A Scottish Love Page 26

  The next time she saw him, she frowned. He smiled in response, which only flustered her.

  Finally, she found Fergus sitting in a quiet corner and joined him.

  “You should be among our guests,” he said.

  “At the moment, I need a respite from our guests.”

  The Family Parlor had been transformed for dancing, and the musicians made up for any lack of talent with their enthusiasm. Several times, instead of dancing, the guests had begun to sing along with the tune.

  She should have been warm, but the broad double doors had been left open to the autumn night, and an occasional gust cooled the air.

  Mr. Loftus was holding court in the Clan Hall, his gouty foot propped up, his usually taciturn face transformed by a smile. Several villagers clustered around him, no doubt inquiring as to the changes he’d make if the sale of Gairloch happened. Money, in this case, could soothe any worries the inhabitants of Invergaire Glen might have.

  If Gordon danced, she hadn’t seen it. Nor was she all that interested in whom he might pick to be his partner.

  Not one little bit.

  Fergus was staring out at the crowd, his face somber. He wasn’t having a good time and wasn’t at all shy about showing it.

  Once, she might have been able to tease him from his mood. But his aura of privacy was so intact that she knew he wouldn’t speak of what was bothering him.

  That didn’t mean, however, that she was going to refrain from badgering him.

  “Haven’t you and Elizabeth talked to each other yet?”

  He frowned at her. She was growing tired of being on the receiving end of her brother’s glower.

  “You have to agree to sell Gairloch,” she said, abruptly. “If you had enough money, Elizabeth would agree to your suit.”

  “Are you suited to give advice, Shona? I would have thought your own life rather a mess.”

  That was too true not to feel a twinge of hurt.

  “I’m not your mother or your nurse, but you need someone to care for you, since it’s only too evident you need someone’s help.”

  She threw up her hands at his expression.

  “I’m not talking about your leg, brother. But your heart.”

  He frowned at her again.

  She stood, shaking her head at him.

  “Are you two fighting again?”

  She turned to find Gordon standing there, a glass of whiskey in each hand. Wordlessly, he handed one to Fergus.

  “No, we’re not fighting,” she said. “We have differing opinions, that’s all.”

  Gordon only smiled, nodded to an acquaintance, then excused himself absentmindedly, as if he was bored with her presence.

  She watched him for a few moments, then turned to find Fergus smiling at her.

  “You still love him,” he said, the words soft enough that they didn’t carry.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His smile held an edge of pity.

  “You still love him.”

  Really, he had to stop saying such things.

  “If I’d been commanded to marry Gordon, I would have and no doubt been very happy until the end of my life. I knew all his attributes, those qualities a wife must learn in time.”

  “When have you ever done what anyone commanded?” Fergus asked with a smile.

  She ignored the comment, intent on her confession. “But in the last seven years, I’ve trained myself only to see his flaws.”

  “Has he that many?”

  “He’s proud, stubborn, and impossible,” she murmured.

  “Qualities that could be spoken of you,” he said, turning his head to watch her.

  She wasn’t going to answer that.

  “I’m thinking he’s had to be that way, to become his own man,” Fergus said.

  Surprised, she turned to look at him.

  “Gordon’s entire life has been spent trying to either escape his father or make him proud.” He leaned back against the wall. “In the end, he didn’t care about the old man’s opinion.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I’d venture to say that there are few people’s opinions he does care about.” He slowly turned his head and regarded her. “Is yours one of them?”

  Without an answer, she left him, intent on their guests. With any luck, none of them would mention Gordon.

  “They don’t like each other very much, do they?” Miriam Loftus said.

  The woman was drenched in scent. If nothing else, the overly flowery perfume should have warned him of her approach, but he’d been lost in his own thoughts.

  “Who?”

  “Sir Gordon and Shona.”

  The comment was so absurd that, for a moment, Fergus didn’t know what to say. But when his amusement vanished, he realized that Miriam was seeing exactly what the two of them wanted others to see.

  “They’ve been friends for years,” he said cautiously, unwilling to divulge his sister’s past to anyone.

  “He’s quite magnificent,” she said. “In his kilt, I mean.”

  Annoyed, he glanced at her. He was dressed in the same uniform.

  Elizabeth had looked at him, earlier, then pointedly away. Did she remember the Crimea?

  When one of his men died, she’d announced it to him. More than once, she’d held his hand in wordless comfort. It hadn’t seemed fair that, after having survived his wounds, a man perished from disease. Elizabeth had understood the danger, even cautioning him that it wasn’t wise for him to visit so often.

  “Doing so might put you in harm’s way,” she’d said one day.

  “Would you care?”

