Enraptured (17 page)

“What happened?”

She looked up to see Coll watching her with his calm, steady gaze. “One day he favored me with his vision of our married life. It would be wonderful to have a wife who understood his scholarly world. I would not mind when he spent his time at ancient sites or in libraries while I took care of children, hearth, and home. I would respect him for his mind and his accomplishments rather than the pedestrian things most women wanted, such as money and fine clothes. He would enjoy sharing his knowledge with a woman of intelligence. I could even help him by taking notes or copying out his papers or listening to him rehearse his lectures.”
Violet smiled wryly. “He was surprised that I broke off our engagement.”

“I'm sorry.”

Violet shrugged. “It was a long time ago and best forgotten. It was a fortunate thing, really. I can see now that I would have been miserable if I had married John. I couldn't have gone to excavations with Uncle Lionel as I did or spent my time studying what I wanted. I cannot marry and still have the life I want.”

“You could not marry
him
. But another man—”

Violet snorted. “What husband would be happy to let his wife go off on her own for weeks or months? What man would not mind that she stayed up till all hours reading because she found something interesting? Or not be bothered that she spent many evenings in discussions with male scholars?”

He shrugged. “I dinna know. I never thought about it.”

“Of course you didn't. A man does not have to face such decisions. But a woman really has only two choices: she can have marriage or freedom. If you choose marriage, every other option in your life belongs to your husband. Where you live, what you may or may not do, what happens to your children. A wife gives her very self into a man's hands and can only hope that he will treat her well.”

“Nae, it's not like that.” Coll stared at her, aghast. “What a bitter view you have of men! Not all husbands are tyrants.”

“I suppose not.”

“There are men who love their wives.” He leaned forward earnestly. “Who treat them with tenderness and care, not trample them beneath their feet.”

“Kind men.” Violet thought of the gentle way Coll had
cleaned her wounds last night, and warmth stirred in her chest, but she pushed that thought aside. “But kindness is not liberty. Whatever a wife may have or be or do, it is only on her husband's sufferance. There are a great many degrees of control that are milder than tyranny, but they are still control. And that is why I shall never marry.”

Coll frowned, and she could see him gathering his arguments. Violet made a dismissive gesture. “But I suspect that neither of us is likely to change the other's mind on the issue. And that is not what I wished to speak with you about.”

He looked at her warily. “You wished to speak with me?”

“Yes. I think we should discuss what we should do about the intruder.”

“
We
?” His brows drew together. “There is no ‘
we
' to the matter. I will—”

“You are very much mistaken if you think you will handle this alone. I intend to deal with the problem—the question is whether I do it with you or alone.”

C
oll let out a short,
sharp word in a language she did not recognize. Violet suspected it was not complimentary. “It's not your concern,” he said at last. “It is my responsibility, and I will deal with it.”

“Since I am the one who was struck on the head last night, I would say that it is very much my concern.”

“That's exactly why I told you to leave. So you would not be in danger.”

“We can squabble about this as long as you wish.” She fixed him with a grim stare. “In the end, do you think I will slink off and leave it to you?”

“You are the most infuriating female I—”

“Yes, I know, I am well aware of how you feel about me.”

“I doubt that.”

“Unless you intend to lock me in my room as my father did, you cannot keep me from looking into the matter. Since you are familiar with the area, the house, the people, it would be of great benefit if you participated, but if you do not care to . . .”

“It is no surprise that someone hit you over the head.”

“No doubt. But if you will remember, that did not stop me.”

Coll planted his elbows on the table, dropping his head into his hands. “You will be the death of me.”

“That seems unlikely. Have you thought of how you are going to catch him?”

“Of course I've thought of it. If he breaks in again, I will grab him.”

“That seems a trifle . . . uncertain. What if he does not break in again?”

“Then there is no problem.”

“What if he breaks in and you don't hear it? Do you plan to sit up every night, waiting for him?”

“I am a light sleeper. I woke up when you came to my door the other night, didn't I?”

“I was screaming.”

“Then you tell me how I should capture him,” he challenged. “Should I set up traps about the house?”

“That doesn't seem workable.”

“I agree. I walked through the house last night and all around it this morning, but I could find nothing to give me a hint of who your attacker was.” He added with a grin, “I did discover your weapon.”

“My weapon?”

“The candlestick. It had rolled under one of the shrubs in front. You must have dropped it when he struck you down.”

“It was not very useful.” Violet frowned. “But you saw no trace of the man?”

“No handy scrap of material torn off on a thornbush. No muddy footprints through the hall. There were tracks around
the house, but nothing I could distinguish as belonging to him rather than some gardener or servant. I've questioned everyone who works here. The maids say that small objects have been vanishing over the past few weeks, but they dinna know who is taking them. They were afraid Mrs. Ferguson would blame them if they brought it to her attention.”

“As she no doubt would have.”

