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INES
She was miserable. It wasn’t just the Scottish weather that made her miserable. It had been raining for three days now, and she was cold and wet and wondered if she would ever be dry.
Even worse, her bottom was so sore that she could barely walk—that was when Duncan let them stop long enough to climb down from the horses. The first day they’d ridden on horseback, she’d enjoyed riding behind Duncan. She’d wrapped her arms about his taut waist and pressed her body against his.
He’d stiffened and had not seemed to relax until they were off the beast. It was as though he didn’t want her touch. She went over and over in her mind what she might have done wrong.
And she kept coming back to that night in the crofter’s cottage. He’d done things she had not known men and women did together. And he’d made her feel...the pleasure was impossible to describe. But then he’d left her, walked away and left her alone.
It was as though he’d felt guilty for what he’d done. And then the past few days, he’d barely spoken to her. She had begun to think perhaps he regretted what he’d done. Either that or he thought less of her. After all, women were not supposed to allow men such liberties with their bodies until after they were married. She was hurt and confused and her thoughts were a tangle.
Why had she been foolish enough to think he would ever marry her? And why had she thought he would fall madly in love with her? Think she was perfect exactly as she was and carry her away to happily ever after? Yes, he was exciting and had shown her a great deal of adventure. But in the end, he wanted a woman who would follow all the rules.
Well, she wasn’t that woman. At the start of this adventure, she had thought all she needed was a respite from tedious suitors and hours of lacemaking. But now she could not ever imagine going back. Yes, she loved her sister and wanted to be with her, but Ines couldn’t breathe in London. As much as she hated all the rain, she was enchanted by Scotland. The deeper they traveled, and the further north, the more gorgeous the landscape became. It was a rugged country, that much was clear, but the soaring mountains and swaths of flower-filled valleys were beautiful and achingly romantic. It was the sort of place where anything could happen.
And so much had happened, but now Duncan would not even look her in the eye. Well, at the moment, she couldn’t see his eyes. He was riding in front of her, toward what looked like an impassable mountain, and she was holding on for all she was worth. Behind them Mr. Fortescue and Emmeline seemed to negotiate their horses with ease. They weren’t afraid of being thrown off or sliding off the animal’s back.
She risked a quick peek behind her, and Emmeline gave her a reassuring smile. The other woman had been unusually quiet lately, too. Come to think of it, so had Mr. Fortescue. Ines wondered if something had happened between them...
The ground tilted down and though the horse did not stumble, Ines felt herself tilting. She grasped hold of Duncan, and he grunted. “Ye willnae fall, lass,” he said, sounding annoyed.
“You would not care if I did, senhor,” she said.
He gave her an exasperated look. “What rubbish is this?”
“There is não rubbish.”
He didn’t argue, and she almost wished he would. She wanted an argument with him. She wanted something more than this silence and coldness.
Hours later, it seemed, the rain slackened, and the late afternoon sun broke through the low clouds. It colored the mountains purple and dark red. In the sunlight, the terrain looked lush and green. Far in the distance, Ines spotted a brook winding through a valley between two mountains. Were they mountains or hills? She was not certain, but they were captivating.
“We stop here for the night,” Duncan said when they’d reached a clearing with another brook running alongside.
“The horses have another hour or two in them,” Fortescue said. “We could go further.”
But Duncan handed Ines down then climbed down himself. Ines clung to the horse, her legs feeling wobbly underneath her.
“The next leg of the journey is difficult,” he said. “We’ll all do better with a fresh start in the morning.” And that seemed to be the end of the discussion. Ines was happy to be back on solid land again.
While the men unsaddled the horses and turned them loose to graze, Ines and Emmeline rifled through the saddlebags for something to eat. The farmer had sent them with food, and Duncan had bought more in some of the small villages they passed through, but even Ines, who knew little about such things, could see what they had would not sustain four people for much more than another meal or two at most.
When Stratford came over to start a fire, he frowned at the meager rations the ladies had laid out. “We’ll have to buy more to eat,” he told Duncan. “This won’t last us long.”
Duncan didn’t even glance their way. “We’ll be fine.”
Ines huffed out a breath. “How do you know?” she asked. “You did not look.”
“I ken,” he said, not glancing at her.
She called him several unflattering names in her native tongue and a few others she knew. Fortescue stood. “I have to agree with Miss Neves.” He glanced at her. “Not about the names she just called you—I speak Spanish.” He winked. “But, Duncan, we need more provisions.”
