Julia London 4 Book Bundle (118 page)

Then what?

Not Glasgow.
Not Glasgow!

What would become of her? She could hardly wander around the countryside hoping for the best. She had no marketable skill—she had heard of the textile
factories that employed women like herself, but she hadn’t a notion of how to spin wool. Worse, she had no concept of how one went about obtaining employment. It was rather ironic, she thought, that after all the years of superior education her father had given her, she had come away with little more than a forgotten appreciation of art and literature. Nothing very useful at all.

But she had, in the course of that education, met Regina Kilmore, a small, quiet girl from Edinburgh. Although Kerry had not spoken to or heard from Regina in twelve years, they had once shared a room and girls’ secrets and a mad infatuation with the school’s headmaster. Perhaps Regina could help her. She seemed to recall that her father was a prominent man—surely he could help her find employment in one of the factories. But how difficult would it be to find Regina in Edinburgh after all these years? And how would Regina receive her now, in her patched widow weeds?

What did it matter? Regina, bless her, was her last hope.

Arthur.

The thought of him never left her, pricked at her constantly. It felt as if she had misplaced a part of herself, as if she was sort of hobbling about. There seemed so many dreams of him, so many things left unsaid, so many things she longed to tell him. But it was as if he had died, for she would never have the opportunity to say what was in her heart. Or to see his smile, his eyes. Feel his lips on her skin …

The hot, burning tears of her grief filled her eyes, spilled onto her cheeks, and Kerry swiped at them, angered by them. How she longed for Arthur now, his quiet strength, the comfort of his arms.

The next morning, Kerry stood shivering in the mist, watching Thomas as he adjusted a bag onto his shoulder containing the last of the biscuits, some cheese and dried fish. Finally satisfied that he wore it securely, Thomas
glanced up at Kerry and smiled thinly. “Well then. I’ll be going now.”

Kerry nodded.

“I’ll be meeting ye on the far edge of Perthshire no later than Thursday, lass. If ye’re not come by then, I’ll come for ye.”

“Doona worry, Thomas,” she tried to assure him. “I will be quite all right. I went all the way to Dundee and back, remember?”

“Aye, I remember,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve got the gun?”

“Yes.”

“And ye remember how to use it?”

“I do,” she said, smiling.

Thomas frowned, looked across the barley field. Kerry’s heart went out to him; for all his talk of wandering, she could not begin to imagine what he must be feeling now.

As if to answer her question, he said simply, “Canna put it off now, can I?” He shifted his gaze to her and smiled. “Ah, lassie, the world beckons me,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. He turned and walked forward, into the mist. “Thursday!” he called sternly as the mist began to wrap around him.

“Thursday!” she called back, and watched until the mist swallowed him.

She stood there for what must have been an eternity before returning slowly to the house, each step dragging as if she had weights tied to her legs. She wondered what Arthur was doing now, as she did a thousand times a day since he had slipped out before the sun had come up, giving in to her wishes not to see him go. She imagined him in an ornate room, a dozen or more men gathered around and hanging on his every word as he regaled them with his journey through Scotland.

God, how she missed him!

Kerry made a breakfast but couldn’t eat it; she was
too distracted by the silence. So she walked outside and looked around the glen, shivering with a strange chill that ran up her spine. No smoke rose from the chimneys of the empty cottages dotting the countryside, there were no sounds of laughter, no dogs barking, no chickens, no cows, no Big Angus bellowing. It was as if the life of Glenbaden had been stolen in the night, snuffed by some unseen force. It was eerie—she hoped Thomas was making good progress. She wanted to leave as soon as she could, escape this misery.

Escape his memory.

He had fallen into her life, left her breathless, and when she had at last gained her breath again, he was gone. But her dreams continued to surround him, and she could scarcely walk by the room where he had made such wonderful, passionate, glorious love to her without the tears welling. She had never known lovemaking could be so magical, had never known that a man could lift a woman to such surreal heights of pleasure. Oh, but he had lifted her, more than once he had lifted her and filled her with such tenderness that she still shivered when she recalled it.

