Chapter Seventeen
Five weeks, five days, and eight hours later, Leith Docks, Edinburgh, Scotland
Ian stood on the quarterdeck as Mr. Purdie guided the Gael Forss into Edinburgh Harbour. He should feel a sense of victory. He had, after all, won his battle with the Atlantic without any casualties. Even Dougald Clyne’s foot had healed well enough he could walk with a crutch. And he’d met Robertson’s challenge. He had not spoken to Louisa or been within ten feet of the lass without the presence of her brother—a difficult thing to do given the length of the voyage and the size of the ship. Harder still because every minute of every day he ached to wrap his arms around her, feel her heat against his body, smell her sweet scent.
He hadn’t given a toss about Nathan’s promise to speak on his behalf, but it was very important to Louisa, so he’d agreed. What was more, Louisa seemed to have won the battle with her own demon. The small spaces on board ship no longer caused her panic and that pleased him. For that matter, the itch inside Ian’s head had miraculously calmed, leaving him relatively free of his tics.
Today, the ban on Louisa’s company would end the instant they set foot on Scottish soil. The prospect should thrill him. Yet, he felt only apprehension. Two weeks after they’d departed the shores of Connecticut, Louisa had left a note under his cabin door.
The implication of her note was that she was not pregnant. The knowledge should have brought him a sense of relief. Instead, he was downcast for days. A marriage is not required. Did that mean a marriage was not desired?
Added to that concern, his final two battles loomed ahead. More than likely, he would have to tackle them both today. First, General Robertson, a full-on assault. If he survived, then he would tell Louisa about Rory. He would have few defenses for that fight, and even less ammunition. Endurance would be his strategy. If he could stay on his feet, he might have a chance.
Robertson and Louisa came up on deck and went to the railing. This late in the season, a biting wind ripped through the docks. She was well cloaked, wore a hat and woolen gloves, and when the wind picked up the hem of her skirts, he saw the trousers. He liked to think she felt him smile because she turned then and smiled back.
She said goodbye to Will and Danny and the cat they had named Brandy. She had talked about taking the feline with her, but Will and Danny had become attached to the thing and she didn’t think her old cat would like a companion.
“Mr. Peter, have the cargo unloaded and stored in the warehouse.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Will, take Danny with you and see that the Robertsons’ trunks are delivered to this address.” He handed the lad a note and a bag of coins. “And get yourselves something to eat.”
Will beamed. “Aye, sir.”
“And you, sir?” Peter asked.
“I’m going to Castle Rock to report to the Tartan Terror.”
“Do you need a second?”
“Nae. Robertson will fill that role, but let’s hope it doesnae come down to a duel, aye.”
Nathan waited with Louisa dockside while Ian found them a carriage. They were silent the entire way to Edinburgh Castle. At the esplanade, they got out and Ian paid the driver. The last time he’d stood facing the castle, he’d been so certain of success, he could taste it. This time, he tasted nothing but a cold disquietude.
“Are you sure the general will be here?” Ian asked.
“He said he’d be in Edinburgh the entire month of October,” Nathan said.
All too quickly, they were escorted to the Governor’s House.
“Do you want me to go in with you to meet my father?” Nathan asked.
Ian straightened his waistcoat. “Nae. You and Louisa stay here, in the hall. I’ll see him alone.”
“Stop,” Louisa said. She fussed with his neckcloth, a wifely thing to do. “There,” she said, and patted his lapel. The gesture emboldened him.
He knocked.
“Come.”
Ian entered the lion’s den and shut the door behind him. He waited at attention as he always did in front of the man. General Robertson stood at a window looking out over all of Edinburgh, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Sir.”
Without turning, the big man said, “You delivered my daughter to Connecticut?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Kirby met with your approval?”
“Aye, sir.”
In a voice clouded with emotion, he asked, “You saw Louisa marry Kirby?”
Ian swallowed. This was when things would get ugly. “No sir.”
Robertson turned, his furry white eyebrows coming together. “What?”
“Your daughter, Louisa, did not marry Mr. Kirby, sir. Miss MacQuarie married Kirby.”
Real concern etched Robertson’s brow. “And Louisa?”
“I brought her home, sir.”
