Flora battled the strange sensation of being under water as her senses seemed to recede so that the emotions didn’t overwhelm her. Isaac kept an arm wound around her waist as they took the steps back to the rented room.
I am good enough, she told herself, but right now the words didn’t soothe.
The feel of her captor’s touch grounded her and kept the trembling at bay, instead of repelling her as she would have expected. Something about the gesture seemed protective, giving her a sense of security that she rarely felt. As they crested the fifth floor, it dawned on her that no one had ever held her for so long—no one other than her parents or the smaller children back at Camelot. None of those caresses had felt so intimate or invoked in her this strange sense of wanting to curl into the touch and remain sheltered.
Once back in the chamber, his warmth disappeared as he let go. He swiveled to lock the door behind him, as she moved in and wandered back to the window to see large droplets of water splattering on the panes. She shivered. Was it the loss of the intimacy or the encounter with John in the stables that caused the gooseflesh to rise on her skin?
“Who is he?” Isaac’s question penetrated the haze that had taken over, and what registered was that his tone was measured and even, as if the encounter hadn’t affected him at all.
Flora couldn’t stop shaking, and she no longer felt as if the incident were muted. The full force of seeing that lout coursed through her veins now, and she wasn’t sure anything could numb the feelings that she’d kept hidden from everyone.
When she glanced over to meet Isaac’s stare, she saw something she hadn’t expected—anger. In only the few moments they’d been in the room as she’d stared out the window, he’d yanked the ruffles from his neck, thrown his jacket onto the bed, and become someone else altogether. His entire frame had tensed, and he looked more like a Highland warrior than a stuffy Englishman.
Isaac had struck John.
She found herself wanting to throw her arms around the man in front of her and hold on. He’d recognized the arse for what he was. Too bad she’d not had the same foresight.
If Isaac hadn’t been there, would John have forced himself on her? Surely, the man wasn’t that daft. If she told Will and Bran, they would kill him. But she’d never told them about what John had done originally. For the first few months after the incident, she’d thought it was her fault. Not until much later had she figured out she’d not been given a choice in the matter.
“He is the farrier’s son.” She swallowed, trying to wash away the pain that was still fresh because she’d buried it and moved on, choosing to focus on her family instead of dwelling on her problems.
“Does he have some sort of claim on you?”
A strangled, choking sound escaped her throat. “Nae. Nae longer.” She shivered, and when she glanced up at Isaac, she couldn’t help the embarrassment that she knew must give her the coloring of a beet.
“What happened?”
“We were to be wed, but it was a lie. That was not what he wanted.”
Isaac studied her for a few heartbeats, and it was too much. She couldn’t meet his gaze, so she let her gaze fall to the floor. She’d not told anyone what happened that day, or about the devastation—or worse, the waiting of the following weeks. It had been almost as terrifying as losing her parents in the street.
Isaac’s knuckles were white as he kept fists clenched at his sides. Flora risked a peek through her lashes to examine his taut shoulders, then to his face, but she kept her head tilted down, hoping to see his reaction but not give away her shame.
“Tell me.”
His voice had gentled, but she couldn’t speak. Her chest was heavy with the crushing weight of the familiar doubts she clung to but tried to keep hidden away. They were the reservations that would keep her safe in the future.
Why was she afraid of what this man thought of her? She shook her head, and his eyes softened.
Isaac took her hand and urged her toward the bed, having her sit. She was thankful when he turned and walked to the sideboard. Maybe he wouldn’t press her. But then he returned, holding a glass filled with a generous portion of whisky.
She laughed. “Are ye trying to ply me with spirits to learn my secrets?”
“No, I have learned you can hold your tongue despite drinking. If that worked, I’d have my box back now.”
She had drunk too much yesterday.
“This is just to give you courage. I think you need to talk about what happened, and I’m the perfect person to tell because you know I’ll be gone soon.”
Still, her heart raced. Could she unburden herself without causing more damage? It was true that he would be gone soon and would take her secret with him. Accepting the glass, she swirled the liquid around, then held it up to her lips and took a large swallow. It burned, and she came away coughing, almost spilling the amber fluid on her gown.
Her hands shook. Maybe she would feel better if she told someone. And it was safer to tell Isaac than her family. She nodded, more for herself than the man sitting beside her, so close that his thigh was pressed against hers. She’d not intentionally been this close to a man since John, but this felt different. She wasn’t intimidated but comforted by Isaac’s presence.
