Marshal and the Heiress (31 page)

Alex Carmichael stared at him, at the dirt staining his sheepskin coat.

“Did ye fall now?” he asked in a somewhat pitying voice.

He shrugged. “An old injury. Sometimes, my leg collapses on me.”

“Lady Barbara said ye ha' been in the American war. Can we gi' ye a bit of help?”

Bert shook his head and looked at the grouse the two strapping Carmichael boys carried. “I see you did well. Are all Scots such good shots?”

“All worth their salt,” Carmichael said as his two sons beamed with pride. “It's part of bein' a man.”

Ben hesitated, then asked, “I thought I saw someone go in your direction.”

Carmichael shrugged. “We dinna see anyone.”

Ben cursed silently, but fell in with the three men. Whoever had tried to kill him could have joined anyone by now. Or disappeared.

At least he knew this hadn't been an accident, just as the other incidents had not been accidents, either. Someone had killed Jamie. Someone had twice before tried to kill him and Sarah Ann.

If he'd been killed, what would happen to Sarah Ann? Who would protect her? Her nearest kin would be the Hamilton widows. He tried to reason. Lisbeth couldn't have moved that swiftly with her injured ankle. Barbara probably had never held a gun in her hand. That left Hugh. And the one man who had been present each time danger had threatened: Drew Cameron.

Lisbeth's friend. Maybe her lover.

His heart denied it. He'd been so certain this morning that she couldn't be involved. But his brain couldn't discount the possibility.

Lisbeth's arms around Sarah Ann. She'd said she'd wanted a child. Suspicion ate at him like vultures picking from a corpse.

Ben and the three Carmichaels reached the horses, and Ben reluctantly handed one of the grooms his shotgun. He kept his voice light when he asked if any others had recently left for the manor.

“Lord Kinloch, sir, and the Earl of Gaibreaith an' his party,” the groom said.

“Together?”

“'Peared to be.” He turned when several other hunters came into view.

Ben went to his horse, inspected the saddle belt cinch, then mounted. Lisbeth would be at the stable, no doubt, soothing Shadow in preparation for this afternoon's race. Would there be anyone with her?

Without waiting for the Carmichaels, Ben dug his heels into Bailey's side, and the horse jumped forward and raced toward Calholm.

Lisbeth spoke softly to Shadow as she brushed his gray coat to perfection, telling him how much she wished she were riding him. Sarah Ann was in the stable with her, grooming her pony, or at least trying to. Lisbeth had found her a step stool, and when last seen, Sarah Ann had been as covered with soap suds and water as Peppermint.

The two of them—and Henry who lay contentedly outside the stall—were blessedly alone. Callum had left an hour earlier to check the course for the upcoming race, and the grooms were with the hunters. This hour provided the peace she needed.

Lisbeth had not seen Ben that morning. She had woken when the first shards of light had hit the window. At first, she'd wondered where she was. A small bundle of child lay in her arms, and she felt good. Too good. It had made Lisbeth ache with regret.

And then she'd realized she was still fully dressed, and Ben was only several steps away. His eyes, so damning last night, remained fierce in her memory. She hadn't wanted him to find her there, and she'd carefully unwrapped herself from Sarah Ann and tiptoed from the room.

She wondered whether he still slept naked, and still kept a gun under his pillow.

She wouldn't think about it. She couldn't. She'd gone to her room and sat watching the sun rise and listening to the sounds of an awakening house …

Lisbeth gave Shadow one last stroke with the brush. Why had Ben glared at her as he had last night? Almost as if he hated her. What had caused that warm, almost possessive look from his eyes to turn into anger?

This time, she determined, she would ask.

“Oops!”

She heard the exclamation from several stalls down, and hurried to Peppermint's stall.

The sight that greeted her made her giggle. Sarah Ann had fallen from the stool onto the soft hay. Her lap was full of suds from the pail of water, and she had such a look of astonishment that Lisbeth couldn't help but laugh.

Sarah Ann narrowed her eyes, then looked down at her ruined gown, thought about it for a moment, then grinned. “I fell, too,” she said proudly, as though it were a great accomplishment.

