The Beautiful Stranger (7 page)

Fabulous. Just when she thought there was nothing left to possibly go wrong.

Here now, lassie, are you quite all right? one of the men asked her.

I am fine. She was lodged awkwardly between the seats, halfway on the bench and on the floorboards, and clumsily managed to fumble her way back up on the bench.

What in thunder? the other one demanded, and swung the door open, almost hitting the driver.

Very sorry, lads. Seems the axle threw a bolt, the driver said apologetically. Kerry had no idea what that meant, but the two men immediately groaned and rolled their eyes at one another. The news obviously wasnt good. Kerry looked to the driver, who lifted his shoulders in a sort of half-shrug. Sorry, lass. Well have to turn back to Perth, we will.

Perth! Oh no! This was disastrous! She could not afford to spend another two pounds on a boarding room and she had to get homeher time was running short. Cant you drive on? she asked, aware of the

desperation in her voice. Surely there is a village close by The driver shook his head. Too far. Perths closer. Ah, lassie, doona look at me like that! he exclaimed, wincing. If we drive on, we could ruin the whole axle! The parts, aye, they rub together without that bolt But Im expected home, sir! I canna go back to Perth! Is there no village nearby where I might hire another coach? she insisted.

The driver absently pushed his hat forward so that he could better scratch the back of his head as he pondered that. Well I suppose you could wait at the crossroads here. Theres a coach from Crieff that comes through regular, headed north for Dunkeld and Pitlochry. He paused, consulting his pocket watch.

Aye, an hour, no more than two, Id wager. You could wait.

I beg your pardon, one of the gentlemen quickly interrupted. I wouldna advise it, lass. We are far from civilization and the public coaches are wholly unreliable Beggin your pardon, sir, but this service arrives in Perth every evening at eight oclock on the button and leaves promptly at six oclock every morning, arriving at Blairgowrie precisely at Beggin your pardon, the second man snapped, but are we or are we not about to turn back to Perth?

Well now, you expect a bit of mechanical trouble now and again, you do!

Are you certain about the Crieff coach? Kerry interrupted.

The driver glowered at the men before answering. I am indeed, lass. Youll do right well to wait here for it.

She extended her hand, ready to climb down. The smaller of the two men tried to stop her with a hand on her arm. Madam! Theres naught but wilderness about you now! If you wait for that coach, you do so at your own peril! he pleaded.

As if anything else could happen to herLord, even Job had not suffered so many trials! Kerry smiled at the two gentlemen as she shook off the one mans hand, then fairly leapt from the coach. Gentlemen, I thank you for your kind concern, but I am rather determined to reach Pitlochry by nightfall. And she continued smiling as the driver fetched her satchel from the back running boards.

The larger of the two men threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat. The driver, however, seemed rather pleased with her decision. Our service willna fail you, lass, he said cheerfully, and grinning broadly, tipped his hat to the men before slamming the coach door shut. He showed Kerry to a spot where the road from the east curved into another road running north. Wait here, and hell be along in an hour or so, mark me.

Youll be right safe, doona you worry, he added, placing her satchel at her feet.

Thank you. She inclined her head to his jaunty wave good-bye, then watched him and another driver turn the coach around and roll slowly in the direction from which they had come.

As the coach disappeared from sight, Kerry glanced around at the unfamiliar and very deserted surroundings. The shadows were already lengthening; it wouldnt be long before the mist would roll in, shrouding everything. She peered into the dark forest behind her, unable to see past the dark greenery of the first line of trees. The foliage was thick and deep, seeming almost impassable from where she stood.

And as she peered into the dark shadows, she was struck with the memory of Mary Blain, a schoolmate

of hers years ago who had a penchant for telling the most ghoulish stories.

Kerry scoffed, turned away, and looked up the road. She was not going to stand here like a child and think of beasties and fairies and trolls living under bridges. How absurd! Nor would she allow Thomass dire warnings of robbers and generally unsavory characters bother her. This was a minor inconvenience, nothing more. That sound that kept coming from the woods behind her was just a squirrel. The Crieff coach would be along in no time at all.

She had nothing to worry about.

Just like the driver said.

But the coach was not there in an hour. Or two. Or even four.

