Amanda Scott (10 page)

“Only that something dreadful had happened, that you had done something wicked and that many believed that, in your guilt,
you had taken your own life or died of remorse.” She watched him as she spoke and saw him nod. “Is that so, then? I mean,
clearly, you did not die, but did you disappear voluntarily?”

Instead of answering the question directly, he said, “If I told you that I had done nothing dreadful or wicked, would you
believe me?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, of course. You can have no cause to lie to me.”

“Perhaps I would lie merely for the sake of lying, or because it is expedient.”

“Many people do that, I know, particularly if by ‘expedient’ you mean you might do so to protect yourself. But I do not think
you are of that ilk.”

“A man never knows what he is capable of doing until the time comes to do it,” he said bitterly.

“Perhaps.” She waited a beat, but when he did not continue, she said, “I know that such curiosity is unbecoming, sir, particularly
since you have already snubbed me twice, but I would like to know where you were. Your uncle, after all, is not the only person
who believed you were dead.”

“Are you going to tell me that your cousin was cast into black despair?”

“No, for I do not believe that is the case. She has scarcely ever mentioned your name, but I can tell you that she was saddened
and disappointed.”

“She did not even know me.”

“Had you never met, not even once as children?”

“You say that she is seventeen now. I’m eight-and-twenty, and I’ve not set foot in the Borders in more than five years. We
might have met at Stirling one of the few times that I accompanied my father to court, but I do not recall meeting her.”

“I do not think Fiona has been to court,” Anne said. “Her mother meant… that is, she
means
to present her after her marriage.”

“I do recall that her father died before mine arranged the betrothal. Do you three women live alone at Mute Hill House without
masculine protection?”

She knew that, once again, he was attempting to divert her from the subject of his whereabouts, but she said, “Aunt Olivia
invited her uncle, Sir Tobias Bell, to live with her after Sir Stephen’s death. As to whether Toby counts as protection, I
have my doubts, sir, but he certainly lends us a certain consequence if one does not mind the occasional fox hunt through
the great hall.”

He laughed. “Does he really hunt foxes indoors?”

She smiled. “Not purposely, I suppose, but he does have a knack for creating havoc. That was one reason I felt such a strong
urge to escape to the peacefulness of the Towers today. First, Aunt Olivia tortured poor Fiona for two hours whilst she satisfied
herself that the wedding dress is as it should be, and then, a poor little fox darted through, pursued by a half dozen hounds.
You cannot imagine the uproar.”

“What happened to the fox?”

“It headed for one of the stairways, and that was the last I saw of it. I took Fiona upstairs afterward, so that she could
rest.”

“I collect that Toby Bell is not what Lady Carmichael hoped he would be.”

“In truth, I think she relies more on her household steward than her uncle. Toby is as fat as a brood-sow and jovial. He enjoys
childish pranks, good claret, and the company of men he meets in alehouses and other such places. He is forever bringing one
or another of them home with him, and he tells Aunt Olivia he does so in hopes of providing her with an eligible suitor of
her own.”

“I should think you would applaud that notion. If her daughter is only seventeen, Lady Carmichael must enjoy excellent prospects
for remarriage.”

Anne bit back a gurgle of laughter, saying, “She would not thank you for saying so, nor does she appreciate Toby’s efforts.
She prefers to … to concentrate on her bereavement.”

“To wallow in it, I expect you meant to say.” When Anne did not contradict him, he added thoughtfully, “Sir Stephen must have
been dead now for more than two years. Surely, she has not kept herself secluded all that time.”

“Oh, but—” Anne bit back the words before they leaped from her tongue.

“Don’t stop there, lass. What else were you going to say?”

She hesitated and then said stiffly, “She also mourns my father and mother, sir, as I think you must realize.”

“Now, that was neatly done,” he said approvingly. “Puts me tidily in my place and is calculated even to make me squirm a bit
for forgetting that their deaths might have affected her. But it won’t serve. You would not have broken off so abruptly to
avoid mentioning your father and mother. So what was it?”

Anne bit her lip, wishing that she had foreseen the pitfall earlier.