Duncan put his hands on his hips and turned to look at them. Ines hated how her heart thudded in her chest and her lungs grew tight at the sight of him. She couldn’t help but want him. He was so handsome, so much of what she’d always dreamed of.
But she was not what he wanted. He had made that very clear.
“At least someone listens to me!” she said. Duncan ignored her. Awful man!
“Tomorrow we dine at my mother’s table,” Duncan said. Ines stared at him then looked at Emmeline. She wondered if her own jaw had dropped open.
“We arrive tomorrow?” Stratford asked. “To Kirkmoray?”
“Aye.”
“Why didn’t you say something before?” Emmeline asked.
He shrugged. “Nae one asked.”
Emmeline rolled her eyes and Ines, so angry, marched away.
“Lass, where are ye going?” Duncan called.
“I’ll go with her,” Emmeline said, Loftus following at her heels. Ines slowed enough so that the other woman could catch up. The dog bounded on ahead, keeping just within their sights. The two walked in silence for a long while. Finally, Emmeline stopped at a gentle slope and looked down at a winding ribbon of what Ines assumed must be a road. It looked so small from up here. She studied the green hillsides—or were they mountains?—and the clouds racing over them. Here and there a patch of rock was exposed, proving that underneath the beauty was a hard, cold foundation.
“It’s very dramatic, isn’t it?” Emmeline asked.
Ines was familiar with that word as it had been applied to her on many occasions. She nodded. “It makes me feel small. I look at it and feel so small, sim?”
“Yes,” Emmeline said, her voice fainter. “It does put things in perspective.”
Ines sank down on the grass, which was not as soft as she would have hoped, being that it was mixed with coarse and prickly vegetation too. But she pulled her knees to her chest and tried to ignore the things poking at her. “I do not know this word, perspective, but I realize now I should have gone back to London.”
“No,” Emmeline said, sitting beside her. “Ouch. This looks softer than it is.” She tried to find a comfortable spot then gave up and pulled her own legs close, her posture mirroring Ines’s. “If you had gone straight back to London, you would never have had this adventure. I would never have had this adventure. I’ve always wanted to see Scotland, and now I have.” She took Ines’s hand. “I know those reivers were awful, but this journey has not all been bad.”
Ines gave her a sidelong look. “There was the time Duncan was shot and almost died.”
“That was when we found Loftus,” Emmeline said brightly. In the distance, Loftus raised his gray head and looked at them, having heard his name.
“He is a good dog,” Ines agreed. “There was the time the Duke of Mayne caught us and almost dragged us back.”
“Yes, but we outwitted him!”
“And left our coach behind.” Ines wriggled her toes, which were still sore from all the walking they had done.
“You and I have become friends,” Emmeline said. “Remember when Murray and Stratford thought you did not understand English?”
Ines smiled. “That seems like years ago. And now tomorrow I will meet his mother.”
Emmeline took her hand. “I agree that is a prospect to frighten even the bravest among us. Lady Charlotte is a legend.”
Ines tilted her head to see Emmeline better. “You know her?”
“I know of her. She was something of a warning to my sisters and me. My mother said that when she was presented at her first Season, all of London fell in love with her. Poems were written about her, songs were composed in her honor, and men swooned.” She glanced at Ines. “I rather doubt that last part, but that is what my mother said.”
“I see.” Ines smiled at the thought of men thirty or so years ago swooning in their wigs and their ornate silk coats. “Why did they swoon? Because she was so beautiful?”
“Yes, but also because she was so shocking. This is the part that was supposed to be a lesson, for me in particular. Lady Charlotte said what she thought and did as she liked. She smoked and gambled and danced with a man three times in a row.”
“This is not acceptable? To dance with a man three times?”
“Not for ladies in my circle, no.” Emmeline released Ines’s hand and clasped her arms about her knees. “She was so beautiful and popular that the hostesses were obliged to continue to invite her to their parties, but after a month or so of this shocking behavior, even the most liberal hostesses had to shun her. Do you know her sin?”
Ines shook her head.
“She had fallen in love with an unsuitable man.”
“James Murray?”
“Yes. He was the brother of the Duke of Atholl, which made him good enough to gain admittance to Almack’s, but no English lady was to seriously consider him. He was not rich or well-connected or powerful. He was just the younger son of a duke.”
“Was he handsome?” Ines asked.
