The Heart Queen (8 page)

He was a thin man who looked gloomily over the world. He rarely smiled. And he always muttered as he went about his duties. Now he met Neil at the door, his nose wriggling with indignation. “There be a lad to see ye. He says he has a letter for ye, but he willna leave it with me.”

He nodded. “Jamie told me.”

Torquil snorted and any other time, Neil would have smiled. He knew how protective Torquil was of his position in the household. And of Neil himself. In truth, Torquil had a kind heart and siphoned off food to give to those who needed it. Then he roared about missing food. Everyone pretended they did not know of Torquil’s small kindnesses. It was a gentle game to let Torquil believe he
was truly feared and regarded as a crotchety guardian of his master’s interests.

“It is all right,” Neil said. “Where is he?”

Torquil glowered. “He’s been sleeping in the great hall. He came not long after ye left. I dinna know what to do with the ruffian,” Torquil said.

“You did right,” Neil said. “Is he there now?”

“Aye. He did work some in the stable this morning,” Torquil said grudgingly. “Said he wanted to earn his keep.”

Neil kept a smile to himself. A gleam of approval glinted in Torquil’s eyes despite his disparaging “ruffian.”

Neil merely nodded and went into the great hall. A lad was at the great table, eating a plate full of stew. At the sound of boots, he raised his head, then scurried to his feet. “Ye are the Marquis of Braemoor?”

“Aye. You have a message for me?”

The lad, no more than sixteen, reached inside a torn, worn wool shirt and took out a sealed letter. “From the vicar in Concarnie,” he said.

He’d expressed the thought earlier that Concarnie was near Janet. Neil took the envelope, tore the seal opened and glanced to the bottom of the letter.
Janet Campbell
. Not “Countess of Lochaene.”

“Go back to your meal,” he told the lad.

He went out the door, past Torquil’s inquisitive face and up the stairs to his own chamber. He wanted to read the letter in private, even as he wondered why Janet had chosen this means to send it. Why not a messenger direct from Lochaene?

He remembered her face, pale and thin. Her eyes, which he’d remembered as soft and full of wonder, had been cautious, wary. The softness was there only when she spoke of the children.

He reached his room, poured himself a drink of brandy from the bottle he always kept there, then sat down at the table. He fingered the parchment for a moment before starting to read. He could almost feel her reluctance in the first sentence, and it sent streaks of pain through his heart.

You said if I ever needed a friend . . .

I do fear that I need help. I am asking for it not for myself hut for four innocent children. I will understand if you consider it not your business. But mayhap a simple word from you to Lord Cumberland may help safeguard the future of my son
and his sisters.

His stomach tightened as he read on. He sensed how desperate she must have been to send the letter. Damn the Campbells of Lochaene. Damn their souls to hell.

“Torquil,” he roared.

Torquil, who’d obviously been hovering nearby, appeared at the door.

“I am leaving again. I will stop by Jock’s cottage, then be gone at least four days, mayhap more.”

“Ye will eat first,” Torquil said. “I have already set a place for ye.”

In the dining room, no doubt. Neil had never felt comfortable supping there. In fact, he had never been included at the table when the old marquis had ruled. He always took his meals with the clansmen in the great hall. It had suited him well enough.

But now—mostly to pacify Torquil—he took his meals in lonely splendor in the family dining room. A misnomer if there ever was one, he thought. The old marquis, now dead nearly two years, had hated his second wife—Rory’s mother—nearly as much as she had hated him. She had, in truth, hated her husband enough to tell him that Rory was not his son.

Even now, Neil recalled the shouts and screams, the brutality. God, he had hated it. Sometimes he felt the room still echoed with those bitter voices, the raw accusations.

“My lord?” Torquil asked again. “Your supper?”

“Aye,” Neil said, knowing the man would nag him until he did. He went into the dining room where a place was set at the end of a very long table.

Torquil gave what was for him a smile and hurried from the room. Neil sighed and poured himself a glass of wine. He did not like the delay, but Torquil was right that he needed to eat. Torquil was, in truth, usually right.

