The Heart Queen (17 page)

In a rare moment of whimsy, he dismounted and took the knave and the heart queen from the deck and put the two cards back in his pocket. He held out the rest of the desk, allowing the wind to pick them up and carry them off into the hills.

Then he mounted again. He would ride until he, or the horse, was exhausted. Mayhap then he could sleep.

*

Reginald drank. He tried not to listen to his wife. Or to his mother.

“You should have gone directly to Cumberland,” his mother said.

“How would I know that His Grace would appoint someone outside the family,” he said defensively.

“There is something between those two,” Marjorie said. She had retired with Reginald and Louisa to their rooms to discuss the conversation. “I can see it in their eyes. And why else would someone of the Marquis of Braemoor’s wealth bother with Lochaene?”

“She never left here,” Reginald reminded her. “Alasdair saw to that.”

“Still, there is something very odd about this,” Marjorie persisted.

“He came for Alasdair’s funeral,” Louisa said. “I talked to him then. He just said he came to pay respects.”

Marjorie pondered that for a moment. “I did not know Alasdair knew the man.”

“He just recently inherited,” Reginald said.

His mother raised an eyebrow. “Do you think they were lovers?”

“I donna know, but I will find out.” A sudden thought occurred to him .“Mayhap Colin is his.”

“It would not matter,” his mother said. “My son claimed him.”

“Demmed mon,” Reginald said. “What in the bloody hell does he want? He is not the most conversational of men. And his clothes. They are more suited to a merchant than a lord.”

“He is said to be a bastard,” Marjorie said contemptuously. “You can see the lack of breeding. And we have to cater to him. If only Alasdair—”

“Blast Alasdair,” Reginald said. “He’s all you ever cared about. He is the reason all this is happening. He and his lavish spending.”

“How can you say such things?” Marjorie retorted. “And he just in his grave.”

“It does not change the facts,” Reginald said bitterly. “He left us nothing.”

“How long will he be here?” Louisa asked, obviously seeking to cut through the tension radiating at the table.

Reginald shrugged. “He has not said. He seems to be taking over the property. Apparently he employed a new groom all on his own. As if he were master here.” He heard the resentment in his voice. ‘“He did not even consult with me. He’s even buying seed without giving weight to my opinion of emptying the land. I did not know until supper tonight. The upstart.”

“His cousin—the mon he succeeded—was said to be a gambler and rogue, but he is thought to have killed the Black Knave,” Marjorie said.

“This Braemoor does not look ... formidable,” Marjorie said meanly. “He has no ... presence. He is a bore.”

“Our Janet does not think so,” Louisa said with a snide smile. “She kept looking at him.”

“Mayhap his reward has already been given,” Louisa said slyly.

“My son has been dead less than a month,” Marjorie said in a low pained voice.

“They were alone all day today,” Louisa reminded him.

Reginald’s lips quivered with indignation. “All alone?”

Louisa shrugged. “The children were with them. And that Clara.”

“Hmmm,” Reginald said. “I wonder if His Grace would be interested. ‘Tis disgraceful. Poor Alasdair must be turning over in his grave. I always said he shouldna have married a Jacobite.”

“He did not know her family was Jacobite,” Marjorie defended her late son.

“I will try to find out how long he plans to stay,” Reginald said. “If it is to be a long time, we will plan a ball to introduce him. Then we can find out more about him. He does not provide much information.”

The other two nodded.

“If only it were not for the lad,” Louisa said in a low voice. “Then you would be in line for the succession.”

“Aye, but he is healthy,” Reginald said. “I do not think we can expect anything there.”

“There would be nothing left, either,” Louisa said caustically. “Janet apparently has his ear, and she appears to want to give everything away.”

“Everything that should have been ours,” Reginald added. “And she nothing better than a murderess.”

A silence settled around the table. They had tried to have Alasdair’s death declared a murder but the physician had said he could not be sure. It was not arsenic, he said, because he would recognize the symptoms. But as to any other poisons, there was no way to be sure.

“If only she had been barren,” Louisa said.