“John and I used to be friends. Well, more than friends.” She took another sip. This time, the liquid didn’t burn. “We had kissed a few times, and he’d wanted to take things further, but I told him nae. I ken what happens to women when they are with men outside of marriage. I’m helping to raise some of their babies.”
Flora closed her eyes and felt a tear trail down her cheek. She swiped it away, hoping Isaac couldn’t see from his angle. This was her fault after all—well, sometimes she thought it was all on John, but it always came back to her second-guessing her lack of action in the matter. But once it had started, there was nothing she could have done.
She couldn’t have stopped him.
“John found me one evening as I was returning home. He’d packed a basket with food and wine. He wanted me to join him for a late meal.” She paused, questioning the decision like she had a thousand times, knowing there was no way to go back and change her answer. “I agreed.”
She sighed and continued, “He was all over me before we even ate. I pushed him away and reminded him that I planned to save myself for marriage. Then he asked me to marry him. I agreed. He had a stable position, and I knew he would do well for himself and that he might help me support my family even after I left them.” She’d never loved John—she’d liked him—but what had appealed was the stability a position like his offered to her.
“Then, we ate. After, I was so tired. I’d been up the night before because Peggy had been ill.” This time she didn’t wipe away the tear that escaped the corner of her eye. It was on the side near the wall, and if she didn’t swipe at it, maybe he wouldn’t see. “I fell asleep on the blanket.”
Isaac remained close, but he’d not uttered a word.
She took a deep breath for the courage to go on. “I woke to John on top of me, pulling up my skirts, and spreading my legs.” She couldn’t look at Isaac, but she imagined he’d stiffened, repulsed probably, but she went on with her confession. “I had told him nae, over and over before, but this time, I was so tired, I didnae stop him. I couldnae stop him—my limbs felt so weak. I should have told him to stop, but I didnae, and it was too late.”
She stared at the hands in her lap. Time ticked by loudly before she ventured a glance at the man who sat as still as a night in the cemetery beside her. He didn’t look at her—he glared down, and she followed to see his gaze had landed on his own hands, which lay fisted at his side.
“I was embarrassed, so it took me a day to work up the courage. When I went to see him, he laughed at me.” She straightened then, squaring her shoulders. After repeating the words, I am good enough, she continued, “He told me that I had been mistaken. He would never marry a woman like me. His father would disapprove of a woman with no family, who made her living by stealing. He said the only thing I was good for was pleasing a man, and anytime I wanted more, he’d be waiting.”
Standing, she set the remaining whisky on the table, then moved back to the window. Isaac didn’t follow. He probably thought she was a harlot now.
I am good enough.
But the words had started, and she couldn’t stop now, so she spoke into the paned glass. “It was torture waiting to make sure my courses would arrive, but they finally did. I gave a prayer of thanks and made a promise to myself that I would never let it happen again. I had stayed away from anywhere I thought John might be. Today is the first time I’ve seen him.”
She didn’t look back, but she heard the swish of Isaac’s legs as he crossed the room, but when she turned around, he’d walked over and poured himself a whisky. He’d not said anything the whole time she’d told him her awful secret.
Many scenarios ran through her head as she watched him guzzle the first glass and pour another. He was going to go ahead and turn her in to the watchman. He’d march her back home, heedless of the threat from Alastair, possibly hand her over to him in exchange for getting his box back.
I am good enough, and Bran needs me. My family needs me.
She could not let this man destroy her plans to save her brother.
Isaac stalked toward her, and she fought the urge to shrink back. He could beat her if he wanted, but at least her brother would be free, and she wouldn’t have to sell her soul to the ship captain.
When Isaac stood before her, his hand rose, and she fought the urge to flinch. But his touch was gentle, his fingertips resting beneath her chin, tilting it up so that her gaze was forced to meet his.
“If I had known this thirty minutes ago, I might have killed that man.” His voice was gravelly, coarser than she’d ever heard it, and he’d been pretty angry with her after he’d tracked her down.
Had it been a mistake to confide in this man? Would he track John down and risk exposing her secret and shame?
Isaac shook as he let the words leave his mouth. “It’s taking everything in me not to go down those stairs and hunt him down right now.” He hadn’t been this furious since he’d learned of his uncle losing the family fortune in a game of chance.
He hated that his bold little thief couldn’t meet his gaze right now.
