The Heart Queen (13 page)

“Aye,” she said. “The children would not leave them. And this is Clara,” she said. “She is nurse to the children.”

His eyes went to the basket. “ ‘Tis not for us,” Janet said. “ ’Tis for the family I mentioned. They are in need of food.”

It was a challenge again, as if she dared him to refuse to take food to a hungry family. Bloody hell, but her opinion of him was obviously as low as that of a snake’s belly.

He took the basket from Clara and placed it in the front of the cart, then reached for Colin. For a moment, she clutched the bundle closer to her.

“I do not harm children,” he said softly enough that the others could not hear.

Her eyes searched his, then she nodded. She handed Colin to him, then stepped into the cart. She reached down to get her son, her fingers touching his briefly as she took the lad, then she jerked away as if his hands burned her.

Neil dropped his hands, then helped Clara up. She looked surprised as he offered his hand. Flushing all shades of red, she took it as she stepped up into the seat.

Neil looked at the full governess cart. Janet had the reins while Clara held the bairn. One of the lasses had put the kitten in a basket. Another—the middle one who had shied away from him—clutched the puppy as if her life depended on it. None of them looked at him with friendly eyes.

He sighed. It was going to be a long day.

If Braemoor had been displeased at Janet’s tactics, he did not display it. She recalled how angry her husband used to get when she did anything to interfere with his plans, whether she knew she was doing so or not. He’d been particularly angered when she’d placed herself between him and the children by sending them on a false errand or some other such distraction.

Now she was placing the children between herself and Braemoor. And except for some obvious awkwardness on his part toward the lasses, he seemed perfectly amiable toward the situation.

Braemoor mounted a large gray gelding. For the barest of instants, she recalled the ride they had taken together so many years ago. Neil Forbes had been an easy rider, comfortable in the saddle and thoughtful of the animal. They had raced across the low hills before stopping at a loch where he’d kissed her. She’d never felt so free, so joyous, so natural.

And then she discovered it was all a lie.

A lie. Remember, you cannot trust him, no matter how pliable or amiable or accommodating he appears to be. Remember how gentle he had been. And it had been a lie.

No, she did not want to remember that at all.

She forced her gaze away from Neil as Annabella squirmed into the seat between Clara and her.

“I like him,” Annabella said.

Annabella rarely expressed a good opinion about anyone, mayhap because she’d not been around that many people she could like. She
did
like the vicar.

The vicar and Braemoor. More like an angel and the devil.

Why was he being so accommodating?

“Do you?” Annabella tugged on her arm as she posed the question.

Janet looked down at her. The small pixie face gazed up at her with such complete guilelessness and trust that she wanted to say, “Aye.” But the word simply would not come. “We do not know him that well,” she said cautiously.

“He’s big,” Rachel said as if that said it all. Big, to her, was frightening. Her father was big. Her uncle was big. And Braemoor was larger than both.

“That doesna mean anything,” Grace said with big sister knowledge.

Janet was always amazed at Grace. She was a quiet, slender lass who said little but when she did, it was always unexpected. And, usually, some little piece of wisdom popped out.

“You are right,” Janet said. “It doesna mean anything. Deeds are always more important than appearance.” She instinctively flinched at the primness of the statement.

“He does have nice eyes,” Grace ventured.

Janet had thought so once, too. But she was startled that Grace, who had shied away from Braemoor, had noticed.

She had not been looking at his eyes. In truth, she had been trying to avoid them.

She fervently hoped that Braemoor, who was riding ahead of them, had heard none of the conversation, but then he was too far away. All the saints above, she wished her heart would not continue to beat erratically when she looked at him. How could she still feel this way when she knew what he was? When she knew how faithless he was? And how do you warn children to protect their hearts? She did not want them to doubt everyone they met. Nor did she want them to accept everything.

There was such a fine line between hope and heartbreak.

She had given him directions toward the croft she’d visited just a few days earlier. But with the large cart, it was far past noon before they reached the croft. No chickens scratched in the dirt. No pig wallowed in a pen. The croft appeared deserted until they stopped just feet from the door.

