The Heart Queen (35 page)

Impossible.

He was on his way back to Braemoor.

And he would lie again to the only person he had ever loved.

Braemoor was dark when Neil returned. It was past midnight. Even the stables were closed. He dismounted and opened the doors. The noise was slight. He found an oil lamp and tinderbox. After several attempts, he lit the lamp and led the horse inside.

The animal was exhausted. Neil took his time in rubbing him down, cooling him even though he hungered for his own bed. He could call Kevin, but he did not want to do that. The lad deserved his sleep.

He finally felt his mount was cool enough to water and feed. After he completed that chore, he quenched the light and left. He would go to the cottage at first light, before the rest of the household was up. If he found nothing there, he would turn to Rory’s old apartment.

He strode to the tower house and opened it. Even Torquil was apparently abed, but then he’d had no idea that Neil would return tonight. He went into the great hall where a fire was always kept ablaze. He lit the lamp, then made his way into his office.

It was a comforting room for him. It contained a desk, his ledgers arranged in a neat pile, and books on agriculture lining the bookshelves. He sat down and looked over the ledger for the months when his cousin was lord. Rory always passed the bills to Neil to pay until Rory’s wife assumed that role. There was a period of time, then, when he was not sure what payments were made and to whom they were made.

He went through the month when he did not pay those bills. He had looked at them after Bethia and Rory had disappeared, but he’d found nothing amiss. Now he looked again. There was nothing out of the ordinary for a marquis who was known to gamble and spend large amounts of money for clothing.

One draft made him pause. It was not in Bethia’s small writing, but in Rory’s bold hand. A draft for a hundred pounds made out to an Elizabeth Lewis. Neil had noted before that despite Rory’s reputation as a spendthrift and wastrel, he had seldom tapped the Braemoor accounts.

Elizabeth Lewis. Could that be the actress in Edinburgh whose name had been connected to Rory’s?

It was a starting place.

He continued his search but found nothing else. His mind was beginning to dull, in any event. The devil take it, but he was weary. How long had it been since he’d slept in a bed? Four days? Five? The days were starting to blur together.

Neil closed the books, took the lamp, and went upstairs. He paused at Janet’s door. How he wanted to knock and tell her that the brother she thought dead was alive. He could almost see the joy spread over her face.

Was Alexander right? Would she try to rush to his side?

Undoubtedly.

He knew her that well now. So, apparently, did Alexander.

She would want to see him and risk everything to do so.

He’d never had any family he cared about. But he
had
loved. He knew what it meant to lose someone.

Tell her.

He’d sworn to her brother he would not. Not until Alexander was safely away.

Damn Alexander!

But he understood. Alexander had already lost everything. He had committed himself to those children, to getting them away safely. He did not want to compromise their safety, nor that of his sister. He was doing the noble thing.

Or was he?

Neil knew damn little about being noble. He was beginning to find out it could be bloody painful.

He had lifted his hand to knock at her door. Now he let it fall and turned toward his own room.

“His lordship is back,” Torquil said when Janet went down for breakfast.

Pleasure surged through her even though she realized she had not yet had a chance to question Torquil.

“Has he had breakfast yet?”

“Aye, my lady,” Torquil said. “He has already left to go for a ride.”

The pleasure died a quick death. He had not even waited to say good morn to her. She wished for a moment she had not tarried upstairs with her daughters and son as they drank hot chocolate and Colin had smeared his face with jam.

Mayhap she could catch up to him.

It was a bright, beautiful day.

She looked down at her dress. It was sturdy enough to ride in.

She took a sweet from the side table. “I do not think I will have breakfast this morning, Torquil,” she said. “ ‘Tis too fine a day to stay inside.” Before he could register disapproval, she was out the door, hurrying to the stable.

She felt inexplicably happy. Mayhap because she had lost some of her suspicion of the marquis. An enigma, yes. A monster, no. He couldn’t fool an entire household.

Kevin and young Jamie were cleaning out stalls.