“Come now,” he urged. “Coyness does not suit you, and I’ve a notion the bit you’re not telling me somehow concerns me.”

“Not really,” she said. “At all events, it is certainly no business of mine to be telling tales. I have grown comfortable
with you. ’Tis the darkness, I expect.”

“Tell me.”

He did not raise his voice, but with those two words, she realized that it might not always be comfortable talking with him.
He was clearly accustomed to commanding others and to having his commands instantly obeyed.

“She mourns your father, too,” she said.

“I must remember to thank her for her sympathy, but why should she?”

Anne resorted to silence again.

“I see,” he said. “I expect that does much to explain my betrothal. Lady Carmichael must be nearly as beautiful herself, though,
because my father always had an eye for a pretty face. Did she imagine he’d marry her?”

“That is certainly not for me to say,” Anne said.

“God’s feet,” he muttered, “what a coil you lay before me!”

“Well, I did not create it!”

“I know you didn’t, but I’ll wager you expect me to unravel it.”

“You must,” she said. “You cannot allow your uncle to marry Fiona under false pretenses. Indeed if he knows you are alive—”

“I cannot imagine how he would, nor do I mean to tell him until I have a better understanding of what he has already done
and what he means to do.”

“But—”

“Is that our destination yonder?”

“Aye,” she said, for they had reached the top of the hill and could see the lights of Mute Hill House half a mile away.

“Why do they call it Mute Hill?”

“It was the site of an ancient moot court,” Anne said. “Sir Christopher, with respect, you may change the topic of conversation
as often you like, but I’m afraid that at best you cannot keep your secret longer than one more day.”

“Do you mean to betray my presence here?”

“I hope I shan’t have to. Your uncle expects to marry Fiona two days from now, on Friday. You must not let that happen.”

She saw him shrug. “Despite your understandable dislike of him, I am not persuaded that I should interfere in his wedding,”
he said. “To do so would only make things more complicated for me, and I don’t want to marry anyone until I know how the rest
of my affairs stand. Moreover, since I’m legally dead, I do not see that my interference would matter at all. What if my uncle
simply orders the parson to continue the ceremony?”

“Your being alive would certainly matter to Fiona,” Anne said. It would also matter to Olivia, she knew, but she was certain
that it would not help her cause to point out that Olivia was interested only in marrying her daughter to the Chisholm wealth,
titles, and power. So she said only, “Perhaps it has slipped your mind, but Fiona is a great heiress. Moreover, I should think
that you are morally bound to her, and bound likewise in the sight of God.
He
certainly knows you are not dead.”

He sighed. “How was my funeral, by the way?”

Although she was growing accustomed to his abrupt changes of subject, the non sequitur surprised and amused her. Nevertheless,
she said matter-of-factly, “I do not know, because I was not here. That is irrelevant now, in any event.”

“Not to me,” he said. “Hush now. I want to think.”

Anne remained obediently silent until they had crossed the dale and were halfway up Mute Hill. Then she said, “If you won’t
tell me where you were all that time, will you at least tell me why you were riding with reivers tonight?”

He said lightly, “I was tempted by a call to adventure and by some small hope of learning exactly what mischief my uncle has
been up to. A good friend assured me that the reivers know everything that occurs in the Borders.”

“Well, I hope when you return to them you will not let them steal my cattle. Let them do their lifting properly, from some
scurvy Englishman.”

He chuckled, as she had hoped he would, and soon afterward, they rode through the gateway into the torchlit yard at Mute Hill
House.

Stable lads came running to help with the horses, and Sir Christopher dismounted, handing the reins of his horse and the one
he had been leading to the first lad. Then he moved to help Anne before any of the others could.

As he gripped her firmly around the waist and lifted her down, she gazed curiously at his face, finding it strong and handsome,
golden in the torchlight. His eyes seemed curiously golden too, and a lurking twinkle met her searching gaze. She liked the
twinkle, but even as that thought crossed her mind, the twinkle deepened into something warmer and more intense.

That intensity was unfamiliar to her and oddly disturbing.

He set her on her feet but did not release her.

“I will see you again,” he said.

