Claimed by a Scottish Lord (32 page)

―Because Duncan got him away from his father?‖

―With lady Julia between them, one of them would have killed the other to be sure.‖

Rose pretended close attention as she poured hot water into the teapot. A spur of doubt nudged her, for her heart would not completely let go of the rationale that real love did not die easily.

―How did Lord Roxburghe die?‖ she asked after a moment.

―Hereford killed him,‖ Duncan said from the doorway.

Rose and Kathleen turned at once. Duncan leaned with his big shoulder against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. He did not look nearly as fearsome as he did in the darkness of a mist-shrouded night. He wore leather trews and a loose-fitting white shirt, minus the usual baldric dangling with all manner of weaponry and muskets. His wild russet hair had been tied back from his face.

He grinned, though his blue eyes wore a less amused expression as they settled on Kathleen. ―Are ye telling stories about me, lassie?‖

She sniffed and returned to her kneading. ―As if anyone could tell a story about ye, Duncan? Who would dare?‖ Her shoulders worked as she folded and squished the dough with her fist, then she turned and rolled her sleeves back to her elbows and faced Duncan. ―Why don‘t ye tell the lass why you believe Hereford killed your brother?‖

When Duncan did not reply, Kathleen answered for him. ―Rumor is that a valuable cargo in which Hereford had monetary interest went missing from one of Roxburghe‘s merchantmen outside Rotterdam some years ago.‖ She set her hands on her hips. ―What is it Hereford accused him of? Collusion with pirates?‖

Duncan narrowed his eyes, none too pleased with Kathleen‘s assessment of the former earl of Roxburghe‘s character. His gaze on Rose, he straightened. ―Come lass. Say your good-byes. Ye are the laird‘s wife and belong back at Stonehaven. You‘ve been gone long enough as is.‖

He turned on his boot heel, and after his heavy steps had faded on the planked floor, Kathleen said, ―He‘s right. You need to be returnin‘.‖

Rose unlaced her apron and folded it. She had done all she could for Rufus. But she was not thinking of him as her mind mulled over the details of Kathleen‘s conversation. ―You said Hereford made the accusation of collusion after a cargo went missing on a merchantman outside Rotterdam?‖

She was remembering the story Ruark had told her about the ship he had boarded outside Rotterdam some years ago. The ship had carried contraband that he believed Hereford had taken off an East Indiaman sunk off the Azores. Ruark did not tell her he had taken the cargo from one of his father‘s own ships.

―Was it true?‖ Rose asked. ―The accusation.‖

―No one will ever know,‖ Kathleen said. ―The cargo was never recovered. Ruark‘s father accused Hereford of attempting to ruin his reputation. Accusations went back and forth. Then last spring, our former laird decided he would confront Hereford over the issue. Duncan was a day late reaching the meeting and found his brother with a musket ball in his head. Ruark oft docked in Workington, but it took two months to get him the news.‖ Kathleen brushed at a loose curl. ―Even then I do no‘ think he would have returned to Stonehaven if no‘ for Jamie. Some of us did no‘ think he would be staying.‖

Kathleen squeezed Rose‘s arm. ―I have no‘ meant to distress ye. We owe ye a debt of gratitude, and Duncan well knows it.‖ She smiled. ―Otherwise, he would no‘ care how ye got yourself back to Stonehaven.‖

Rose answered with her own weak smile. She examined Rufus one last time and gave instructions to Kathleen for his care, promising that she or McBain would return in a few days.

―If the bandages stick to the wounds, fresh lint dipped in sweet butter will help loosen the dressing so as not to tear away the scabs.‖

Carrying her young daughter, Kathleen hugged Rose and took her outside, where Duncan had hooked up a cart. He was crouched in the dirt, scratching the ears of a shaggy sheepdog. He saw her and stood.

In the bright sunshine, he looked almost cheerful as he presented Rose a courtly bow and placed her in the cart. ―Nothing but the best for my nephew‘s bonny bride,‖ he said.

―Duncan!‖ Kathleen chastened from the steps. ―She‘ll no‘ be able to stand straight by the time you get her to Stonehaven.‖

―Aye,‖ he agreed, and patted the rolled-up blankets he had placed on her side of the bench, ―which is why I have gone out of my way to see to the lass‘s comfort.‖ He winked at Rose, ―I would have used the chariot had Kathy‘s miscreant young brother not taken it carousin‘

last night and run into a ditch.‖

Kathleen laughed. ―Do no‘ believe Duncan, lass. Jason has never caroused in his life and we‘ve no‘ a chariot to our name.‖

―Jason is your brother?‖ Rose asked.

