Chapter Fourteen

Louisa placed the last pin in Mairi’s hair when a knock rattled on the bedchamber door.

“If that’s Edward, dinnae let him in,” Mairi said. “I’m no’ ready.”

Louisa went to the door and called, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Eliza. I’ve got something for you.” Louisa opened the door to the girl, and Eliza held out a book. “Captain asked me to give this to you, Miss MacQuarie.”

“Thank you, and please tell Mr. Kirby and the reverend we’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

Louisa closed and latched the door after Eliza departed.

“What is it?” Mairi asked.

“A book.” Louisa smoothed her finger over the lettering on the spine and smiled. Moll Flanders. He remembered. The very book she’d wanted most of all, and he had purchased it for her. She swallowed hard and fought back tears. The gift felt intimate and forgiving. It felt like…love. She opened the cover and a note slipped to the floor. She picked it up and read:

I may be a monster, but I am your monster.

Her heart skittered. It was as if he could see inside her mind, a terrifying thought, as she had too much to hide from him.

“Is ought amiss?” Mairi asked.

“Oh, Mairi. I’m so afraid.”

Mairi rose from the dressing table to sit next to Louisa on the edge of the bed and comfort her. “Is it because we’ve both fallen in love with the wrong man?”

“That doesnae frighten me. I dinnae mind loving him. I’m frightened he will hate me when he finds out who I really am.”

“Dinnae fash yourself about it. After all, he may never discover the truth. What are the chances your father or brothers will come here? Scotland is a long way away.”

“Aye. You’re right.” Louisa sniffed away tears. “Tell me something, does Mr. Kirby call you Louisa?”

“Aye, he has.”

“Does it trouble you?”

“It did at first, but now he mostly calls me darling.”

Louisa smiled. “You’re a beautiful bride, dearest. And my heart is full of joy for you and Mr. Kirby.”

“We did the right thing, did we not?” Mairi asked.

“I’m sure of it.” Louisa went to the door. “If you’re ready, I’ll go fetch Captain Sinclair, and we’ll both walk you down the stairs.”

She didn’t have far to go. Captain Sinclair was waiting at the upstairs landing, looking so hopeful, it almost broke her heart. She went to him.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

She realized she was holding the book to her heart. “You know I do. Thank you.”

“I mean to marry you, Miss MacQuarie, and I shall not leave you until you say yes.”

“Captain Sinclair, I think perhaps you have a secret that you are unwilling to tell me.” He blinked, and she knew she was right. “We both have secrets,” she continued. “I dinnae see how we can marry when we keep secrets from each other.”

If Louisa was getting married, which she wasn’t, she would plan a ceremony exactly like Mairi and Mr. Kirby’s. But of course, she wouldn’t because she wasn’t getting married. Even if she wanted to marry, which she didn’t, and even if she could marry, which she couldn’t, she would marry Captain Sinclair. But, no matter what Captain Sinclair said or did, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, shouldn’t marry him.

Captain Sinclair disrupted her nonsensical rumination. “Do you think they’ll be happy?”

Louisa surveyed the parlor: Mr. and Mrs. Foley in their Sunday best, the new Mrs. Kirby in the wedding gown she’d lovingly made and embellished with gold stitchery, Mr. Kirby in a fine suit of gray summer wool, Reverend Wynterbottom in clerical blacks, Captain Sinclair with his perfectly tied neckcloth and snug-fitting breeches, and herself, the actress playing the role of Mairi MacQuarie in a calico day dress.

“I believe they will be blissfully happy, Captain,” she answered.

Mr. Foley made another toast to the couple’s eternal happiness, and they raised their cups. Reverend Wynterbottom’s cup was filled with cider, of course.

“Is the only reason you reject my offer of marriage because you want to be an actress, Miss MacQuarie, or does it have something to do with your secret?”

Her heart thumped at the mention of her secret, but she was spared the need to answer when Mr. Kirby peered outside the parlor window and announced, “Looks like we have a visitor.” Mr. Kirby held up a hand. “No, no, Mrs. Foley. Stay here. I’ll go see who it is.”

Captain Sinclair leaned down to whisper in Louisa’s ear. “I thought she might give me problems.”

“Who?”