“I wish to take the mare,” she said.

“Do ye wish me to go wi‘ ye?” Kevin said.

“Nay. The marquis is back,” she said as if he had indeed consulted her about his return. “So you need not worry about accompanying me.”

Kevin looked none too sure, but he nodded. “I will saddle her.”

As he went for a sidesaddle, she walked past the stalls, finding the gelding that had been missing these past few days. “Where have you been, laddie?”

But he was no more help than anyone at Braemoor had been. She waited impatiently as Kevin finished saddling a mare, then offered his hands to give her a lift up into the saddle.

“Thank you,” she said as she hooked her knee around the saddlebow. Before he could offer another objection, she pressed the mare into a fast trot, then a canter. She knew exactly where she was going. She did not know why or how she knew. There was just something about that cottage in the woods that beckoned to her.

Neil rode out early, hoping to avoid Janet. He was not ready yet to look her in the face and not tell her about Alexander. He was not ready, either, to recall—and possibly repeat— the kiss they had shared, the passion that had flared between them. There was, he admitted sadly, a limit to his self-control.

He needed to get some items from the cottage before traveling to Edinburgh. He would then be gone for several weeks. He would go by Lochaene. He would ensure Janet’s safety, even if he had to evict the current members of the household. Being in such close proximity to Janet was obviously not a workable solution. Particularly when he was keeping information from her.

For someone who liked stability and normalcy, Neil felt everything was spiraling out of control. He no longer had a firm hold on any part of his life. He was risking everything for an outlaw. He could not control himself around Janet. He was ready to risk Campbell ire by tossing out Janet’s Campbell in-laws. He could be sacrificing everything he’d wanted to build here at Braemoor. He was putting all these people, or at least their futures, at risk.

He rode to the loch and watched the sun rise over the rugged hills. Was he waiting for a revelation? He’d never been a religious man. Bloody hell, he’d been the opposite. Man made his own fate, he’d always thought. He was beginning to reconsider that view.

The questions would not go away. Was he doing the right thing in any of this? He could only go by instinct. What if his instincts were wrong?

The biggest question was whether he should tell Janet about Alexander. What if her brother was right? What if she rushed to him, risking her life and that of the children? Or even worse, placed her in an agony of divided loyalties. He knew about that.

But not telling her, not giving her a choice, was taking away her dignity. He knew that, too.

He could try to bring Alexander here. But that would place all his tenants and servants at risk as well as Janet. She would lose everything—children, estates, perhaps freedom—if Cumberland ever discovered she had helped an outlaw.

Damn the man. Neil wished Alexander had never asked for his help. He wished like hell he wasn’t Janet’s brother.

Neil turned away from the loch. He intended to retrieve some items he might need from the cottage. When he had first discovered them, he had thought to destroy them. Something had stopped him then. A premonition, mayhap. Except he did not believe in premonitions.

He turned back to Braemoor. He rode to the path that led to the cottage. He would take the British uniform, the mustache and theatrical paints he had found. He did not know what he might need, but Rory had apparently found them useful. Mayhap he would, too.

He reached the cottage, grateful that no one ever approached it. Part of the reason, he knew, was that many of the tenants had regarded Mary, the past owner, a witch. He opened the door and went inside. A cup, apparently used by Burke, remained on the table.

A faint aroma of flowers seemed to hover in the air. Mary’s herbs, he supposed.

He closed the door and strode over to the hidden place next to the fireplace. He brushed away the dirt, then pulled up the board that covered the cache of clothing and disguises that remained there. He took out the British uniform, then found the box of paints. A wig. A mustache. Eyeglasses. Balls of cotton.

He squatted, putting his weight on the balls of his feet, then piled the items together. He suddenly realized what a poor spy he was. He had nothing to wrap them in. He could hardly strap a British uniform onto a horse. Bloody hell.

He looked around the cottage, and his gaze settled on a dress. He seemed to remember it had been someplace else the last time he had been here. Neil decided it might be wise to lock the door while he was rummaging in contraband. He started for it just as it opened.