She dampened suddenly dry lips. “Well, of course you will, sir. Fiona is—”

“Never mind Fiona,” he said, raising a hand to cup her chin. “I saw the curiosity in your eyes, lass, and I confess to feeling
curious about you, too. What’s more, I may never have this opportunity again,” he added, bending toward her.

His lips captured hers before she fully recognized his intent, and right there in her aunt’s stableyard, in front of who knew
how many servants, he kissed her hard, as if he had every right to do so. The hand that still clasped her waist slid to the
small of her back, pressing her body against his in a most unseemly manner.

For a long, amazing moment, she did not react, but when she felt her lips move against his as if to taste him, and realized
that she was savoring his strength and a strange sense of being possessed, she put both hands to his chest and pushed.

He released her at once, but her right hand had already shot back, and without a thought for reason or consequence, she smacked
it hard against his cheek.

Grabbing the offending hand in a bruising grip, he pulled her close again. With his lips a tantalizing inch or so from hers,
he murmured, “Before you strike a man, you should know him well enough to be sure that he will not strike back.”

“A woman is always entitled to defend herself against unwelcome liberties,” she retorted, struggling to control her sudden
and quite unexpected fury.

“Ah, but a woman who wanders about unprotected
invites
liberties,” he said. “You told me earlier that I have no authority to take you to task, Lady Anne, and you are certainly
right about that. Nevertheless, if you are wise, you will not let me find you out without appropriate protection again, particularly
after dark.”

Angry now, she said, “By heaven, if I could shoot a gun—”

“Aye, that would make a difference,” he agreed. “If you like, I will teach you, but you should not ride out alone even then,
not unless you want to risk my learning about it.”

“I cannot imagine how you think you can stop me,” she snapped.

“Don’t tempt me to show you,” he said. Then the twinkle returned to his eyes, and he stepped back. “Go on inside, lass. If
your aunt has any sense she will give you a fierce scolding and send you to bed without your supper.”

In a vain attempt to retain her dignity, she tried to meet his gaze, but she feared her expression more nearly resembled childish
resentment than any semblance of dignity. She did not fear Olivia, but she was by no means so certain now what she thought
about Sir Christopher Chisholm.

As he took the reins of Willie’s horse from the lackey holding it and swung onto his own saddle, she remembered that she did
have one way to strike back.

“Tell me where you were all that time everyone thought you were dead,” she said, “or I swear that the moment I walk inside
I’ll tell them you are alive.”

He glanced around at the curious gillies, and then, leaning closer to her so that his voice would not carry to the others,
he said, “I was on a prison ship, my lady, sentenced to remain aboard her for life. Think of that before you urge me further
to renew my betrothal to your simpleton cousin.”

“Sakes, listen tae that,” Fergus said in disgust. “Wha’ manner o’ man ha’ ye brought tae Mute Hill House? Likely, he’s a thief
or a murderer who will endanger the entire household!”

“Whisst now,” Maggie said before Catriona could reply. “I’ll give ye me word ye ha’ nowt tae concern ye on that head, Fergus.
Ye’ll no doubt me word, will ye?” she added with a menacing look.

“Nay, nay,” he replied hastily. “But what if he falls in love with her? As dear as she is. any man might!”

With a laugh, Catriona said, “Nonsense, have you seen her cousin?”

“Aye, o’ course I have, and she’s gey beautiful, tae be sure, but my lass be worth two o’ her sort any day.”

Maggie snorted. “A mortal man—aye, or one from our own world, for that matter—rarely sees worth if beauty catches his eye.
Ye’d best study men more carefully an ye mean tae protect your lass, Fergus Fishbait.”

“But—”

“Cease your nattering, and follow her. Likely, she’ll need your help when she faces her aunt after being away so late.”

“Aye, ’tis true,” Fergus agreed, flitting away after Lady Anne.

When he had gone beyond earshot, Maggie said, “I didna want tae say more tae him wi’out speaking tae ye first, Catriona, but
I’m thinking we’ll ha’ tae take him into our confidence.”

“But what if he forgets that he must not tell others what we are trying to do?”