“You did nothing wrong.” Despite the lot Flora had been given, he could see she’d attempted to make her life into something good. How had, ugh, he couldn’t even think the man’s name without fire exploding in his veins. The bloody bastard had assaulted her, most likely even drugged her to get what he wanted.
Something about how John had handled Flora in the stables had set his temper soaring, and now he knew it wasn’t just jealousy. The man’s posture should have been a clue to his true nature—John was the worst sort of human being. No woman should feel threatened by the likes of the bastard. And he’d taken advantage of his position over Flora, her innocence, and stolen from her the right to share herself with a man of her choosing.
The more he saw of this woman before him, the more he was confused by her profession. She’d even taken food to a homeless woman in the street. She apparently also took care of the brood he’d met at her home. Why would a lass with such a big heart be stealing from others? Why had she stolen from him or even from Alastair in Edinburgh? There must be a reason. She surely wasn’t spending her ill-gotten gains on clothing or possessions for herself, and she was so thin, he knew she wasn’t overindulging in treats.
Suddenly, he didn’t just want to know where his belongings were, but why she had taken them. Flora was not what one would expect in a thief. She must have been desperate to steal from him because he’d watched her closely these last few days, and he knew she’d never intentionally harm someone.
Maybe it was time to tell her his family would lose everything if she didn’t return what she’d taken. His estate was barely sustaining itself and with the drought this year, the need for the funds from his ships would be necessary to stave off creditors. But just then, a tear streamed down her face, and all he could think of was bringing back the carefree, innocent lass who had captivated a part of him he couldn’t ignore.
Then it hit him. When he went home, she’d be staying here. She merited more dedication than being someone’s mistress. She’d never agree to such an arrangement, and after hearing her story, he’d never be able to ask that of her. She deserved a husband that would care for her. And John deserved to have his bloody ass beat until he couldn’t stand.
Flora turned away from him again. He could tell she didn’t believe him, that somehow, she felt responsible for the bastard’s treatment of her. He was about to reach for her when a knock sounded on the door.
“He didn’t deserve you.”
Her gaze drifted back to him, and he thought he saw relief in her eyes, but someone knocked on the damn door again.
“I’ll be right there,” he called over his shoulder. He moved in, clasping her face in his hand and turning her to meet his stare, knowing he had to get through to her, that this guilt she felt was a burden she shouldn’t bear. Oh, and God, he wanted to kill that blackguard.
“He took advantage of your innocence. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Flora kept her gaze averted. His temper once again flared at the man who would do something to a woman with such a big heart—hell, to any woman. He would make it a point to visit John before he left Aberdeen. The man deserved to suffer for what he’d done to her.
Pivoting, he walked to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it in to find Fredrick standing there with a fully stocked tray in his hands, along with a hotel servant holding a pitcher. Standing aside, he let them enter.
After setting the items on the table, his valet shooed the young man away. “I found what you asked for. Will there be anything else this evening?”
“No, thank you, Fredrick. I’ll leave everything out in the hall when we are done. Why don’t you go rest?” He wanted the older man to get some sleep because he’d left the valet in the hall for a good portion of the day to make certain Flora didn’t run off in his absence.
“I would like to leave by noon tomorrow. It may take us some time to get there if this weather doesn’t let up.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Isaac followed his valet to the exit and locked the large wooden door behind the man. He still didn’t trust his thief not to run. When he swiveled back around, it was to find that Flora no longer stared out the window but had moved to the table to inspect the food. She eased down into the chair and inhaled the scent of warm baked rolls. The smell was a delightful lemony smell that reminded him of sunshine despite the darkening of the evening and the pounding of the rain as it assaulted the side of the hotel.
Closing the distance with a couple of casual strides, he sank into the seat opposite her. Fredrick should have prepared her for the events' formalities this weekend, but he still had several items to discuss with her. That, or she would need to spend the whole weekend locked away in a room at the Stonehaven estate.
He froze. Not once had he considered how he would handle the arrangements once they arrived. Could he trust her not to run away? How would he ensure she didn’t disappear? And why did he suddenly feel like she shouldn’t be alone? He wasn’t even sure who else would be there.
Flora poured them both glasses of wine as he sank back to observe how she’d changed in the last few minutes. Somehow, she’d locked away the part of herself that had shown vulnerability. He’d been surprised she’d allowed him to see that side of her at all. The encounter in the stables had more than thrown her off balance. He’d seen his sisters go into hysterics for days over something as small as someone not speaking to them at a party. Flora had a hidden strength and confidence that he admired.
