Highland Awakening (18 page)

Again, Anna stood abruptly. She strode to the window then back, squeezing her hands into fists then relaxing them several times. She stopped in front of Esme and took a deep breath.

“I was seventeen. We'd come to London for the Season—my father and brother Alastair and I, as well as the rest of the household. I had nothing to do here. No friends, no female companionship. I was naïve to the dangers of London, and I had no chaperone.”

She huffed out a breath. “I was an ignorant child. I had been cloistered like a nun in our house in the country for most of my life. It was my first time in this enormous city. I found a group of lads my age at Hyde Park. I was drawn to them because they were Scots, and they felt like home, somehow, which was silly, because I've never lived in Scotland.”

She gave a cynical laugh. “Anyhow, they were kind to me. At first. And then…my brother died. I went to them for comfort, thinking them my three closest friends.” She turned to Esme, her face absolutely white, her expression flat. “They did comfort me…at first. But then their comfort turned…terrible. It turned into something evil and cruel.”

“They…raped you?” Esme had never said that word aloud before and hated the sound of it.

“Aye.”

“Oh…Anna.” To be raped while grieving her brother. Esme wondered who those boys had been, whether they'd suffered for their crime against this poor woman. She hoped they had been hanged.

Anna looked down at the floor, but her voice was steady. “They did it more than once, on more than one occasion. I was hurt and confused.”

“Of course you were.”

“And then Cam came home to pay his respects to Alastair. He took one look at me and knew something horrible had happened. Something beyond Alastair's death.” Now her voice finally started to wobble. “I…told him everything. Oh, Esme, it was the worst time of my life. Between what had happened to Alastair and what happened to me…I thought I might die of the grief and pain of it all. Simply wither away and die. But…Cam…”

“What?” Esme breathed. “What did he do then?” She knew how much Cam adored his sister. To see her brutalized thus—he must have been furious. No,
furious
was too weak a word.

Anna drew in a long, shaky breath. “He took me to my father. Told him about the three lads who'd hurt me. He said they deserved justice and that he and my father needed to do something. But…my da…he turned to me…and his face…”

Esme rose. She couldn't sit there anymore. She went to Anna's side and put a tentative hand on her shoulder, not sure how to comfort her, but wanting desperately to help her somehow. “I am so sorry this happened to you.”

Now Anna's face wasn't pale…it was blotchy with emotion, and her eyes shone. “My da said it was my fault. That I was a whore—that I had gone to those lads and spread my legs for them. He said I was no daughter of his and I was no longer welcome in his house. He said the sight of me sickened him and he never wanted to lay eyes on me again.

“That very night, Cam took me from my father's house, and I haven't been back since. I haven't laid eyes on my father. I haven't heard from him. Or anyone I associated with before. I am a pariah in his eyes, and in the eyes of society.”

“Oh God. That's…” Esme wanted to say
terrible,
but truly it was beyond terrible. She squeezed Anna's shoulder, feeling the show of sympathy was far too weak. But there was nothing to say that could make these horrible events disappear. They would always be part of Anna's past.

“Cam has taken care of me since. He supports me. He visits me often when he's in Town. He has been so good to me. Without him, I would certainly be dead.”

Esme nodded, hearing the certainty of the last in Anna's voice. She was probably right—a penniless girl turned away by her father would have had nowhere to go. Thank God Anna had a brother who truly cared for her when no one else had.

“You are so strong to have overcome such adversity,” Esme said.

“I wouldn't have, without my brother.”

Esme nodded. “What happened to those boys?” Because, seriously, if nothing had happened to those awful rapists, she intended to go after them herself.

Anna turned and walked away, back to the window. Esme's hand fell to her side. Anna stared out the window for a long moment, then said, “Cam…took care of them.”

Esme's eyes narrowed as she stared at Anna's back. “How do you mean? What did he do?”

Anna's shoulders rose and fell as she took a breath. “He killed them. He and some companions followed two of them into an alley one night. They were just lads, pursued by hardened Scottish warriors. Cam and his friends killed them.”

“And the third?” Esme breathed.

Anna looked away. “Cam never told me exactly what happened, and truthfully, I'm not sure I wish to know. But he was found dead in his bed the morning after the other two were killed. The rumors suggested he died from ingesting bad meat.”

