The Devil of Clan Sinclair (23 page)

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “Not as long as Elliot is here.”

Their son started to fuss. She stood with him in her arms and began to walk back and forth in front of the window, patting his back as she did so.

She looked comfortable tending him.

“I received two letters from my sister while I was in Australia,” he said. “Pity yours was lost.”

She glanced at him. “It wasn’t lost. I never wrote you.”

“I know.”

“I couldn’t put something like that on paper,” she said. “I couldn’t take a chance someone else might read it.”

“If they had, would the situation be any worse than it is now?” he asked.

She surprised him by smiling. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“You need to leave Drumvagen.”

“I’m not going,” she said, turning and facing him, their son now calm in her arms. “Not without my son.”

The sight of her tears hit him with the force of a blow.

“Alistair is not going anywhere. His home is here.”

“His name is Elliot,” she said.

“I can starve you out. Refuse you food or water.”

“I imagine there are berries to be found, and there’s a river not far away.”

The stone on his heart moved just a little, enough to allow a tendril of humor to enter.

“Who’s stubborn now?”

She frowned at him. He much preferred her smiles.

“If you think living in your cottage these past weeks was a joyful experience, I beg to differ. Your roof leaks and the floor turns to mud. Not to mention you seem to have an abundance of insects on your moor.”

He folded his arms. “I couldn’t take the chance you would bring disease to Drumvagen.”

She surprised him again by nodding. “I understand, Macrath, and I don’t fault you for it. I mention it only to explain that refusing me food and water won’t alter my living conditions appreciably.”

“Enjoy your visit,” he said, turning and walking to the door.

“Can I come again? By way of the front door this time?”

“You won’t be here,” he said, and without waiting to hear her response, left her, closing the door firmly behind him.

Chapter 25

F
or a week, Macrath had not made good his threat. He continued to send them food, water, and more than a few creature comforts, including workmen to repair the thatch roof.

A good thing, as it turned out, because another storm was approaching. Dark gray clouds skidded across the sky like puffs of smoke from a dragon’s nose.

Hannah had taken their soiled clothing to Drumvagen earlier that morning, and Virginia was grateful the maid would not be alone in the cottage when the looming thunderstorm hit.

A Scottish storm was like no other. Rather than a gentle rain, the droplets were hurled from the clouds. Thunder reverberated over the hills, lightning speared from cloud to ground, and winds whipped up waves that crashed onto the shore.

She left the cottage for Drumvagen, anticipating seeing her son.

Elliot was a delight. He smiled, waved, and entertained her with conversations as unintelligible as Brianag’s comments. He tried to eat everything, including her mourning brooch and her hair, when he wasn’t thrusting his fist into his mouth and drooling around it. His gummy grin sparked her smile.

She’d expected the startling blue of his eyes to fade, but they hadn’t. His black hair got curly, something she hadn’t foreseen. His face, though, was a younger version of his father’s, even down to the frown.

Her heart stuttered to look at him.

She’d gone to Drumvagen the day after her entrance from the grotto. Macrath had answered the door. Rather than forbidding her entrance, he’d stepped back, a wordless invitation.

As she passed him, he said, “It wasn’t a path you took down the cliff, Virginia. Don’t come that way again. I don’t want to have to explain to Alistair how his foolish mother fell to her death.”

She stopped and stared at him. “As I would hate to explain to Elliot his idiotic father wouldn’t allow me to enter through the front door.”

The battle was joined.

Now, the rolling clouds were advancing on her, the lightning darting to the ground an impetus to hurry. She picked up her pace. With luck she could reach the house before it started to rain.

On the first day, she only stayed an hour or so. The second, her visit encompassed the whole morning. Over the last week, she’d remained in the nursery the entire day, playing with Elliot and talking to him about various things, even though Mary giggled at her conversations.

“Do you think he understands you, your ladyship?” she’d asked.

“I don’t know, Mary, but it seems natural to speak to him, all the same.”

The only time she grew quiet was when Macrath entered the room, took a chair beside hers, regarding her silently. He unnerved her when he did that. How could anyone remain still as long as he did? At least she had Agatha and Mary to talk to while he was there, as the other women directed their attention only at her, and avoided looking at Macrath. At those times, the topic was always Elliot, how much he’d grown, his recent achievements, or worry that he still didn’t sleep through the night.