Janet stood there. She looked lovely in a dark gray dress. Her eyes seemed even a clearer, darker blue. Her hair was pulled back in a long braid and her face was flushed.

“My lord?”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to move his body in front of his carefully arranged pile.

“That is not much of a greeting,” she said.

“How did you know about the cottage?”

“I found it when I was riding.” But her eyes blinked, and he knew that was not the entire truth. “I asked the servants about it. They said a woman named Mary lived here.”

“Aye,” he said simply.

“You were not gone as long as you said you would be.”

“I plan to leave again this afternoon.”

Her face changed subtly. He would have sworn she was disappointed. The realization both elated and dismayed him.

“I see,” she said.

“How are the children?”

“They love the ponies.”

He found himself smiling. “Good,” he said softly. “I hope they are not unhappy here.”

“They like it here. Torquil has been kind.”

“Torquil?” he said in disbelief.

“He can be very ... sweet.”

“And Kevin? I see you must have twisted him around your very bonny fingers. You
are
alone?”

“You are back, my lord,” she replied. “There is no reason not to allow me to ride alone.”

“And when you found the cottage? Were you alone then?”

Indecision slid over her face. He almost had to grin. She was terrible at being sly.

“Aye,” she said after a moment.

“Poor Kevin,” he said.

“I did not think you intended to keep me prisoner.” Her eyes wandered back to the pile next to the fireplace, and the hole that was still uncovered. “What is that?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” he replied curtly.

Something flickered in her eyes, and he knew he had made a mistake. Janet was no timid woman. She had a spine of steel, and allowed herself to be controlled only because of her concern for her children.

“There is a British uniform there,” she persisted.

He shrugged.

“What would you be doing with a British uniform?”

“It belonged to the former occupants. Mayhap a lover.”

Her eyes did not waver from his. “Then what are you doing with it?”

“I thought I might let a tenant use the cottage,” he said. “I was looking around when I found the hole there.”

Her gaze met his squarely. He knew she knew he was lying. The air heated between them. An expectation clasped them in a silent embrace. He stilled, knowing how close he was to taking her in his arms, to whispering things that must never be said in her ear. He took a step back, trying to break that invisible bond between them.

Her eyes showed that she understood. She looked away, back at the pile, then walked over to it. She stooped and studied the different items. Then she looked back up at him. “A curious assortment.”

“I thought so, too,” he said carelessly. “They might have belonged to my cousin. He often affected different styles.”

“A rather contradictory man,” she said.

“You have been asking questions.”

“Aye.”

“I would think four children would keep you occupied.”

“They do,” she admitted with a smile.

He stood awkwardly, wanting so much to take her in his arms. Wanting to kiss her. Wanting to pull her next to him. Wanting to reassure her. Wanting to bring joy to her eyes by telling her that Alexander lived.

Her eyes searched his, even as her gaze flitted to the uniform for a moment. “Were you planning to take that somewhere?”

“I doubt if its owner is still around,” he said.

“Did the Black Knave disguise himself as a British officer?”

“I have no idea what the Black Knave did,” he said.

“And the woman who lived here? Did you like her?”

“Aye,” he said. “Though I did not know her well.”

“And your cousin? Did you like him?”

“Nay.”

“Why not?”

“I did not think he cared for Braemoor. And its people.”

“But
you
do,” she said. “More than you ever let anyone know.”

“I like success, my lady. And profit.”

They were dueling now, and despite the danger, he felt exhilarated by the exchange. She always made him feel alive.

“Is it not dangerous to have such items as those on the floor?” she asked. “Can they not endanger success? And profit?”

“They are not mine.”

“They are on your property.”

“So they are. I plan to do something about that.”

“You have no plan to use them?”

“Now, Madam, why would I do that?”

She was eyeing him speculatively. There was a gleam in her eyes that he had not seen recently. He liked it. And he feared it.