The Heart Queen (10 page)

Her letter to him had been born in desperation. She’d been truthful when she’d told him she had not expected much. At most, she’d hoped that he would speak to the Duke of Cumberland on her behalf. She certainly had not expected him to suddenly appear at Lochaene.

What did he want?

And what did he mean when he said Reginald had no say in the matter?

She heard a light knock on the door and opened it. Lucy stood there, looking most anxious. “Everyone has been looking fer you, my lady.”

“So I understand,” she replied wryly. “Has no mistress ever gone for a ride before?”

“That new groom ... he said you stole a horse.”

“How can I steal my own horse?” she said. She looked at Lucy. Servants always knew more than anyone realized. “And what happened to Kevin?”

Lucy’s gaze looked away. “He was dismissed, my lady.” She hesitated, then said hurriedly, “Can you do something, my lady? His family depends on those few coins.”

When Lucy looked at her again, Janet saw a sheen of tears in her eyes.

“Well then we will try to do something about it. But first help me change these clothes.”

Lucy ducked her head. “Aye, my lady.” She helped Janet untie the ribbons to her dress, then handed her a dressing robe. Then she went to the hearth and placed more logs in the fire.

“How long has the marquis been here?” Janet asked.

“The marquis?”

“The Marquis of Braemoor.”

“I think he must have just arrived.”

Janet clenched her fist. She could not even imagine how she’d looked as she had ridden in. A nearly drowned rat was a good description. Her hair was wet and matted and steaming down her face, her costume soaked. She told herself that her appearance really did not matter. What
did
matter was his reception. She wished she had been cool and well dressed and well coifed and had swept down to meet him.

He was probably thanking God in heaven that he had not married her.

“My hair,” she said, summoning all her courage. She had to know why he had come, why he had said what he had about Reginald. “Can you do something with my hair? I must go back down.”

“But ye are still shivering.”

“It doesna matter,” she said.

“I will do my best, my lady.”

An hour later, Lucy handed Janet a mirror. Her hair had been tamed into a braid that Lucy then twisted in a circle at the back of her head. A few damp tendrils framed her face, but Janet knew her face looked thin and pale, her dark blue eyes too large and shadowed. She pinched her cheeks, trying to bring some color into them.

Not for him, she told herself. For her son. For the lasses.

Then she put on a plain dark dress devoid of trim which, she knew, made her look even more colorless. But she was still in mourning.

“Thank you,” she told Lucy, then headed up to the nursery. Three blond heads looked toward the door as she walked in. Grace was holding Colin, who gave her a happy baby grin and held out his arms toward her. She went over and picked him up, hugging him close to her.

Annabella came running over to her, her lower lip stuck out. “I worried,” she said.

“Well you donna have to worry any more, sugarplum. I just went for a ride.”

“Uncle Reggie was angry,” Grace said in her own careful way. “He thought we might know where you went.”

Janet hugged Colin closer to her. “He dinna hurt you?”

Grace shook her head but Janet saw the fear in her eyes. She should not have gone. It had been selfish of her, but she had so needed to escape the prison the manor had become. It was probably that, and more, for the children. A place of fear.

She closed her eyes.
Let Braemoor be here to help
.

But at what price? She knew now that everyone wanted something. He would want something, too.

She only hoped it would not be too high a price.

She gave Colin a last hug, then put him back down on the floor with Grace. Then she hugged each of her stepdaughters, one at a time. Annabella came last and planted a wet moist kiss on her cheek.

With that touch of sweetness, she could, she would, do anything that would protect them.

“Stay here,” she said. “Lucy will bring up your supper.”

Grace nodded and Janet’s heart lurched. They had all learned to be little shadows, darting away from any quick movement. Their world as so small, so gray, so full of fear. She had done what she could to protect them, but she had not been able to erase the anxiety that never quite left their eyes.

The Marquis of Braemoor was waiting for her in the withdrawing room, MacKnight told her after she descended the steps. The withdrawal room was off the great room and seldom used by a family that had not liked being together.

