Cates, Kimberly (33 page)

"You're still dreaming, Gav. The ugly fact is that I betrayed them. Christianne and Maria and the others. I had to keep father's love at any cost. Be his favorite. That exalted position mattered so much to me that I didn't defend them, force him to see what he'd condemned them to. Hell, they couldn't even take up a sword—"

"And ride off to die a glorious death in battle?"

"Yes, damn it! I always assumed I'd die on the battlefield. Hell, with the chances I took it's a miracle I didn't."

"Maybe it was Juliet's love that kept the musketballs from piercing you, the swords from driving home. Maybe your shield was a love yet to be born."

The possibility was too painfully sweet. It couldn't be real. "No, Gavin—"

"Why not? You love her. She's in love with you."

The words lanced through him, spilling devastating yearning in their wake.
"Was
in love with me," Adam confessed, his voice raw. He hated himself for that weakness. "She came to me, Gavin, there in the garden. She'd wandered into the night to ask me to make love to her."

"I see."

"Damn it, it was wrong for me to take her! Maybe for a moment I thought there was a chance for us—but it was a dream, Gavin. Look at me! Look at her!"

"You look miserable as a bear with its paw in a trap. Love feels that way sometimes."

"If she did love me, she doesn't any longer. She blames me for the fire. She blames herself. She thinks that if she hadn't come to me that night she could have prevented it."

"She's had a terrible shock."

"No. She's come to her senses and so have I. Damn you, one more word about Juliet, and I swear, I'll walk away and never come back. I can't endure your damn prying."

"All right. All right." Gavin held up his hands. But Adam knew his brother too well to be fooled. The dread Glenlyon might have surrendered this skirmish, but the war wasn't over yet.

Gavin turned, thrusting his hands in the pockets of the frockcoat he'd dragged on sometime during this interminable day. He paced to a shelf, laden with their father's cherished collection, miniature soldiers cast of lead. Adam was surprised he hadn't swept every reminder of the old earl's obsession with battle out of this room, this house, after what it had almost cost him.

"I always wondered what is was you were seeking as you traveled the world over, restless and wandering and full of anger and fight," Gavin said after a long moment. "You were fighting Father, just like I was."

"Only you defeated him. You always stood up to him with such quiet courage. From the time you were a boy."

"It was easy for me. I had nothing to lose. From the start he had a kind of quiet contempt for me. I could only remind him of the forced marriage that had ruined his life. But in the end I did the same as you. I picked up a sword and fought in his name. Traded all my high principles for a chance to see pride in his eyes just one time before he died. Ironic that the last word he received was that I'd been branded a coward at Prestonpans."

"You proved your courage a hundred times over since that battle. Fought like a thousand demons to save life, not take it. And I thank God every day that the fates rewarded you with the love of a woman like Rachel."

"That love is the most precious thing in my life, Adam. Waking up with her in my arms every morning, I'm still awed by the miracle, the wonder that came after so much darkness and blood and death. Sometimes, I still have nightmares—wake up drenched in cold sweat, believing that I sent her away from me in Scotland, to protect her from the fate I'd chosen. She risked exile with me, the possibility of never seeing England again. When she walked into my prison cell to break me free—God, I was so terrified."

"Juliet tried to go back into the fire, wanted to find what was left of a necklace that had belonged to her mother." Why the hell was he telling Gavin this? It hurt far too much. "When I realized she was still inside, I nearly lost my mind I was so damned afraid—"

" 'He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune
...'" Gavin quoted gently. "Bacon said that so many years ago. If I were to write it, I'd say that any man who loves gives hostages to fortune. The need to protect, to defend is so fierce. The only thing worth killing for."

Adam's face set, grim. "I'll find whoever set that fire, Gav. Stake my life on it. And they'll pay for what they've done to Juliet."

"Ah, you'll deal out vengeance, exact retribution. I think your lady will find them cold comfort once you've left her alone."

"Damn it, Gav—"

"I saw your Juliet's eyes, Adam. They're as deep and knowing as a highland loch, and as steadfast. A woman such as your Juliet loves but once, with all her heart, or not at all."