“This smells wonderful.”
“I agree. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
“So. What else do I need to know to blend in this weekend? What will ye tell people about me?”
“If the weather is nice, we will spend most of the time out of doors. But if it is like today, we will be inside. There will probably be charades at some point. Do you know how to play?”
She gave him a sly smile. “Of course, I ken. I help take care of a large group of children. We do have to keep them entertained, so they don’t get into trouble.”
A memory flashed before his eyes. One he’d not thought of in years. His father dressed only in breeches and a white linen shirt, whipping his hands around, imitating the flight of a bird as he circled the room in his bare feet. Carefree, oblivious to the strictures of dress in the middle of the day as he played with Isaac and his sisters.
Glancing down, he noticed that Flora wore no stockings. She had one dainty foot resting on the other, her big toe patted out a rhythm on the rug. It was the only movement she made as her gaze stayed on him, and it reminded him of someone tapping their finger on a desk waiting for attention. Did she teach children to play games in the same way his father had?
A pang of longing for those long-gone days needled its way into his chest, poking him in the crumbly mortar of bricks he’d built to protect himself from the loss of his father. His innocence had been pulled from him as he’d soldiered on to become what his mother thought necessary for society.
“Do ye play charades often?” she asked.
“No, I haven’t for years and usually skip them at the parties, but I think with both of us there, I should probably stay close at hand instead of leaving you on your own with the ladies.”
Her toe stopped tapping. His regard traveled up to see she suddenly wore a sad expression. As if he’d squashed her aspirations, just as his dreams had been. Now it was guilt that knifed its way into his breast.
“Do ye no’ think I am capable of playing games with yer educated friends?”
He didn’t want to say that he thought they would flatten her enjoyment of the game, that they would trample on her innocence, or that they would corrupt her. He wanted to watch her play, but he was afraid that when he took her there, she would be twisted into what she wasn’t, forced to conform as he had been—or worse, become a boring, reserved version of herself as his sisters and he had.
He settled on another facet of the truth. “No. Not at all. I think it would be fun to watch you play and I don’t know who will be there, so chances are, I’ll enjoy your company far more than theirs anyway.”
She smiled, appeased by his answer. “What other types of things will we be doing? Fredrick said there might be riding. I do have to warn ye, I’ve never been on a horse.”
“Hmm, well then. We will have to make sure to avoid those activities. I could teach you, but there won’t be time.”
Another memory flashed through his head, of trees whirring past as he rode with his father in a field near their home. He could still remember the laughter that bubbled up in his chest and the feeling of freedom. That day, his father had seen he was having a difficult time with a particular lesson the tutor was giving on crop rotations. After the ride, his father pointed out to the field and explained the same lesson differently. Isaac was able to envision why irrigation and proper cultivation was important, and it sparked an interest in the topic he otherwise never would have had.
He wondered if Flora used unconventional means to teach the children that she felt responsible for. He couldn’t see her forcing a child to sit still and study jumbled words that didn’t make sense. “Where do all the children in your home come from?”
“Most of them lost their families to the clearances. Not directly, but famine and weakness took some of them. Some were just abandoned because their parents could no longer afford to feed themselves, much less their babes.”
“And why do you take it on?”
“Because Will did so with me. I would be dead right now had he not formed our group.”
“What happened to your family?”
“They’d been evicted from the land we’d been on for years. We traveled to Aberdeen to catch a ship to sail to Canada. They thought we could start over there.
“The streets were crowded here. I was used to the country. We became separated, and I never saw them again. Will found me a few days later. I’d been hiding in an alley, waiting for my parents to find me. They never did. I was too young and too scared to know to go to the watchman, so I just hid.
“They must have looked for me, but I’m sure they’d given up by the time Will found me and started asking around. At that point, he’d already taken in Bran, and I’d found a few others as well. It made sense to just stay with them. And here we are, years later.”
“Did you ever try again?”
“Nae. If they made it to Canada, there was no way for me to get word to them.” She closed her eyes briefly, opened them just as quickly, gave a slight smile, and then flipped the topic. “Tell me more about your family. Why was your father in a duel?”
He didn’t mean to humph, but he did. “He was playing by the rules of polite society.”
“What rules? I thought dueling was against the law.”
“It is, but according to a certain code of honor, sometimes it is necessary.”
“What happened?”