“That's not what happened, was it?”

“If you're asking whether I think it was an accident, no, I don't.”

Esme suddenly felt dizzy. Thinking of Cam—her handsome Cam with his quicksilver smile and intelligent eyes—murdering three youths.

She could picture it, though. The rage, darkening those light blue eyes into something ice-cold and dangerous.

She shuddered, finding her way back to her seat and fumbling into it, her vision suddenly blurry.

She didn't know how to feel about this. Cam was a murderer. But he'd killed men—many of them—in battle. She'd already known that. And those youths were probably more deserving of death than some of the men he'd killed in the war.

And she'd wanted those rapists dead—just minutes ago, she'd been thinking of seeking justice on them herself.

But it was still…somehow different.

Anna turned. “He did it for me,” she said quietly, her eyes meeting Esme's. “Knowing that they were gone…that they couldn't hurt me anymore…” She shook her head. “It…helped.”

Esme took a shaky breath and nodded. “Thank you. For telling me your story. That couldn't have been easy.”

“You should know it,” Anna said. “Cam is loyal to those he loves. He has done stupid, hurtful things to me in my life, too. But I know he will always be there for me. When I have no one else, I know I will have my brother. He will never turn away from me.” She returned to her chair and sank into it. “He'll never turn his back on you either. I promise you that.”

“Thank you,” Esme said again.

Anna rose, composed once more. She brushed her hands down her skirts. “I must go. I need to get back to the village if I'm to catch the post back to London.”

Esme's brows rose. “Did you travel here alone?”

Anna nodded, then smiled. “I do just about everything alone these days.”

Esme fought a wince at the loneliness brimming in the other woman's words. “Please. I beg you. Take my carriage back to London.”

“Oh, no, milady. It is too far.”

“Nonsense. I have made the journey a hundred times. The coachman will stop at the Angel Inn in Oxford tonight. We have permanent rooms there, and I insist you stay in them.”

“But—”

Esme raised her hand to stop her. “I'll never forgive myself if you have to spend another night in a post chaise. Please take my carriage. My coachman is utterly bored here at Ironwood Park with nothing to do.”

Anna sighed. “I feel terrible taking advantage—”

“Please. Stop.” Esme smiled at her, suddenly wanting to spend more time with this woman. She realized with a shock that she actually
liked
her. Cam had been right. “Will you take luncheon with me before you go? I find myself lonely here in this big house all by myself.”

Anna's smile reached her eyes, making them sparkle a clear blue. “Of course. Thank you.”

“I usually take my meals in the kitchen. You won't mind, will you?” She had a feeling Anna wasn't one to be a stickler for propriety.

The other woman laughed. “Of course not.”

Arm in arm, they left the drawing room. Throughout the light meal, they spoke of Ironwood Park and Esme's family and Scotland, the words flowing easily, even as Esme marveled at them.

She'd managed to do something she'd never accomplished before, being mired in the constrictions of society and never feeling comfortable within the whispers and giggling and judgments of the other aristocratic girls.

She'd made a friend.

Late the following morning, Esme was curled up in the big armchair by the window in her room trying to focus on a book of Shakespearean sonnets. A knock on the door heralded Mrs. Hope bearing a letter from Sarah.

She opened it, wondering if her sister-in-law had anything to tell her about Cam. Or perhaps she'd had the baby…

Dearest Esme,

I'm so sorry to bear this bad news to you, but I feel I must. There has been a terrible turn of events here at Trent House, and we are all devastated by it.

We have lost dear Maggie.

Esme blinked at the unexpected words on the page. Maggie was one of the housemaids at Trent House. Had she left her position? But that didn't seem worthy of the devastation Sarah spoke of…Esme continued reading.

She is dead—she died in convulsions on the floor of the servants' dining room late last night. The doctor is certain she was poisoned.

And here is the part that makes me sick to my stomach: I gave the servants leave last night to drink the champagne meant for your wedding festivities. The doctor was certain that it had been tampered with, that someone had poisoned it. Further, it was only one bottle—Maggie had just opened and poured the bottle meant for you and Mr. McLeod to share at the wedding breakfast.

Esme, dear, if you had drunk that champagne at your wedding, you would have suffered the same fate as poor Maggie.