“Colin is
my
grandson,” Marjorie said, straightening. “Alasdair’s son.”

Reginald threw a warning glance toward Louisa. “We are only saying that by rights the guardianship should be in
our
family, not be given to a slip of a girl nor some bastard outsider.”

“I canna disagree with that,” Marjorie said. “I do have friends. I will write them and see whether they will intercede with His Grace.”

“We will pray it is not too late,” Louisa said piously. “This... Braemoor could loan money, then call in the debts. We may have nothing left. That, indeed, could be his plan.”

Marjorie nodded. “I will journey to Edinburgh and talk to His Grace myself. He may not even realize that Reginald could manage things here well, and that it is both his duty and right.”

Reginald felt some of the tension fade away. His mother could be quite formidable and persuasive and she was a member of the powerful Campbell family. While they were but distant to the powerful Campbells, the name should mean something. “Perhaps you should also visit our Campbell cousins,” he suggested.

Marjorie nodded. “I will leave tomorrow.”

Reginald nodded his head. Mayhap there was a way out of this catastrophe. Perhaps there was more than one. He had to have money of his own, not just what Janet felt like dispensing. If he could sell some of the land, then mayhap he could invest in some venture that would make him independent. It was the devil’s own punishment to be a second son, a poor relative living on largess. He just did not know what he had done to deserve such.

All had been said. Marjorie would have the new stablelad prepare the phaeton to take her to the dowager’s house on the edge of the property.

After a servant had been sent to the stable to have the phaeton readied, Reginald poured himself a brandy and his wife and Marjorie a glass of sherry. Reginald lifted his glass. “To freedom,” he said.

“To success,” his mother added.

Janet told her daughters a story, then sang a lullaby to Colin and held him close after nursing him.

She should be content. She had the children. She had her own son in her arms. She now had the independence she’d so longed for.

It should be enough.

She couldn’t remove from her mind, though, the image of Braemoor holding her son, the look of tenderness and vulnerability on his face, the stark longing in his eyes. An image she wanted to see?

Why did her skin burn and her insides quiver when he touched her, her heart remember the kiss they had exchanged years ago and long for another? Nothing about him had indicated he returned the interest at all.

What if he were roaming again tonight? What
if he
did not seem to sleep any more than she had since his arrival?

Colin fell asleep and she placed him in the cradle next to her bed. She liked to reach out at night and just touch him, reassure herself he was here and well. Then she went to the window and looked out. A flicker of light shown from the barn. Someone was there.

How late was it?

Past midnight, she thought.

Perhaps she should see what was happening down at the stables. But that, she knew, was only an excuse. She would not go. She had made fool enough of herself these last few days.

Go down.

No.

But she found herself putting on her shawl. She checked Colin. He had already kicked off his covering and she replaced it and leaned down, touching the soft skin of his face with her own. Dear God, how she loved him. And she loved her daughters, each one with all their own lovely qualities. If nothing else, she would make sure they married men they loved.

Janet felt something wet on her cheeks. Her eyes stung. Was there really such a thing as love?

She used the shawl to wipe away the unwanted moisture, then left the room, taking the stairs slowly. She hesitated once more at the door. It was probably the new lad. Tim.

In any event, she needed fresh air. She took the several steps outside. The air was bracing, cold. Then she saw the light go out. A second later, Braemoor emerged from the stable. He stopped when he saw her.

Janet felt as if the world had stopped. She backed up against the door, ready to escape inside, but her legs did not move as he approached her. Why had she come out here?

He wore no jacket against the cold, and his hair was tousled, several wayward strands falling over his forehead. In the moonlight, his face looked shadowed, darkened by afternoon stubble. He looked reckless and even dangerous. He’d never looked that way to her before. As a young man, he had been vulnerable and steady and gentle. In the past week, he’d appeared in many guises. She’d even believed that some of them were treacherous.

But
dangerous
?

For the past several days, he’d merely watched and studied and held his own counsel in a particularly maddening way. He’d given away nothing at all at supper tonight. He had not championed her, nor had he championed the others. He’d just watched.