General Robertson seemed to inflate to twice his size, which Ian would expect from a warrior about to swing a killing blow, but the man was grinning like he’d won a high-stakes pony race. “Where is she?”
Very cautiously Ian pointed to the door. “Outside, sir?”
“Louisa!” the general roared.
The office door swung open and Louisa burst inside. “Da!”
Ian stood with his mouth hanging open as the two hugged and sobbed and rocked and murmured endearments.
Nathan strolled in smiling with satisfaction, as if he’d known this would happen all along. “Close your mouth, Sinclair. Ye look like a numpty.”
“What the bloody hell?” Ian whispered.
“I told ye,” Nathan said. “He loves her best.”
Robertson released Louisa, took out a handkerchief, and unashamedly wiped his eyes. “Thank God, Sinclair. I knew the instant she was gone I’d done the wrong thing. I’ve been miserable. But you’ve brought my girl home to me. Thank you.”
“Does that mean you’ll grant Captain Sinclair his commission, Da?” Louisa asked.
“Yes, yes, of course. Come back and see me tomorrow, Sinclair. I’ll have it for you then.”
The general turned his back on him and continued his chatter with Louisa. It seemed as though Ian was being dismissed. Well, bloody frigging hell, he was not finished yet.
“General Robertson, sir,” he boomed.
All three Robertsons stopped mid-sentence to look his way.
Ian straightened to his full height. He may not possess the highest rank in the room, but he was the tallest. “I would like to offer for your daughter’s hand, sir.” His words ricocheted around the stone walls of the room. He remained still, rooted to the ground, eyes fixed on his target. No retreat.
General Robertson’s face went a dangerous red.
“Now, Da,” Nathan soothed. “I can speak for Sinclair’s character.”
The general took one step forward and Louisa flung herself between them. “No, Da. Dinnae touch him. He’s mine. I love him.”
He tried not to take his eyes off the Tartan Terror, tried not to move, tried not to smile at her words. She loves me.
“Louisa, Nathan, step aside,” Ian said, using the most commanding voice he could muster. “I’ll speak to the general alone.”
“Ian, he might kill you,” she whispered.
“Dinnae fash yourself, lass.”
Nathan and Louisa withdrew and shut the door. Ian braced himself for a fight.
“You’ve got balls, Sinclair. I’ll give ye that,” the general growled.
“Ye ken she’ll marry me whether you want her to or no’.”
The big warrior narrowed his eyes. “Then what are you asking me for?”
“She requires your love and approval. She’d never be happy if you frowned on our union.”
The general seemed to weigh Ian’s words. After a moment, he nodded, and broke his stance. He started to move, then stopped himself, as if he had a second thought. General Robertson gave him a puzzled look, as though Ian had gone off his nut. “Are you sure aboot this, son? Ye ken she’s an impossible woman.”
“Aye. She’s a bloody nightmare. But I love her all the same.”
“And you think she’ll have you?”
Ian shifted. He and the general had just waded into dangerous waters. “Well, that’s the next battle, sir.”
The general tipped his head to the side considering.
“What is it, sir?”
“It’s just that, everything I’ve ever told Louisa to do, she’s done the opposite. All I have to do is endorse you, and she’ll have none of it.” The man showed his teeth and it was obvious how he’d gotten the name Tartan Terror.
Ian sighed. “Then I ken it’s best we fight for her. I’ll let you have one free swing.”
“You’ll let me?” The general laughed.
Ian got a sick feeling that this was going to hurt.
…
As soon as Louisa and Nathan were out of her father’s office, she punched her brother in the arm as hard as she could.
“Ow,” he said, rubbing the injury. “What was that for?”
“You know perfectly well what that was for,” she said, punctuating every other word with a thwap to his chest. She stopped and put an ear to the door. “I dinnae hear anything. Do you think he’s strangled him?”
“Dinnae be daft.”
“You said you would speak for him. You promised. Six weeks I kept to myself. Do you ken how hard that was?”
“Aye. I was amazed, actually.” Nathan had the nerve to laugh.
A crash of furniture, curses, thumps, grunting, and more falling items rumbled from within.
“Get back in there and save him. Now!”
Nathan flung the door open in time for Louisa to witness Ian picking himself up off the floor, and her father dabbing at a bloody lip. Both were breathing hard from the short but violent scuffle. She rushed to Ian’s side. Ian kept his fierce gaze on her father, but allowed her to check his face for injury. Nathan had already caused damage to Ian’s nose. It would be criminal if her father left a mark on his otherwise perfect countenance.