The truth of that resonated in Adam's very core and he buried his face in one hand. "What do I know about the ways of a woman's heart? I'm a soldier. A warrior. All I understand is how to fight. Hell, I never planned to marry, let alone..."

"Fall in love? You want to know the secret of loving? The secret is that loving shouldn't weaken you or chain you or hurt you. Loving makes you stronger than any sword ever forged by human hands.

"Adam, love isn't about valiant charges against impossible odds. It's not about revenge. Love is about healing. Redemption, even when we don't believe we deserve it."

Gavin reached out, grasping Adam's shoulder with fierce affection, an understanding so complete it was painful. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, leaving Adam alone.

Chapter 17

It was hours later when Adam knocked on Fletcher's bedchamber door. After a moment, the sleep-tousled youth, swimming in one of Gavin's nightshirts, glared at Adam with hard disillusioned eyes. "What do you want?"

Adam straightened, knowing what he had to do. Knowing how damned hard it would be. "What happened at Angel's Fall was so ugly, so evil, I wanted to believe that it was over. The fire had consumed everything. But I have this feeling in my gut that whoever is responsible for this is still out there. That Juliet's enemy might..." Adam swore, grinding his fist against the throbbing in his brow. "Damn it, can such sick hatred be satisfied by the destruction of a house? Mere brick and wood and stone? Or does it need something more tender to sate its appetite upon?"

"I don't know. I hope not. I pray not."

"The women are safe here, for the time being. A man would have to be mad to strike at the Earl of Glenlyon's townhouse. My brother may look half dazed most of the time, lost in a fog of books and poetry, but ask any English soldier who was in Scotland after Culloden Moor, and they will tell you that under that sleepy-lion appearance, Gavin Carstares can be dangerous as hell."

The boy only stared at Adam, stubborn as everyone who inhabited that misbegotten scrap of land across the Irish Sea. He wasn't going to make Adam's task any easier.

"What are you trying to do, Sabrehawk?" Fletcher scoffed. "Ease your conscience? Juliet and her ladies aren't your responsibility. You said that before. Remember? You don't give a damn what anyone thinks?"

The boy had claimed Adam was a coward. Now they'd both discover if it were true.

Adam paced over to the window, his gaze locking on the moon, awash in a sea of mist. "I've spent hours turning what you said over and over in my mind," Adam said, "and I've come to tell you that you were right, boy. About me. About everything. I didn't want to care about anything or anyone. When you fight as many battles as I have, you learn how fragile life is. The man you've been drinking with, laughing with, can be dead in the space of a heartbeat, and all you can do is watch him bleed."

Adam closed his eyes for a moment, remembering countless faces. Remembering how he'd deadened his own heart just so he could survive the endless string of destruction. But Juliet had brought that heart back to life, whether he'd willed it or not. And there could be no turning back.

"Fletcher, sometime between the night I nailed you into a barrel and tonight, when you flung the truth in my face, I realized that—" Adam drew a deep breath. "I didn't give a damn about your uncle's money anymore. I... cared about
you."

Something sparked in Fletcher's gaze, as if the boy almost wanted to hope, but was afraid—afraid his hero would fail him again. Was it worth that risk?

"I just pray I haven't discovered the truth too late. For God knows how long, you've wanted to watch my back in battle. Now I'm asking you for something far more important. Will you help me build life instead of deal out death? I'm not even certain I know how to begin. You see, I haven't given a damn about anything for a very long time."

Adam held out his hand to the boy. Saw Fletcher's gaze flick down to that sword-scarred, battle-toughened hand. Then the boy grasped Adam's fingers, fiercely. Fletcher smiled, his eyes lighting as if he'd follow Sabrehawk to the halls of hell.

Neither of them saw the cloaked figure in the shadowy street beyond, watching, watching, hatred burning in the night.
Fools.
They thought it was over, but they were wrong. They would pay for their interference. And Juliet... her fate was as it had always been... in her own hands.

Evening cast shadows in lacy patterns through the window, life beyond the glass panes continuing with callous disregard of Juliet's breaking heart.

