One Man's Love (24 page)

She missed Ian. She wanted to touch him again, to assure herself he was real and not someone she’d imagined.

She walked through the archway to the priory. How many times had she done this in the last few days? A vigil she kept as if to lure Ian to her.

The breeze blew through the structure, an oddly sad sound. She’d never noticed it before. Why did she do so now? Was it because she was beginning to bid this place farewell in her heart? Or because she wasn’t certain who, exactly, she loved?

She brushed a spot on the floor clean and sat against the west wall, staring out at the loch.

Alec had no more than a mile to walk before coming to the lake. Nor was the ship difficult to find. It sat close to shore like a fat duck in full plumage, its wings ivory-colored sails.

He signaled and a short time later a small boat was lowered, the man inside it rowing toward him with long, casual strokes.

Alec stood on the shoreline, waiting. The fading sun tinted the water silver and made the lake a curious mirror in which to view himself.

He was tall, the better to be seen upon a horse, Cumberland always said. His eyes were brown, his hair black, and his features unremarkable. A man like so many others, nothing glaring about his appearance, no clue as to his attributes or flaws.

His tailor had fashioned his uniform so that it fit well. Cumberland had ordered that none of his troops should have short hair. Consequently, Alec tied his back in a ribbon. He wore the insignia of his regiment and the special badge on his waistcoat that indicated that he’d been decorated by the Duke of Cumberland. An irritation, to be forced to wear a memento from a man he so despised, but it might have caused comment if he had discarded it.

There was nothing about him to indicate that he, Alec John Landers, was different from the men he commanded. Nor was there a hint that the man outfitted in the garb of soldier was engaged in acts of treason. Or that he didn’t regret what he’d done either at Inverness or here.

The boat approached the shoreline. “Signore Landers?” the man at the oars asked, his voice heavily accented.

Alec nodded, stepping into the skiff.

“The captain expected you much earlier,” the sailor said with a grin.

“I expected to be here much earlier,” Alec conceded.

Reaching the ship, he climbed the rope ladder, thinking that he had been wise, indeed, as a youth to choose to purchase a commission in the army rather than to serve in His Majesty’s Navy. Everything about
a ship appeared insubstantial to him, and this vessel was no different, bobbing in the strong lake current like a cork.

Captain Braddock was a short, stout man with a cleanshaven round face accented by pink cheeks and a tightly pursed mouth. His attire, while unremarkable, was immaculate; a deep blue coat with wide cuffs, a white shirt with few frills, and buff breeches. The fact that his clothing was orderly, as was the deck of the ship, was a welcome sign. A man who was lax in his habits and his discipline was not a good companion in secrecy.

“We’ve a little light left,” the captain said in greeting. “And you’ve practice in navigating this cove?” he asked with some reservation.

“I’ve traversed the necklace of rocks a few times, Captain,” he said honestly. “But never in a vessel of this size.”

Captain Braddock stared at him as if measuring his worth. “Do you think we can make it?”

“I do,” Alec said.

“And if my ship goes aground?”

“Then I’ll pay to have it repaired,” Alec said. The captain only raised one eyebrow, but nodded to the man who’d brought Alec here.

The Italian sailor stood beside Alec as they neared the rocks, thrusting the pole through the water to measure the depth. It had not touched the bottom of the lake, a good sign, since the merchant ship was bottom-heavy and tended to ride low in the water.

The sails were stowed so as not to give the ship any forward impetus. It wasn’t easy to turn a vessel this size, and the cove was too small to allow for much navigation. Consequently, the journey was made slowly and with such care that Alec worried
they might not enter the cove before nightfall after all.

They finally rounded the farthest point on the necklace and slipped through the opening with ease. The sailor beside him kept plunging the pole into the water, but so far their luck held. The ship crept into the cove like a badger going to ground.

Alec blew out a breath, unclenched his fists, relaxing for the first time in an hour.

“I’ll not stay here long,” Braddock said.

Alec couldn’t fault the other man for his caution.

“I’m taking a chance as well as you,” the captain added, his gaze level.

“A day,” Alec said. “Or two. That’s all.”

The captain reluctantly nodded.

Alec left the ship, the Italian sailor rowing him to shore. The
Stalwart,
as the ship was named, dwarfed the small cove, sitting like a brooding bird upon a watery nest.

