Highland Sinner (38 page)

“Your babe will have a fine resting place,” he whispered. “I hate doing this, I surely do, but I got me a wife and five wee ones. Aye, and I be a coward when all be said and done. That vile woman would ne’

er hesitate to kill me if I ruined her evil plans. If ye can, take them papers and hide them well. If his lordship survives all his wife’s plots, he will be wanting his son and them papers will be all the proof he will be aneeding from you. ’Tis as much as I and a few others dared to do, sorry poor help that it is. I will pray for you, missy. You and the lad here. Aye, and I will pray for meself as well, for I have surely blackened my soul this day.” He hurried out of the cottage.

After waiting a few moments to be certain the men were gone, Chloe Wherlocke crept out of the niche by the fireplace where she had hidden herself when the men had ridden up to the door. She moved to kneel by her sister Laurel’s bed and stared at the child she held, the living, breathing child. Touching the baby’s soft, warm cheek, she looked at her sister, grief forming a tight knot in her throat. Laurel was
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dying. They both knew it. Yet, her sister smiled at her.

“’Tis just as you foresaw it, Chloe,” Laurel whispered, weakness and not a need for secrecy robbing her of her voice. “Life appearing in the midst of death is what you said.”

Chloe nodded, not at all happy to be proven right. “I am so sorry about your child.”

“Do not be. I will join him soon.”

“Oh, Laurel,” Chloe began, her voice thick with tears.

“Do not weep for me. I am ready. In truth, I ache to be with my love and our child. My soul cries out for them.” Laurel lifted one trembling, pale hand and brushed a tear from Chloe’s cheek. “This is why I lingered on this earth, why I did not die soon after my dear Henry did. This child needed us to be here, needed my son’s body to be here. I recovered from that deadly fever because fate required it of me. My little Charles Henry will have a proper burial. A blessing, too, mayhap.”

“He should not be placed in the wrong grave.”

“It matters little, Chloe. He is already with his father, waiting for me. Now, remember, you must make it look as if this child died. Be sure to mark the cross with both names. Wrap the bones we collected most carefully. Ah, do not look so aggrieved, sister. Instead of being tossed upon a pile, as so many others dug out of the London graveyards are, that poor child we gathered will have a fine resting place, too.

Here in the country we are not so callous with our dead, do not have to keep moving the old out of the ground to make room for the new ’Tis a fine gift we give that long dead babe.”

“I know. Yet, throughout all our careful preparations I kept praying that we were wrong.”

“I always knew we were right, that this was a fate that could not be changed by any amount of forewarning. I will miss you, but, truly, do not grieve o’er me. I will be happy.”

“How could a mother do this to her only child?” Chloe lightly touched the baby’s surprisingly abundant hair.

“She cannot bear his lordship a healthy heir, can she? That would ruin all of her plans.”

When Laurel said nothing more for several moments, Chloe murmured, “Rest now. There is no need to speak now.”

“There is every need,” whispered Laurel. “My time draws nigh. As soon as I am gone, see to the burial, and then go straight to our cousin Leopold. He will be waiting, ready to begin the game. He will help you watch over this child and his father, and he will help you know when the time is right to act against that evil woman and her lover.” Laurel turned her head and pressed a kiss upon the baby’s head. “This child needs you. He and his poor love-blind father. We both know that this boy will do great things some day.

It gives me peace to know that my sorrows are not completely in vain, that some good will come out of all this grief.”

Chloe kissed her sister’s ice cold cheek and then wept as she felt the last flicker of life flee Laurel’s bone-thin body. Pushing aside the grief weighing upon her heart like a stone, she prepared Laurel for burial. The sun was barely rising on a new day when she stood by her sister’s grave, her sturdy little mare packed with her meager belongings, a goat tethered to the patient mount, and the baby settled snugly against her chest in a crude blanket sling. One wind-contorted tree was all that marked Laurel’s grave upon the desolate moors. Chloe doubted the wooden cross she had made would last long and the rocks she had piled upon Laurel’s grave to deter scavengers would soon be indistinguishable from many
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another one dotted about the moors.