Arthur was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he was not overly fond of Scotlandor perhaps it was just Scots he took issue with. The country was beautiful. He could not deny that. Deep, swift running rivers cutting through dark green rolling hills, tall stately trees. But the people, well he had learned that they were a stubborn lot and not exactly enamored of the English. One of them even had the audacity to call him a Sassenach.

No, he was not overly fond of the Scots, a conclusion he firmly reached standing in the paddock of a stable just outside Perth. Absently slapping his gloves against the palm of his hand, he waited for the impudent stable master to bring him the mount he had purchased at a swindlers rate. Not that hed had any choice. It had taken him a full day just to find a stable where he might purchase a mount, as the Scots apparently didnt have the same need of horses as the English. He routinely received a blank stare when he inquired as to where he might locate a stable for the purpose of purchasing a mount.

Howd you get here, then? one man had asked, apparently puzzled that a man might have need to actually purchase a horse.

I hired a private coach.

Wont that do for ye now, milord? the man replied, scratching the top of his balding head. Good God.

In all honesty, Arthur had rather enjoyed Edinburgh and certainly the journey to Glasgow and up the River Clyde. One particular ship builder was ecstatic when, after showing Arthur about his shipyard and onto a new clipper, Arthur had arranged to purchase one for the Christian Brothers fleet. So ecstatic that he threw a fete in Arthurs honor that entailed excellent lobster, Spanish wine, and a pretty wench who was happy to warm Arthurs bed that night. Ah yes, he had rather enjoyed the River Clyde. But not Perth. He slapped his gloves against his palm again and glowered at the stable entrance. What could possibly be taking the man so long? This entire ordeal just confirmed that he was quite mad for continuing on to Dundee on horseback. But when he had returned from his review of the new Scottish clippers, a letter from that funny little Regis had been waiting for him at the Sherbrooke, requesting a meeting in Dundee to discuss the final disposition of Phillips landin three weeks precisely four longer than previously set. That did not set well with Arthur. He was quite certain he had told the hapless solicitor that he fully intended to be on board a ship bound for England by then.

Frustrated and restless, Arthur had gone on to Perth, where he had arranged to meet Mr. Abernathy of the Bank of Scotland, and thereby save him the unnecessary journey to Dundee. It did not help his disposition to learn that Mr. Abernathy had been called away to Inverness and was not expected in the area for some time. When he had asked exactly how long that might be, the bankers assistant had

responded with the very definitive and very helpful, Couldna rightly say, milord.

Faced with a wait of an indeterminate amount of time, Arthur had then made the uncomfortable discovery that there was absolutely nothing for him to do in Perth and found himself hopelessly bored. A few jaunts beyond the town proper had revealed a glimpse of a beautiful wet and green wilderness, steeped in history, replete with an occasional castle ruin and Celtic cross. Arthur was curious enough to want to see more of it. So curious that he came up with the notion of having a look at Phillips land for himself while he waited.

He inquired with a clerk at the less than serviceable Kinrossie Inn where he had taken up residence. The lad had told him that the glens were just beyond Pitlochry, which was actually rather close by, and had sketched a map of the general area, suggesting that the distance was nothing more than a leisurely ride of a day or two. In Dunkeld, he could inquire as to the exact location of the land if he ever reached Dunkeld, that was.

Confound it all, you stupid nag!

The shout came from just inside the stables. Arthur lifted his gaze and watched the stable master emerge, fighting a mare into the paddock. Ah, just bloody grandhe had paid a premium for a green horse. With a weary sigh, he donned his leather gloves and strolled into the paddock. As he neared the man and horse, he could see that the bit was fastened too tightly, and immediately reached to loosen it. The mare jerked her head at his touch, but Arthur stroked her nose and cooed softly as he loosened the leather straps.

The horse calmed considerably; the stable masters eyes widened with surprise.

Idiot.

Oh, shes broke, he hastily assured Arthur when he saw his dubious expression. A wee bit ornery she is, thats all.