It was a risky thing to do, to use the staircase in daylight, especially attired as he was in his regimentals. But Donald had assured him that Leitis sat at her loom most days, and no one else would be in that vicinity to spot him.

On his return, he would have to send a supply of food to the village and ensure that Armstrong was kept occupied. A dozen other details flew into his mind as he pushed up the stone on the floor of the priory.

Climbing up to the slate floor, Alec brushed off his breeches, then turned and replaced the stone. Only then did he see Leitis sitting there, touched by the fading light.

The moment had come, both expected and
dreaded. He stood before her, knowing that he would lose her in the next moments.

“I’m Alec John Landers,” he said. “Colonel of the 11th Regiment, decorated soldier of the Crown. And the man you know as Raven.”

H
er mind refused to embrace the truth even as she continued to stare at him, stunned.

Crimson and glaring, his uniform marked him as the colonel of the regiment. His mask was gone and in its place the colonel’s face. Ian. His beloved face, which she’d touched in passion and wonder. Whose lips she’d kissed and tongued. She’d placed her hands on that jaw, and kissed that throat, and traced her fingers across his body in a delicate exploration of wonder.

My enemy, my love.

She sat immobile in the dress he’d given her, refusing to believe the truth. Slowly he came forward, moving toward her with caution. Standing in front of her, silently, he removed his gloves.

Leitis glanced down at his hands. There, on the
heel of one palm, was the mark Fergus had given him, the mirror to the one on her own hand.

She felt herself crumple inside. A perfect moment, so horrifying and still that she would recall it all her life. Here were the answers to all her questions.

Words would not come. Nor could she seem to do anything but stare at him. Her fingers felt numb, her breath had stopped, and even her heart seemed to slow to an extended beat before speeding to catch up.

Slowly she got to her knees, feeling elderly and frail. Standing, she braced her hand against the brick wall for support, welcoming the abrasion on her palm because it proved that she could still feel.

She had loved him, found pleasure in his arms. Laughed with him and let him see her tears. And all this time he was the Butcher of Inverness.

You knew, Leitis.

The thought suddenly flew into her mind. Just as quickly she refuted it, only for it to be reborn a second later.
You knew. How else could you leave Gilmuir so easily? Why would Ian have worn a mask? You knew, Leitis. Or you would have sought the answers to difficult questions instead of turning away from them. You knew. You knew. All this time, you knew.
It was a refrain that repeated itself over and over, slicing at her.

A keening sound escaped her lips, an acknowledgment of a terrible truth. She began to run, through the priory to the archway, to the courtyard and beyond. She grabbed her skirts in her hands, running as she had as a child, late and anxious to be home, frightened and needing her mother’s embrace. She wanted to be anywhere but here, anywhere but forced to see him. The Butcher of Inverness and the man she loved.

He followed her, the look of horror on her face acting as an impetus. She ran as fast as she had as a
child, but he was faster. As he reached her, gripped her arm, she turned and kicked at him, her fists flying. This was the Leitis of his childhood, the obstinate, rash girl who never let anyone best her.

Her foot connected with his booted shin, the impact unexpectedly painful. So, too, was the blow to his chin. Leitis pulled back her fist, shaking it and glaring at him.

When she started to run again, he lunged for her, pinning her to the earth in a sudden tackle that had them both gasping for breath.

“Let me up,” she spat, wiping the dirt from her mouth with the back of her hand. He fared little better. His leg ached where she’d kicked him, and his chin hurt.

He held her to the ground with both hands on her wrists. She glared up at him, as angry as he’d ever seen her. But then, he’d given her reason enough for rage.

“Let me go, Ian!”

“Will you listen to me, Leitis?”

“To another lie? I thought you were a man of honor,” she said. “And all this time you were the Butcher of Inverness.”

“You’ve always used the name,” he said, exasperated. “But not once have you asked whether or not I deserved it.”

He abruptly released her and stood. She lay still on the ground, staring up at him.

“What do you mean?” she asked finally.

He stared down at her, held his hand out to help her up. She refused it and scrambled to her feet, deliberately distancing herself by taking a few steps backward.