“I
will
come back for you, Laurel,” Chloe swore. “I
will
see you and little Charles Henry buried properly. And this wee pauper child you hold will also have a proper burial right beside you. It deserves such an honor.” She said a silent prayer for her sister and then turned away, fixing her mind upon the long journey ahead of her.

When, a few hours later, Chloe had to pause in her journey to tend to the baby’s needs, she looked across the rutted road at the huge stone pillars that marked the road to Collinsmoor, the home of the child she held. She was tempted to go there to try to find out exactly what was happening. The village had been rife with rumors. Chloe knew it would be foolish, however, and remained where she was, sheltered among the thick grove of trees on the opposite side of the road which would lead her to London and her cousin Leopold.

Just as she was ready to resume her journey, she heard the sound of a horse rapidly approaching. She watched as a man recklessly galloped down the London road and then turned up the road to Collinsmoor to continue his headlong race. He made quite a show, she mused. Tall and lean, dressed all in black, and riding a huge black gelding, he was an imposing sight. The only color showing was that of his long, golden brown hair, his queue having obviously come undone during his wild ride. His lean aristocratic face had been pale, his features set in the harsh lines of deep concern. He was the perfect portrait of the doting husband rushing to join his wife and welcome their child. Chloe thought of the grief the man would soon suffer, believing that his child was dead, and the grief yet to come when he discovered the ugly truth about the woman he loved. And wondered how it might change the man.

She looked down at the infant in her arms. “That was your papa, laddie. He looked to be a fine man.

And up the road lies your heritage. Soon you will be able to lay claim to both. On that I do swear.”

With one last look toward Collinsmoor, she mounted her horse and started to ride toward London. She fought the strange compelling urge to follow that man and save him from the pain he faced. That, she knew, would be utter folly. Fate demanded that the man go through this trial. Until his lordship saw the truth, until he saw his lady wife for exactly what she was, Chloe knew that her duty, her
only
duty, was to keep this child alive.

A fortnight later she knocked upon the door of her cousin Leopold’s elegant London home, not really surprised when he opened the door himself. He looked down at the baby in her arms.

“Welcome, Anthony,” he said.

“A good name,” Chloe murmured.

“’Tis but one of many. The notice of his death was in the papers.”

Chloe sighed and entered the house. “And so it begins.”

“Aye, child. And so it begins.”

Chapter 1

London—Three Years Later

Struggling to remain upright, Julian Anthony Charles Kenwood, ninth earl of Collinsmoor, walked out of the brothel into the damp, foul London night. Reminding himself of who he was was not having its usual stabilizing effect, however. His consequence did not stiffen his spine, steady his legs, or clear the thick fog
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of too much drink from his mind. He prayed he could make it to his carriage parked a discreet distance away. While it was true that he had been too drunk to indulge himself with any of Mrs. Button’s fillies, he had felt that he could at least manage the walk to his carriage. He was not so confident of that anymore.

Step by careful step he began to walk toward where his carriage awaited him. A noise to his right drew his attention but, even as he turned to peer into the shadows, he felt a sharp pain in his side. Blindly, he struck out, gratified to hear a cry of pain and a curse. Julian struggled to pull his pistol from his pocket as he caught sight of a hulking shadowy form moving toward him. He saw the glint of a blade sweeping down toward his chest and stumbled to the left, crying out as the knife cut deep into his right shoulder. A stack of rotting barrels that smelled strongly of fish painfully halted his fall backward.

Just as he thought that this time whoever sought to kill him would actually succeed, another shadowy form appeared. This one was much smaller. It leapt out of the thick dark to land squarely upon his attacker’s back. As Julian felt himself grow weaker, he finally got his pistol out of his pocket, only to realize that he could not see clearly enough to shoot the man who had stabbed him. Even now the pistol was proving too heavy for him to hold. If this was a rescue, he feared it had come too late.