He had found Torquil months ago when, on an odd whim, he went back to his mother’s family home some seventy miles away. Even as a lad, he had remembered the desolate falling down wreck of a home on the edge of the sea. His mother was an only child, and she had died in madness.

When her father died, there was not enough left of the estate to save. The land reverted to the crown for taxes. But no one had wanted the damnable thing. The castle had been a drafty, mean place and the land too poor to grow or graze anything. Locals said it was even haunted and they kept away from it.

It was probably the castle that had driven his mother mad, he’d thought when he’d visited there. He had wandered up steps to the tower where she had lived until one day she threw herself out a window, or so they said. That had been more than twenty years ago. Her father died six months later with no more issue, and word passed that the castle was haunted. No one had lived there since.

He had wandered through the wreckage, trying to remember. But all he could recall was his silent mother sitting in a chair, rocking. He remembered being told he was fortunate that a kinsman would take him in as a companion for his own son.

He recalled riding away. He had turned back and seen his mother’s face in the window. That was the sum total of his memories of this place.

As he was about to leave this second time, Torquil had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He had once served the family as a groom, he said. He was nearly sixty, thin to the point of emaciation and dressed in little more than rags. The clothing was clean, though, and his lined face clean shaven. He said he was the caretaker, and he was allowed to live in the stables in exchange for looking after the property. He had been doing just that for the past two decades. Probably, he added honestly, everyone had forgotten about the estate. And him.

Neil had taken an instant liking to the man who looked as if he had not had a decent meal in as long as he’d cared for the property. It was unusual for Neil to accept someone so readily, yet he had found himself asking if Torquil would like to come to Braemoor.

And so Torquil had gone with him to Braemoor. He kept entirely to himself, but was as reliable as the sun appearing in the sky each day. He had started as a coachman but soon moved into the house when the former butler had become ill. He soon became indispensable, but never said anything of his past life or even memories of the last family he served. When Neil asked about the past, he mumbled that it was too many years ago, that time had jumbled his mind....

Torquil appeared with his meal. “I will prepare some clothes for ye,” Torquil said. “What will ye need?”

Neil paused. He would go to Edinburgh first. His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland, was there, currently in residence at
Holyrood house. He would make it clear that the countess was under his protection, then he would pay a visit to Lochaene.

“I am going to try to see Cumberland,” he said.

“Your best clothes, then?”

Neil nodded. He had purchased some clothing after inheriting Braemoor, knowing that on occasion he would need it. But he still didn’t feel comfortable in the silks and satin. He far preferred the outlawed kilt. Still, he had a pair of dark blue satin breeches and a light blue doublet, and dark waistcoat. It was fine enough material for Cumberland’s presence.

As soon as he finished eating quickly, he shaved as Torquil prepared his better clothes for travel, then pulled on his riding clothes: plain buckskin breeches, plain woolen shirt and jacket. ‘Twas somber wear, especially with the boots he preferred, but it suited his taste.

Within the hour, he went to the stable where Jamie had already saddled two horses, one for the young lad and the other for himself. They mounted and trotted out of the courtyard.

He hated taking time to stop at Jock’s but the man knew he had gone to inspect the new lands. Trust was still a fragile thing for both of them, and he could not disappear for days, perhaps a week, without an explanation.

Jock was not at his cottage, and Neil took another two hours to find him. When he did, Neil tossed Jock a leather purse full of coins and told him to get what was needed to build the cottages on the new property. He drew a map, indicating where he believed the best locations were.

“Should I no‘ wait for yer return?”

“Nay, I donna know how long I will be gone, and we made promises.”

Jock just looked puzzled.

“Someone I... know might be in trouble.”

A small smile tugged at Jock’s mouth. “You be taking care of ‘em, then. I will see to things here.”

“I know you will,” Neil said. And he meant it.

Cumberland eyed Neil with haughty amusement. “I see you have none of your cousin’s taste in clothing.”

