The Scot and I (14 page)

As she grew up, her brother and Dugald were the only people she had been close to. She supposed, in some ways, she’d been a lonely child, especially after Bruce went away to school, but she’d never thought that she was unhappy. There were always the summer holidays to look forward to when Bruce came home from school.

It was Juliet’s questions that had brought everything back to her. Her grandparents’ house was on Deeside, and when her father was too busy to take care of a young girl, she’d stayed with her mother’s people. It was Dugald who had consoled her when her mother died. She was sure her grandparents loved her but, like most Scots, they were ill at ease with displays of raw emotion. Then they were gone, and Bruce was gone, and there was only Dugald.

As time went by, her father became more like a stranger to her.

She suppressed a shiver. Her grandparents’ house now belonged to her. She wondered if she would ever see it again. When she felt her eyes begin to tear, she gave herself a mental shake. She didn’t have time to be sorry for herself. She should be thinking of escape.

The first chance she got, she would take to the hills. But first, she had to talk to Dugald and come up with a new plan. She needed her boy’s clothes back. A boy traveling through the Highlands wouldn’t attract notice. A well-dressed lady would stand out like a beached whale. Aside from that, she wanted her brooch. It was all she had left of her mother, and she wasn’t going to leave without it. She’d stuffed it into her coat pocket the moment before Hepburn had lifted her bodily into the boat on their wild ride to Ballater.

According to Juliet, the telegraph lines were down, and the trains were not running. That could work in her favor. Dugald knew the area far better than her father did. It wouldn’t take her father long to work out that she was the one who had aborted their plan to assassinate the queen. In her father’s eyes,
she
would be the traitor, and he would try to track her down. He might succeed, but he wouldn’t harm her, not because he loved her but because she had something that could bring them all to ruin.

She swallowed hard. No, her father would not harm her. He wasn’t a bad man but someone who had been led astray. And in his turn, he’d led others astray. Her own brother for one. Others were students whom he’d come into contact with at the university. She had never really believed that he would go through with the plot to assassinate the queen. Where would it all end?

She closed her eyes as frustration began to build in her. Life was nothing but a game of chance. If her mother had not died, her father would not have filled his empty hours by becoming involved with a group of fanatics. Her brother might still be alive, and her family could well be spending those lyrical summer months on Deeside.

She couldn’t go back. She had to go forward. On that grim thought, she pushed into the bathroom. She didn’t waste time in bathing, except to splash cold water on her hands and face. The soaking she had taken the night before was more water than her sensitive skin could cope with right now. She heard her bedroom door open. Juliet had come to fix her hands.

Ten

When she entered her bedroom, she came to a sudden halt. The Hepburn was there, sitting on a chair he had pulled close to the bed. There was a bowl of steaming water on a tray and other objects she glimpsed in passing.

“Don’t you ever knock, Mr. Hepburn?”

His brows rose. “Did someone put a burr under your saddle? Or are you always this bad tempered when you wake up?”

She didn’t glare, but she wanted to.

“My name is Alex,” he said. “If you keep calling me Mr. Hepburn, the Cardnos are going to wonder what is going on.”

“Where is Juliet? She said that she would doctor my hands.”

“Her mother burned the porridge we were to have for breakfast, so Juliet is making a fresh pot. She asked me to look at your hands, and that’s what I shall do.”

She hid her hands in the folds of her robe, and to distract him, she raised a point that had been bothering her. “What exactly did you tell Juliet to explain my presence here? She was very vague, and I didn’t want to encourage her until I’d spoken to you.”

His eyes turned several shades lighter, and his lips twitched. “I told her, in the strictest confidence, that you were one of my own handpicked agents and that I was forced to take you with me for your own protection. Dugald is our guide.”

Laughter bubbled up, slowly at first, then helplessly, until her shoulders shook with the force of it. Shaking her head, she said, “I’m surprised you could keep a straight face when you told her that whisker.”

Smiling, he replied, “It wasn’t easy, but it will serve. She knows that your work is secret, and she is not to bombard you with questions.”

“If you think that, you don’t know Juliet. Curiosity is her middle name.”

“I was thinking of you. Every time she asks a question, all you need say is that you’re sworn to secrecy. All that aside, we need another cover to explain our presence to the locals. The story we are putting about is that you and Gavin are cousins, come for a visit, and were caught in the storm. To be on the safe side, I’ve changed your surname to Robson. I’m not expecting trouble. I doubt if anyone in Ballater will remember me, but they’ll know Gavin. He comes here to fish every year. Try to remember you are now Mary Robson, and if anyone comes calling, make yourself scarce.” He paused then went on, “You wouldn’t care to tell me your real name, would you? I mean your last name. Last night, Dugald let slip that your Christian name is Mahri.”

She gave him a direct and steady stare but remained silent.

He sighed. “I thought not.”

“What about you?” she asked. “Are you one of the cousins?”

“No, Dugald and I are going to be the hired hands, and hired hands don’t have names. Now get into that bed and show me your hands.”

She got into bed and grudgingly allowed him to examine her hands. He stared at them for so long, she began to feel horribly self-conscious. She knew that they looked like a laborer’s hands. Her nails were ragged, and some of the blisters had begun to crack. She couldn’t help thinking of the divine Ariel. She imagined Ariel had beautiful long-fingered hands with delicately colored nails.

She wanted to hide her hands under the covers and was ashamed of the impulse. Let him think what he wanted.

He spoke in a gentle voice. “You weren’t wearing gloves last night?”