We have spoken to Mr. McLeod and the Highland Knights about the incident, and we have learned that the Knights have been under attack and that one of them has been murdered. We believe the tainted champagne was meant for Mr. McLeod, but I shudder to think of how you would have also been affected.

So even though we think this was an attack on the Highland Knights, please do be careful, my dear sister-in-law. Do not go out without a companion. Lock the doors at night. And please inform Mrs. Hope and the staff about Maggie and what has happened.

Again, I'm sorry to bear such horrible news. I hope all is well with you—please write to me as soon as you receive this.

All my love,

Sarah

After Esme read the letter through, she read it once again. Then she stared at it a few moments longer. And the truth flooded in.

“Oh God,” she whispered. She snapped up out of her chair, the book of sonnets falling to the floor, its pages fluttering open.

She
knew.
She knew the identity of the man who'd been trying to murder the Highland Knights.

He was a Highland Knight himself.

Esme rapped on the door to the Highland Knights' house, her heart pounding and her palms sweaty. She'd been traveling since yesterday afternoon, only stopping to change horses, and she was exhausted and covered in the grime of the road. But as she'd drawn closer to London, her desperation to reach the Knights as soon as possible grew within her, until it was a screaming need:
Find them. Tell them. Save them.

As she knocked, she mumbled a prayer under her breath: “Please, Lord. Let him be here. Please…”

There was no answer.

She stepped back from the door. It was dark—past midnight, but there were lights on inside the Knights' house, coming from the drawing room window. They wouldn't leave fires burning inside the house if no one was at home. They wouldn't leave fires burning downstairs if they'd gone to bed. Whoever was there, they were ignoring her.

She hesitated, considering banging on the window. But what if
he
was there? What would happen?

The thought struck her immobile with terror. She couldn't risk it.

She'd pick the lock on the back door and sneak in, just as she had last time she was here. She could be stealthy. She'd simply see who was here, and if it was one of the Knights she trusted, she'd speak to him.

She crept down the street and slipped into the mews behind the houses. The night was quiet, with little traffic, and she felt very alone, suddenly wishing she'd gone to one of her brothers for help first. But she hadn't. It was up to her.

She found the Knights' back door and picked the lock. The back storerooms and kitchen were dark, which was to her advantage. She took her time, moving cautiously so as not to make a sound.

She slipped into the corridor and found the door to the drawing room, which had been left ajar. A dim light filtered through the doorway, illuminating part of the passageway in soft candlelight.

She hesitated outside, listening. No one was conversing inside. In fact, she could hear no sounds at all coming from within. She inched closer until she could peek into the room.

Cam sat alone on one of the chairs, his head bent down. He wore his kilt and shirt, but also a formal jacket and cravat, as if he was planning to go out to a soiree or ball. He cradled a nearly empty glass of amber liquid in his hands. Probably whisky.

She scanned the rest of the room, confirming that he was, indeed, alone. And moving, his thumbs rubbing circles on the sides of the glass.

Relief shot through her, and she closed her eyes for a second as something loosened inside her. Cam was all right. Thank God.

She moved into the room slowly, and when her skirts rustled against the edge of the door, Cam's head snapped up. At first his face was utterly blank, then recognition bled in, and he rose, holding his glass loosely in one hand.

“Esme?” His voice was hollow and cracked.

“Yes, it's me. Are you alone here?”

“Aye.” He gave a bitter smile. “I shouldna be. The major, his wife, and Stirling are at a formal dinner, and they believe I'm with Innes at a gaming hell, watching Pinfield. Mackenzie and his wife are spending the evening with her father. He and Innes think I'm with the major and Stirling. They havena left me alone in days—they wilna leave me alone, the damned fools—so I was happy enough to deceive the lot of 'em.” He downed the rest of the liquid in his glass, then set it with a
thunk
on the small walnut table beside his chair. His blue gaze met hers, and she could see that this wasn't the first glass of whisky he'd drunk tonight. His lips twisted in a cynical smile. “I'm verra good at deception, you see.”

Yes, he was. But that wasn't the issue at hand, not at this moment.

“So…no one is in the house with you right now?”

He shook his head. “Not a soul. 'Tis the servants' night off.”