She bit her lip, then opened the door.

Neil Forbes was sitting in a chair before a fire, his long legs stretched out in front of him. His dark hair looked as if he’d combed it with his fingers, and though he had changed clothes they looked more as if they should be worn by a merchant than a lord. His shirt was linen but devoid of lace or trim, and he wore simple trousers that were molded against powerful legs. Black boots encased his feet and lower legs.

She stood at the door, aware that he had not yet noticed her presence, which gave her a moment to study him. He should have looked relaxed as he sprawled out in the chair, but he did not. She sensed a coiled restlessness in him, that he was no more comfortable in these surroundings than he had been at Braemoor years ago.

Then, though, she had thought him reserved and quiet, even shy. It had been those qualities that had appealed to her, that and an unexpected gentleness she’d never known in a man before. After Donald’s leering drunkenness at Braemoor, it had been appealing.

And a lie.

He turned, as if sensing her presence, and unwound his tall body and stood. He bowed slightly. “My lady. I did not hear you.”

“Have you come from Braemoor?” she asked.

“Nay, from Edinburgh,” he said.

Her stomach clenched. The last time she had seen him she’d rudely rejected his help, and she’d had to pocket her pride when she’d written the letter. She’d never thought he would reply, particularly in person, and now she had to eat even more pride. She did not know what to say. Finally, she gathered her wits. “You received my letter.”

“Aye,” he said. “I was away from home when the lad arrived. Or I would have been here sooner.”

He
was apologizing.

“I dinna know who... to turn to,” she stammered. “Everyone—”

“You need no‘ explain. I know about your father and brother. I was sorry to hear about them.”

“Why? They were Jacobites.” The bitterness rushed out unheeded. She knew the Braemoor Forbes had fought alongside Cumberland at Culloden.

“They were good men,” he said quietly.

She wanted to believe him, to believe the sincerity she thought she heard beneath the words, but she had believed them once before, and he had wanted only her dowry. How could she believe him now?

Yet he was here, and her body reacted to his presence as it had years earlier. The air was suddenly thick with strong emotion. She felt regret and loss and anger and resentment.

He took a step toward her and raised a hand, caressing her cheek with the back of his fist.

“I had hoped you were still no‘ so bonny.”

“And you, my lord, are still a liar.” ‘Twas a cruel, unwise thrust. But her body was betraying her. So was her heart. She had to do something to force him to step away, or she would throw herself in his arms. And she would never, ever do that again.

He stepped back as a muscle leaped along his tightened jaw. She wondered whether she had just made the biggest mistake of her life in insulting someone she needed so badly. Desperation warred with need, defensiveness with want.

He must have seen the sudden caution in her eyes, because he took a second step back. “I have news,” he said. “I am not sure you will be pleased about it.”

Her heart seemed to stop, then beat harder. “Reginald won his request,” she said flatly, hoping against hope it was not true.

“Nay, but His Grace
has
appointed a guardian.”

Her heart stopped. She did not like the way he said it, as if something worse was coming. She could not imagine anything worse than Reginald gaining legal control, but obviously ... “Who?” she whispered.

He turned away and stared at the fire. His stance was coiled, controlled. She had never known anyone so in control of his emotions, of his every thought. Even ...

“
I
was named guardian of your son,” he said softly.

Janet felt numb for a moment. Stunned. Her stomach roiled. What had she done? She’d exchanged one keeper for another, one thief for another. He had betrayed her once again. How could she have been such a fool? “How could you?” she whispered.

He turned back and his dark eyes met hers. “It was the only way, my lady. I also said I had... an interest in you. Cumberland is not going to let so much land remain under the control of a Jacobite.”

“And I gave you a gift with my letter,” she said bitterly.

“I have no interest in Lochaene,” he said. “None other than to see that it is kept for the rightful heir. I did not mention the letter to His Grace. I merely said my uncle was your father’s friend and would wish me to help.”

“And did he believe that?”

