Chapter Thirty-Two

“Mistress Avrie agreed to come and see you,” Aggie announced grandly. She shed her shawl and tried to smooth her hair, disordered by the wind. Bright flags of color flew in her cheeks, and her eyes shone with victory. “I managed to steal a word with her in the end. You would have been so proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” Jeannie said even as her stomach roiled beneath another wave of emotion. For the past two nights she had not slept nor, in truth, taken more than a sip or two of tea—not since Finnan walked out of her life. Foolish woman that she was, she kept listening for him to return. Despite all her lectures to herself, she kept hoping he would change his mind, reconsider—realize he had genuine feelings for her after all.

Was this how Geordie had felt? She had to push that thought away from her, she could not handle it on top of the bitter suspicion that, no, Finnan would not return: his work with her was done.

Wicked highlander that he was.

She should have known better from the first, known he was not for her. But he had woven his trap so well, and she had tumbled right in.

Now she tried to focus on the matter at hand. Perhaps she could still help him, or rather help ease the dire situation in the glen, even if he did not deserve it.

“When will Mistress Avrie come?”

“She could not say. She is kept close, watched often. She said she must wait until her husband is away. But I believe she will come. She was near in tears when I mentioned her brother.”

“Yes?”

“I had only a few stolen minutes with her, mind, there in the parlor where she sat alone. But she said she has feared for him being hunted like an animal, and she seemed ever so grateful we are helping him.”

“Come, Aggie, and tell me all about how you accomplished this miracle.”

Aggie sat with her on the bench like the friend she had in truth become. “I did not think I would manage it at first. When I visit Dorcas and Marie we always sit in the kitchen, you understand. Indeed, I never even knew Mistress Avrie was there all this while. But then at the end, and just when I despaired, Dorcas mentioned her—you know, in that sly way she has.”

“What did she say?”

Aggie’s enthusiasm dropped a notch. “That the Dowager’s grandsons were getting very close to snaring their quarry, and she could not imagine what his sister might say when they slew him. It seems they almost had him the other night and wounded him full sore. But that does not seem right, does it, mistress? For were he hurt, he would surely come here for you to tend.”

Jeannie’s gaze dropped to her hands. “He will not come here again.”

“Why ever not? The two of you did quarrel. I knew it!”

Jeannie twisted her hands into a tortured tangle. “It seems Laird MacAllister’s feelings were never in earnest. He only wanted to repay me for what he considers my ill treatment of Geordie, in Dumfries.”

“Oh, sweet mercy!” Aggie reached out and covered Jeannie’s hands with her own. “Never say it is so. That beast! And yet still you seek to aid him? He could not be more wrong about you, and I would love to give him a right earful. I will, if I get the chance. Does he have any idea how things were in Dumfries, how hard our backs were to the wall? You would not be the first woman to wed a man she did not love in order to save herself. And Master Geordie—he did not seem to mind.”

“He did mind, though. He wrote Finnan letters complaining of me.”

“Whilst in his cups, no doubt,” Aggie denounced indignantly. “It is what some men do when drunk, go crying like babes. At least you were honest with him. Would it have been better for you to lie to him about your feelings?”

“I no longer know, Aggie. My feelings are all burnt away.” Almost all, save for the relentless, sickening ache. “You must understand, though, I cannot stand by and see him killed.”

“Yes, well, I could cheerfully see him so, for what he’s done to you. I will be cursed if I want to help him now.”

Jeannie raised her gaze to her friend’s. “Tell me of his sister.”

“Well, as I say, Dorcas mentioned her, wondered what she would do when her husband or his brother hauled her brother in and spilled his blood all over the stones of the courtyard at Avrie House. I made like I was curious to see her—was she aught like that devil everyone hunted—and Marie said she was about to take the woman her tea in the parlor, if I wanted to have a wee peek.

“And so it proved. I stood behind the door when Marie carried in the tray. She is very like him to look at,” Aggie added judiciously. “You could not mistake them for aught but kin.”

“No.”

“And I made an excuse to leave soon after, but I did not go by my usual way. Instead I crept round through the garden to where those doors of their sitting room open out. I told myself, were she still there in that room, then it was meant to be. She was.”

“That was wonderfully brave of you, Aggie.”

“It was. I told her I was in touch with someone helping her brother, who wanted to meet with her. I wish I had not, now.”

Jeannie experienced a twinge of disquiet. She had, indeed, endangered both herself and Aggie. For now someone at Avrie House knew of her involvement with the hunted man.

All for the sake of someone who hated her.