“I see,” Lisbeth said seriously. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Sarah Ann considered, then looked at Lisbeth's twisted ankle. “I might have hurt my a'kle. I might need a ban'age.”

“I think that's entirely possible,” Lisbeth said, now trying to hide her smile. The stool was only a foot tall, and Sarah Ann had obviously been surprised more than injured. A bandage, though, wouldn't hurt a thing.

“Will you carry me, like Papa carried you?”

She started to reach for Lisbeth when she heard the clatter of horses at the front of the barn, and then seconds later, Ben Masters's angry voice. “What in the hell …?”

“I fell,” Sarah Ann said proudly. “Just like Lisbeth.”

Lisbeth's heart skittered around in her chest. No one had ever wanted to be like her. No one had ever looked at her with adoration.

Ben whirled around and faced her, his eyes glittering with anger. Barely contained violence radiated from him. It was all she could do not to run, or melt right in front of him. Instead, summoning all her courage, she straightened her back and met his fury head-on with indignation of her own.

“She's not hurt. She was just learning to groom …”

But he wasn't listening. She saw that. Then she saw the leaves that clung to his coat. His dark trousers were stained with dirt and torn in one place.

“What happened?” she asked.

His blue eyes were cold, colder than she'd ever seen them. “Someone took a shot at me,” he said, his voice little more than a growl.

“An accident?” she whispered, her eyes widening in shock.

“No,” Ben said, tired of pretending. His enemy—and Sarah Ann's—was becoming bolder. He'd hoped to smoke him or her out, but he was too angry now. One approach hadn't worked. It was time to try another. Especially since the culprit must now realize that the game was up. “There were several shots. One might have been an accident. Three close misses were not.”

Lisbeth looked stunned. She started to reach for him, then she dropped her hand. Understanding suddenly filled her eyes, along with a kind of pain he'd never seen before. She stepped away from him as if he'd hit her.

There was a small gasp from behind him and Ben silently cursed. He should have been aware that Sarah Ann was listening. He forced his eyes from Lisbeth's and swung around, picking Sarah Ann up and holding her close.

“It's all right, Sugarplum. You're safe.”

“Don't go away.” Her face, so proud just minutes ago, was crumpling. Her lips puckered, and the big green eyes swam with tears. “Please.” The little voice wavered with fear.

“Dear God,” he whispered, the words choking him. “I won't, Sugarplum. I promise. No one will ever hurt you, and I won't let anything happen to me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he said solemnly. With several careless, angry words he had destroyed what little security he'd been able to build for her. Damn, he was a hell of a father.

Her arms were around his neck. He closed his eyes for a moment, holding her as securely as he could, trying to make her feel safe.

He heard a sob from behind him, then a bark—sharp and scolding. When he opened his eyes again and turned, Lisbeth was disappearing out the door, seeming to fly despite her bad ankle. Henry looked at him with accusing eyes, then with another bark he dashed after his mistress.

Ben closed his eyes again, leaning against the stall, murmuring soothing noises to Sarah Ann. But no amount of soothing could quiet the storm inside him, or the growing belief that he'd just made more than one terrible mistake.

Lisbeth fled for the house, for the quiet of her room.

There had been no spoken accusation, but there might as well have been. Ben thought she'd had something to do with the shooting. The pain struck so deep, so sharply, that she had to bite down the cry that wanted to leap from her throat.

How could he possibly think she would try to harm him, or be part of an attempt to do so? And how could he believe she'd ever try to harm Sarah Ann? Because that accusation had been present, too, hovering between them. She recalled him telling her about the accident in Edinburgh. Had he been suspicious then? That he would think her capable of hurting a child was beyond bearing.

Lisbeth sank down onto her bed, the one on which she'd made love with Ben. She'd thought it had been love. She'd felt bewitched and beautiful. She'd felt wanted, really wanted for the first time in her life.

And now?

A huge paw tentatively appeared on the bed, then a head. A tongue reached out for her face, and she felt its sympathetic swipe. And then the tears came. She hadn't cried for years, not even when Jamie had died. Shock had protected her then. Disbelief. Then a numbness.

