Rogue of the Borders Page 9

  “I want to be ruined.”

  Shane’s groin tightened and he set his jaw. If he didn’t stay away from her, she would get her wish. And he would break his vow to her father.

  He had never broken an oath in his life.

  Shane walked into his Edinburgh office, satisfied the dried kelp was wrapped tightly in bales and secured below decks where it would not get wet. Shipping the seaweed to France where its burned ash would be used for glass production was one thing. Having his ship stink of damp algae was quite another.

  “Do ye have my bills of lading ready to sign?” he asked Albert.

  “Aye. Richard has them.”

  The young man laid several receipts on the counter. Shane signed them and watched Richard as he carefully made entries into the log. “Ye seem to be doing well.”

  “Thank you. Albert has been a fine instructor.”

  “Och, the lad is modest. He has caught on quickly,” Albert said. “I’ll be out of a job myself if I’m nae careful.”

  “Ye need nae fear that,” Shane said. “How is David faring?”

  Albert frowned. “He is still healing.”

  “Be sure to keep sending his salary to him.”

  “Aye. His mother is verra grateful to ye.”

  Shane nodded and turned to the door. “It is the least I can do. I will check on him when I return.”

  He spent the next half hour readying the boat. When the last line was cast off, he took his place beside the helmsman and watched the crew raise two sails half-mast as they glided out the Firth of Forth. Hopefully, there would be no signs of pirate ships this far north and the passage to Calais swift and uneventful. No surprises either since Abigail was safely at Glenfinnan.

  Strangely, the deck felt empty.

  If she didn’t escape the old castle walls soon, Abigail feared she would go raving mad. In the few days that had passed since Shane’s abrupt departure, everyone had been exceedingly kind and accommodating. No one seemed to think it odd her new husband had left her with his relatives. Bridget had even explained that since she was now kin, it was the duty of the clan—or in this case, Laird Ian, to protect her while Shane was gone. Little did anyone know she was kin in name only.

  Abigail had received several thoughtful looks from Jillian, though, which Abigail supposed were sympathy for the loss of marital pleasures so soon after a wedding. The way Ian and Jillian looked at each other was enough to make anyone’s blood heat, and they were already parents. Abigail felt a twinge of jealousy for what she was missing. Their sense of togetherness was absolute.

  Which was one of the reasons she was sneaking out through the recently discovered postern gate in the back wall of the castle. Not that she’d been told she couldn’t go for a walk alone—it just seemed someone was always ready and willing to accompany her. She needed some time alone to reflect and it was a fine morning for a walk. Only a few fluffy white clouds drifted across the sky, caught on a zephyr breeze.

  She lifted the iron bolt holding the latch and pushed at the heavy wooden door. Its rusty hinges creaked as it opened slightly. Abigail gave it another push, but it would go no farther. Turning sideways, she slipped outside. The door closed more easily than it had opened and at the resounding click, she realized the latch must have fallen back in place. Well, no matter. She’d use the front gate going back.

  She turned and her breath caught. She stood on a granite ledge, not much wider than a goat path—the only thing keeping her from falling into a deep ravine. Abigail flattened her back against the sun-warmed stone of the wall and tried not to look down. What would possess someone to build a gate that opened into thin air?

  As her breathing resumed, she remembered just exactly where she was. Medieval Scottish castles, unlike English country-estate mansions, had been built for defense. Most were perched on craggy promontories, like Edinburgh and Stirling, to prevent the enemy from scaling the walls. Postern gates, she recalled now, were a means for a family to escape in times of siege.

  Which meant there must be a trail. Slowly, she turned her head, still pressed against the wall. Squinting and not daring to use a hand to adjust her spectacles, she thought she could make out what looked like uneven rocky steps leading steeply down the narrow embankment. Edging her way carefully that way, she prayed she wouldn’t trip on her heavy skirts.