“The bride. People call her the General’s Daughter from Hell, ye ken. Even her brother Connor said she’d be difficult. But she’s been no trouble at all.” He gave her a crooked smile. “You, on the other hand, have been a thorn in my side since the first moment I saw your wicked green eyes.”

Louisa felt herself flush with an odd mixture of happiness and trepidation.

Laughter echoed in the entry hall, drawing her attention away from Captain Sinclair. Mr. Kirby burst into the parlor beaming at his new wife. “Darling, I have the most wonderful surprise for you.”

Louisa’s heart stopped beating the instant a tall, dark, and very familiar-looking man swept in, arms outstretched and smiling. “Louisa.”

Her first surge of panic was for her friend whose world was about to collapse. Mairi’s smile contorted into a mask of horror. And Edward Kirby’s face flickered from elated to confused when his best friend, Nathan Robertson, walked right past his new wife.

Nathan clapped his hands around Louisa’s shoulders and laughed. “Sorry, Lou. Looks like I just missed the wedding. Let me be the first to congratulate you.” He kissed her on the cheek.

Numb with fear and shock, Louisa chanced a look back at Captain Sinclair. His buckled brow was rapidly hardening into something dark and dangerous.

She shoved her brother in the chest. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be on the Continent.”

Nathan took a deep breath. “I know, I know. I felt guilty about how things had unfolded for you,” he explained with his hangdog face. “I came to see that you were happy, Lou.”

“You ruined everything!” She spun back to Captain Sinclair, the full realization of her betrayal in his stony gaze. “I’m sorry Ian, I never meant to—”

Unable to bear the look on his face, unable to witness Mairi’s dream crumble, and unwilling to explain her deceit to her brother, Louisa fled the house and kept on running.

…

Ian remained suspended in a haze of disbelief as he watched a distraught Miss MacQuarie dash from the room. Was this some kind of elaborate joke Kirby had arranged? Some bizarre wedding custom unique to America?

Reverend Wynterbottom was the first to speak what his fear did not allow him to believe. He pointed to the empty doorway. “So, that one is your sister?” His finger shifted to the bride. “And this one is…?”

“My sister’s maid, Mairi,” the visitor helpfully clarified. Shaking his head, he continued, “I’m sorry. Would someone mind telling me what’s going on here?”

The sobbing bride was next to flee the room. Mrs. Foley followed her.

“I’ll go stable Mr. Robertson’s horse for the evening.” Mr. Foley finished his whisky, set down his cup, and hurried out of the parlor.

Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, Ian thought, his temper simmering somewhere deep in his belly.

The new visitor turned to Kirby for an answer. The groom would be of no help. His face had turned gray. Ian had seen similar looks in the eyes of men skewered in the gut with a sword. And Reverend Wynterbottom had his head bowed in fervent prayer. Once again, the burden of sorting out this mess fell to Ian. Damn. Why was it always him?

He inhaled a deep breath and extended his hand to Robertson. “I’m Ian Sinclair, Captain of the Gael Forss.”

“Nathan Robertson.” They shook. “Why is my sister so upset?” Robertson asked, his face hardened and his words clipped. He looked a hell of a lot like his father, the Tartan Terror.

“It seems the ladies have exchanged identities. Miss MacQuarie just married your friend Kirby.”

Robertson’s face went blank. “But why—how did you not—” In a matter of seconds, the man managed to sort out what Ian and Kirby hadn’t seen until this moment. Nathan Robertson’s face twisted into a frightening scowl. “That blasted little— I’m going to thrash her.”

“Get in line,” Ian snarled and strode out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Robertson shouted after him.

“I’m going to find her.”

The task proved harder than he expected. She wasn’t in her room, nor anywhere in the house, nor was she in the summer kitchen. It was full dark now. She wouldn’t have strayed into the woods or the fields. That left the coach house. A pale light shone from the open door. Mr. Foley was inside stabling Robertson’s horse. As Ian entered, Foley handed him a lantern.

“She’s in the back,” Foley said in a low voice. “The boy is with her.”

Ian walked to the end of the row of stalls and peered into the loose box. He held the lantern up, and its golden glow illuminated Miss Mac—Miss Robertson curled up in a mound of hay, head buried in her arm, sobbing. Will, like a steadfast hound, crouched at her side.

