Choosing the Highlander (32 page)

She drew up short at seeing the man on the ground. “Lord Turstan! Chester’s fainted at the door!”

Turstan? How strange. The man of the manner shared her last name, or almost. The pronunciation the woman had used reminded her of the way Ewan had written her name.

Not sparing more than the briefest glance Connie’s way, the woman bent at the waist to feel Chester’s forehead. “Oh, dear, oh, dear.”

Heavy, irregular footfalls on stairs preceded the appearance of a tall bearded man in a dressing robe. Though he didn’t appear older than mid-fifties, he leaned heavily on a cane.

“Here, here, what’s this about?” said the man who must be Lord Turstan. When he spotted Connie patting the fainted man’s cheek, he stopped short. Hand over his heart, he began to stammer nonsensically. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

The woman glanced at Lord Turstan and then turned her attention to Connie. Her jaw fell open and she made a surprised squeak.

“I’m not Tarra,” Connie said, remembering the name the other man had called her before dropping like a stone. “My name is Constance Murray. I didn’t mean any harm. Is there a bed or sofa he can be moved to?”

“Murray.” The man studied her intently then blinked, seeming to collect himself. “Do you mean—” He broke off, looking down at the fallen man as if just remembering he was there. “Christ, lass, of course there’s a bed. Chester. Chester, wake up, man.” He knelt with a grunt of discomfort and grasped the other man’s shoulders. “Mrs. Felts, get a cool cloth, will you?”

“Yes, milord.” Before the woman left, she cast another look at Connie, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“I’m afraid I’m not fit to carry him. Old knee injury’s acting up this winter.” He drummed his fingers on his right leg. “We’ll have to wake him first. You said your name is Con-
stance?
” Oddly, he placed the emphasis on the second syllable.

Before she could respond, a faint feminine voice came from upstairs. “Robert?”

“’Tis all right, love. Doona trouble yourself.”

“What the blazes?” This came from the fallen Chester who blinked owl-like up at the ceiling.

The gray-haired woman returned with a towel. When Chester tried to sit up, she held him down and put the compress on his forehead.

“Just rest there for a moment, Chester,” Turstan said. “You’ve had a shock.”

“Thought I saw your girl,” the man on the floor said. “Must have been sleep walking on the job. It willna happen again, sir.”

“You’re not seeing things, dear,” the woman said to Chester, her voice wavering. “We have a caller who could be the spitting image of the poor mistress. All except her hair.”

Chester rolled his head her way and blinked a few times.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m not who you think. Sorry to have startled you.”

For the next few minutes, the three of them worked together to help Chester to his feet and then onto a couch in the parlor. Connie learned that Chester and the gray-haired woman, Mathilda, were both servants to Lord Turstan.

“Leave me be, woman,” Chester grumbled. He waved his hand at Mathilda, who dithered over him, fluffing pillows and patting his body as if looking for injuries.

“I’ll no’ have you kicking off because ye think to return to work after such a fright,” Mathilda said. “Tell him, milord. Tell him he’s to turn in for the night and rest.”

“No’ until I ken who
she
is and what she supposes she’s up to going about looking like the mistress.” Chester eyed her suspiciously from his reclined position. He kept straining to sit up, and Mathilda kept pushing him back down. Connie wondered if the two might be married.

“A fine question,” Lord Turstan said. He and the Mathilda looked at her expectantly.

“Er, I—um.” She pulled her shoulders back and gathered herself.

Apparently, she looked like someone they knew. No wonder they were so shocked by her appearance. Awkward as this introduction would be, she owed it to Wilhelm to make the best impression possible.

Donning the bearing of a well-bred woman like a character role, she said, “My name is Constance Emmaline Thurston Murray. I’ve been travelling the Highlands with my husband, but he’s been arrested on false charges. My family is…far away. I have no one to call on for assistance and was told you might be able to do something about this unfortunate situation. I do apologize if I’ve caused anyone distress this evening.”

“Did you say Constance
Murray
?” Lord Turstan said, this time putting the emphasis on her married name.

“
Turstan
-Murray,” Mathilda corrected, sounding intrigued.

“No,” said Chester. “She said Thurston.” Dodging Mathilda’s hands, he managed to sit up.

“She’s sayin’ it the English way, I suspect,” Mathilda said. “Is there any doubt she’s kin to the earl?”