Chloe held on tight as the man who had stabbed the earl did his best to shake her off his back. She punched him in the head again and again, ignoring his attempts to grab hold of her, as she waited for Todd and Wynn to catch up with her. The moment they arrived she flung herself from the man’s back and let Leo’s burly men take over the fight. She winced at the sounds of fists hitting flesh, something that sounded a lot more painful than her fist hitting a very hard head, and hurried to the earl’s side.

He did not look much like the elegant gentleman she had seen from time to time over the last three years.

Not only were his fine clothes a mess, but also he stank of cheap liquor, cheap women, fish, and blood.

Chloe took his pistol from his limp hand, set it aside, and then, with strips torn from her petticoats and his cravat, bound his wounds as best she could. She prayed she could slow his bleeding until she could get him to Leo’s house and tend to his injuries properly.

“Need him alive,” Julian said, his voice weak and hoarse with pain. “Need to ask questions.”

Glancing behind her, Chloe saw the man sprawled on the ground, Todd and Wynn looking satisfied as they idly rubbed their knuckles. “Did you kill him?”

“Nay, lass, just put him in a deep sleep,” replied Wynn.

“Good. His lordship wants to ask him a few questions.”

“Well enough then. We will tie him up and take him with us.”

“My carriage—” began Julian.

“Gone, m’lord,” replied Chloe. “Your coachman still lives and we have him safe.”

“Wynn’s got the other man,” said Todd, as he stepped up to Chloe. “I will be toting his lordship.”

Julian tried to protest as he was picked up and carried like a child by the big man, but no one heeded him. He looked at the small figure leading them out of the alley and suddenly realized that one of his rescuers was a woman. This has to be some delusion brought on by too much drink, he thought.

When he was settled on a plush carriage seat, he looked across at his coachman. Danny’s head was bloody, but his chest rose and fell evenly proving that he still lived. The small woman climbed into the carriage and knelt on the floor between the seats, placing a hand on him and the other on Danny to hold them steady as the carriage began to move.

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“Who are you?” he asked, struggling to remain conscious and wondering why he even bothered.

“Hold your questions for now, m’lord,” she replied. “Best they wait until we can sew you up and some of that foul brew you wallowed in tonight is cleared out of your head and belly.”

His rescuer obviously had little respect for his consequence, Julian thought, as he finally gave in to the blackness that had been pulling at him.

Chloe sat in a chair by the bed and sipped her coffee as she studied the earl of Collinsmoor. He smelled better now that he had been cleaned up, but his elegant features held signs of the deep dissipation he had sunk himself in for the last year. She had been disappointed in him and a little disgusted when he had begun to wallow in drink and whores, but Leopold had told her that men tended to do such things when they had suffered betrayal at a woman’s hands. Chloe supposed that, if her heart had been shattered so brutally, she too might have done something foolish. Yet, rutting like a goat and drinking oneself blind seemed a little excessive.

Even so, she had to wonder if the earl was lacking in wits. Three times before this he had nearly been killed, yet he had continued to do things that left him vulnerable, just as he had done two nights ago. Did he think he was simply a very unlucky man? She had hoped he knew he was marked for death, and at least had some idea of the who and the why. Chloe did not look forward to trying to get the man to heed her warnings, but Leopold felt they could no longer just keep watch over the man, that it was time to act.

For little Anthony’s sake she had agreed. The boy saw her and Leo as his family. The longer that was allowed to continue, the harder it would be to reunite him with his father. Her heart would break when that happened, but she was determined to see that Anthony did not suffer unduly. The boy also needed his father alive to help him claim his heritage and hold fast to it. Between the earl’s increasingly dissipated ways and his mother’s greed, Anthony would not have much heritage left to claim unless this game was ended very soon. That was unacceptable to her. Anthony was innocent in all of this and did not deserve to suffer for the follies of his parents.

She smiled at her cousin Leopold when he ambled into the room. Leopold never seemed to move fast, appearing permanently languid in his every action, but it suited his tall, almost lanky, body. Those who did not know him well thought him an amiable but useless fellow living off the wealth of his forefathers.