“It’s all right, miss,” he said. “The captain is here now. He’ll make everything all right. You’ll see.”

Her sobbing increased to a wail at the mention of his name.

“Go find your bed, Will,” Ian said, his voice laced with barely contained rage.

Will gave her one last pat and left the box. Ian hung the lamp on the wall. He needed both hands free to strangle her. He paced inside the loose box. The stifling heat only provoked him further. He tore off his coat and tossed it down.

“Sit up,” he growled.

She slowly lifted her head, wiped her swollen eyes, and hiccuped.

“A secret?” he said, beginning to shake. “You call this a secret? This, Miss Robertson, is a crime!” He wiped the spittle from his lips. Christ, he could barely see straight. “Do you understand—can you even begin to understand what you’ve done?”

“I’m s-s-sorry.”

“Lives, Louisa. You played with people’s lives. There are consequences.” He spun away from her and held his head. It was beginning to throb. Not now. Not now. “My life, my future, everything. It’s all gone.” He leaned down and cupped her chin in his hand so she would look at him. “You knew what was at stake for me, and still you did this. Why?”

“You—you wouldnae understand,” she said, and resumed her crying.

He released her and backed away. “You’re right. I will never understand. But you will tell me. I will know the reason for your trickery.” When she didn’t reply, he glared down at her and shouted, “Now!”

She startled and for a half second, he was sorry he’d frightened her. Then the tide of his anger rushed back.

“We planned everything bef—” She gulped. “Before we left Edinburgh. Then I met you and you were so kind and—and good. And when I found out about your plans, it was too late.” It took effort for her to grind out her words. Each one rode on the crest of a fresh sob. “Mairi, she’s more than my maid. She’s my f-friend. She wanted to—” She sniffed and took a breath. “She wanted to marry Mr. Kirby and I wanted to-to-to…”

“To be a goddamn actress.”

“To punish my da!” she blurted. She gave way to her sobs and cried uncontrollably. “He doesnae love me. He doesnae want me. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted…” She collapsed on the hay again.

Ian sighed. Exhausted from having spent every last drop of his anger in this past half hour, the storm inside his body had started to calm, and the nauseating feeling of having his life upended had abated.

“Louisa.”

Ian spun at the unexpected voice. He hadn’t heard Nathan Robertson approach. How long had he been standing there?

Robertson entered the loose box, knelt, and gathered his sister in his arms. She let her head rest on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Nathan.”

“God, Lou. Of course Da loves you. He’s only ever wanted what’s best for you. He doesnae ken how to show it, but he’s always loved you most.” Nathan rose and carried his sister back to the house. Though every muscle in Ian’s body objected, he reminded himself Nathan had a right to carry Louisa. She was his sister. Ian was only—

Bloody hell. What was he to her now? Jee-sus. Would her brother make her marry Kirby? Would Kirby insist on an annulment of the first marriage and wed Louisa? They had a contract. Shite. Of course, that would happen.

And there wasn’t a goddamn thing he could do about it.

He waited in the parlor while Robertson carried Louisa up to her bedchamber. Kirby was in there looking like hell. The reality of what had just happened had hit him. Reverend Wynterbottom, a good man despite his weakness for spirits, stood behind Kirby’s chair, one hand on the disappointed groom’s shoulder comforting him with aphorisms like God has a plan for us all and Everything happens for a reason. Utterly useless words in this case.

“I’ll sit with him. You go on to your bed, Reverend.”

The man nodded and left the parlor. Ian poured himself whisky. He needed something to steady his hands as well as something to dull the pain of what was to come. Kirby held up his cup without a word, and Ian refreshed it. He took the seat across from Kirby.

“I’m sorry.”

Kirby lifted his head, his eyes narrowed at Ian.

“If you’re thinking I was part of this, you’re wrong,” Ian said. “I found out when you did. I’m just as appalled.” But then, that wasn’t the whole truth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he’d known Miss MacQuarie wasn’t who she said she was. Her manners, her speech, the occasional misspoken name, her refusal to let him call her Mairi. Peter had suspected, too. He’d even brought his suspicions to Ian’s attention and he’d chastised him for it.

Kirby groaned like a wounded animal. His eyes, his mouth, his shoulders, his whole body sagged with the weight of defeat.