The door half opened and a small face peered outside.

Janet watched as the Marquis of Braemoor dismounted. So easily. So fluidly. She closed her eyes. She did not want to admire anything about him. But then he was next to the cart, lifting Samson down, then Annabella who held out her arms to him.

The croft door widened further, and the older man she’d met earlier came out and stood belligerently, hands at his hips. “What do ye want this time? To take more of our food?”

Janet felt the man’s hostility. She understood it. She’d understood it before.

This time Janet took Braemoor’s proffered hand as she climbed down from the cart. He’d taken the riding gloves from his hands, and the heat of his skin seared through her own thin gloves. For a fraction of a second, she felt his protection, even his warmth, and she wanted it. Dear God, how much she wanted it.

But she could not take it. Or believe in it. Or rely on it. She would never rely on anyone but herself. She gathered up her courage and moved away toward the tenant. “We brought you some food.”

“We donna want charity from the mon who is destroyin‘ us.”

“The former earl is dead,” she said. “We will have seed for you this week if you wish to go ahead and start planting. In the meantime, there will be no rents for a year.”

She had not talked to Braemoor about her decision. She had not wanted to give him a chance to gainsay her.

“Angus?” she said. “It is Angus, is it not?”

“Aye,” he said reluctantly, obviously a little mollified that she had remembered his name. His eyes narrowed as his gaze moved to Braemoor beside her. “Who is ‘e?”

“An acquaintance,” Braemoor said stiffly. “I am only providing escort.”

A sudden surge of gratitude flowed through her. He could have said he was now in charge of the entire estate. But she knew the tenants would soon hear the truth of it. “He is the Marquis of Braemoor, my son’s new guardian.”

“Ye are in charge?” Angus asked.

“No,” Braemoor said softly. “This was my lady’s plan, and she will be in charge of Lochaene.”

“A lady? I heard tha‘ the earl’s uncle—”

“You heard wrong,” Braemoor said. “He will have nothing to do with the affairs here. If you need anything, you come to the countess.”

Angus frowned. “A woman no‘ has the .. .” He trailed off.

“Yes?” Braemoor raised an eyebrow as the man paused, obviously wondering whether he was saying too much. “You were about to say?”

Janet watched as Angus dropped his gaze. The door behind him opened and Angus’s wife sidled out and stood shyly, and apprehensively, beside her husband. “Are ye here to tell us to leave?”

“Nay,” Janet said after glancing at Braemoor. “We are here to bring you some food and tell you seed will be here later this week so you can start your planting. ‘Tis not too late, is it?”

Angus regarded her steadily. “Nay. The land is already furrowed. We need only seed for sowing. And the other tenants? Them who is left?”

“The same. We should have enough seed for them all. If not, we will get more. Can you take it to them?”

“Ye would trust me tae do that?”

“Aye,” she said. “And you can tell them they can hunt and fish the property.”

Suspicion crept into his eyes again as they searched for an ulterior motive. The deceased earl had forbade all the tenants from doing either. Poaching was a hanging offense. “For truth?”

“For truth,” she said.

For the first time, a hint of a smile played around his lips.

He looked toward Braemoor for confirmation, and Janet realized that trying to run Lochaene on her own would be more difficult than she thought. Braemoor, though, made no sign whatever. No nod. No denying shake of his head. No smile. No frown. He was allowing her to handle it, to succeed. Or fail.

Which did he want?

She wished she knew. She wished she knew why he had convinced Cumberland to give him guardianship. She wished she knew why he had ridden out last night and bought feed with his own funds. She wished she knew why she felt a ... kinship with him when she should be suspecting his every mood.

Regret? Apology? Men like him did not have regrets or make apologies. She knew that much from living with the Campbells. Even her father, who’d loved her, had never apologized for anything in his life.

He had to have some reason. Some purpose. She was not going to succumb to the attraction that had once enraptured her, which still, for some reason, hovered between them. He cared only for land, for money, for title. He’d said as much years ago.