It was little use to remember it now, she thought bitterly, and set about the business of cleaning the white house, putting the final chapter into place and leaving no sign of the McKinnons behind. The task took her all day; when night fell, she sat shivering on the old tree stump, gazing up at the stars, wondering if Arthur was gazing at these same stars, wherever he was.

The next day, she moved about like an imbecile, hardly thinking, packing the few belongings she would take from Glenbaden. In the afternoon, feeling very restless, she went outside and wandered around the kitchen garden. There were some beans left on the vine, but the rest of the garden—what little had actually grown in the summer—had been depleted in the last few weeks. It was a good thing they were going, she supposed, because they likely would have starved before autumn.

Kerry leaned down to pull the beans for wont of anything better to do, but something behind the white house caught her eye. There, on a rock protruding from the side of a hill, was a Black-faced sheep. As she slowly straightened, she noticed two more, higher than the first.

“Where have the people gone?”

Startled, Kerry whirled, dropping the beans. Charles Moncrieffe stood before her, his expression puzzled. She had not heard him approach.

“There were people here before,” he said.

What was he doing here?
“Charles! Have you come alone?” she asked, her chest now filling with the dread of encountering Moncrieffe. It was too soon! Thomas had not had enough time!

Charles nodded as he stepped inside the confines of the garden. “Just me. What happened to the people, then?”

“They, ah, they went on holiday.”

That seemed to confuse him; he peered down the lane for a moment, his brow furrowed with his thoughts. But then a lewd smile slowly crept across his lips, and Kerry took a step backward as he shifted his gaze to her again. “My
da
sent me to fetch you.”

Her stomach rose on a sudden surge of fear. She took another step backward, keenly aware that she was alone, unprotected—

Charles’s tongue darted across his cracked lower lip. His eyes fastened on the bodice of her gray gown. “My
da
is impatient with you because you owe him money,” he blithely informed her. “He says you are to come to Moncrieffe so arrangements can be made to repay him.”

She swallowed. “What arrangements?”

“The wedding.”

Fear seized her fully then; Kerry backed farther away from Charles and frantically looked around him for an exit. But Charles seemed to know what she was about; he walked deeper into the garden. “You canna run away because I’m to take you to Moncrieffe. My
da
says we will be married.” He moved toward her again.

Frantic, Kerry threw up one hand. “Please, sir—”

He grasped her hand in a surprising show of agility before she could yank it back. “I will share a bed with you,” he continued, and pulled her roughly to him, groping at her with his hand and mouth in an attempt to kiss her.

Revulsion filled her gullet; somehow, Kerry managed to squirm out of his grasp. “Please!” she said, stumbling away from him.

“You’re to go with me!” The tenor of his voice had changed—it was menacing, and he suddenly lunged again.

Kerry scrambled out of the garden, cringing at the sound of Charles’s laughter.
Think!
her mind screamed.

“Is it a game?” he called after her.

The gun. It was in the house in the bag she had packed. Frightened, she started to run. But Charles caught her from behind, knocking her to the ground. “I
like
this game,” he laughed, and roughly nuzzled her neck as his hand groped for her breast.

Kerry bucked against him, surprising them both with her strength. It caught him off guard; she rolled onto her side, pushed him away with all her might before he could grasp her again. But Charles had a look in his eye that made Kerry’s blood run cold—he was quick to catch her ankle and painfully jerk her onto her back. He came over her then, his mouth everywhere, his hands tearing at her clothing. Kerry fought back with sudden desperation, beating his shoulders, tearing at his hair, biting him. But she didn’t succeed in getting his attention until she managed to wedge her leg in between his and bring her knee up hard.

Charles howled in agony and rolled off her, clutching his testicles. Kerry clambered to her feet, running as fast as her legs would carry her into the house and to her gun. She burst through the door, careered down the narrow corridor, colliding with the wall as she tried to navigate a sharp turn into her bedroom. The bag was on her
bed; she ran to it, cursing herself for having packed it below her other belongings. Each
clip
of Charles’s boots as he strode down the corridor behind her was like a hammer against her heart as she tore wildly through the carefully packed articles.