“I doubt it,” he said. “But he wants to insure that the land stays in loyalist hands.”

“
Your
hands.”

“Aye,” he said.

His calm demeanor infuriated her. She wondered why she had ever thought he might help her, why she could trust him.
Desperation
. It had been desperation, plain and simple, and she had delivered herself into his hands. “Your family seems to be uncommonly fortunate in receiving stolen lands,” she said bitterly.

“I have no intention of stealing your lands, or your son’s heritage,” he said. “You trusted me enough to ask for my help. Trust me now.”

“I dinna trust you,” she said bitterly. “I had nowhere else to turn. I had hoped only that you would ask Cumberland to name me legal guardian. No more. Certainly not...” Her voice broke off. She needed to trust someone. But she had trusted him with her heart and he had shattered it. If she could not trust him with the most precious thing she had, how could she trust him with what belonged to her son?

“Janet?”

She winced at the sound of her name on his lips. Too many memories. “I will never trust you again,” she said. “I made that mistake once. I canna do it again.”

His lips tightened, but he did not defend himself. “I will look for someone to help you manage the estate,” he said after a moment’s silence, “but I will make it clear that you make the decisions. By necessity, I will be required to stay here occasionally. Cumberland wants accountings from me, and I donna want any problems with your brother-in-law. I will try no‘ to be in your way.”

“And what do you expect in return?”

He took a step backward as if she’d hit him. Then he smiled, but only one side of his lips turned up in an expression both wry and vulnerable.

Vulnerable as a snake. She had to remember that.

“Have you told Reginald?”

“Aye, he was not happy.”

“He has threatened to press ... charges against me.”

“Not unless he wishes to be cut off altogether,” Neil said, “and he and his family told to leave. I will make that clear.”

She leaned against a wall. He could be ruthless. And she still did not know what he wanted, what he expected. She recalled Neil’s words, that Cumberland thought he had an interest in her. The implication was, of course, marriage.

Not again. She would never marry again. She would never put herself at the mercy of a man. And he had made it clear years ago he had no interest in her.

Except now she may have something he wanted. More land? A wife that met Cumberland’s approval? A mistress?

“I have no choice?”

“Nay,” he said.

She closed her eyes. She had leaped from the pot into the fireplace. How could she have been so foolish? Somehow she should have found a way to outwit Reginald. She did not think she could outwit this man with the cool, cautious eyes, the man she no longer recognized.

“How long do you plan to stay?”

“Until Reginald understands his position and you have the help you will be needing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You mean someone who will report to you.”

He shrugged. “As I rode here, I could see the land has been neglected.”

“Do you propose to help the people who live here or clear the land?” she asked.

“As I said, the decision will be yours.”

“And if I wish to try to run Lochaene myself?”

His eyes appraised her. “Do you think you could?”

“Aye,” she said. “Better than my husband.”

“From what I’ve seen, that would not require much skill,” he said dryly.

She bristled. “I do not remember Braemoor as being much better.”

He regarded her steadily. “I did not realize you noticed.”

“Because my attention was elsewhere?” she said. “You flatter yourself, my lord.”

He leaned against a wall, his legs crossing. “In any event,” he said, “you are right. Braemoor was in need of improvement. I am making changes.”

“Evicting your tenants?”

“Culloden ended the old system,” he said. “Too many lands have been forfeited and changed hands. The old traditional obligations of clanship no longer exist. Not at Braemoor. Not here. Not anywhere in Scotland. ‘Tis better for many to go to the new lands in America.”

“So sayeth a man who owns a good part of Scotland,” she said. “You do not care if they starve in the process.”

“My lands are none of your concern,” he said, his eyes darkening. “You should be worrying about your own.”

“They are not mine. They are my son’s, and I want him to care about the people whose families have lived here for centuries.”

“A noble goal,” he said, “though probably impractical.”

She wanted to hit him. He sounded superior and supercilious. Everything she attributed to his cousin years ago. Had he changed so much? Or did wealth truly corrupt?