Emmeline laughed. “I asked my mother the same thing, and she told me that was not the point of the story. But I think he must have been. And he liked how Lady Charlotte spoke her mind and did as she pleased.”
“It sounds romantic.”
“It does, but my mother’s point was that only an uncouth Scot would want a wife like that, and if my sisters and I wanted to marry decent men, we should shut up and flutter our lashes and pretend we had not a thought in our heads.”
“I am glad I am not part of your world sometimes.”
“I no longer want any part of it, either. Neither did Lady Charlotte. She eloped with James Murray. The marriage was not valid, of course. She was not one and twenty, but by the time her family caught up to the pair, she had been thoroughly ruined and the scandal would be less if they simply agreed to the marriage. So they did, and Lady Charlotte, who had been a celebrated debutante faded into obscurity and became”—Emmeline stretched and yawned—"a cautionary tale.”
“She followed her heart,” Ines said. “I do not see why that is so wrong.”
“But by doing so, she lost everything else—her family, her friends, her reputation. I am not one to lecture, Ines.” Emmeline stood. “God knows I have been lectured to enough, but as your friend, you should think about what you are doing. I know you have fallen in love with Duncan Murray.”
Ines looked up at her. “It is obvious?”
“It is. But before you give up everything to marry him, consider what you lose. Your sister. Your lacemaking. Your independence. Scotland is beautiful.” She made a wide arc with one arm. “But it is rugged and harsh and difficult to survive.”
“It does not matter,” Ines said, looking back down at the darkening road below them. “He does not want me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Emmeline said and started away. Ines turned to ask her to wait and saw Duncan approaching. His walk was impossible to miss, even though he was in shadow. He walked confidently, with long, fearless strides. He nodded at Emmeline as she passed and gave the dog a quick pat when Loftus stopped to sniff him before racing off to keep company with Emmeline.
Ines looked back at the clouds, great gray hulks, looming over the Highlands. Duncan stopped beside her. “It’s getting cold, lass. Come back tae the fire.”
“Oh, now you want to talk to me?” This was not quite accurate. He had not said he wanted to talk to her, just that he wanted her to come to the fire.
“I have nae ceased talking tae ye,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“To say, hold on or get down. That is all.”
“Do ye want me tae blather on all day?”
“I want you to say something to me!” She stood, which still only put her to his shoulder. “The night in the cottage—”
“I dinnae want tae talk of that.”
“I do. I thought...” She swallowed. Well, why not say it? This might be her last chance. “I thought you cared for me.”
“Christ and all the saints!” he exploded. She jumped at his voice, but he grasped her arm and drew her near. “I do care for ye, lass, and that’s why I’m angry with ye.”
She frowned. He was angry with her because he cared for her?
“I’m angry that yer such an idiot.”
She yanked her arm away from him.
“I told ye tae go back tae London, but ye insisted on coming along and have almost gotten yerself killed a half dozen times.”
Ines glared at him. “That is...what is the word? Exaggeration!”
“Maybe, but that’s how it feels tae me. Yer not safe here. What if those reivers had decided tae rape ye? Yer eyes widen, but dinnae think the thought dinnae cross their minds. What if Stratford and I had lost against them?”
“You would never have lost.”
Duncan shook his head. “Anything can go wrong in a fight. And if we’d lost, then what would have happened tae ye? If I lost ye, how could I go back tae Colonel Draven and tell him ye were gone?”
She crossed her arms, mimicking his stance. “And that is your concern? If I died, you would have to tell my brother-in-law?”
“Ye ken that’s not the whole of it.”
“Then what is the whole of it, Duncan? I love you.” She tried to move into his arms, but he held up a hand.
“Dinnae say such things.”
“Why not? It is true.”
“Then find someone else tae love.”
“I do not want to find someone else. I want to love you. You do not love me.” Her voice broke. “Just tell me.” His face wavered as the tears spilled from her eyes. She had not wanted to cry, but she could not seem to hold them back. She swiped at them angrily, wishing she could control them.
“I dinnae love ye, lass,” he said, the words like a knife piercing her heart. She stepped back at the force of them, though he’d said them quietly. “Ye dinnae understand. I cannae love ye.”
“Because I am not English.”
He laughed. “Nae. Because I have nae heart. It sickened a long time ago, and I have done all I can tae stomp on it and wring it and eke the last bit of life from it. Everra time I killed in the war, my heart died a little more until I felt nothing. I still feel nothing.”