“Silence,” Turstan said. The other two snapped their mouths shut. “Mrs. Felts, bring us some beer, if you will. Chester, go on up to your bed. When the doctor arrives, I’ll send him to you.”

Chester’s gaze dropped to the floorboards.

Mrs. Felts paled. “The doctor doesna ken she’s—she’s—” She broke off with a sob and hurried out of the parlor.

“I’m certain I doona need a doctor, sir,” Chester said. His feisty mood had dropped with his gaze. “No need to keep the doc when he arrives.” He sniffled, and Connie realized he was holding back tears. “But I’ll go on up to bed if it pleases you.” Bracing his hands on his knees, he stood up. Meeting Connie’s eyes, he said, “Looks just like the mistress,” and shook his head.

She looked between him and Turstan, unsure to whom he was speaking.

Turstan watched Chester go then said, “Have a seat, my dear.” He went to the hearth and knelt, again with the grunt. With his back turned to her, he fiddled with something. When the fire caught, she realized he’d been using a flintbox.

When he stood, his face drooped with weariness. Heavens, she felt awful for keeping him from his bed.

“I’m so sorry for disrupting your evening.” She couldn’t bring herself to sit as he’d asked. She felt like she was imposing. Why on Earth had Gravois sent her here? Did it have something to do with the similarity of their names?

Turstan studied her with furrowed brow, offering her no reassurance that she wasn’t imposing. But his expression wasn’t angry or put out. Rather, he reminded her of her father when he’d been up all night studying a difficult portfolio. She had an urge to offer the man a word of support. Odd since they were near strangers.

“Forgive me,” he said, wiping a long-fingered hand down his face. “Today has been—” He pressed his lips together and turned from her. He was a handsome man with age-appropriate lines on his face and a full head of graying hair, but something was off. He grabbed a high-backed chair from near the hearth and set it near the couch. “My daughter passed away this morning,” he said, fingers gripping the chair.

That’s what was off. He was grieving. It was deep sadness she saw on his face.

“I’m so sorry.” Mentally, she cursed Gravois. Of all the places he could have sent her he chose a grieving family? “I’ll go. I’ll come back another time.”

The offer came automatically even though she had nowhere to go. She couldn’t go to the inn. Ruthven’s men could still be there. Besides, she had no money.

Maybe if she left, Gravois’s shop would appear again. He could put her up while she figured out some other way to help Wilhelm. Or maybe she could find her way back to Ewan’s place. It was a full-day’s ride away, but she remembered many of the landmarks they’d passed.

“Nonsense,” Turstan said, lowering himself into the chair. With his cane, he tapped a leg of the couch. “Sit. Tell me where ye come from. What’s an English lass doing in Inverness, and how did ye become the wife of the one man I’d hoped to see my own daughter wed to?”

She started to sit but froze mid-motion. He’d wanted to marry his daughter to Wilhelm?

Wilhelm had mentioned his parents setting him up before but that none of those matches had suited him. Had Lord Turstan’s daughter been one of those noblewomen Wilhelm had met and decided not to pursue?

“Your own daughter—you mean—” Shoot. She’d dropped her accent. Recovering it, she obeyed and sat primly, as he’d asked her to twice now. “You know Wilhelm Murray? How?”

His eyes narrowed. He’d caught the slip.

She bit her lip.
Gravois, what am I supposed to do?

She had an urge to tell this man everything. He felt like family, somehow, but that had to be her vulnerable position talking—and the fact they had similar surnames.

Mrs. Felts returned with two steins of foamy liquid.

“Thank you,” Turstan said. “Go on upstairs and check on Chester, will you, please. And tell Mary we have a caller, but doona tell her the lass is the spitting image of Tarra.”

“Too late for that, dear.” A soft voice came from the parlor’s entrance. A mature woman in a linen shift and silk robe stood hugging herself and staring at Connie.

She wanted to shrink to the size of an ant and crawl away.

“Oh, my,” Mathilda said. “You shouldna be out of bed, milady. I’ll help ye back upstairs.”

The woman—Mary, Connie gathered—waved off Mathilda’s help. “No, I believe I’ll stay.” She came toward the couch and sat beside Connie, never taking her gaze off her. Her lower lip trembled. She appeared thinner than was healthy.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Connie said. Why couldn’t she have Gravois’s ability to disappear on a whim?