“My father was able to get in the first blow but purposely did not break the skin. His opponent, however, was not so kind. He sliced a large gash on Father’s arm. It wasn’t so bad until it became infected, and then he developed a fever. He was dead within five days.”
“That’s awful. What was the duel about?”
“A man had slighted my mother’s family name, and although my father would have let it pass, my mother would not. She insisted that he defend her, and even though I was never told what the comment was, I assume it was minor because although they used rapiers, neither truly intended to hurt the other.”
“Oh, your mother must have felt awful.”
He thought back. He never remembered his mother crying, and she never spoke of his father again except to say that he was too much like his sire, and that he needed to learn to behave as a civilized man. Shortly after, she had him sent to boarding school.
“Theirs was an arranged marriage, and I don’t believe my mother ever loved him.” It was the first time he’d voiced such a concern, but then according to the way his mother carried on, it was the only way to handle marriage. Thus far, he’d refused to fall into that same trap and avoided it all together despite his mother's pressure. Eventually, he guessed he’d have to for his title, but for now, the thought of a wife who didn’t care if he died was too much to contemplate.
“Anyway, it was a long time ago.”
“Why are you no’ married? Oooh, or are ye?” She blushed, and he realized there was no way for her to have known.
“No, and I am not ready.” On top of that, he couldn’t subject a wife to a penniless life if his land lost another year of production and he didn’t get his fortune back. The one that this woman held captive at the moment.
“Aye, I can understand that. After what happened with John, I dinnae think I will ever wed.”
The thought of Flora growing old alone made him sad. But he guessed she wasn’t truly alone with the brood of a family she’d inherited. Still, to not have companionship, the idea that she could be his mistress reemerged. Maybe if he reassured her, he would help take care of any children they might have, she’d come back to England with him.
But then again, that was why he’d never taken a mistress before. When he became a father, he wanted to be there for his children, like his father had for him in those early years. He’d felt the absence of his father immediately, and he didn’t want any child of his to know that heartache.
She took a bite of the fish. “This is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” And he was. He liked seeing the smile that flitted against her lips and the innocent sparkle that came to her eyes when something excited her.
“I should learn how to make this. Fish is easy enough to find around here.”
“Do you cook?” It had never been a question he’d thought to ask a woman before. Those that ran in his circles all had cooks at the ready for anything they needed.
“Aye, I do.”
He picked up his fork and dived in to take a bite as well. She was correct. It was delicious.
They continued to chatter, and he’d even been able to toss out some small jokes he’d heard that made her giggle and her cheeks darken. The sound had been pleasant, and when they weren’t speaking, the silence wasn’t deafening as it was at home when his mother and sisters stared out into their worlds. Flora seemed content, despite being held captive.
Was he still holding her captive? He wasn’t certain.
She just had this way of making the best of whatever was given to her. All he could ever remember about his remaining family was that nothing was ever enough.
It felt like no time had passed before he stacked their plates on the tray and placed them outside the door. When he returned, he grabbed the deck of cards his valet had left on the small table near the entrance and sauntered back to where Flora still sat. Neither had imbibed in more than a glass of wine tonight, but somehow, he felt heady as if he had been drinking to excess. He’d enjoyed the lass’s laughter so much that he wanted to hear it again. He was truly afraid that once they reached the Stonehaven party, the people there would be like the rest of polite society.
He wanted to stay here for a bit longer.
“There is a possibility we will need to play cards. Have ye played before?”
“Aye. But ye can show me again.”
They played for a while, long enough for him to see she knew a few games well enough to play.
He had just noticed her yawn when it came time for her to attempt to shuffle the cards again. They flew everywhere. They were both giggling so hard his belly ached. He knelt to help pick them up at the same time she did.
“I think we should get some sleep. It will be a long day tomorrow.” He didn’t want to go to bed—well, that wasn’t true, but he couldn’t take her to bed the way he wanted. But he knew she would need to have her wits tomorrow and keeping her up all night wouldn’t do.
“Aye,” she agreed as she passed him the cards. His hand curled around hers as she laid the cards there and they both stilled as awareness shot through them. They seemed to be lost in some trance. His gaze drifted up to see her brown eyes were heated and watchful.
He wanted to pull her in, put his lips back on hers, and taste her again, but somehow he refrained.
She dropped her hand and pivoted toward the window. He’d scared her. But he was not like John; he was not going to take advantage of his power over her. After all, she was still a thief, and until he had his box and its contents, as much as he wanted to believe she was here of her own free will, she was still his prisoner.