss of him.

“Shadow is yours, of course,” he was saying, “but—”

“But the other hunters must go,” she finished for him, trying to sound nonchalant. “I know it. Perhaps I always knew it.”

“I’m sorry, Lisbeth,” he said. “I’m so sorry, but none of you will have any income if Calholm is bankrupt. Hugh has some good ideas, and he’ll keep the tenants as long as they want to stay. But selling the horses is Calholm’s only hope.” He paused a moment, then said, “Alistair will hire an accountant to keep an eye on Hugh’s management.”

“And Barbara?”

“I think Barbara will be well taken care of,” he said, with the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Both you and she will get shares of the income from Calholm.”

She swallowed. “That’s very generous. It’s my fault—”

“Dammit,” he exploded. “Nothing is your fault. And you’ll still have your chance to race Shadow. Enter him in the Grand National. Keep your dream.”

Her dream was in ashes, as dead as her heart. What tiny, foolish part of her had hoped he would ask her to go with him?

Lisbeth untangled her hand from Ben’s, fighting to keep back tears as she stood. “We’ll miss you and Sarah Ann. And Annabelle.” Could he tell how forced the lightness in her voice was?

She started toward Shadow. She wanted only to escape, but she felt Ben’s presence next to her, then his hand.

“Dammit, Lisbeth.”

She wouldn’t look at him. She couldn’t. “Let go of me,” she said, but her voice held no authority.

His fingers were like iron around her arm and his warmth crept into her. She bit down on her lip to keep from burying herself in his embrace.

“Don’t go yet,” he whispered in her ear. His arms went around her, his hands pulling her close, so that her back leaned against his chest. She rested there in momentary surrender.

Ben felt Lisbeth relax, sensed the instant that she yielded to the attraction that always radiated between them, that was now greater than ever.

To hell with logic. To hell with reasoning. To hell with obstacles. They belonged together, and he simply couldn’t let her go.

“Please, Ben …”

He heard her soft, broken request. And he ignored it.

He turned her so she was facing him. His gaze met hers directly. “What is it between us, Lisbeth?”

She went still, but her eyes were searching his face. They were that lovely hazel with flecks of gold, and they were so irresistible …

He leaned down and kissed her. They were worlds apart, even centuries apart in the way they lived. Yet he loved her.

His lips savored hers, caressed them slowly, then moved to do the same to every inch of her face, lingering around her eyes, then trailing toward the nape of her neck.

He tried to make the kisses undemanding, though he needed so much. He wanted to make her understand that it wasn’t merely lust that he was feeling. When had he lost his ability to communicate? To say what was in his heart?

And then she leaned into him, her lips searching out his, and when their lips met this time, the kiss was all warmth and yearning.

His hand went to her hair, pinned up with that little hat perched atop. He managed to pull off the hat, then the pins, then he ran his hands through her hair.

“Lisbeth,” he breathed. “I want you too much.”

“You can never want me too much,” she replied. “Never …”

Her body was intertwined with his now; he couldn’t tell where hers began and his ended. He couldn’t tell a damn thing except that she had given him back his soul.

Her body trembled against his.

“Lisbeth?”

“Love me, Ben,” she whispered. “Please …”

His lips came down on hers again. The kiss caught fire, and nothing mattered except the present.