“Thank you, love. ’Twas a shock to us all when the pains struck her yesterday. We sent for the doctor, but he couldna be found until yester eve, and then the pains became worse, and—” She lifted a lacy handkerchief to stifle her sob.

“Mary,” Turstan said gently. Go back to bed.” Glancing at Mathilda, who hovered with a worried expression, he motioned for her to leave them.

To Connie, Turstan said, “The pains grew worse and then the lass fell asleep. We took turns watching over her, but by morning, she’d gone terribly ashen and, well, she stopped breathing shortly after dawn.”

“The doctor still hasna come,” Mary said, dabbing at her eyes. “He sent a message that he’d be by after dark, but it’s been dark for hours now, and still—” She pressed her lips together and shook her head, eyes wide and wounded. “Must be that rash of fevers we heard of to the north, do you think, Robert? Winter always brings the fevers and the ague, but she never felt hot until near the end. What did ye say your name was?” Mary asked her.

“Constance,” she answered, remembering her British accent.

How heartbreaking. It sounded like the young woman had had an appendicitis attack or something like it. Intense pains, followed hours later by death. It reminded her that she was in a time when ambulances didn’t come within minutes of a call.

Would the doctor have been able to do anything for the woman even if he’d made it? Would he have performed surgery on her here in this house? Was the woman’s body still here? Why did she have a grisly urge to see this woman she was supposed to look like?

Tears came to her eyes as she felt so sorry for this family and as she longed for Wilhelm’s comforting embrace. She had let him become her point of reference, and now he was gone. She felt so lost.

“There, there, love.” Mary wrapped an arm around her like her own mother would have.

Sadness and fear for Wilhelm swept over her and she found herself embracing the woman and burying her face in her neck. Mary wore her graying hair in a braided bun low on her neck, and she smelled like lavender and maternal affection.

Connie lost track of time. She didn’t know how long she sobbed in the arms of the poor, grieving mother when a knock sounded at the front door.

“That’ll be the doctor!” Chester’s voice came from upstairs.

“Mrs. Felts!” Mary called.

Mathilda answered the door, and Connie remained on the couch while the Turstans spoke with the doctor and followed him upstairs. Sitting all alone on the couch, wrung out from crying, she hugged her backpack and drank her cup of warm beer.

Why am I here?
She asked herself for what felt like the hundredth time. Images of Wilhelm battered and chained in a dungeon filled her head as she drifted to sleep on the Turstans’ couch.

#

Someone shook Connie awake.

She started and sat up straight. She’d been slumped over on the couch in the Turstan’s parlor, fast asleep. Lord Turstan eased himself into the nearby chair. He looked as weary as ever. It felt like the middle of the night.

“Doctor’s gone,” he said. “Forgive me for leaving you. ’Tis no way to treat a guest.”

“Goodness, there’s no apology needed. Honestly.” She hugged herself, feeling chilly. Turstan must have just added peat to the fire before waking her, because the flames leapt happily in the grate. She suspected the cold she felt ran deeper than the temperature of the room. It was a cold brought on from an atmosphere of grief and a heavy weight of worry.

“Here,” he said. “Move over to the fire. The lower floor is terribly drafty this time of year.” He stood and moved his chair back to where it had been, next to a matching chair that he motioned to.

She joined him, glad for the warmth as she sat down. But her insides chilled even more when she saw her passport and the travel guide spread out on the hearth. Beside them, her backpack lay open and divested of its contents.

“I recognize you now,” Turstan said, staring into the fire. “You’re the supposed witch that maggot Ruthven intended to execute.”

“I’m not a witch.” The words came out shaky. Her heart pounded. Would Turstan try to hurt her? How stupid she’d been to fall asleep with her backpack right there for anyone to go through!

“I remember that night.” He seemed not to have heard her. His gaze was still on the fire, trancelike. “I hadn’t planned on attending his gathering. My wife’s health has been poor. But I’d heard the Murray’s son might be there. Mary and I had hoped for a match between Wilhelm and Contarra—Tarra, our daughter. I’d never met him, but I ken his da and have always admired the man.

“After Ruthven’s dinner, I left the keep hoping to find the Murray lad and meet him, see if I liked him enough to suggest a meeting between him and Tarra. Then that debacle began.” He curled his lip in disgust. “I noticed ye were naked and I looked away. It occurred to me ye looked like my girl, but her hair is darker, and I knew she was safe with her mother here at home. I couldna bring myself to remain and watch. I was taking my leave when I heard the commotion.