“I took them off when I discovered I’d lost my cairngorm.” At his look of puzzlement, she elaborated, “Before we got in the boat. I discovered I’d lost my brooch and took off my gloves to feel for it on the ground.”

“That was why you almost got us all drowned?” His voice was rising with each word. “Because you lost your brooch?”

She made a derisory sound. “We didn’t drown, did we? And that brooch means a great deal to me. It was my mother’s.”

He was staring at her hands, so she couldn’t see what he was thinking or feeling. “Where is the brooch now?”

“It must be in my coat pocket. I mean, Thomas’s coat pocket. I suppose Dugald took my clothes away to dry them.”

Before she knew what he was about, he had emptied a tot glass of a pungent liquid over one of her hands. She didn’t cry out, but tears welled in her eyes.

“Antiseptic,” he said shortly. Almost on the same breath, he said, “What about the dirk I took away from you? Does it mean a great deal to you, too?”

“Dirk?”

“The blade you kept in your boot.”

“No. It means nothing at all.”

He looked up with an arrested expression then quickly looked away. She didn’t know what to make of that look.

He started on the other hand. “Juliet tells me that when you were a child, you and your family used to spend the summers on Deeside?”

She knew it! He might be on the run, but that could change in the blink of an eye, then they would no longer be allies. He was still a secret service agent, still trying to pry her secrets out of her.

“That was a long time ago,” she answered shortly.

She was prepared for the next dousing of antiseptic on her hand and did no more than grit her teeth. He used the tweezers to pull out the splinters one by one. It hurt, but she was too proud to show it.

Without looking up, he said, “And your mother died when you were how old?”

“I was seven.”

“And your brother?”

She tugged her hands free. “I’m disappointed in Juliet. I thought she would be more discreet than run to you with my life story.”

He answered mildly, “Let’s not get carried away. You told her very little.”

“And I’ll tell her less in future.”

“I’d be happy to answer any questions you put to me.”

Ariel’s name flashed into her mind, and she quickly crushed it. “Fine,” she snapped. “Where is Dugald?”

He sighed. “He’s backtracking to Balmoral, doing a little reconnoitering for me. He should be back tomorrow.”

She wasn’t disappointed; she was appalled. She wanted to be up and doing. She wanted to slip away before her father picked up her trail. She couldn’t go without Dugald. He was her guide.

“Reconnoitering? What does that mean?”

Her thoughts scattered when he doused first one hand in the basin of warm water, then the other, and finally dried them off with a white fluffy towel.

“The worst is over,” he said.

Holding one hand steady in his, he dipped his fingers into a jar of ointment and massaged the salve into her palm. She was mesmerized by the way his thumb caressed the pain away. When he started on the other hand, her eyes began to close. Suddenly coming to herself, she jerked away. He looked as shocked as she felt.

It was all an act. She must never forget who and what he was. A secret service agent didn’t care what methods he used to get the information he wanted.

He recovered more quickly than she. “Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.”

Scowling, she said, “You were telling me what you’ve done with Dugald.”

“He volunteered. We have to know where we stand, and he can move about more freely than I can. Until we know what Foster is up to, we are staying right here, so don’t get any ideas about slipping away on your own.”

“And if Dugald tells us it’s safe to leave, what then?” He got up and set the tray on a small table beside the window. “Then we leave,” he said.

“We go our separate ways?”

He turned to look at her. “I didn’t say that. Listen, Mahri. We’re not enemies. You proved that by coming back for me when I was incarcerated in that dungeon.” He came to stand over her. “Why did you come back for me?”

She gave a careless shrug. “I knew you could not possibly have murdered Mr. Dickens. You’re simply not that kind of man. And you wouldn’t have been captured if I hadn’t left you at the alehouse.” She shrugged again. “I felt responsible.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her cheek with the pads of his fingers. She should have pulled away, but she had never felt more like laying her head on his broad chest and pouring out all her woes.

He said softly, “I wish you’d tell me what trouble you’re in. Perhaps I can help you. I won’t always be running from the law. You helped me. I’d like to return the favor.”

The moment of insanity passed. She had to remind herself that they were still on opposite sides. “I’ve already told you. I’m not going to repeat myself.”

“Ah. You mean that you broke your engagement to Ramsey, and he threatened to do something heinous to make you sorry?”

“I told you, he’s mad. He’s not going to give me up.”

He gazed at her thoughtfully. “There’s no need to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you. Trust me.”

He was confusing her with so much kindness. She was deathly afraid, not only for herself but also for what she’d set in motion. But he was the last man she could confide in. He was too good at his job. She shouldn’t have worried about him, shouldn’t have rescued him. It wasn’t necessary. He would have rescued himself.

She was bracing herself for the moment when he would ask her about the letter she’d sent to Mr. Dickens, the letter that warned him that Demos was planning to kill the queen. What a fool she’d been to think that they would cancel the reception! She’d improvised with her story of Ramsey making her sorry that she had jilted him. But Alex Hepburn was no fool. If he hadn’t already done so, he would soon put two and two together. He’d realize that she had written the letter and that only a member of Demos could know so much, then he’d never let her go.

It was imperative that she keep a cool head and nerves like steel.

“I’m hungry,” she said, “so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get dressed and go downstairs.”

His lips flattened. “You mean you want to do your own reconnoitering? Don’t get any ideas, Mahri. I promised Dugald that you would be here when he got back, and I’m a man of my word.” He stood up. “Juliet said you should wear white cotton gloves to protect your hands. You’ll find them in the top drawer of her dresser.”