“Cumberland wanted results,” he said, his voice
constrained. His commander’s bloodlust sickened him even now. “He wanted the names of men who went to the gallows or died in imprisonment, and proof that the Highlanders were well and truly quelled. So I gave him what he wanted.”

She said nothing, only continued to stare at him.

“The gallows were built in a secluded area of the prison, so there were no witnesses to my acts. Every hour of every day for weeks, a cart would be dispatched to the cemetery bearing the body of a prisoner. Every day, they passed Cumberland’s headquarters in the provost’s office. And every day, Cumberland would take note of the numbers of Scots who’d gone to their maker.”

“Butcher is a name that suits you well, then,” she said between thinned lips.

He frowned at her, annoyed by her stubbornness. “The duke never thought to notice that the wagon merely got to the end of the street, circled around, and passed by him again. And the prisoners that I supposedly executed were English soldiers who had died of influenza or their wounds.”

She still didn’t speak, but neither did she look so horrified.

“Over a period of weeks, my reputation grew. I became Cumberland’s most efficient executioner. Day in, day out, hour by hour, he saw my handiwork. But for every body he saw, another man slipped away to return to his home.”

He faced the land bridge, looking at the hills that bracketed the glen. A realization came to him then, as all great revelations do, without warning or fanfare. He loved this place; its memories and mountains, the twilight that lowered over Gilmuir like a soft blue-gray blanket.

“Why?” she asked. “Why did you let them go? Why did you even care? They were Scots; you should have been pleased.”

“When a man is lying in his grave, he cannot boast of his nationality,” he said, turning and walking toward her. “I’ve found the same to be true of prisoners.” He reached out and brushed a smudge of dirt from her cheek. Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch from his touch.

“It was war, Leitis,” he said somberly. “Men die in war. But they shouldn’t have to die to satisfy someone’s bloodlust.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked angrily.

“Would you have believed me?” he asked curiously.

“No,” she said, and he almost smiled at her reluctant honesty.

“Do you believe me now?”

She studied him for several moments. The time ticked by in interminable seconds. Did she realize the words she would say were possibly the most important in his life? What she said would decree whether or not they had a future together.

“Yes,” she said, finally. “Because you’re Ian.”

He couldn’t answer her; his mind halted at her words.
Because he was Ian.
Had it always been that simple?

“You deliberately let people call you the Butcher of Inverness, didn’t you?”

He smiled ruefully. “How else to convince the Duke of Cumberland that I was carrying out his orders?”

“Donald knows,” she said suddenly. “And Harrison. How many more of your men know what you did?”

“My actions are mine, Leitis,” he said. “The men in my command are loyal English soldiers.”

“But they aren’t,” she said, a statement that had him looking at her in surprise. “They’re loyal to you.”

“They’re good men,” he said. “They hated what they saw as much as I did.”

“Is that why you played the part of Raven?” she asked faintly. “Because you were afraid I wouldn’t believe you?”

“Partly,” he admitted. “But I also wanted to do something more to help the people of Gilmuir. Not because of you, Leitis, or even because of me. But because they also suffered because of Cumberland’s rules.”

A sound interrupted what she might have said then. They both glanced toward the glen. There, swaying heavily in the sea of lush green grass like a full-masted schooner, was a coach. A driver outfitted in a dark blue livery controlled the four matched grays as they careened across the land bridge. Tied to the back was enough baggage to outfit the villagers of Gilmuir.

The vehicle slowed gradually to a stop. The driver jumped down from his perch, opened the door, and unfurled the steps, standing back to assist the occupants in descending.

From this distance, Alec couldn’t make out the woman’s features. But her hair was so golden that it gleamed in the sunlight. The young man with her stood behind her slightly, surveying his surroundings. Alec wasn’t certain of their identity until he saw the Sherbourne coat of arms on the door of the coach.

“Who is that?” Leitis said from beside him.

“I think it’s my stepmother,” he said, amazed.

“What is she doing here at Gilmuir?”

He didn’t answer her, reluctant to voice his sudden thought. He hoped he was wrong, but the woman
standing beside the carriage was dressed in deep mourning.

He glanced at Leitis. “We need to talk, you and I,” he said softly. “Unfortunately, now is not the time.” He left her then, walking toward the coach and his stepmother.