When Macrath stood and left, she let out a breath, both grateful and disappointed he was finally gone. With his absence, she could breathe easier. But with his presence, the world seemed more alive somehow.

Their uneasy truce—if it could be called that—was so fragile she didn’t dare approach him about allowing her to return to England with Elliot.

Nor was she going to try to charm him.

Besides, it was dangerous to even look in his direction. His stare was too direct, too mesmerizing. He stripped her of speech with his slow, dawning smile.

Would he come to the nursery today? Would he sit there silently watching everything she did? She told herself it was foolish to anticipate such a thing. Unwise, also, to remember a time when they were friends and lovers rather than whatever they were now. Not enemies, but cautious about each other.

Would he come? Would he sit there smelling of sandalwood and looking so handsome her heart melted? Would he be thinking of other times?

Or would today be the day he banished her from Drumvagen?

M
acrath stood at the window of the suite Virginia had occupied on her last visit to Drumvagen. From there, he could see the road to the cottage.

A few months ago he decided on a motto, one that would be passed down to future generations of Sinclairs. “Good fortune despite adversity.” With any luck, his descendants would continue with the good fortune part, while the adversity faded away.

The source of his greatest adversity was approaching Drumvagen slowly.

Virginia was standing out in the open while a storm was approaching, the wind whipping her hair around her face. Whenever she stopped to remove a tendril of it from her cheek, he wanted to open the window and shout for her to run. Did she think herself exempt from a lightning strike?

Daft woman.

Daft man, to be standing here watching her as he had for the last week.

The knock came softly and he called out, turning when Hannah entered the room.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk with me.”

“It’s not like I had much choice,” she said, frowning.

He bit back his smile. His wife’s maid had never been cowed. Her loyalty to Virginia was admirable but still managed to be annoying.

“Was she very ill?” When Hannah’s eyes narrowed, he added, “I want to know what it was like for her.”

She relaxed her pursed lips long enough to say, “Begging your pardon, sir, but shouldn’t you be asking her ladyship?”

“Yes,” he said. “Under normal situations. This isn’t a normal situation.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

Hannah’s brow furrowed. In a few years she would look as fierce as Brianag.

“Go, then,” he said. “If you can’t help me, then just leave.”

He was turning back to the window when she spoke.

“I think she was ill with worry about Elliot first. Especially when Eudora died.”

He turned to face her. “Eudora?”

“Her sister-in-law. Everyone was frightened after that.”

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

He speared a hand through his hair. “Then why don’t you tell me?”

“Why, sir?”

“Because I need to understand,” he said, answering her when he’d no intention of doing so. “Because I have to understand.”

Just when he thought she was going to remain stubbornly silent, she started to speak. “She was very sick,” Hannah said. “She called for you sometimes, in the worst of it.”

How easily she said the words that went through him like a spear.

“Did she come to Scotland to get herself with child?” he asked, a suspicion that had been niggling at him since he’d entered the nursery to find he was a father.

Hannah moved to sit on the chair beside the window. A cheeky maid, but perhaps more than that. Virginia’s protector. Her guardian when he’d not been there.

“Let me tell you about Enid,” she said. “And the errand she sent the countess on a year ago.”

When she was done, he asked, “Will you be telling her about my questions?”

Hannah looked as if she were considering the matter. Finally, she shook her head.

“It’s none of my business, sir. I’ll not be aiding your cause or taking away from it. The two of you need to find common ground without other people meddling any more than they have.”

He dismissed Hannah finally, turning back to the window to find Virginia was no longer in sight.

If he were wise, he’d pretend she hadn’t come to Drumvagen again. If he were truly astute, he’d avoid her while she was here, or shorten her visits so she didn’t remain as long. Nor would he enter the nursery as long as she was there.

He’d seen Virginia’s many emotions, but had never been as fascinated with her as when she cared for their son. Her soft crooning shouldn’t have enthralled him as it did. Her laughter when Alistair patted her face should not make him want to lean over and kiss her soundly.

What kind of father was jealous of his own son? When she looked at Alistair, softness in her eyes, her lips curving in a smile, he wanted her to look at him like that.