Yes, he could see she had been brokennot five minutes ago, hed wager. My bags, he said, and nodded imperiously toward the edge of the paddock where he had left two large, soft leather bags. The swindler flushed; he awkwardly thrust the reins at Arthur and retrieved the bags, dropping one into the dirt rather carelessly when he returned so that he could jerk the leather straps tight around the other. When he picked up the bag at his feet and moved to the other side, the mare moved uneasily, snorting loudly as the man once again jerked the straps too tight. He stepped back, rubbed his palms together; Arthur politely handed him the reins, loosened the straps so the horse could breathe, and pausing to adjust his hat, gestured for the reins again.

The horse, however, was not of a mind to be mounted and began to dance impatiently, nickering at Arthur when he put his foot in the stirrup. A smug smile lifted the corner of the mans mouth, but Arthur had faced tougher mounts than this and swung up, immediately reining the horse hard right when she began to buck beneath him, squeezing her with his knees at the same time and signaling that he was in command. After several minutes of snorting and jerking her head about, dipping her shoulders to dislodge him, and kicking her back legs out as if she intended to buck him, the mare finally calmed. Relatively speaking. Arthur glanced down at the stable master. He no longer looked smug, but mildly awed.

I rather think you misrepresented your stock, sir. You gave me a price I would expect for an experienced filly.

W-whats that? Shes broke, I swear it! the man blustered.

Arthur rolled his eyes and nodded toward the paddock gate. He had the mare under control for the moment, and the difference was not enough to haggle over. If you would be so kind, he drawled, and spurred the nervous mare forward, fighting for control with every step.

Once the gate opened, the mare bolted from the paddock, galloping down the rural lane. By the time they had reached the main road going north, Hellion, as Arthur quickly named her, was handling somewhat better but remained skittish. Traffic scared her; if another horse approached, it was all he could do to keep her in check. They struggled for what seemed hours to him, until she was finally trotting smoothly beneath him, resigned to her fate.

The road wound through an increasingly rural countryside, past deep vales and crystal clear streams. As the road grew narrower, the pines grew taller. The region seemed completely deserted, and had it not been for the old woman draped in plaid walking along the road with the aid of a dog just as old as she, Arthur would have believed it so.

By late afternoon, he was beginning to wonder if he hadnt missed a turn. He reined the mare to a stop at a small stream beside an old stone cross marking the location of God knew what, and let Hellion drink her fill as he studied the crude map the hotel clerk had drawn. An X supposedly marked Dunkeld, the village where the clerk had suggested he seek further direction. By Arthurs calculations, the village should have been just about where he was standing. He glanced at the sun, gauging his direction. Head north, the clerk had said, to Kinelaven. Kinelaven was, judging by the map, immediately adjacent to Dunkeld, which looked to be no more than ten miles from Perth.

With a soft groan, Arthur rubbed the nape of his neck. He was fairly certain he was that distance and more from Perth. Then again, perhaps it only felt that far because of all the trouble with Hellion. He led the mare back onto the road to continue north, deciding that if he hadnt reached a landmark in another hour, he would turn back.

After another hour, having passed nothing more than the stone foundation of what once had been a keep, he was irritably despising of the whole of Scotland, and in particular, Perthshire, when he reached a large V in the road. There was no Y on his map, nothing but an X for Dunkeld and another for Kinelaven. Oh yes, and a very helpful arrow pointing north, as if he hadnt already ridden across the bloody continent because of that goddamned arrow. He jerked his head to the right, glaring at the road leading north.

All right. There was no point denying it. He was plainly lost.

Hopelessly so it seemed, as there had been absolutely no evidence of civilization with the exception of the woman in plaid, and that had been two hours past. What, had he ridden into the wilds? Uncharted territory? Encroached upon the bloody moon, perhaps?

Hellion began to graze on a patch of long blade grass as Arthur pondered his predicament. He turned to view the route curving to the north, and

What? Something lying on the edge of the road. A satchel?

Arthur leaned to one side and cocked his head to assess it. It was indeed a satchel, red and leather-trimmed, and seemingly stuffed full. The discovery elated him where there was a satchel, there was surely a body, one that could speak and tell him where in Gods name he had gone wrong. Arthur quickly dismounted and began to tug Hellion forward, but the horse resisted, far more interested in the grass than the satchel. Sighing loudly for the horses benefit, Arthur carelessly tossed her reins over a