“Is this where he used to live, Mama?” David asked. He looked around him in fascination as Patricia exited the coach with a feeling of blessed relief. For a few days, at least, she would rest in a place that did not rock and sway. If it were possible to have a bed wider than a bench she would be doubly blessed.

“Yes, dear, it is,” she said, looking toward the ruin of the castle. “But I don’t believe it looked this way when he came to spend his summers here.”

“Madam?”

Patricia glanced over her shoulder to see a young man standing there attired in a bright uniform of blue and red. He snapped to attention, startling a smile from her.

“May I assist you, madam?” he asked, his gaze on the coach rather than her face.

“I am looking for my stepson,” she said. “Alec Landers.”

The young man’s face changed. The studied indifference softened, became curiosity.

“I shall have him attend you with all possible speed, madam,” the young man said.

“I am already attending, Armstrong.”

Patricia turned and Alec was there, as handsome as she remembered. But the years had changed him. He was taller and broader, his face leaner. His eyes had lost their innocence and in its place was a cool, almost wary expression.

Extending her arms, she enfolded him in a quick
embrace, then stepped back and pulled David forward.

He shook his head, gripped Ralph’s cage with both hands, and refused to budge. As much as David had anticipated the journey, he also feared his reception. He knew enough of the world to sense that he was different from most of it.

“This is David,” she said, forcing a smile to her face. “Your brother.”

She would forever love her stepson for what he did next. Instead of acting in a superior manner or a condescending one, he stepped closer to David and bent down to look into the cat’s basket. “It looks to be a fearsome creature,” he said kindly.

“Her name is Ralph,” David said.

Alec stuck his finger in the cage, wiggled it between the cat’s ears, and quickly withdrew it when Ralph decided it might be a meal.

“A most formidable mouser,” he said, grinning at David.

“She eats roast beef,” David said, shaking his head.

“And anything else she can find,” Patricia contributed. “She eschews mice, I’m afraid,” she said, smiling up at Alec. “She feels they’re beneath her, I think.”

“Ralph?” Alec asked softly.

“Gender does not matter to David,” she explained in a whisper.

“Would you like to hold her?” David offered, fumbling with the cat’s basket.

Alec looked from him to Patricia.

“Not everyone is offered that privilege,” she said, hoping that he would understand. But it appeared as if he knew how easily David could be hurt. He remained still when the basket was unfastened and Ralph lay in his arms.

The two of them, cat and colonel, eyed each other with vigilant respect.

A moment passed, then another. Finally, Alec passed the cat back to David. “I think she likes you best,” he said, smiling.

“I think so, too,” David agreed with an angelic smile. “But you can hold her whenever you like. It’s easy to go to sleep with her when she’s purring. And sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night I talk to her.”

Alec put his arm around David’s shoulders and steered him toward the fort. Patricia, her maid, and the coachman followed in silence. It was, she thought, the very best of signs.

“He’s dead?” Alec asked, unable to wait until she spoke the words. He anticipated the sudden heaviness of grief and it came with her solemn nod.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was a sickness of the lungs. It took him suddenly.”

“Did he get my letter?” he asked.

She shook her head, the look of compassion on her face genuine and appreciated.

She smiled a watery smile, reached into her reticule, and retrieved a ring. Stepping forward, she handed it to him. “I believe this is a ceremony the Landers observe,” she said.

“I doubt it’s many generations old,” he said, staring at the silver and onyx signet ring. “It belonged to my grandfather, and then to my father.”

“And now to you,” she said softly. “The fourteenth Earl of Sherbourne.”

He nodded, feeling oddly detached from the realization. It did not seem possible that his father was dead. Or that he’d unexpectedly ascended to an earldom he’d ignored all these years.

Still, there were other things more pressing at this moment than a new title.

He felt as if his world were caving in, and in the center of it was Leitis. She’d looked at him as if he were the most loathsome creature in the world. And when he’d parted from her, she’d only stared at him, bemused.

Had he deliberately let her discover his identity? Had he simply wanted the masquerade over?

Time was running out. He had to get the villagers to the ship before another day passed. But more importantly, he had to determine his own future. Would Leitis want him with her?

Would he give up his heritage for her? Or surrender his commission? Yes, he realized, he would.

All he had to do was convince Leitis that he loved her. And hope she loved him.