A Highland Duchess (34 page)

Emma started toward the path she’d taken earlier, beginning to descend the hill, paying no attention to the tracery of shadows from the overhanging trees. The silence of the forest was not a fitting backdrop to her tumultuous thoughts.

“Emma,” Ian said from behind her.

Evidently, he’d won the battle on who would row her back to the house. She wanted to ask him if Rebecca was angry that he’d accompanied her. Doing so, however, would be petty.

Instead, she said, “You’re going to tell me it could be anything,” she said. “That it doesn’t have anything to do with Bryce at all.”

“I was,” he said, smiling lightly. “I take it you wouldn’t have listened.”

“What else would be important enough for people to signal you on the island?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Nothing.”

Soon she was at the rocks. Ian untied one of the boats and helped her in, then sat opposite her. Although he was the equal of Broderick in strength, it couldn’t have been easy to row against the lake’s current. Yet there was no sign of exertion on his face, as if he had done this many times before and was accustomed to it.

The look in his eyes, however, was almost as turbulent as the waters beneath them.

“I should have kept you in my room,” he said.

He looked at her, as if he knew quite well that her heart was suddenly racing, the blood heating her skin throughout her body. “You wouldn’t have wed, and we could have been together.”

“For a little while,” she said.

The water lapped against the side of the boat, as if vying for attention.

“Nothing would have changed,” she said. “I would have still been forced to marry Bryce.”

“Not if I had spirited you away to Scotland,” he said. “I’ve a fortune of my own. There is nothing your uncle could have done if I’d married you in Scotland.”

Why was he doing this? Why was he heaping misery onto misery?

She looked directly at him, almost daring herself to tell him the truth.

“If you’d taken me away to Scotland, I would have been horrified.”

Then, perhaps, but not now. She’d learned too much in a matter of weeks, not the least of which was what she felt for him.

They were almost back at Lochlaven and she glanced at the dock in relief.

“It’s too late now, Ian. It’s too late to be a brigand, and too late to wonder what would have happened, and too late to feel regret. It isn’t our time.”

“It’s never too late to feel regret, Emma,” he said, pulling to the dock. “It’s never too late for that. I’ll feel that for the rest of my life.”

“Your Lordship! Your Lordship!” Glenna shouted, running to the end of the dock. “It’s Mr. Bryce.”

“What is it, Glenna?” Ian was calmer than she, if his tone of voice was any indication.

“He’s awake, Your Lordship, and calling for his wife.”

Chapter 29

“W
ill you come with me?” Emma asked, turning to him.

“I think it best if you greet Bryce alone.”

They exchanged a look, one that revealed her reluctance only too easily.

“Send word to me if he’s feeling well enough for visitors,” he said. “I’ll visit him later. There’s something I need to do right now.”

A task he should have performed the moment he returned from London.

If Glenna had not been standing there, he would have bent and placed a kiss on Emma’s forehead and whispered that she was stronger than she knew. Instead, he only smiled at her, watched her walk away with Glenna, then turned and headed for his laboratory.

He’d been groomed to be the Earl of Buchane, as well as the Laird of Trelawny. His heritage had been taught him by a succession of good men, each of them handpicked first by his father, then his mother. He’d been grateful to each and every one of them for the knowledge they’d shared. Albert Carrick, however, was the teacher he’d selected in his adulthood, the man who fed his mind and inspired his enthusiasm.

For years he’d been Albert’s apprentice, fascinated by Albert’s quick and dexterous mind. When he’d first begun to investigate the theory of spontaneous generation, Albert had played devil’s advocate, questioning every one of his hypotheses. If he was considered a man of science, it was because of Albert.

Yet the words he would speak today would probably destroy that strong bond between them.

Albert was hunched over his microscope, his attention on what most people couldn’t see and didn’t know—would never know—existed.

When Ian entered, Albert looked up and grinned. “I think you need to see this last batch of water from the spring,” he said. A moment later his grin slipped. “What is it, Ian? Bryce?”

“He’s awake,” Ian said. “Thanks to you.”

“Then what’s put that frown on your face?”

“I’ve come to ask you to release me from our arrangement,” Ian said abruptly. “I realize you have no obligation to do so, Albert, but I ask because I believe it would be the best for both Rebecca and me.”

“You don’t want to marry my girl, then?” Albert asked.

There were so many ways he could phrase the next words, so many excuses he could give Albert. But the man was the closest he’d ever had to a father since his own had died. Besides, Albert deserved the truth.

“There’s someone else,” he said. “If I cannot stop thinking of her now, when I’m engaged, how will I stop when I marry?”

“And if she’s married?” Albert asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Ian had seen Albert in a temper, and he was capable of destroying a room. Nevertheless, he answered him, again with honesty.

“Then that makes me a fool, doesn’t it?”

“I must tell you, Ian, that I’m disappointed.”

Ian moved to the stool next to Albert and sat. He leaned forward, clasped his hands between his spread knees and nodded. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure about this, Ian?” Albert asked. “Thoughts can change, feelings can be altered. ”

“I’m sure,” Ian said. “I cannot marry one woman when I’m thinking of another.”

Albert nodded.

“Then you’ll tell her? As soon as you can?”

Ian nodded.

“Will this hurt us, Albert?” Ian asked.

Albert slowly straightened his shoulders.

“I would miss you, if you decided not to work with me anymore,” Ian said. “At the same time, I would understand if you chose not to.”

Albert studied him for several moments. “Is that what you want, Ian?”