Outraged, she rounded on the general. “How could you behave in such a beastly manner to the man who saved my life?”
Ian looked down at her, surprised. “I thought it was you who saved my life.”
Touched by his comment, she said, “We saved each other.” She laced her arm through his. “Come Ian. You may take me home now.”
They strolled calmly out of the Governor’s House, around the old stone buildings, through the portcullis, and across the long esplanade. Once they found a carriage and climbed inside, Louisa turned his face toward the light to check it for bruising.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
He looked at her with sleepy eyes, the irises narrowed to light blue rings around dark pupils. “Are my lips hurt?”
“No. They look undamaged.”
He closed the shades in the carriage. “Good. Because I’ve been waiting a long time to do this.” He kissed her then. A long, passionate kiss, one to make up for the span of time since the last. He tried to pull her closer and when frustrated by their positions, he hauled her onto his lap and kissed her until she grew dizzy. When he stopped, they were breathless. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “You love me.”
Still reeling from his kiss, she murmured, “Do I?”
“Aye. You told your da you loved me.”
“That’s right. I did say something like that.”
“I remember your words exactly. You said, ‘He’s mine. I love him.’”
A squeeze to her bottom made her inhale sharply. “Is that what I said? I’d forgotten.”
“For as long as I live I’ll never forget a word of it.” He kissed her sweetly again. “Do ye ken what I told yer da?”
“What?” she whispered brushing her lips over his bristly cheeks.
“I said you’re a bloody nightmare, but I loved you all the same.”
A surge of white rage burned up her spine. She shoved both palms against his chest. Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside Ian. She couldn’t believe it. The most romantic moment of her life, and he was laughing at her. “You are a monster. I’m quite sure someone took the worst parts from my da and my brothers to put you together.” She thumped a fist on his shoulder.
“Come on and kiss me, Kate,” he said, echoing Petruchio’s line near the end of the play. For some inexplicable reason, it diffused her sudden wrath. It was as if he were saying, all that business that just happened was a play, a scene we acted in front of the world to show them that we are a match, equal and complementary.
“Marry me, Louisa.”
She bit her lip. Why is it so hard to say yes? “Put me down so I can think.”
He gently shifted her onto the seat across from him then waited patiently.
He took one of her hands and tugged at the glove one finger at a time until it slid off. He raised her hand to his face, kissing each finger reverently. “Your fingers were the second part of you I fell in love with.”
“What was the first?”
“Those green eyes of yours.” He turned her hand over and kissed the palm. “But when you asked me to choose a book from my library for you, I knew my life would never be the same.”
“How odd,” she said. “When you chose The Taming of the Shrew, I knew you were different from any other man in the world.”
Ian leaned back in his seat and made a pained face.
“What?”
“That wasnae the book I would have chosen. I was looking for The Beaux’ Strategem.”
She laughed out loud. “That moldy old thing?” She could tell by the set of his mouth she’d hurt his pride just a little. “Still, you let me have the Shakespeare.”
“I thought it was, perhaps, too bawdy for a lady and you would think I was being impertinent.”
She inhaled deeply. With the carriage shades closed, his manly scent had filled the cabin, it having grown stronger with his arousal, a fact that had become obvious. “My dear Captain Sinclair, impertinent does not even begin to describe your perfectly outrageous behavior in the bedroom.”
“I think we are well matched in that respect.”
Louisa felt the heat pool between her thighs.
“Why do you hesitate, Louisa? Are you afraid I’ll treat you differently? That I willnae allow you the freedom you require?”
“A little.”
“You dinnae like that I would take a commission in the army?”
“That and…”
“And what?”
“Ian, why do you want to marry me?”
…
Why did he want to marry her? A thousand reasons rushed from his brain to his mouth at once.
“Because I love you.”
“Why do you love me?”
He thought for only a second before answering. “I love you for the same reason you love wearing trousers,” he said. “It feels wonderful.”
Her jaw dropped open. A look of pure delight broke out all over her face, and he couldn’t believe he was the lucky one to receive it, much less cause it. She flung herself at him with a force that knocked him back in the seat. Arms twined tightly around his neck, she kissed him. He loved kissing her. Even more, he loved when she kissed him, because it was different somehow.