She confused him, interested him, and he thought about her too much. He should have sent her back to London days ago. Why hadn’t he?

Was it because of her tears when she’d held Alistair? Or her stubborn refusal to leave their son?

Or was it because he was still in love with her? If so, he was ten times a fool.

Even though she’d been on her sickbed, she traveled to Scotland.

She’d climbed down a damn cliff to be with their son.

Yes, but she wasn’t above being duplicitous.

And so it went, two people living in his mind, each of them set on a certain viewpoint. One of them told him to dismiss her from Drumvagen as soon as possible. The other urged compassion and empathy.

Neither looked to be winning or losing the war.

Common ground? What was that?

He allowed Virginia to come to Drumvagen. When he heard the sound of her laughter, he smiled. Once, he’d entered the room to find her sitting on the edge of the chair, rocking back and forth, singing softly to their son. Rather than sleeping, Alistair had reached up and pressed his palm against her cheek in wonder.

Macrath had sent for a rocking chair that day.

When her daily visit was done, she returned to the cottage. He pretended she wasn’t there on the moor. Until darkness fell and he came to this window to see if a light was lit in the cottage. He told himself she was far away, so she couldn’t disturb his peace of mind, or what was left of it.

He wondered at her thoughts and what she was doing. Did she find it easy to sleep on the narrow cot? Did she once think of returning to London? Why had he never noticed the core of stubbornness in her?

Would he have done what she did? If he were facing poverty, would he have calculated to get a child to save a fortune?

The question was foolish, because he couldn’t put himself in a woman’s position. But he’d been familiar enough with being poor. As a boy growing up in Edinburgh, he’d known there were weeks when the income from the printing company was barely enough to support them all. He’d seen his father’s worry. He’d known his own, when the support of his sisters and cousin had fallen on his shoulders. He’d been determined, then, to rise above his circumstances. He never again wanted to lay awake at night wondering if he could keep a roof over their heads or how he would be able to feed them all in the coming weeks.

That’s why his threat to Virginia was so empty, because whatever she’d done to him, he wouldn’t inflict on her the sense of desperation he’d felt as a boy.

He’d sold papers on the corner, bartered for the equipment for his first ice machine, drummed up investors who’d all chipped in a little for the promise of a good return. He’d earned a fortune for them, too, enough so they still clamored to be part of the empire he was building.

Virginia hadn’t had the opportunities he’d had, so she’d survived the only way she could.

Had her desperation been the equal of his?

At least he hadn’t lied to other people. He had never taken advantage of anyone. Nor had he treated someone he loved as badly as she had.

That was the thought keeping him awake. Perhaps she didn’t feel anything for him. Perhaps he had simply been a means to an end.

It was plain she loved Alistair.

What did she feel for him?

Poverty didn’t excuse Virginia from keeping the secret concerning their child. He understood the lure of a title, but his son wasn’t the eleventh Earl of Barrett.

Alistair was a Scot, a damn sight better than being an earl.

Things had to change. He couldn’t go on like this. He either had to banish her from Drumvagen or welcome her wholeheartedly.

He left the room to greet Virginia in the nursery, biting back a surge of excitement. Another sign of his idiocy, that he anticipated this moment.

His life would be a great deal less chaotic if he’d never met Virginia Anderson. But would he have felt as truly alive? Would he have learned the full measure of love, how miserable it could make him or how happy?

He needed a resolution, something more than this polite vacuum they were operating in, their emotions cooled to the point of ice.

He wasn’t a machine and neither was she.

Did Virginia realize he didn’t give a damn about what the world said, but he wasn’t giving up his son? If she loved him, she wouldn’t ask it of him. Did she feel anything for him?

If she loved him, he’d fix this situation somehow.

If she didn’t love him, well, he’d kill what he felt for her.

First, however, he’d find out which it was.

London

August, 1870

“Y
ou’ve been ignoring me,” Paul said, opening the door to her sitting room without knocking. “I told your maid, repeatedly, that I needed to speak with you.”

Enid stared down at her clasped hands. “I don’t wish to see anyone,” she said, her voice sounding scratchy and unused. She raised her head and stared at him. “I especially do not wish to see you.”

Despite her words, Paul entered the room, closing the door behind him.