She must believe she could trust Finnan’s sister, but how completely under her husband’s thumb might Deirdre Avrie be? What if Stuart questioned her and learned about this meeting? He would come straight to Jeannie’s door.

“How did she seem? What is her manner?” If Deirdre Avrie proved too downtrodden, she might not be able to help Finnan.

“Difficult to say. She had a great deal of composure—like hard iron beneath her beauty. Despite that, the mention of her brother did seem to affect her.”

“She will help him. She must.” Jeannie squeezed Aggie’s hands. For surely, like Jeannie, Finnan’s sister could not bear to see him dead.

****

“So you are the woman who is helping my brother. I saw you once at Avrie House.”

Deirdre Avrie stood framed in the doorway of Rowan Cottage looking so like her brother it nearly took Jeannie’s breath away. Jeannie reached out, towed her in, and hurriedly scanned the path behind her.

“You are certain you were not followed?”

“I was not. But I cannot be away long. It is far too dangerous. Where is Finnan?” Deirdre’s eyes reached behind Jeannie as if she thought to find him.

“Not here.”

“But he has been here? You have been aiding him?” Deirdre’s eyes examined Jeannie closely. The exact shape and color of Finnan’s, they were fringed with darker lashes. Her auburn hair, like his also, had been disciplined and confined in a knot at the nape of her neck. On her, his proud nose managed to look feminine, her oval face beautiful. She wore a grand dress of dark green that proved however her husband might misuse her he at least saw her well clothed.

“Come, sit.” Jeannie pulled at Deirdre’s hand. “We do not have long.”

“I dare not stay,” Deirdre said. “This place could too easily become a trap.”

“Where are your husband and his brother now?”

“I am not sure. They scour the glen for Finnan. Trent rode out with a troop of men this morning, headed north. Stuart left me not long since. But tell me how you come to know my brother.”

“I was married briefly to his close friend, to whom he bequeathed this cottage.”

“Married, briefly?”

“I am a widow now.”

“Ah. Not a bad thing to be.” Something flared in Deirdre’s eyes. “Though I do imagine some women must care for the men to whom they are shackled.”

Gently, Jeannie said, “I understand you were forced to wed Stuart Avrie.”

“Aye—forced to speak the words at knife point. I was but a lass of fifteen then. I learned much from my husband since—almost nothing of mercy.”

“I am sorry,” Jeannie told her. “But surely if you help Finnan defeat him, you will then be free.”

“And how might my brother defeat my husband? He is alone and at bay—injured, so they say. Dun Mhor lies half ruined. How can this end well?”

“I thought you might know of some weakness Finnan might exploit, that you might work from within on his behalf.”

“You think I would not, if I could? It has pained me, hearing how they pursue him and knowing there is little I can do.”

“How many men has your husband left in his service?”

She shook her head. “I cannot quite say. I know Stuart rues each my brother has slain—but ’twould not take much to overpower Finnan now. The only way I see out of it is for my vile husband to die and his brother with him.”

“And,” Jeannie asked, greatly daring, “would you help Finnan accomplish even that?”

“Of course,” Deirdre said without hesitation. “But just as I would love to see Finnan, ’tis impossible. I am naught but another weapon in my husband’s hands.”

“There must be a way. If I arrange a meeting—” But that would mean seeing Finnan MacAllister again, and Jeannie did not know if her heart—her soul—could withstand it.

Light flared in Deidre’s eyes. “I would be most grateful if you could arrange a meeting place—here perhaps, or somewhere else in the glen.”

“If I did, would you be able to slip away once more?”

Deirdre shook her head again. “I hope so, but I cannot promise. I am watched.” Her lips twisted in a grimace. “And I would not wish to bring more harm down upon him.”

“We will need to be very careful then.”

“Aye. When you ha’ arranged something, send word to Avrie House by your little maid. I will do my best to get away.”

Deirdre made to rise then, hesitated, and gave Jeannie another searching glance. “Do you love him, my brother?”

Not something Jeannie wanted to contemplate. She knew she still cared far too much, but surely her softer, more tender feelings had all been killed the moment he stalked from her bedroom. She examined the shreds of her heart and honesty caused her to say, “Yes.”

“You are a good woman.”

Your brother does not think so. Those words nearly crept from Jeannie also, but she held them back. Aggie was right about this woman—something in her repelled confidences: the iron she had developed, no doubt, in order to endure her life.

No matter. So long as she helped Finnan, all might still come right for him.

And, quite clearly, Jeannie was past saving.