  It seemed an eternity before the ledge grew marginally wider and clumps of bracken began to appear between the cracks in the rock. At least they gave her something to grasp on to as she made her shaky descent. Once, Abigail slipped on damp moss, landed soundly on her bottom, wetting the backside of her gown. She was sorely tempted to curse, except she didn’t want to invoke the wrath of God when she needed His help. Picking herself up, she began stepping down sideways. Stone ledges that had helped her footing were sparser, giving way to a dirt path that was slippery mud with the recent rains. Even though she was near ground level now, the incline was still sharp and Abigail felt herself sliding again with nothing to hold onto. With a small shriek, she tumbled and rolled the rest of the way, coming to a stop when she made solid contact with the roots of a tree.

  For a moment, she lay dazed, gazing up at the bright new foliage of the leaves overhead. The sky was still blue, the clouds still fluffy, but she had lost her desire to go any farther. Abigail sat up, wiped mud off her face and looked in dismay at her ruined dress. Not only filthy with spattered mud, it had sustained rips on the sleeves and the hem was frayed from brushing against rocks on her climb down.

  “Are ye hurt, lass?”

  Abigail looked up. A frail, old woman with long, white hair stood near her. Where the woman had come from, she didn’t know since there was no carriage waiting nearby. She hardly seemed strong enough to have walked far, and Abigail knew she hadn’t seen her at the castle.

  “I am fine…I think.” Pushing her skirts to one side, Abigail attempted to stand and then sat quickly back down as pain shot through her ankle. “Um. Maybe not.”

  With surprising agility, the old woman stooped down beside Abigail and traced the sides of her ankle with gnarled fingers that felt surprisingly strong. A soothing warmth enveloped the area, lessening the pain immediately. Placing one hand on Abigail’s foot and the other just above her ankle, the woman slowly rotated her foot until it gave a little pop.

  “Try standing now,” she said.

  To Abigail’s surprise, her ankle felt fine as she stood. She put her weight on it. “It does not hurt. How did you do that? It is like magic.”

  The woman gave her a strange look. “Walk a bit to make sure ’tis fine.”

  Abigail nodded and walked toward the road, quickening her pace as she reached it. Thinking to invite the old woman to the castle for refreshments and to compensate her as well, Abigail turned around.

  No one was there.

  After her adventure from yesterday, Shane’s cousins decided Abigail needed at least one new dress to replace the one she’d ruined. When she’d shown up somewhat battered, they’d all clucked and exclaimed over her. Though Ian hadn’t scolded her for using the postern gate, he’d given orders to secure it with a chain.

  She’d decided not to mention her conversation with the old woman. The more Abigail thought about it, the more she convinced herself it hadn’t really happened. Frail, old women didn’t just appear in the middle of nowhere—and they certainly didn’t just disappear either. Abigail must have bumped her head when she’d toppled down the hill. That had to be the explanation. Goodness, she’d fallen hard enough that a small, brownish striped stone had landed in the pocket of her skirt. She’d placed it on her dresser as a reminder not to go rock climbing anymore.

  But today, she was looking forward to her outing to Glenfinnan with the ladies of the household. The first thing they showed her—actually it was hard to miss—was the newly completed monument to Bonnie Prince Charlie’s raising his standard in 1745. The tall, round tower fascinated her, as history always did. The iconic unknown Highlander at its peak made her reali
ze just how independent of English thinking the Scots still were. She made a mental note to delve more fully into Scottish history.

  Equally intriguing, though, were Shane’s twin sisters. High-spirited and mischievous, they’d already tried to trick her with who was whom several times until she finally noticed Caitlin’s eyes were just a shade greener and Caylin’s slightly more slanted. The differences were scarcely noticeable, but once recognized, Abigail no longer had trouble identifying them—a feat which seemed to impress both twins.

  “I am sure you are used to much larger markets than this,” Fiona said as they meandered along the stalls displaying wares ranging from cooking pots to linens and wools. She sighed. “I do so want to go to London and see real shops.”

  “We saw real shops in Glasgow last year,” Shauna reminded her.

  “’Tis nae the same. We have nae even been as far as Edinburgh.”

  “We have nae been to either place,” Caitlin said, mimicking Fiona with a sigh.