She stared at him for a long time. His amber eyes were hard, like the fossils she had seen with the flies trapped inside. But she’d also seen those eyes warm and welcoming. She shook her head. “Não.”
“What do ye mean, nae? It’s my heart. I ken it.”
“I do not think so. There is life in it yet, but you are afraid of it.”
His expression turned hard. “I am not afraid.”
Ah, she had dented his armor. She could see it now. His eyes were still hard, but there was warmth inside them too. “Not of a battle. Not of an outlaw. But of a woman? Sim, I scare you.”
“That’s right,” he said. “I’m scared yer foolishness will get ye killed.”
“Then send me back to London,” she said. It was a risky statement because he could do it. He could force her to go back if he really wanted her gone. But she had to push him. If she did not, she would never know if he felt for her what she felt for him. “Send me away. Tomorrow we will be at your home. You can arrange for me to go right back. I will probably even meet the colonel on the way back and that will make it easy for you.”
“Is that what ye want then?” he asked.
“Is it what you want?”
He gave her a long, cold look. “Aye. I want ye gone. For good.”
He walked away, and Ines did not cry. But she did not breathe either. She must have taken in air because she did not faint. She did not fall down from lack of air, but her chest hurt so badly she felt as though she could not take in enough, as though she would never take a deep breath again.
And then her heart, like Duncan’s, would slowly wither away from lack of sustenance. And when her heart was finally cold, she might be able to do what her sister wanted and live quietly as a lacemaker, married to a man she did not love and could never care for.
***
DUNCAN
Duncan knew he was almost home when he saw the familiar landmarks. “I used tae swim in that stream,” he told Stratford, who rode beside him. “I used tae climb that tree. I used tae fish in the sea just over those hills.”
But he felt home when people he recognized waved and called greetings to him. It was the people that made Kirkmoray home, not the rocks on which he once played King of the Mountain or the bridges he raced friends across. His heart seemed to grow in his chest as people came out of their homes to wave to him.
The party of four, Duncan and Stratford in front and Miss Wellesley with Ines behind her in the rear, had arrived about midday. The farmers and laborers were home for a meal before going back to the fields or their shops. The townspeople called out and greeted him and several of the young boys raced ahead. Duncan assumed they were running to tell his mother to set an extra plate at the table. He hoped they told her to set four extras.
Duncan smiled and waved. He had missed Kirkmoray and missed these people. He’d spent almost a year here when he’d returned from the war. He’d thought after fighting for all those years he was ready to take over his mother’s farm and household. His older brother, known as Little James, though he was as tall as Duncan, owned several seafaring vessels that traded all over the world. The Murrays had always been a people connected with the sea, though Duncan’s father preferred farming to sailing or fishing and Duncan had always lived more inland than seaside. Little James had his own house and spent much of his time at the laird’s keep, assisting the duke with all of his responsibilities. Duncan had spent time with his uncle after the war but found the daily bureaucracy of it all tedious. He had not minded the farming, but he’d also felt as though he were missing something.
He’d been restless and could not seem to settle. He’d gone to London to visit his friends, and then his mother had called him back and sent him to find a bride.
At the thought of a bride, he couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder. Ines should have been behind him, holding on to him as she had the past few days, and driving him wild with the way her small hands gripped his waist. But she had chosen to ride behind Miss Wellesley today. She hadn’t even looked at him this morning.
Duncan was certain Stratford and his cousin could feel the tension between Ines and himself, but they said nothing.
And Ines said nothing. And everyone said nothing, which should have been just fine except Duncan missed feeling Ines behind him. And when he pointed things out to Stratford, he wanted to be pointing them out to Ines. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to share his land and people with her. He wanted to share everything with her.
But he had ruined that possibility, and it was probably for the best. In a few days, Draven would show up and take her home, and now she would be happy to go with him. Duncan had brought her safely to Kirkmoray, despite a few bumps along the way. He could breathe again when she was back in London. He would never breathe while she was nearby and in danger every minute. He couldn’t understand why he had ever allowed her to accompany him. At first, it had been the path of least resistance. She seemed determined, and he wanted to go home. And then, Duncan could admit, he’d wanted her with him. But after the reivers had taken her, Duncan had realized what an idiot he’d been. She was not safe here, not even with him. And if she was in danger, then a part of him was in danger. He would not be able to relax again until she was back where she ought to be.