“You love her, I know,” Ian said gently. “If it helps, Miss Robertson told me they concocted the plan because Miss MacQuarie wanted very much to marry you. She may have lied about her name, but I dinnae think she lied about her feelings for you.”

Kirby nodded slightly and took a deep swallow of whisky. Ian looked at his cup. Whisky was for celebration. Tonight felt like a funeral.

Robertson entered the parlor. “How is she?” Kirby asked.

“Which one?”

“My— Miss MacQuarie.”

Robertson went to the drinks trolley and helped himself to a cup of whisky. “The housekeeper gave her a draught of something to calm her and put her to bed.”

“And Miss Robertson?” Ian asked.

Robertson paused and eyed him speculatively. Just long enough to make Ian’s insides squirm. “The housekeeper is doing the same for my sister.”

“What’s going to happen?” Kirby asked.

Robertson emptied his cup and poured himself another. “What should have happened in the first place. You’re going to marry Louisa.”

Kirby bolted to his feet. “It’s too late. I’ve already married the other.”

The tall dark Scot, who looked so much like the man Ian had fought alongside seven years ago, seemed to consider Kirby’s words for a moment. “It’s not too late. Ye havenae taken her to your bed.”

Kirby flushed crimson, and Robertson read the guilt on his friend’s face immediately. “Bloody hell, man. You thought that was my sister and you took her to your bed before the wedding?”

“You don’t understand—”

“No matter, Edward. The marriage is void. You were deceived.”

Kirby doubled over as if punched in the gut.

Ian rose to face Robertson knowing what had to come next. He took in a lungful of courage and announced, “Your sister cannae marry Kirby. She’s been compromised, as well.”

“You bloody bastard!”

He saw the murder in the man’s eyes a half second before Robertson’s fist connected with his face. Ian staggered backward, crashed into a table, and toppled over, his head smacking into the wall before his body crumpled to the floor in a heap. Jee-sus that hurt. Checking his nose experimentally, he determined it was still attached to his face, not broken, but was bleeding profusely. He wiped his face and got to his feet, still a little rattled from the blow. Ian had seen it coming and did nothing to block it—he’d deserved it after all. However, he derived a measure of satisfaction when he saw Robertson shake out his hand.

“I suppose it’s pistols at dawn, aye?”

“Nae.” Robertson pulled a sickly smile. “I’ll leave the pleasure of killing you to my da.”

…

She promised Mrs. Foley she’d take the sleeping draught right after she said her prayers. As soon as the woman closed the door behind her, Louisa poured the contents of the glass into the chamber pot. She had to leave. If she stayed, her brother would make her marry Mr. Kirby, and that would only create a bigger disaster. She packed lightly, only what she needed for the next few days. The rest she could send for once she’d reached her destination.

While the men were still below stairs discussing her future without consulting her, she stole into Captain Sinclair’s room and found her pistols. Mr. Kirby had placed their identification papers in his safe. There was no retrieving those. At least she had her letter of recommendation with her.

It didn’t take much stealth or effort to escape the house. Everyone thought she and Mairi were drugged and asleep. Lucky for her, the moon was bright enough she could see the road. If she kept up her brisk pace, she’d make it to town in time to take the first coach out.

Louisa tried not to think about the look on Captain Sinclair’s face. He’d been angry, of course. She’d expected as much. She hadn’t anticipated how much the truth would hurt him. He had been close to tears. She’d shattered his dreams. It didn’t matter to him that she hadn’t planned on hurting him, that she had intended to make people happy, not ruin lives.

Lives, Louisa. You played with people’s lives. There are consequences.

She’d known there would be consequences. She just hadn’t known they would be hers. That she would hurt, as well.

…

Ian rolled out of bed with the sun, his head pounding from too much whisky, staggered to the basin, and finished washing away the crusted blood he’d missed last night. He peered at his reflection and groaned. With both his eyes slightly blackened, he looked like a pine marten. It would get worse as the bruises turned purple, then green, then yellow. Jee-sus. This was his wedding day. Not at all how he had planned. In fact, not what he’d planned at all.

He selected a clean shirt and trousers from his bag and noted absently that his things were out of order. He hadn’t remembered leaving his bag in disarray last night, but then he hadn’t remembered much about last night other than receiving a blow from Robertson that had nearly sent him crashing through a wall.