“My lady?” he said. “It is late.”

“I might say the same to you,” she said. “I saw a light in the stables and thought I should see if all was well.”

“It seems to be,” he said. “I talked to Tim earlier. He found your Kevin, and he is coming back. I’ll be sending several men, too.”

“To spy?”

“Nay, my lady. To help. You may dismiss them anytime you wish. I thought I had made it clear. You may do whatever you like. I only ask that if you have any difficulties that you send me a message.”

“And you will come as you did this time?”

“Aye,” he said simply.

“Why?”

“Call it a whim, my lady. I do not care for your relatives.”

“They are loyal to your Cumberland.”

“A good reason to suspect them.”

She took a step back but was stopped by the wall. “I thought you were close to Cumberland.”

“He had an admiration for my cousin, not particularly for me. I never did understand it. My cousin was, as he liked to say, interested only in his own welfare. He was, as you probably heard, a profligate and womanizer.”

“And you did not approve?”

“No, madam, I did not. I thought Braemoor deserved more.”

An odd statement, and a telling one. Janet took a moment to absorb it. Braemoor deserved it. Not he. Not Neil Forbes, the Marquis of Braemoor. She looked again at him, at the plain clothes, the lack of pretense.

Nothing made sense. If he had been so concerned with her dowry, with inheritances and titles, why did he not wrap himself in their trappings now that he had them?

Silence stretched between them. So did the awareness that she’d sensed earlier today. He was not indifferent to her. So why did he act as if he were? Because she was so recently a widow?

“You have been riding,” she finally said. She had to shatter the intimacy building between them.

“Aye. I needed fresh air after that meal.”

She had to smile. She, too, had needed air. But she’d had three little girls and a wee bairn to look after.

“You cannot be referring to my husband’s family.”

“Of course not. The room was just a bit... stuffy.”

“And the fresh air helped?”

“Aye,” he said simply.

“I would like to ride at night. I have not done it since ...” Her voice faded. She had not done it since that one night at Braemoor she’d met him.

“I hurt you years ago, madam,” he said unexpectedly. “That was not my intention.”

“Is that why you are here now?”

“Guilt? I hardly think so, my lady.”

“You used to call me Janet,” she said.

“That was a long time ago.”

“Centuries,” she agreed. “I learned much during that time. But you still have not told me why you are going to so much trouble.”

“So much trouble?”

“Aye,” she mocked him by using his own simple answer.

“It is no trouble at all. I do not like the Campbells.”

“All Campbells or just this branch?”

“I think all of them would be accurate,” he said judiciously.

“So this is just a game?”

She saw a shadow cross his eyes but then his mouth moved into a wry. cynical smile. “Aye. I have been taught by the best to play.”

Disappointment flooded her. For a second, she’d thought...

“You have a fine son,” he said. “And bonny lasses.”

“They like you.”

He looked surprised at that statement.

“Samson wetting on you helped,” she offered.

He raised an eyebrow and she thought again how ... handsome he looked when he did that. “Definitely not my charms,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow this time. “Charms?”

His lips did crack slightly then, even turned up around the edges. Something shifted inside her. How could she care so much after what had happened, what she knew about him? How could she really trust him again?

She tried to move. “I should go inside.”

He was blocking her. Even if she could move. He was close, too close. A distinctly musky smell enveloped her. The air grew dense. Despite the chill in the night, she felt warm. She wanted to touch him.

Her gaze met his. His eyes were fathomless, still inscrutable. His face was like a statue. Nothing moved now. But then his hand moved and the back of it brushed her cheek.

“My lord?” Her voice was a whisper.

He reacted as if it were a slap in the face.

He stepped back. “I will be leaving after having one last discussion with your brother-in-law,” he said in that cool voice she hated.

“I thought you wanted to see more of Lochaene.” What was she doing? Practically inviting him to linger.
Incomprehensively, she felt a far greater loss than when her husband died. She had grieved for Alasdair as she would for any man, but not for him as a husband. She’d felt no little guilt about that fact, but she could not deny it.