Ben Masters had cut through that numbness, had made her feel alive again, maybe even alive for the first time. Now she felt her heart being cut from her breast.

Lisbeth lost track of time, didn't know how long she'd been lying there. She heard noises and knew the hunters had returned and were having lunch before the race. After the race, the guests would start returning home. Perhaps several, including Drew, would stay another day, but then she would be alone with Barbara, Hugh, and a man who thought her capable of murder. A man she had thought she could love.

Henry inched himself up onto the bed as he usually did, as if not quite sure he should be there, and lay close to her.

“What should I do, Henry?” she asked. He whined, obviously wishing to be of assistance but not quite knowing how.

Time inched by. The meal would be over. Bets would be made over the upcoming race. Horses would be readied.

Lisbeth wiped the last of the tears from her face. She wouldn't give Bennett Sebastian Masters the satisfaction of knowing he'd made her cry. She washed her face, then rang the bell for Effie.

Ben took Sarah Ann to her room, helped her change into a dry gown, and distracted her with Annabelle for a while. He teased her and coaxed a smile, then extended his arm for her to join him for lunch. She always loved that; he knew it made her feel very grown-up, indeed.

They went down to eat and found the dining and drawing rooms full of milling guests, either talking about their morning success and the number of birds they'd shot, or placing bets on the five horses for the afternoon race. Excitement permeated the air, anticipation of what they hoped would be a rousing good race. Some had already watched Shadow in local races; others had heard about him.

But Lisbeth was nowhere to be seen. Barbara acted as hostess, reveling in the role, and Hugh seemed at ease at her side. Ben studied both, wondering if either of them had planned the ambush in the woods.

He still hadn't seen Drew Cameron. The devil in his head wondered whether he was with Lisbeth, or whether jealousy was impairing his objectivity.

He listened to the bets, to the gossip, as Sarah Ann clung to his hand, Suzanna clutched in her other hand. She brightened when someone spoke to her, especially when that person asked about the doll. “My mama gave her to me,” she said proudly.

Her smile widened even more when she saw Drew come into the room. He made his way straight toward her.

“How's my favorite lady?” he asked.

“I fell,” Sarah Ann said triumphantly.

Ben searched for guile in the man. He searched for ruthlessness. He searched for duplicity. He found nothing but concern for Sarah Ann.

Drew was dressed for riding. Not a strand of hair was out of place. No apprehension shone in his eyes. If he was anything but what he seemed at the moment, he was a damned fine actor. Most successful gamblers were.

“I didn't see you this morning,” Ben said.

“I rode out to inspect the course.” He turned his attention back to Sarah Ann. “What a pretty frock.”

“Thank you,” she said, preening enchantingly as only a child could.

“You're very welcome, love.”

“Find me a coin again.”

“Ah, you're just like all the other young ladies,” he teased. “Always in search of a man's gold.” But he reached up and plucked a coin from behind her ear. “That is for good luck,” he said. “Mine and yours.”

“Lady Lisbeth says you're going to ride Shadow,” she said.

“Do you think I can have a favor?”

“What's a favor?” Sarah Ann asked.

“When the knights went into battle hundreds of years ago,” he explained, “they took a token of their lady's favor. A scarf, or a handkerchief.”

Ben watched Sarah Ann's face as she considered the request. “I don't have anything.”

Her scarf was tucked into the neck of her dress. Effie had finally washed it, sneaking it out one evening when Sarah Ann had gone to sleep, replacing it before she'd awakened.

Drew reached out and touched it. “This would do very prettily.”

Sarah Ann's eyes clouded. The smile disappeared, and she stood still.

Drew immediately responded to her mood. “It's all right, love. I think a kiss will do as well.”

“Really?” she asked seriously.

“Better than well,” he said solemnly.

Sarah Ann leaned over and kissed him, then she whispered something to him. Ben couldn't hear. He saw Andrew Cameron stiffen, glance up quickly at him, then whisper something back. Ben stood there, feeling alone. Anger burned like red coals in his gut.

Drew stood. “I'll do that for you, Lady Sarah Ann.” He looked at Ben for a moment, his gaze troubled, and then he ambled away.