  “Is Edinburgh as fine as London?” Caylin asked.

  “Of course it isn’t,” Fiona exclaimed. “London is sophisticated like Paris.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes. “Considering ye have nae been to Paris or London, how would ye ken?”

  Fiona tossed her head. “Shane brought me a copy of La Belle Assemblée from France a few months ago so I ken what the latest fashions are.”

  “We have excellent seamstresses here,” Shauna said, “although we have little need for grand finery.”

  “Abigail has fine gowns,” Caitlin said somewhat worshipfully. “Ye will be the prettiest lady at any party.”

  “Aye,” Caylin agreed vigorously, her tousled curls dancing as she nodded her head. “Shane will be proud to take our new sister everywhere.”

  Abigail forced a smile as reality jabbed her like a knife prick. Shane didn’t want to take her anywhere. None of them knew he did not intend to come back for her. He had effectively abandoned her since she could hardly ride back to Edinburgh by herself.

  Or could she? Well, certainly not alone. But Caitlin and Caylin were Shane’s sisters. They should be living with him too. Ian and Jillian were kind to foster the twins, but perhaps it was time to take up the reins in this situation and take them home.

  To Edinburgh.

  The more Abigail mulled over the idea, the more right it felt. Consequently, she approached Jillian after the evening meal. “Might I have a word with you and Ian?”

  “Of course. We can retire to the library. Ian and Bridget’s husband like to have a dram of whisky after dinner—if you do not mind Brodie joining us?”

  “Certainly he may. In fact, it might be good if all Ian’s sisters join us as well.”

  “Can we come too?” Caitlin asked.

  Jillian exchanged a look with Ian. “Grownups need time to talk sometimes.”

  “But—” Caylin started.

  “Off to bed with ye both,” Bridget interrupted. “I will come up later.”

  Looking disgruntled, the twins trudged up the stairs while the adults moved down the hall.

  Jillian sat beside Abigail on the sofa while the men poured their whisky. Once they were seated, she took Abigail’s hand. “What is it you wish to tell us?”

  Abigail looked around at the faces of Shane’s family. Ian was guarded, Brodie more open. Fiona was curious, as always, while Bridget looked reserved and Shauna a little bit confused.

  Abigail took a deep breath. There was no sense in holding anything back. Shane’s family deserved to know the truth. They would either hate her for trapping Shane into a marriage he did not want or they would support her. In either case, they’d send her back to Edinburg. She hoped.

  While she talked, everyone remained silent, staring at her. “And so, even though Shane plans to annul the marriage, I would like to go back to Edinburgh and have a chance to change his mind,” she finished.

  Jillian squeezed her hand. “Ian and I already knew.”

  “You did?” Despair filled her. “You think…that is, you agree with Shane?”

  “Nae.” Ian looked grim faced. “But I cannae tell him what to do.”

  “Well, I think it’s terrible,” Fiona stated.

  “I am surprised Shane would nae honor the marriage,” Bridget remarked

  “I think he feels he is doing the honorable thing,” Shauna said quietly. “He has often told me it would nae be fair to have a wife raise bairns alone while he is at sea.”

  “You probably know him best,” Jillian said, “since you share a love of books.” She turned to Abigail. “You are quite welcome to stay here, my dear, but…” She let her voice trail off while she looked toward Ian.

  He nodded. “If ye truly wish to return to Edinburgh and try to make this marriage work with my stone-headed cousin, I will provide an escort for ye.”

  “Oh, thank you.” Abigail nearly bounced in her seat. “And what about the twins? I really think they should come too.”

  “Ye may decide nae to keep them long,” Ian said. “The lasses are more than a handful at times.”

  “Nae if I go with her,” Shauna intervened. “I can help keep an eye on them and perhaps give Shane a nudge as well.”

  “Do nae think I will stay behind,” Fiona added.

  “All four of ye moving in with Shane may be a wee bit much,” Bridget said.

  Jillian exchanged a look with Ian and began to smile.