Five days she'd spent in self-imposed exile in the chamber Adam's brother had given her. She had heard the ruckus of the other women's arrivals, the rushing about of maids, the babble of quarrels, but she'd allowed the army of Glenlyon servants to contend with the confusion. She hadn't had the strength.

The most she could manage was to drag herself down to meals at the insistence of the earl himself. She didn't dare offend him in the view of the kindness he'd shown.

But she barely spoke, barely ate, achingly aware of the empty chair where Adam should have sat. Adam, who had avoided her at all costs from the moment he'd left her in the chamber alone.

The instant she'd finished pushing her food around the plate, and everyone was excused from table, she'd returned to her chamber, where she'd wrestled with an uncertain future.

What should she do with the rest of her life? There was no family to turn to, and she could hardly rely on the earl's generosity forever.

Besides, the notion of taking anything that might be traced back to Adam Slade was insufferable. No, she had to find a way to be independent. Find a position... there was only one that might still be open to her. One that had been offered by the querulous Widow Widdlemarch an eternity ago on the front step of the vicarage. A place as a paid companion.

For the fifth time, Juliet crossed to the desk in the corner of the room, borrowed pen and ink, and tried to compose a letter to the crotchety old woman. But she couldn't even think of Sadie Widdlemarch's dull blue eyes without wincing in remembrance.

The memory of the girl Juliet had been there, on the vicarage stairs, perched on the edge of her great adventure. She'd been stuffed to the brim with dreams and determination, armed with the certainty and faith that she could truly make a difference in the world, accomplish all she'd set out to do.

She was sadder now. And wiser. Her eyes opened wide to reality.

And there was no use putting off the inevitable a moment longer. She sank down into the chair yet again and took up the pen, dipping it into the well of ink.

How did one write that they had been a miserable failure? Everything had turned out as disastrously as the old woman had predicted. The fire had left Juliet with nothing. Every shilling of the modest legacy her father had left her was gone. Even her mother's necklace.

There was nothing left for her to do but accept the widow's offer,
if it
were still open to her.

She closed her eyes, picturing the rolling hills of Northwillow, trying to capture the restfulness of the sleepy little village where nothing ever changed; there were no ugly mobs, no troubling handsome warriors appearing as if transported from another age, where mighty knights fought dragons to save their ladies fair.

Where the worst fate that awaited her was a gentle scolding about what a fool she'd been.

Northwillow, everything the same, quiet, serene.

Heaven would think she'd embrace the familiarity after all this time, that she'd be ready to bury herself in tea cakes and idle gossip, sketching landscapes by the lake and reading by the grate at night.

Any number of women would give anything to secure such a position—companion to an old woman in a lovely house. Food and shelter, a way to make one's self useful.

It was the kind of fate she'd wanted for her angels. Independent. Safe. Yet how bleak it seemed after the passion she'd tasted in Adam's arms—years without hearing a man's deep rumble of laughter, without seeing black eyes flash in temper and emotions far more tender. The rest of her life without the touch of a man's hand, without trembling in awe or tasting desire on lips melting into your own.

Juliet brushed away a wayward tear in self-disgust. What on earth was she doing? Mourning the loss of Adam after what such earthy desires had cost her? Yet even through all the pain that had come after, her dreams were filled with the taste of him, the feel of him, the gentleness in his big hands, the desperate love that had shone in his gaze, and the fear that had wrenched at her heart.

But what they'd shared had been an illusion, as much an illusion as Angel's Fall itself. It was over. Time and again from her vantage point in the window, she'd seen Adam riding off somewhere. Leaving at first light, returning after everyone was asleep. Why? To escape having to see her? To avoid looking into her face, confronting the terrible mistake they'd both made?

Now she understood the clinging sadness in her ladies' eyes those times when they thought no one was watching. The sorrow for what could never be. Perhaps it was best to turn away from the arms that had held, the hands that had caressed, but the pain... she'd never felt so alone.

A knot of tears clotted in her throat, aching as she forced herself to scrawl a few lines.