So she fought the appreciation she felt now, the authority he was so obviously conveying to her.

Angus was shifting on his feet, obviously awkward, uncertain. He’d been discourteous, then incredulous. It was obvious he did not know how to act.

But his wife did. She curtsied. “Thank ye, my lady.”

“You are welcome,” Janet said. “Thank you for sharing what little you had.” She returned to the cart and took the basket of food and returned. “There is flour, bacon, potatoes, several fowl. If you need more flour, just send one of your lads to the manor.”

The woman’s face twitched as if she were trying to hold back tears. She just nodded.

Janet returned to the cart, and climbed back on the seat with the children and snapped the reins. Her presence, she knew, was an embarrassment. In seconds, Braemoor was riding beside her.

“Where now, my lady?”

Just then Colin started to fidget. “There’s a waterfall not far from here,” she said. “We can stop there and rest.” And she could feed Colin. There were some rocks up there where she could have some privacy. She wished now that she had brought an extra basket of food. Braemoor had made it clear he would not leave until he saw everything he wanted to see, and she had only delayed him today.

She wanted him gone as soon as possible.

He still stirred feelings in her, and in those few moments talking to Angus she’d felt a companionship, a bond. They had been attuned to each other in a way she’d not known since those halcyon days she’d tried to wipe from her memory.

He rode next to her, a silent sentinel. She stole a glance at him, but he was looking straight ahead. That moment, or moments, obviously had meant no more to him than those days a lifetime ago.

Pride for her swelled inside him.

She had handled everything very well. All her instincts were good. It had taken him far longer to find that tiny connection between landlord and tenant. Mayhap because for so many years he wasn’t the landlord but merely representing him. He had never been able to promise anything, particularly in the later years when the old marquis was determined to clear the land.

He’d watched Janet, her face so earnest, and his heart had thumped so loudly he was afraid she would hear it. That would have been disastrous. The fact that she cared so much for the tenants warmed him. He had wanted to step in when the crofter had been rude and even a bit threatening. It had taken all his control to remain silent.

But he wanted to give her Lochaene. He wanted to give it to her with all she needed to make it work. That meant loyal people around her. And she had to build that loyalty herself. He couldn’t do it for her. He’d learned that if nothing else in the past year. Once done, he could return to Braemoor and complete what he had started there. And then what?

God’s blood, but the prospect was numbing. Years stretched out in lonely succession. He looked at the cart full of children clutching pets, and he ached. He yearned to hold young Annabella and feel the sweetness of a hug. He wanted Grace to look at him with trust in her eyes, and Rachel, well, he wanted to tell her the stories no one had told him. He’d known that in a
startlingly short time. He detested the way they looked at him with fear, and he’d wondered what their life had been like. And Janet’s.

Bloody hell, he knew. And he was determined to do something about it without hurting them even further. And that meant he could not get too close to them. He could not expose them to potential madness.

He kept just behind the front of the cart, ready to give protection if protection was needed. Hungry, angry tenants could be dangerous. So could Cumberland’s soldiers who still roamed the Highlands.

He tried not to look in her direction, but to study the barren ground. What land was not furrowed was stark, rising up into heather-and gorse-covered hills. Good grazing land. Probably far better than farmland. But grazing land did not support people.

They went by a second croft, but it was deserted. They stopped and he went inside, but it was obvious from the scurrying of small animals that it had not had human habitation for the past several years. He came out. “They are gone.” He shook his head. “The estate books are so poor I could not even tell how many crofters you have. There is no record of tacksmen.”

“There are none,” she said. “Alasdair did not think it was necessary. He had discharged the ones who had been there for years. I think he wanted to force everyone to leave.”

“Those lands that have been abandoned can be used for sheep,” he said.

She looked up from her seat on the cart, her eyes narrowing.

“They are gone, lass. You canna bring them back.”

Her bleak gaze met his. “I donna even know what happened to those on my father’s properties. The property was confiscated. Alasdair had thought it would come to him, but it was given to some Englishman.”