She thought she loved him, and he’d told her he could not love her back because he had no heart. He’d thought that was true, but even as he’d told her, he’d known it was a lie. His heart wanted to love her, but he couldn’t risk it. He could not risk losing someone else he loved. And then he also knew the futility of loving her. He owed his mother. She had asked one thing of him, and who was he to deny her after everything he had taken from her? He had taken her love, and he must give up his.
Duncan stared hard ahead, hardening his heart and resolve as he did so. “Just over this hill then,” he said to Stratford and spurred his horse forward. Stratford did the same and the two men paused at the rise and looked down into the valley below.
“Gad, Duncan,” Stratford said. “I had no idea this was what you meant when you said you’d grown up on a farm in the Highlands.”
Duncan’s mouth curved upward. He tried to see the house as Ines—nae, Stratford—might. It was made of ancient stone, the main section built hundreds of years ago. But that main section, now the dining hall, had been enlarged upon over the centuries until the house now had two wings that boasted six bedrooms, a servants’ quarters, a sitting room, a drawing room, and a library. The kitchen was just behind the house, and Duncan could see the doors were open and smoke puffed cheerfully into the gray sky.
In the courtyard below, chickens pecked and a goat milled about. He could hear the sounds of horses stamping their feet in the stables. Beyond the house were the fields and then the tenant farms, the families of which had all pledged fealty to the laird.
Duncan was aware when Miss Wellesley and Ines reached the mountain’s peak. He resisted the urge to turn and see Ines’s face. He might have wished for a sunny day, as the house looked less dreary and dark in the sun, but what did it matter? She would be here a few days and then back on her way. It did not signify what she thought of the place.
Just as Duncan was about to suggest they ride down, the door to the house opened, and a tall woman in a green dress stepped out. She looked up at the hill. Duncan couldn’t see the details of his mother’s face from this distance, but he knew the expression she made. It was one of impatience. She did not like to be kept waiting.
“Is that Lady Charlotte?” Miss Wellesley asked.
“Aye.”
“She’s so beautiful,” Miss Wellesley said. “I had heard the stories, but the descriptions do not do her justice.”
“Nae point in telling her that,” Duncan said. “She’s immune tae flattery. We’d best go now. She doesnae like tae be kept waiting.”
They rode down the hill, the horses picking their way along the well-worn path. By the time they reached the bottom, Lady Charlotte had gone in again. But two grooms were waiting. “Mr. Murray!” the younger said. “Yer home!”
“Aye, Robbie,” Duncan said, dismounting and playfully tousling the lad’s hair. “Ye’ve grown since I saw ye last.”
“I hope so. I’m sixteen now!”
“So ye are.” He turned to the other groom, who was just a few years older. “Walter, how are things?”
“Verra good, sir. Lady Charlotte will be happy yer home.” His gaze strayed to the ladies, who Stratford had assisted with dismounting. “And ye’ve brought guests.”
Duncan smiled wryly. He knew the implication. The lad thought one of the women must be his bride. Duncan supposed he should disabuse his mother of that idea right away, so there were no misunderstandings.
“Robbie and Walter, these are my friends, Mr. Fortescue, Miss Wellesley, and Miss Neves. They’ve come all the way from England.”
The lads bowed. “We’ll take good care of the horses,” Robbie said. “And the dog.” He gestured to Loftus, who was sniffing at the ground and eyeing the chickens nervously.
“Good. Their master will arrive in a few days tae take the horses back. The dog belongs tae Miss Wellesley. He could use a bath before he comes inside.” He gestured to the small party. “If ye’ll follow me.”
They walked across the courtyard, the shadow of the house creeping closer. The chickens scattered as they moved closer, and the maids in the laundry nearby paused in their washing to smile and nod at him. This was home, but after his father’s death, it had never felt particularly warm or welcoming.
He stopped at the door, wiped his boots, and lifted the latch. “Mother!” he called as he entered. “I’m home.”
She stepped out of the dining hall, which adjoined the entryway. “I can see that.” Her voice still held the English accent, though it had been softened a bit by her time in Scotland. Her dark black hair had a wee bit more gray in it, he saw, but it tended toward silver, and the way her maid had swept it into her coiffure only made her look more elegant. She approached as the others crowded inside behind him. Coming close, she took his shoulders and kissed both of his cheeks. She smelled of lavender, as she always had. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “I am glad you are well, my son.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I thought I told you to bring home a bride.”