Heather and Velvet (48 page)

“And you believed her?”

“I’ve searched my heart for thirty years trying to find her reason for lying. Why would she tell me such a thing? To protect me? To protect us all?”

Sebastian bowed his head, massaging the circlet of bruises on his wrists. Oddly enough, it was Prudence he studied beneath his lashes, not MacKay. The words he spoke came straight from his heart. “No. Because she felt ashamed. Because she felt dirty. After the things he did to her, she could never feel worthy of someone as fine as you.”

MacKay’s mouth twisted. “As fine as me …” He shook his head as he walked over to D’Artan’s corpse, his shoulders hunched beneath his plaid.

Sebastian’s hands clenched into fists. He could not help MacKay now. He had too much of his own pain to deal with. Prudence sat in the grass, hugging herself. Grimy tear tracks stained her face. He sank down beside her, ignoring the throb of his shoulder, and gently gathered her into his arms. She melted against him. He buried his face in her hair as if its gentle fragrance might clear away the smoke of his life once and for all. He nuzzled her throat, tasting her tears on his tongue.

Healing sunlight caressed Prudence’s back. They clung to each other, too lost in the comfort of their embrace to hear the crash of the underbrush, the rising voices.

A cold wet snout nuzzled Prudence’s forehead. A sloppy tongue lapped her cheek. She opened one eye, peering over Sebastian’s shoulder.

All she could see were yellow teeth bared in a canine grin. Her mouth fell open. There was only one dog that dumb and ugly in all of Great Britain.

Prudence tried to speak, but nothing came out except a croak. Sebastian slowly became aware of her stillness. He lifted his head, following her gaze upward from beribboned slippers to satin-flounced petticoats to amber eyes narrowed in avenging slits.

A
s Sebastian met the venomous gaze of his former mistress and fiancée, his hands lifted instinctively to adjust a mask that wasn’t there. Boris’s ears perked up with interest.

“My, my,” Tricia purred. “If it’s not my dear sweet niece.”

Squire Blake leaned over Tricia’s shoulder, peering at Prudence through his quizzing glass as if it were a microscope and she a bug. “By God, it is her, isn’t it? What do you think of that?”

Prudence stood and clasped her hands in front of her. Under her aunt’s avid scrutiny, she felt nine years old again, her cheeks streaked with graphite, her clothes reeking of sulfur. Sebastian rose too. His hands curled over her shoulders in a possessive gesture, warming her with courage.

“How did you find us?” Prudence asked.

“An anonymous note,” Tricia snapped.

“D’Artan,” Sebastian whispered. “He no doubt intended them to discover us in a fatal lovers’ embrace.”

“I can explain,” Prudence said softly.

Tricia’s hands fluttered out to encompass them both. “Why bother? This explains so many things.” She began to count off items on her fingers. “You seduced my fiancé. You disguised him as an infamous criminal.”

“I fear it was no disguise, Countess. The man
is
an infamous criminal.” Sir Arlo strode out of the trees, flanked by three deputies. His men fanned out, poking the hut’s rubble with their walking sticks. Sebastian backed away from Prudence and leaned heavily against a gnarled oak.

“Quiet,” Tricia spat at Arlo. “How dare you interrupt me? Where was I? Oh, yes, you ran away with him under the pretense of being kidnapped.”

“Quite a grand adventure!” Squire Blake interjected.

“But I
was
kidnapped,” Prudence protested.

Tricia arched her eyebrows. “I suppose the rogue has kept you chained to his bed ever since?”

Color stained Prudence’s cheeks.

Tricia stepped around her niece as if she’d gone invisible and trailed a crimson fingernail down Sebastian’s shirt. “If I’d been wiser, I’d have kept the rogue chained to my own bed.”

Sebastian crossed his arms. His lips twisted in a petulant smile. “That’s the only way you would have kept me there, darling.”

Tricia shrieked.

Sir Arlo held out some iron fetters, his face set in a pleasant smile. “These are the only chains the gentleman shall wear until he’s brought to trial for his dastardly deeds as the Dreadful Scot Bandit Kirkpatrick. For robbery. For kidnapping—”

“You can add murder to that, sir,” one of the deputies called from where he squatted beside D’Artan’s corpse.

MacKay strode across the clearing. “You cannot arrest that man. I forbid it.”

“Why arrest him?” Tricia stamped her tiny foot. “Can’t we just hang him now?”

Squire Blake rubbed his fat palms together. “Oh, this is quite interesting. Much better than a fox hunt.”

Sebastian smiled at Tricia. “Too bad we’re not in France, dear. You could have me beheaded.”

“With pleasure,” she hissed.

“And who might you be, sir?” Tugbert demanded of MacKay.

MacKay slipped a comforting arm around Prudence’s shoulders. “I am this young lass’s fiancé.”

“But I’m her husband,” Sebastian added.

Sir Arlo again held out the fetters.

“You cannot arrest that man,” MacKay repeated. “He has been granted a full pardon from the King.”

The sheriff’s smile slipped a notch. “Let’s have a look at it then, shall we?”

MacKay looked at Prudence. Prudence looked at Sebastian. His jaw tightened, but he refused to return her gaze. Slowly he lifted his arms, offering his wrists to Sir Arlo.

“No!” Prudence gave an agonized cry. They all stared at her. “Laird MacKay’s right. You can’t arrest him.”

“Why?” Sir Arlo asked coolly.

Her mind raced. Her hands twisted in her skirt, then her head flew up in sudden hope. “Because he’s not the Dreadful Scot Bandit Kirkpatrick. I am.”

Sebastian groaned. Sir Arlo’s mouth fell open. Squire Blake sputtered, his face scarlet, unable to find a fitting adjective for this thrilling new development. Tricia fished a handkerchief out of her bodice and handed it to him.