As her hand closed around the cold steel barrel, Charles reached her door. “You shouldna run from me!” he bellowed.

Kerry yanked the gun free of her things and sent the bag flying. She clumsily positioned the gun in her hand and twisted around, the long barrel pointed directly at Charles’s chest, but she was shaking so badly that it quivered back and forth. He stepped across the threshold, his eyes blazing, and she saw that he gripped a large rock in one hand. She suddenly could not breathe.
Mother of God, help me!
she silently screamed.

Charles looked at her gun and laughed, belying the dark fury on his face. “Doona be a fool,” he said, and stepped into the room. “That willna stop me.”

H
OW HE MANAGED
to acquire a horse of acceptable caliber at all on Loch Eigg would remain a mystery to Arthur for the rest of his natural life, he supposed, but there had appeared an old man as bent and gnarled as an old oak tree, leading a very fine mount. Arthur stopped him, asked him if his horse might be for sale or let, and after some fierce haggling, handed over yet another royal fortune
and
Thomas in trade.

The steed was worth the investment; apparently grateful to be given his head, he flew from the banks of Loch Eigg, gobbling up yard after yard of Scottish heath in response to Arthur’s anxiousness to reach Glenbaden and Kerry. But as the miles stretched long behind them, he was increasingly anxious that he had not exactly worked out the details of what he would do once he arrived in Glenbaden.

Assuming the McKinnons had actually received the letter from Regis, it hardly seemed appropriate to come barreling into their midst and announce that he was the one behind their eviction. Honestly, there didn’t seem to be a very delicate way of telling them the truth, or making Kerry understand he hadn’t known it was she. Or that he was determined to fix this mess, that he would
never hurt her, never intentionally harm her … 
never leave her.

Bloody hell, it was
that
thought that kept coming back to him, again and again, intruding uninvited into his mind. The same thought that had dogged him about the links, trapped in the cage of his heart.

He didn’t want to leave her.

He didn’t want to spend another day without her.

It had taken four days of solitary golfing to reach that agonizing conclusion, four days of restless dreams, and worse, visions of her in broad daylight as he stared out over the course. He had at first assumed he was as infatuated as he had been when he was blinded and muted by Portia’s beauty almost twenty years ago. And had assumed, therefore, that this, too, would pass.

But there was something that bothered him, something that didn’t quite fit with the notion of a mere infatuation. It was something inextricably tangled with the memory of that fantastic night of lovemaking and the rather tender feelings that had very nearly bowled him over. Feelings so strong yet so strangely elusive that he wasn’t at all certain what label to put on them, and hadn’t known until the moment Regis said what he had done. In that moment, when he had understood that Kerry had received the letter evicting her, his heart seemed to explode within him. A burst of regret and anxiety had hit him square in the gut and he had no idea how he moved from there. He only knew that he had to get to Kerry and make her understand that
he hadn’t known it was her
, that he could never do that to her because he … he …

Good God, he loved her.

The regret and anxiety had faded in the days that followed as he journeyed across the rough terrain of Scotland to reach her, replaced with the single and startling revelation that he
loved
her. It amazed him, frightened him, baffled him, but it was nonetheless as plain as
the nose on his face—he loved Kerry McKinnon, had loved her from the moment she had connived their way onto the Richey Brothers’ boat. He had loved her then and more as he watched her around Glenbaden, had loved her cheerful determination in the face of adversity, her natural beauty, her kindness, her gentle, giving spirit.

He loved her.

But goddamnit, what was he to do with that? Take her to London? The thought was so overwhelming that he shoved it aside, told himself he could not think of that now. At the moment, the only thing that mattered was to make her understand, and he spurred his newest mount—whom he had christened Sassenach in honor of spirited Englishmen everywhere—to run faster.