Neil had stopped at an inn to change clothes before requesting an audience with Cumberland. Internally, though, he squirmed with discomfort. His personal contacts with Cumberland had been minimal. Rory had manipulated him, but Neil had none of Rory’s talents for subterfuge. He only knew how to state his case bluntly and he felt much like a ruffian in the princely surroundings that was Holyroodhouse. The thought was too close to reality for comfort.

“Nay, my lord,” he said simply.

“You asked to see me?” Cumberland said impatiently.

“Aye, Your Grace. I am here on behalf of the Countess of Lochaene.”

“Ah, the newly bereaved widow,” Cumberland said. “And what is your connection with her?”

“My uncle and her father were friends.”

“Her father was a Jacobite,” Cumberland said coldly.

“And my uncle and I fought beside you,” Neil reminded him. He knew he was stepping on shaky ground but he steeled himself for whatever was coming.

“You have never married,” Cumberland said thoughtfully.

Neil went still. He had not known what Cumberland was going to say, or do, when he’d approached his adjutant for an audience. Now he wondered what to say. If Cumberland knew about the madness in his family, would he continue to support Neil’s claim of Braemoor?

“I’ve been in no position to marry,” Neil said. “I had nothing to offer until my cousin died.” He hesitated, then added, “In your service.”

“There are whispers that she might have murdered her husband.”

“There are often whispers, but I know the countess. ‘Tis a ridiculous accusation.”

“A woman cannot run an estate.”

“Then appoint me her guardian.”

“You are busy at Braemoor,” Cumberland said. “Reginald Campbell is willing to take responsibility.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but I think his ability ... and reliability ... is in some question.”

From his facial expression, Cumberland had caught his meaning. Reginald Campbell had avoided the king’s service. “His family has always been loyal to the crown.”

Neil wished again he had Rory’s ability with words. He tried to use the one argument he thought would appeal to Cumberland. “I believe, Your Grace, I could produce more taxes for you than the Honorable Reginald Campbell.”

Cumberland’s eyes were like ice. “If you are so interested in her welfare,” Cumberland said, “you could think about marrying her.”

“Her husband has been dead only these past weeks. She is still in mourning.”

Cumberland’s eyes narrowed. “I told Campbell I would consider his request.”

Neil had made it his business to know about the Alasdair Campbell’s family. Janet’s husband had declared for King George but Neil did not remember seeing him at Culloden. His brother, Reginald, had been in England.

His stomach tied into a knot. His heart beat faster. He knew that Janet would be furious about what he was about to do, but he needed to buy her time. “I do have an interest in the widow,” he said. “I was planning to wait a proper amount of time.”

Cumberland regarded him with steely eyes. “How is Braemoor faring these days?”

“Very well, Your Grace.”

“No problem with the tenants?”

“Nay.”

“I must say I miss your cousin, even if he was a popinjay. He always brought me fine brandy.”

“I will endeavor to do the same.”

Cumberland allowed a small smile, then returned to the subject at hand. “I will appoint you temporary guardian for the young earl and will allow you a short time to court the new widow, Braemoor. But you will be responsible for seeing that Lochaene pays its share of taxes. The army needs money.”

“Aye, my lord.”

Neil bowed his way out of Cumberland’s chamber.

Once outside, he tried to relax. He was not sure what he had done. He had provided Janet with some time, but he knew she would not be pleased with the conditions attached. She most certainly would not happily view him as a prospective husband.

Nor could he even consider marrying her. He would not be able to keep away from her. He knew that. And nothing had changed since that day he’d learned about his past, about his family.

But he’d bought her time, time to find another champion.

In the meantime, she would have to accept his protection. He did not think that would be easy for her to swallow.

He heard a snort of laughter and was surprised to realize it was his own. It had no humor in it, though. He’d just spun a web that might well trap them both.

Janet gazed out of her chamber window. She’d had no more success in prying the books away from Reginald than on her last attempt.

She had ridden to see the solicitor but he had given her no help. He, too, had insisted that a woman had no head for business or management. It was “unfortunate” that after her son’s birth her husband had not made provisions for a guardianship. Her brother-in-law was assuming that role, and she should be grateful.