―A fine lad he is,‖ she said fondly. ―Do no‘ let Duncan tell ye otherwise.‖

D
uncan told her nothing. They did little conversing on the return trip to Stonehaven, which to Rose‘s mind had as much to do with the occasional teeth-rattling pothole as it did with the scenery. Daylight revealed a beautiful terrain, glens, and distant pines stretching into a stark blue sky. Occasionally, they passed an ancient ruin of an old church or cottage, and she asked about its historical significance, finding herself engaged by his answers, even as she reminded herself why she did not like him.

After a long bout of silence, he turned his head, as if he read her thoughts. His shoulder jostled hers with the cart‘s movements. ―Did ye enjoy your little talk with Kathleen this morning?‖ he asked, amused.

She kept her hands folded tightly in her lap. ―Which part?‖ she said casually. ―Where my father killed Ruark‘s? Or the part where you delivered his son to a cruel sea captain—?‖

―It was either that or see him hang, lass. Ruark is stubborn when he gets it in his mind to murder someone. I could no‘ allow him to fight his father.‖

―What about Julia, Duncan? What of her life?‖

―Why would ye feel sorry for Julia? She has everything,‖ he said with a lack of gallantry.

―She has been spoiled and self-indulged. Now the young lover of old has come home to roost and take his place as laird. You should be concerned with yourself.‖

Heat burned her cheeks. ―And what flight of fancy leads you to suppose my husband holds a
tendre
for another woman?‖

―Oho!‖ He laughed. ―Ye feel passion for our laird, do ye no‘?‖ Duncan said as he studied her. ―Maybe ye will do after all, lassie. If ye feel passion enough for him, then you will come to feel the same for Stonehaven. She needs a strong mistress. Someone who wants to be here. Someone who is no‘ afraid of a fight. But ye are no‘ her mistress yet.‖

Left speechless by the man‘s barefaced effrontery, she disliked that he could glean an emotional response from her when she was so certain she disliked him. Perhaps she disliked him because he had tapped into her deepest doubts with no effort at all.

They arrived at Stonehaven an hour later. ―You‘ll no‘ have any more problem seeing Jamie, lass,‖ he said. ―I‘ll talk to Julia.‖

Rose didn‘t know what to say. When the staff hurried out to greet them, Rose quit to her room for a bath, and left Duncan to contend with Mary‘s scolding on his own. Evidently, she was upset that he‘d taken Rose away from Stonehaven and allowed her to be gone for days. But much like Ruark, his uncle did not mind being admonished by Mary.

Anaya greeted her upstairs in her chambers, surprising Rose.

―I returned this morning, mum,‖ she said brightly. ―McBain is in the surgery with a head bump. The roads be terrible, mum. We almost broke another axle and himself not having another carriage to bring us. Told Mr. McBain, he would see him back at Stonehaven when he finished his business.‖

―Is that all he said?‖ she asked, wondering at once how she could ask a servant such a question, as if Ruark would tell Anaya anything.

―Aye, mum. McBain is a fretful sort. His lordship did no‘ want him to vex.‖

Rose took her supper in her room. Later, in the growing darkness of her bedchamber, she sat in her shift at the window seat, her chin propped on her hand as she stared outside. Her window overlooked the front of the house and the garden. She could hear the babble of voices below, and a moment later Duncan appeared with Jamie and Julia, resplendent in blue watered silk. At supper that evening, Mary had said that Jamie was recovering nicely.

Rose watched the threesome from the darkness of her bedroom.

At least she was capable of admitting to herself that her turmoil had as much to do with her doubts about herself as it did with Ruark‘s absence. Duncan‘s observation of her character had been correct. She
did
feel passion for Stonehaven‘s laird.

If ye feel passion enough for him, then you will come to feel the same for Stonehaven. She
needs a strong mistress. Someone who wants to be here, lass. Someone who is no’ afraid of a
fight. But ye are no’ her mistress yet.

The unfortunate circumstances behind her marriage did not change the fact that she was Ruark‘s wife. That her sons and daughters would be born and raised at Stonehaven, and she would one day be buried here, not at Hope Abbey, not at Kirkland Park, or France, but here. Rose could accept her
fate
as a victim. Or she could shape her fate as a victor.