“That’s right.” Prudence paced the clearing in long strides, thinking furiously. One of the deputies dogged her steps, shackles clanking in his hands. “I’ve been the bandit all these years. Why do you think the robberies always occurred along the border? Auntie Tricia would tuck me into my little bed, then I’d shimmy down my trellis and off I’d go, galloping across the moonlit meadows on my stallion—”

“You don’t have a stallion,” Sebastian gently reminded her.

She paced past him, deliberately stepping hard on his toes. “Perhaps it was a mare then. It’s hard to tell in the dark. My only concern was preying upon the rich, robbing the innocent—”

“What an absurd tale!” MacKay interrupted.

Sebastian sighed. “At last, a voice of sanity.”

MacKay drew himself to his full height and proudly tightened his plaid over his shoulders. “I meself am the Dreadful Scot Bandit Kirkpatrick.”

Sebastian buried his face in his hands with a snort of despair.

“The butler at the Blake estate will be more than happy to confirm my identity,” MacKay went on. “His staff made quite a daring attempt to capture me before I escaped. Even the maids were armed.” He shot Prudence a narrowed glance. “I’d have probably been killed had not someone had the foresight to inform them I was worth more alive than dead.”

For the first time, Prudence noticed the dark smudge of a bruise on his cheekbone. Shrugging guiltily, she bit off one of her fingernails.

The clearing erupted into chaos. Sir Arlo tossed his fetters to the ground with a very ungentlemanly curse. His deputy scratched his head, looking doubtfully between Prudence and MacKay. Tricia began screeching for justice, demanding that Sir Arlo hang them all. Boris danced around Squire Blake, barking furiously.

A shrill Highland battle cry threw the clearing into silence. Boris whimpered and slunk behind Tricia’s skirts. Two horses burst from the bracken, their riders pulling up at the last moment to keep from trampling the crowd.

Sir Arlo faced them, hands on hips. “Let me guess. You must be the Dreadful Scot Bandit Kirkpatrick.”

Jamie swept off his cap. “At yer service, sir.”

Relief softened Jamie’s sharp features as his gaze found Prudence and Sebastian, grimy but alive. Tricia paled at the sight of Tiny. She slipped behind Squire Blake, but not even his bulk was enough to hide both her and Boris.

Tiny beamed and nudged his horse forward. “Why, Jamie, there’s me wee countess! Hullo, luv. Do ye remember me?”

“Enough!” Sir Arlo bellowed. Prudence almost smiled. Arlo really was quite a commanding figure when irked. “I’d like nothing more than to take the countess’s suggestion and
hang all of you, but my devotion to the law of England prohibits me. So I’m going to arrest the one man I believe can give me the answers I seek.”

MacKay strode forward, but Sebastian stepped in front of him. This time when he held out his wrists, Sir Arlo slipped the fetters over them with a final click.

As the sheriff stepped back from Sebastian, Prudence drew an uneven breath. Her measured steps closed the distance between them. She brushed away a tear with the heel of her hand, leaving a sooty streak. Oblivious to Tricia, oblivious to all of them, she leaned forward and touched her lips to Sebastian’s in a melting caress. Not even the heavy metal chains between them could stop her from pressing her body to his in loving surrender.

He pulled away, lingering only long enough to press his lips to her ear. She held her breath, wanting to savor any tender confession he might make until they could be together again.

“Goodbye, my darling duchess,” he whispered.

Her hands clenched into fists as one of the deputies led him away. MacKay strode after them, determined at last to stand by his only son. Sebastian glanced over his shoulder, throwing her a wink. Prudence knew she would carry the image with her forever: his crooked grin, the smudge of soot on his brow, the sunlight streaking his tousled hair. Dashing until the bitter end.

Tricia’s fingernails dug like tiny knives into Prudence’s forearm. “Come with me, you wicked, ungrateful girl. You’re a disgrace to your papa and all of my poor dead husbands. I can’t believe the thanks you’ve shown me for all I’ve done—”

Prudence jerked her arm out of her aunt’s grip. Straightening her shoulders, she took a step forward, using the full advantage of her height to look down her nose at her aunt.

Tricia took a hasty step backward, stumbling over Boris. Squire Blake caught her before she fell. She clutched at her ruffled bosom. “Well, I never … The sheer arrogance …”

Squire Blake led her away, murmuring sympathetically even as he cast a glance of grudging admiration over his
shoulder at Prudence. A whimpering Boris trailed after them. Prudence stood alone. Strangely enough, it was Tiny who laid his big hands on her shoulders. “C’mon, lass. Ye’re a bonny brave girl, but we’d best get ye home.”

She walked forward dazedly, wishing she could remember where home was.

R
ain drummed against the roof of the ramshackle IV building, but not even the downpour could keep the curious away from the courthouse in the heart of Elsdon. It was packed shoulder to shoulder with the assorted denizens of Northumberland and the surrounding counties. Steam rose from damp cloaks. Earls rubbed elbows with farmers, satin vied with wool, as they flocked in, all determined to witness the dissolution of the marriage of the notorious Duchess of Winton.

Reporters from both the
London Observer
and the
Times
shoved their way through the crowd, collecting opinions and gossip. Sympathies were divided. An old farm woman with a face shriveled like a dried apple pronounced the duchess a poor unfortunate girl, carried off by a scoundrel and forced to marry at gunpoint. The young Miss Devony Blake would later be quoted as accusing Prudence Walker of being a “nefarious hedonist” who “dared to abscond” with her own aunt’s fiancé. Her honorable father gleefully pronounced the entire affair as “simply rife with intrigue,”
then struck a noble pose and asked if they might include a sketch of him with their article.