  Ian grinned. “’Tis his own fault. If Shane had kept his wife at his side, he would nae have four more females descending on him.” He began to chuckle. “’Tis time my cousin learns where true power lies.”

  “So Louis has still made no progress?” Shane asked Remy and Alain three days later after he’d unloaded his shipment.

  Remy shook his head. “The ban on political demonstrations has been expanded to include any secret meetings of the lodges.”

  “It does not help that Pope Pius maintains the rite of ex-communication of the masses if they join us,” Alain added.

  “Freemasons pose a threat,” Remy said. “The Church’s power base is autocratic rule. Keeping the common folk ignorant and shackled to their stations in life means they can be controlled. The exact opposite of what the lodges represent.”

  “Freedom from the oppression of church and state is a long road, but returning the rightful bloodline—in France and Scotland—are what we are sworn to do,” Alain said.

  “Regardless of interfering popes,” Remy added. “We survived Clement and Phillipe. We will persevere.”

  “Templars never surrender.”

  “Aye. ’Tis our motto,” Shane said.

  He was still thinking about that motto as the ship’s bow turned toward home. As tempted as he was by Abigail—lust aside, he actually enjoyed conversing with her—he could not surrender even though he was beginning to regret his agreement with her father. He must not give in to his desires, no matter how strongly they called to him.

  He had done the right thing, leaving her with Ian and his cousins. She would have the company of other women. Even though his cousins didn’t tend to gossip like Londoners did, they all liked to chatter. They would include Abigail in their conversations and make her feel welcome. Ian would protect her. She would be fine until it came time to return her to her father. It really was best that he remove himself from temptation.

  Truly, he had made the best decision.

  Resolutely, he put thoughts of Abigail out of his mind. He had a stop to make in London, but once he was home in the quiet sanctuary of his library, all would be well.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Where do you think this should go?” Kyla asked, holding an oil painting of a sixteenth century galleon under full sails.

  “Not in the parlor,” Fiona giggled. “We need something romantic in there.”

  “I think we should hang it in the foyer,” Shauna said, “since Shane does own a shipping company.”

  “I like that idea,” Abigail agreed. Usually entry halls either held a portrait
of the hereditary aristocrat of the manor or they boasted some prestigious original by the likes of Rembrandt or Rubens. “I’d like to commission a painting of one of Shane’s actual ships sometime.” She started to motion to one of the footmen Ian had loaned them, but all three men were already vying to assist Kyla in the placement of the painting.

  Her maid offered a smile and flirtatious look that somehow managed to include the entire trio at the same time. Abigail just hoped they wouldn’t come to blows over Kyla anytime soon. She needed everyone working together if they were to get the place ready by the time Shane returned home.

  Luckily—for her, at least—a nasty storm had swept down the North Sea so Shane would be delayed a few more days. Abigail needed every minute of it.

  Not that they hadn’t made a lot of progress. She recalled Janet’s shocked face when she’d arrived with Shane’s young sisters, two cousins, three footmen and a dozen armed guards. Janet had recovered quickly and Abigail suspected Kyla had filled the housekeeper in on just why everyone was here. In any event, Janet’s knowledge of which shops had the best furnishings had been a timesaver and she had wisely taken Kyla with her, thus ensuring three footmen would trail along to carry the goods not being delivered to the house directly.

  The parlor did not have the lavish, gilded decorations that London’s townhomes had added to wall moldings and ceilings—for which Abigail was thankful—but it had a warmth that hadn’t been there before. Pale gold wallpaper with a subtle scroll design of small green leaves had been added. A comfortably plush-velvet sofa in deep-blue faced the hearth, matching the draperies at the long, narrow windows flanking the fireplace. The two straight-back chairs were replaced with Sheratons of maple-veneered cherry wood, the color enhanced by late afternoon sun and adding enriched color to the walls. The seats were well-padded rosy damask, the lyre-shaped chair backs carved to fit the curve of one’s back. Small pedestal tables of cherry wood stood within easy reach of each seat. All in all, it was a comfortable room and not too feminine.