Suddenly a visit from the dressmaker was no longer akin to subjecting herself to the inquisition. She may not know the difference between a day dress and morning gown, but she could certainly learn.

To find she was still capable of an honest fight, even if the antagonist was herself, restored some measure of equanimity to her disposition.

Anaya entered carrying her robe. She looked over Rose‘s shoulder outside. ―Poor wee fatherless lad,‖ she said. ―Sometimes ‘tis simple to forget he is not yet thirteen.‖

Not yet thirteen .

A sick feeling twisted her insides. She suddenly knew what was bothering her . what had been bothering her since her conversation this morning with Kathleen.

Drawing on her robe, she left her chambers. She padded barefoot along the shadowed corridor through the narrow gallery, where centuries of Kerrs stared down at her as she passed. Downstairs, she found the library.

Moonlight spilled through the windows. She looked at the rich paneled walls and ornate bookcases. Her gaze paused on a rostrum. The family Bible sat on that stand. Kathleen had said that all marriages, births, and deaths were recorded in the family Bible.

Rose found a tinderbox in the desk drawer and lit a candle. She brought the heavy leather-bound book carefully to the desk. She flipped the ornate cover open and peeled back page after page. She ran her fingernail down the list of inscribed names and stopped when she saw hers, surprised to see that her marriage to Ruark had already been entered. Her finger paused over her name. Pushing the Bible closer to the light, she recognized the penmanship as similar to that on her marriage documents. Ruark must have made the entry.

She flipped the faded pages backward to see when Ruark‘s parents were married, then his birth, May 10, 1725. He had only recently reached his thirtieth birthday. She had not even known his age, she realized. For some reason, she had thought him older. His mam had passed when he was six, just two days before another entry and death, an infant brother, was recorded. His mam had died in childbirth. His father had remained unmarried for eleven years when Julia‘s name was listed, then James Marcus Kerr was born eight and half months later.
Eight and a half
months
.

A fist went to her stomach. She thought she would be sick.

Rose closed the Bible. Back when she had first come to Stonehaven, McBain had told her that Ruark and Julia had run away together. Today, Duncan had said they had been lovers.

After a moment, Rose returned the Bible to its place. It was a long time before she could sleep.

Chapter 20

R
uark sat outside the Lusty Mermaid at one of four trestle tables that looked out on the Solway Sea, a treacherous body of water that eventually became the headway for the River Eden. A thin layer of mist had formed on the water and was now drifting inland, and encapsulated the sounds from sea: the faint sound of a ship watch bell, the lap of water on the beach. Two black-and-white mongrels milled at Ruark‘s feet, supping on scraps he had fed them earlier from the trencher the little barmaid had set in front of him.

Colum sat at the table behind him. ―Do ye think Hereford will attempt to kill ye now or later?‖ he asked.

A soft chuckle conveyed Ruark‘s response as he had just been thinking that very thing. Lounging with his legs stretched in front of him, a mug of ale in his gloved hand, he and Colum were watching the progress up the street of Hereford and his entourage. The warden had rumbled into this small seaside hamlet with forty heavily armed men and attempted to find space in the narrowly confined square for all the horses and men.

After leaving his solicitor in Hawick, Ruark had traveled more than a week to get here. Fifty other men from his ship were also with him, though a person would be hard-pressed to spot the infiltrators among the scruffy-looking residents of the village. They looked busy, moving casks and hogsheads of rum from offloaded flats on the beach a short distance away and flirting with prostitutes, casting lots on a blanket spread near the street.

Out on the water, stark masts bobbed in the cove, a sixteen gun-privateer, brigantine, and a sloop, all sharing the inlet waters of Solway Firth, where coasters could unload their cargo. Goods landed here would be carted inland into Carlisle and from there, dispersed. Her silhouette visible against the sunset burning into the sea, the
Black Dragon
pulled against her anchor chains.

With its raised quarterdeck and forecastle, and carrying thirty-six guns—which had now been removed—the frigate was a substantial vessel, too large to come into the shallower waters except during higher tides. This was smugglers‘ country and Ruark knew the waters well.

Hereford scanned the thatch-roofed buildings up and down the street before fastening his eyes on the lopsided placard bearing the inn‘s name and the carved image of a buxom mermaid. Nothing of his dark attire caught a gleam of the fading sunlight that glinted off the glass behind him.