But there was something he had yet to do. Something important that had to be done, even at the risk of losing her. With his heart hammering in his chest, he said, “Before you give me your answer, I need to tell you something.”
The coach stopped. They had arrived at the Robertson town house on George Street.
Louisa laughed and said, “You’ve already told me you love me. What more do you need to say?”
“Much,” he said gravely.
“Come inside, then. You can tell me over tea.”
“No. I need to tell you now.”
The expression on Louisa’s face changed. “Ian, you’re scaring me. What is it?”
He took her hands in his and inhaled deeply. “I should have told you before. Weeks ago. But I’ve only come to terms with it recently.”
She squeezed his hands. “Go on.”
“Two days before we left Edinburgh, I was told I have a son.”
Louisa went very still. The coachman called out and Ian replied with, “Bide a while.”
“You said you werenae married.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“I’m not. Nor have I ever been. I had a brief affair with a woman seven years ago, before I left for Flanders. I never knew the woman was pregnant. Apparently, she died in childbirth. It wasn’t until the boy was six that his gran found me to tell me.”
Her brow furrowed as if pleading with him. “You have a six-year-old son?”
“Aye. His name is Rory.”
…
Louisa sat back in the seat abruptly. Rory, the name he’d repeated when he was delirious. All this time he’d known he had a son, and he’d never told her. He could have no reason to hide the fact from her, other than shame.
“Did you love her?” She didn’t know why she asked the question, it just seemed important to know that answer.
“No. I barely knew her. Which makes my indifference all the more criminal.”
The coachman called again and Ian growled, “A moment!”
The interior of the coach had grown small and stifling. She needed out. When she reached for the door, Ian stayed her hand.
“Louisa, please.”
“Out! Let me out. Now!”
He climbed out of the coach and helped her down. She started toward the door to the town house and Ian called to her with a voice she’d never heard. One filled with hurt and uncertainty.
“Please. If you love me, could you not love the boy, too? He needs us, Louisa. He needs a father and a mother.”
Gripped with a new and horrifying thought, Louisa whirled around to face Ian. “Is that why you want to marry me? To be your son’s caretaker? Did you plan to leave me with Rory while you saunter off to your military career? Did you imagine I’d sit at home wondering when you might visit, pat us on the head like well-behaved dogs, and then disappear again for months?”
“No. No, that’s not what I—”
“I’ll not be that woman, Ian. I’ll not spend my life married to a ghost. I will not.”
The door to the town house opened and she ran inside.
“Wait,” Ian cried out, but she didn’t hear the rest of what he said, as the door closed behind her.
…
Ian stood staring at the closed door, his mouth open, and his limbs numb. Defeat. Utter annihilation. He’d come to the battle woefully unarmed and she had surprised him with cannon fire. One blast and he’d lost the war.
The coachman cleared his throat, and he woke from his temporary stupor, paid the man, and waited until the coach drove away. Without any plan for where he was going, he began to walk. He had intended on making this visit with Louisa at his side. She would have known what to say, how to behave. She would have smoothed the way for him. Instead, he would have to go it alone.
Before long, he found himself paused by an oak tree at the edge of St. Andrew Square directly across from the Crawford house on St. David Street. Something unusual was happening. A constant stream of men carried bits of furniture out of the house and deposited them into a large cart waiting in front. Bloody hell. Had the old lady decided to move and not tell him?
He crossed St. David Street and stopped one of the laborers. “What’s going on here?”
“Emptying the house,” he said, and wiped his brow with a filthy rag.
“Why? Is the family moving to a new residence?”
The man shrugged and gave him a crooked smile. “If you can call the hereafter a residence.” He chuckled and started toward the door again.
Panic catapulted Ian forward. He grabbed the man and spun him around. “Are you telling me the occupants of this house are dead?”
Unhappy with Ian’s rough treatment, the man groused, “Here, here. Leave off. I just do as I’m told.”
A bone-thin woman wearing an apron and a face full of wrinkles crossed her arms and leaned against the front doorjamb. “Old Mrs. Crawford passed a month ago. What’s it to you?”
“The boy, Rory, what happened to the boy?” he asked, trying not to sound as crazed as he felt inside.