“True, but it doesna help me to find the thief. I went to the village this afternoon, but I had no luck there either.” He sighed. “Some no longer regard me as a man in whom it's safe to confide. Those who do are less likely to have the information I want.”

“I suspect your highwayman might be a good place to start.”

“Will's was the first place I went, but he claims to have been home all night, and his ma swears he was. She would lie for him to the bitter end, but I have no proof. Indeed, I dinna know he's guilty. There are other larcenous souls about.”

“What about that other man? The manager.”

“He left Kinclannoch almost a fortnight ago. Mrs. Stewart thinks he was headed back to the Lowlands, and Ron Fraser passed him on the road out of town.” Coll sighed. “I asked all over the village and no one said they'd seen him since or heard of him staying with anyone. He's no friends here to hide him or cover his tracks, so I suppose I must rule him out.”

“Then your only hope is to catch the thief in the deed?”

“I fear so. I told no one today that I planned to spend the nights here, but after tonight, word will spread. The next night or two are the only ones I can hope to catch them in
the act, and I dinna know if he will come again so soon.” Coll shrugged. “I canna understand why he's come more than once yet taken so little. A silver saltcellar. A wee lion with a mane of gold and topaz eyes.”

“Perhaps he takes pieces that he can sell for enough to live on, hoping that because they are small, no one will notice or that the servants will keep quiet, as they did.”

“I suppose. But where does he sell them? There's no one hereabouts who could afford to buy them, and anyone would suspect where they came from. He'd have to go to Inverness, which is a long walk. Even there, I would not think there's much market for them.”

“Maybe he holds them until he has several things, then takes them together.”

Coll's eyes lit. “It would be a fine thing if we could find them all in his possession.”

“Perhaps we will get lucky. Do you intend to sit up tonight waiting for him?”

“I thought to go to bed early and sleep a couple of hours, then get up around midnight and keep watch.”

“We should divide the hours. I will take the first watch and wake you halfway through the night.”

“I will counter your offer and take the first watch, then hand it over to you.”

“Hah! I am not that gullible, sir. If you are on duty first, you will ‘forget' to wake me.”

“Lord, but you are a suspicious woman.” He shook his head sorrowfully.

“I am a woman of experience.” Suddenly the air was thick with undertones of meaning. Violet's tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Coll shifted. “Do you propose to go after the man with a candlestick again?”

“Not unless I have to. If I hear anyone entering the house, I will wake you. I shall not take him on by myself. Though, of course, I must have something to hit him with if necessary.” Violet looked thoughtful. “A walking stick like Old Angus carries would be handy.”

“Heaven help me.”

“Since the intruder arrived so late last time, it's clear I have given you the more dangerous assignment. That should soothe your masculine pride.”

“ 'Tis not a matter of pride.”

“Of course not.” Violet made her tone extravagantly soothing.

“You are the most ag—”

“—gravating female,” Violet finished with him, and they both laughed. “Now . . . do we have a bargain?”

“You know we do. You knew from the start that you would talk me into it.”

“Which makes it particularly gratifying.” Violet rose to her feet. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must change into my sleuthing attire.” She turned away, then pivoted back. “I have—it has been very . . . nice, dining with you. Thank you.”

She whipped around and left the room before he could speak.

Violet felt her eyes drifting closed, and she pulled herself awake, rubbing her hands over her face. Keeping watch was
proving to be boring. One could do only so much thinking about scholarly topics without beginning to drift off. All other thoughts invariably led to Coll and the way he had looked the night before when he answered the door. His bare chest, the firm swell of muscle in his arms, the strength of his fingers as he gripped her arms.

She had never before come face-to-face with a half-naked man. Heat stirred low in her abdomen at the memory. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard wood floor, and reached into her pocket to look at her watch. It was just past two. She pondered awakening Coll. It would be kinder to let him sleep longer. On the other hand, it would be disastrous if she fell asleep and missed the intruder.

She stood up, stretching her stiff muscles. It occurred to her how improper it would be to enter a man's bedchamber. How strange. How titillating. She slipped up the stairs and paused at Coll's door, then eased it open. The room was dark, the only light the glow of the sconce in the hall behind her, but she could see the looming bulk of the bed. Her breath was suddenly uneven as she started toward it.

Despite the chill of the night air, Coll must be warm, for his bed curtains were drawn back and tied. As she neared the bed, she could see that the covers were pulled up only to his waist, his bare chest exposed to the cool air. Violet stopped, her eyes fastening on his chest. She wondered if he slept entirely naked beneath the sheets and blankets. Heat gathered insidiously between her legs.

Coll stirred as she watched him, his head moving restlessly on the pillow. He let out a soft groan, turning onto his side, his hand spreading out across the sheet. He rubbed his cheek against the pillow, a whisper issuing from his lips.
With another low sound, his fingers dug into the mattress beneath him. Violet realized that he was flushed. Was he feverish? Ill? She laid her hand gently on his arm, whispering, “Coll? Coll, wake up.”