Once dressed, he sat on the edge of his bed and examined his hands. They were shaking, as were his legs. Was he ready for this? Absolutely not. Was he going through with it? Absolutely. He’d insist on it. It was the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do. Christ, yesterday he had practically begged Miss Mac—damn—Miss Robertson to marry him. Of course, that was when he’d thought he’d ruined her. But God had played him a fool once again. It was she who had ruined him.

The only thing that could have made this entire trip worse would have been to watch Louisa marry Kirby. At least he’d been spared that. Had he not ruined her, he’d be attending Kirby’s wedding today and not his own. Ian refused to spend time examining why that fact somehow made things more bearable. The point was moot.

He was the first guest to the breakfast room. Mrs. Foley was laying out the sideboard with plates of ham, eggs, toast, and roasted potatoes. He poured himself some tea, sat at the table, and waited. Reverend Wynterbottom waddled in next mumbling “good morning” and “what a fine day” and “God’s good grace” and this and that and so on. Ian uttered sounds he hoped would be taken as agreement.

Kirby entered next looking only marginally better than Ian. He said nothing, and the reverend was wise enough not to open a conversation with him. The thump of footfalls fast approaching had them all halfway to their feet when Robertson charged in.

“Where’s Louisa?” he demanded, looking straight at Ian.

“She’s not in her room?”

“No.”

Mrs. Foley entered with more food.

“Have you seen Miss Robertson this morning?” Robertson barked.

Startled, she fumbled with the plate of eggs. “I haven’t seen either of the ladies today.”

Ian bolted for the exit at the same time Robertson made to leave, their shoulders creating a logjam in the doorway. They struggled for a moment before Nathan got the upper hand and shoved past Ian. Ian caught up with the arsehole at the staircase, yanked him back, and bounded up the stairs three at a time.

He pounded on her door. “Louisa! Louisa!”

“She’s no’ there, ye numpty,” Nathan said. “I told you, she’s gone.” He pounded on Miss MacQuarie’s door. “Mairi, open your door and tell me where Louisa’s gone to.”

Mairi opened her door a crack and Nathan stormed inside. He towered over her and shouted, “Out with it, girl. Where is she?”

Kirby pushed past Ian. “Leave her be, Nathan.” Mairi had started her sniveling again, and Kirby scooped her into his arms, consoling her.

Ian tried a calmer approach. “Mairi, some of Louisa’s things are gone. She seems to have disappeared. She could be in danger. Did she say anything to you about leaving?”

She pointed to a scrap of parchment lying on her dressing table. Nathan pounced on it, and read the few words out loud. “Be brave, my dearest friend. Mr. Kirby needs your love now more than ever.”

Ian thought for a moment. She would want to get to New York as soon as possible. She didn’t know how to ride, and she couldn’t have taken Kirby’s carriage. “The post coach,” he said. “She’s walked to town to catch the post coach to New York.”

With Kirby’s permission, Ian and Nathan saddled his two best horses and raced into town. Ian flung himself from the saddle and strode into the coaching inn where Kirby had said they sold tickets. “Has a coach left for New York today?” he asked, out of breath from the ride.

The man behind the counter scrunched his face as if thinking caused him pain. “Um. Hang on.” He wandered into a back office, saying, “Hey, Albert, is there a coach to New York this morning?” Ian heard someone, presumably Albert, say, “Um. Hang on.”

Ian growled. “It’s urgent.”

The man poked his head out and put a hand to his ear. “What’d you say, son?”

Ian schooled his patience. “A young woman is missing—”

“My sister,” Nathan broke in.

“—and we suspect she’s headed for New York City,” Ian continued. “She’s about so tall, pretty green eyes, a fine figure—”

“Shut up about my sister’s figure,” Nathan shouted.

Ian closed his eyes and tamped down his temper. “Has anyone matching that description purchased a ticket to New York this morning?”

“No.”

Good. Perhaps she hadn’t left New London as yet.

“She boarded this morning’s coach to New Haven,” the man behind the counter said helpfully.

Nathan cursed.

“What time did it leave?” Ian asked.

“Um, three—no four—no three hours ago, maybe? What time is it now?”

“Never mind,” Ian said. “Which way is New Haven?”