She stepped deeper into the room. “Cam…I have to talk to you about something. It's very imp—”

“I'm sorry,” he broke in, gazing at her with shining blue eyes. “What I did was wrong, Esme. I shouldna have done what I did. I ken now how stupid it was. I am a fool. A bastard and an ass, and I—”

“I can't talk about that right now. There's something—”

“Please, Esme. Please forgive me.”

“Cam—”

“I want you.”

“Well, that much is clear,” she bit out. But she was getting sidetracked. Flinging away thoughts of what had driven her from London, she pleaded, “Cam, we can't talk about this. Not now. Please, listen—”

“I
need
you, lass. I was such a fool. I dinna ken how to make it up to you, but I will spend the rest of my life trying…”

He was drunk, which was going to make her task more difficult.

Changing her tack, she spoke in a soothing voice. “All right. We can talk about that later.”

He stepped—no, it was more of a lurch—toward her and yanked her against him, burying his face in her hair. “I'm so glad you came, lass. I've missed you so much.”

Lord. She'd missed him, too. So much.

“I dinna deserve you. I ken that. I've kent it from the beginning.”

“Cam. You need to listen to me right now.” The urgency of her message still thrummed through her. Though now it was tinged with trepidation. She'd never seen Cam drunk before and had no idea what he'd do once she told him the truth.

He pulled back, cupped her face in both his hands, and stared at her. “Sweet lass. Sweet, perfect Esme.”

He kissed her, long and drugging. He tasted like whisky and man and
Cam.
She tried to pull back, but it went on and on until it wiped away everything but him…Well,
almost
everything.

She jerked back, breathing hard, and pressed a hand to his chest. “Cam, please. I need—”

“Anything, love. I'll give you anything,” he vowed.

“Then give me a moment to speak to you,” she said. “I've something important to tell you.”

He nodded gravely then stepped back, expectant.

She took a deep breath. “I know who murdered Fraser and attacked Ross.”

He took a moment to absorb this, as it was obviously the last thing he'd expected her to say, then his eyes widened. He took her upper arms in a tight grip. “What?”

“I know who killed them.”

“Who?” He shook her slightly. “Who, Esme?”

“It was…” She swallowed hard. Then took a deep breath. “Oh Cam, I'm so sorry I have to tell you this. It was one of your own brothers. One of the Highland Knights. It was Sir Andrew Innes.”

Cam dropped her arms as if she'd burned him. “Nay.”

“I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm sure it was him.”

He shook his head in denial. “That's impossible.”

“Listen to me. I saw him with the champagne at Trent House. He was bringing it in that morning…the morning we were supposed to marry. I was coming home from…here.” She looked into his face, hating the expression she saw there, so crowded with emotion she could hardly pick one out. “I saw him,” she whispered.

“Did you see his face?” Cam demanded.

“No. I saw his limp. He has a very discernible way of walking. I didn't connect it to him at first. I was too focused on the problem at hand. All I took in was the servant, the limp, and the champagne. I didn't think about it again until I received Sarah's letter yesterday, telling me that one of the maids at Trent House had been poisoned by the tainted champagne we were supposed to drink at our wedding breakfast. I remember his blond hair now. His limp. The way he didn't make eye contact with me, as if he didn't want to face me or speak to me. And he was wearing a black coat with an attached cloak, just like the man who killed Mr. Fraser and attacked Sir Ewan.”

Cam shook his head, but acceptance was forming in his expression. “Nay. Nay.”

“It is he, Cam. I'm certain of it.”

“It canna be.”

“Sir Andrew fits the description you've received from all the witnesses, doesn't he?”

Cam was starting to see the truth—she could see it in the devastation in his eyes. “Aye,” he rasped out.

“And his limp—isn't it true that everyone who's seen him has mentioned a limp, or stumbling, or has seen him trip over something?”

Despair crumpled Cam's face. “Why? Why would he do such a thing to us? We'd do anything for him.
Anything.
”

And this was what betrayal felt like. Esme knew exactly how Cam was feeling. She had experienced that same emotion recently, thanks to the man standing across from her. But the betrayal he felt had been worse. Innes had been trying to
murder
his brother Knights. “I have no idea,” she said honestly.

Cam blinked hard, as if to clear away the liquor that had clouded his mind. “I must find him,” he said darkly.

“You said he's with Lord Pinfield—”

“Aye, but mayhap…” He shook his head. “I dinna ken. I need answers. I need to find him. Now.”