“He’s at his school, far as I know.” She turned and shouted for the men inside to have a care, then turned back to Ian. “Some benefactor’s looking after the wee one. Poor lad doesnae have a soul in the world.”
“What school? Where?”
“How should I know?”
Ian staggered away, the thing inside his head gnawing at his brain reminding him that it was in command. Not Ian. Everything had gone to hell. Nothing was in its place. Nothing was right. He’d lost all control over everything and everyone in his life. Bloody frigging hell. He’d lost his son. What kind of a father lost his son?
The ache in his head began then. A dull thud at first, but he knew what was to come. Sickening, debilitating pain. He needed Louisa. Only Louisa could help him. But he’d lost her, too. He’d lost everything.
The attorney. His solicitor. He hoped that was his connection. Perhaps Old Lady Crawford had given him instructions in the event of her death. Christ. Did she ken she was dying when he saw her in the spring? Is that why she insisted he take Rory?
He stumbled out onto the main thoroughfare, Princes Street. He remembered the address of the attorney, but got confused about the direction. Sunlight stabbed bolts of pain through his eyes and into his brain. Just like the spiteful Scottish sun to choose this day of all others to shine like the blazes.
A hack stopped in front of him. Blasted Nathan Robertson leaned out the cab window and laughed. “Turned you down again, did she? Poor sod.”
Ian shaded his eyes and swayed. It was becoming more and more difficult to see properly.
“Something wrong, Sinclair?” When he didn’t answer, Robertson got out and ushered him into the hack with him. The hack provided blessed shelter from the sunlight. “Where are you going, man? I’ll take you to the address,” Robertson said.
What seemed like an eternity later, Robertson helped him out of the hack. “Are you certain this is the right place, Sinclair? It’s a solicitor.”
“Aye,” Ian said. “This is the right place.”
“Will you be all right? You dinnae look well.”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
Ian barreled through the door and pounded up the stairs to the office of Andrew Carlisle, Esquire. “Carlisle,” he called. “Open the door. It’s Ian Sinclair. I need…” He rested his forehead on the cool wood of the door and gathered the strength to call again, the sound inside his head only amplifying the pain. “I need to talk to you.”
The door opened. “Captain Sinclair. You look unwell.”
“Where’s the Crawford boy? Rory? Where is my son?”
Carlisle helped him to a comfortable chair and got him a brandy while he explained the key details of what had transpired over the last three months. Yes, the Crawford woman did suspect she was dying. No, the boy had not been informed of her passing. Yes, she’d made arrangements for the bulk of her property to be liquidated and held in trust for the boy. No, the boy has no other blood relatives who have laid claim to him.
“Rory has been at the Danderhall Academy since the first of September,” Carlisle said. “It’s what the Crawford woman wanted and, therefore, what I assumed you wanted.”
“Is he well?”
“As far as I know, yes. The headmaster has been instructed to send quarterly reports to my office.”
“And he has no one?”
“No one. Mrs. Crawford did state in her will that she wished for the boy’s natural father to assume full custody.”
Ian nodded. The beast inside his head settled, his headache ebbed, and he could breathe normally again.
“When I met with Mrs. Crawford, I assured her that your intention was to claim the boy. She said my assurance gave her great comfort.”
“Did she.” Carlisle recognized Ian’s question as a statement and did not answer.
“The Danderhall Academy has an excellent reputation. I know the headmaster personally. You may, of course, leave the boy there with confidence or…”
“Or?”
“Or you can collect Rory and take him into your household.”
For the first time, the thing that made his brain itch spoke to him with words. Or maybe it had always spoken to him and Ian had never listened until now. It said in loud capital letters, Rory’s place is with you.
“Today? Can I get him today?”
“You can remove him anytime you like.”
An hour later, he reached for the knocker on the front door of his sister’s house and, with a healthy measure of dread, he let it fall. His brother-in-law Mark Pendergast answered the door.
“Ian. You’re back. Good to see you, man,” Mark said and hauled Ian inside. “Come on in. Maggie will be glad to see your face.”
Ian heard Maggie call his name before she trundled down the stairs with open arms to greet him. After a fierce embrace, she pulled away and examined his face carefully. “What’s happened?”
“Sit down. I have something to tell you, sister.”