“I want what’s best for you, old friend. We can always communicate by post. And we’ve had enough experience working separately during those times I travel to London.”

Albert bent his head, his intense gaze fixed not on Ian but the brass microscope in front of him. For the longest time, he didn’t speak.

“She’s my girl, Ian. My only child. I’ll need to take her home.”

“I know you think that I haven’t acted with honorable intent, Albert. If so, then I’m sorry. But I couldn’t be false to Rebecca. I have too much admiration for you, and fondness for her.”

Albert nodded, as if he’d expected Ian’s speech, and paid it as little heed as he did the sight of the lake from the window.

“I’ll finish up this series,” he said, his voice curiously devoid of emotion. “And then I’ll take her home.”

“What about the work, Albert? Our partnership?”

“That I’ll decide as I go,” Albert said. “As I go.”

Albert said nothing further, only retreated to his microscope. A moment later Ian did the same. Sometimes, science was easier than dealing with people.

B
y the time she and Glenna made it to the sickroom, Bryce was half propped up on two pillows, looking not completely well but certainly less ill than he had yesterday.

Emma halted in the doorway and regarded the tableau with surprise.

In the intervening days, Bryce’s beard had grown. Now, a young man was shaving him, having arranged a towel around his neck, and equipped with a wicked-looking straight razor, a cup filled with lather, and a bowl of hot water.

“Good afternoon,” Emma said, entering the sickroom fully. Although it might have been expected to feel shy around the man, they were, after all, married. And had been for nearly two weeks now. Yet in all that time, she’d exchanged less than a few dozen words with Bryce.

He glanced in her direction.

“I understand we’re at Lochlaven,” he said.

His voice came slowly, as if he were unaccustomed to words. Or perhaps it was simply painful for him to speak.

She walked to the end of the bed, clasping her hands in front of her.

Glenna took over for the young man, rinsing the soap from Bryce’s face and then drying it, each of her motions quick and efficient. The woman did everything with an economy of movement, as if she reasoned out each task beforehand, to determine the best way to bathe a patient’s face, or fold a sheet, or even to care for a patient’s more intimate needs.

“You were poisoned, Bryce. Who would wish to do such a thing?”

He looked unsurprised. Had Glenna already told him?

“Dare I think that that is genuine emotion I see on your face, Emma? Were you worried about me?”

Her years of experience in not revealing her emotions served her well. If she’d not crumbled when facing Anthony, she certainly wasn’t going to do so in front of Bryce McNair.

“Yes,” she said. “I should not like to think of anything happening to you. Especially arsenic poisoning. You were very ill.”

He closed his eyes, and the gesture wasn’t that of a man recovering from illness as much as one who was deliberately shutting her out. Still, she didn’t move away from the bed.

“Do you know of anyone who might have done this to you?” she asked softly, uncaring that Glenna was standing so close and could hear every word. “Or why anyone might wish you ill?”

“No,” he said, another rebuff.

She made her way to the chair in the corner and sedately sat.

He opened his eyes and looked over at her. “You’ve given up your widow’s clothing,” he said. “Was that in anticipation of my survival?”

“No,” she said calmly. “It was because you were sick all over my dress, and if you remember, you didn’t care enough to find my trunk in Inverness.”

He only smiled, an expression that prickled the skin at the back of her neck.

Although it wasn’t necessary for her to love her husband, Emma wished she could respect him. So far, however, his actions hinted at a man whose character was lamentably weak.

Yet who was she to criticize others, coveting a man not her husband?

Long after Glenna finished her chore and Bryce had fallen back asleep, Emma sat where she was. It wasn’t her role as wife that kept her in place but the vow she’d made on the island.

I
an stood at the window, staring up at the white nothingness of the moon, as if someone had torn a hole in the fabric of the sky and not yet patched it.

A reiver’s moon, it was called in the old days, when Scottish lairds and their clans rode across the glens to steal cattle from their neighbors. McNairs hadn’t gone reiving for a hundred years or more but he had a sudden yearning to get on a fast horse and ride the hills around Lochlaven.

“Father said you wished to talk with me,” Rebecca said from behind him.

He turned from the window to face her. He’d prepared carefully for this meeting, wearing one of his London suits, his hair carefully combed, his shoes polished to a shine.

Perhaps he simply wished her last memory of him to be a good one.

She took a seat on the sofa, reaching for the tray he’d ordered for this meeting. Rebecca began to pour. Although he didn’t want any tea at the moment, he took the cup and saucer she handed him.

“You’re breaking our engagement, aren’t you?” she said, surprising him. “There’s no other reason for you to look so somber. Either that, or father is ill, and I know that isn’t true, so it must be our marriage.”

“Yes,” he said, grateful to her for making it so easy. “I’m breaking our engagement. Although I’d much rather it be said it was your decision.”

She nodded. “You haven’t been the same since returning from London,” she said.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said.

She still wore a smile, as if she were perfectly amiable about the change of plans. He knew better. She was no longer going to be a countess. The elevation in rank had interested her almost as much as becoming his wife.

But perhaps he was being unkind, and for this meeting he should summon up his compassion and regret. At the moment, however, what he truly felt was an overwhelming sense of relief, an indication that he’d made the right decision.

“She’s married, Ian,” Rebecca said softly, startling him.

She looked directly at him. Had he been so obvious? Or was Rebecca simply more astute than he’d realized?

“I know, Rebecca.”

“She’s married, and it pains you, doesn’t it? It hurts you. It truly hurts you.”