“But you don't know where he is—”

“He's supposed to be at Lucifer's Den with Pinfield.”

Her eyes went wide. That sounded like a horrible place. She reached for Cam, but he was already turning away. “What will you do? Please, Cam, be careful.”

“You needn't worry about me. I'll be handling myself just fine. You stay here until I get back. It's safe here.” He took her hand in one of his own, the lamp in the other, and pulled her out of the room and toward the stairs. “Lock yourself in my room until I return.”

“But…” She didn't know how to argue. There were so many options that sounded better to her than staying here. He could take her somewhere safe, among others. Any one of her brothers' houses would do. Or he could take her with him. But he seemed determined.

He led her into his bedchamber and sat her on the edge of the bed before withdrawing a gun from the armoire.

The sight of it, silver and sleek, sent her pulse ratcheting up once again. “Cam, please. At least wait until the others return home…”

Cam's lips were firm, resolute, his blue eyes hard as stones. He didn't look at all drunk—not anymore. “I'm going to fetch them first. We'll confront him at Lucifer's Den.”

Well, at least it was some relief that he wasn't going to barge into the gaming hell alone like some mad vigilante.

He shrugged into a large coat and shoved the gun into an interior pocket. Then he turned to her. “Stay here, Esme. If I return and don't find you here…” He shook his head, then his voice gentled as he knelt before her. “Please. Be here when I return. I need you to be here.”

“All right,” she whispered. Because how could she deny him? She'd stay.

“Be safe,” she whispered. “All of you.”

“I will. We all will. Lock the door behind me.”

She nodded. He pulled her to him and kissed her soundly. Then he was gone, and she had nothing to do but wait.

After locking the door behind him, she sat on the bed wringing her hands in her lap for a very long time, it seemed, the temptation to leave the room strong, but she'd keep to her word. She'd wait until he came back.

She searched the room, looking for any kind of weapon…just in case. The best she could find was a silver candlestick. She removed the candle from it and lay in the bed, clutching it to her chest.

She'd hardly slept in the past two days, and finally exhaustion took over. She pulled Cam's blanket over her and fell into a fitful sleep, fully dressed, without even bothering to remove her shoes.

A scratching sound woke her. She wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it was still dark outside. She cracked her eyes open, feeling heavy with sleep, just as the door opened.

She lurched up in the bed. “Cam?”

But it wasn't Cam at all who strode into the bedchamber. It was Sir Andrew Innes. He stopped short when he saw her, a confused expression passing over his face before it melted into an arrogant mask as her body, consumed by sudden, shocking fear, shrank back against the headboard.

“Lady Esme,” he said smoothly, his gaze taking in her fully dressed figure and, no doubt, her shoes poking out from under the blanket. “Fancy meeting you here. Our friend McLeod has been pining over you. Where is he, by the way?”

He knew, she realized. He'd read the fear in her expression, in her body. He knew she'd seen him that day in the larder and had put two and two together.

“He's…not here,” she managed through the panic clogging her throat.

Then she nearly kicked herself at the stupid statement. Now Innes knew that she was alone. Which meant she was at his mercy.

She began to tremble—uncontrollable tremors that began somewhere deep within her and radiated outward.

“I see.” Innes stepped deeper into the room, closing the door behind him and bolting it. “Where did he go?”

“I…don't know,” she lied.

“I think you do.” He now stood at the edge of the bed, hovering over her. “I think you know too much,” he added quietly.

“I know nothing,” she said. “What are you talking about? Why are you here?” Wasn't he supposed to be at Lucifer's Den watching Lord Pinfield?

“I'm here for McLeod,” he said silkily. “Since he's not here, I suppose you'll do. But first I need to know what you know. What you saw on the day of your doomed wedding.” He sat at the edge of the bed, putting a firm hand on her thigh, pressing her back into the bed, a clear warning that if she should try to run away, he'd stop her.

“I…I didn't…” she stuttered, not knowing what to say, what would be wise to say at this point.

“You saw me,” he said, his voice lethally quiet, “at Trent House. I ken you did.”

“I—”

“Dinna lie to me.” He squeezed her thigh, hard enough she knew she'd sport bruises in the shapes of his fingers tomorrow. “This will be worse for you if you do.”