  Her lovely face had changed, the calm look changing to one of distress. He’d left not long afterward, embarrassed at revealing his uncertainty. That was before he’d garnered his courage and confessed his love to her.

  Nothing was more insecure than a man in love. Or perhaps a man in love on the eve of battle.

  Miriam said something and he pushed away the mists of memory, turning his attention to her once again. Another point not necessarily in her favor, that Miss Loftus always seemed to know when she wasn’t the sole object of someone’s thoughts.

  How could he ever have thought to court her? The idea of doing so was loathsome, even to save Gairloch.

  She moved away, finally, skirting the dancers, smiling as she was complimented. She would be a poor chatelaine and the castle deserved better.

  He wished the fool well who was to marry her. She’d run him a merry race, that was for sure. Or perhaps marriage would settle her, but he sincerely doubted it. Marriage didn’t convey substance, and that was lacking in Miriam Loftus’s character. Life was not all about what could be purchased or acquired, a fact the young woman had yet to learn.

  Gordon arrived with another glass of whiskey.

  “Are you prescient?” he asked, reaching for it.

  “Just being a friend.”

  A comment fraught with memory. He wasn’t disposed to think of the past with any kindness right at the moment.

  Gordon sat in the same chair Shona had occupied only a few minutes earlier.

  “It’s time for me to be a protective older brother,” he said.

  “Is it?” Gordon said, not sounding the least interested.

  “It’s a miracle I didn’t become an uncle seven years ago,” he said. “But I’m not altogether certain that same luck will hold.”

  Gordon’s expression changed. Now he had his interest. Damn time, too.

  “You knew?”

  “The whole countryside knew, or did you think your trysts in the cottage were secret?”

  He could tell, from the other man’s look, that Gordon had thought exactly that.

  “Don’t you know that the Imries have been fodder for gossip for years? We’re entertainment for the village, if nothing else.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it before?”

  “What, and admit you’ve been seducing my sister? I would have had to beat you to a pulp. A little difficult after you became my co
mmanding officer.”

  Gordon stared down into his glass. “I deserved it.”

  Fergus sighed.

  “You deserved some measure of blame,” he said, a moment later. “But so does Shona.” He looked toward the Family Parlor where she’d disappeared. “What Shona wants, Shona normally gets, and it seemed she wanted you.”

  He almost smiled at Gordon’s look of surprise, but he was feeling a little vulnerable at the moment himself, so he spared himself the amusement.

  Elizabeth was standing behind her patient, and every time he glanced in her direction, she glanced away, leaving him no doubt of two things: she was watching him just as he was watching her, and she didn’t want him to know it any more than he wanted her to know he was acting like a lovesick swain.

  Dear God, they were all pathetic.

  “Leave her alone,” he said to Gordon, a little harsher than he intended. “She hasn’t had it easy these last few years. I don’t want you to take advantage of her again.”

  “I have no intention of doing so.”

  How damn stiff and righteous Gordon sounded. He and Shona, however, were combustible in combination. Anyone—other than Miriam Loftus—could see that.

  “Isn’t there anyone in England enamored of you? Some bride you could bring back to Rathmhor?”

  “I’ve met a few women.”

  He sat back, his gaze intent. “Someone in particular?”

  “One or two. The daughter of the regimental surgeon seems to fancy me. A Miss Thompson.” Gordon glanced in his direction. “And you? Did you ever tell Elizabeth how you felt?”

  With one hand, he gestured toward his bent leg. Reason enough not to speak.

  “Plan on remaining a cripple always, Fergus?”

  Surprised, he glanced over at the man who’d always been his friend, then his commander, and now an irritant.

  “You won the damn Victoria Cross, man. For courage under fire. I’d never thought you’d be a coward now.”

  He stood, albeit with some difficulty. “Perhaps it’s best if you leave now.”

  His anger grew at Gordon’s easy smile. One part of him knew that he was using Gordon as a scapegoat, that his frustration and rage were only partly due to the other man. He was damn tired of being betrayed by his body, by being inept and easily tired. His leg hurt; his heart hurt, and he was more than a little worried about the future.

  Right now, however, he couldn’t solve all those problems, but he could solve one—Gordon.

  “I mean it. Leave.”

  “Such hospitality,” Gordon said, standing.

  Another point of irritation, that Gordon topped him by two inches.

  “Get out of Gairloch. Leave my sister alone and get out of Gairloch.”

  “Or what, Fergus? You’ll fight me? You’ve become too much a coward for that.”

  His fist connected with Gordon’s chin with a resounding crack. He hoped to God he’d broken the other man’s jaw.

  But Gordon didn’t look overly disturbed by the blow. Other than rubbing his jaw, the other man didn’t move. The least Gordon could have done was fall to the ground.

  He gripped his cane hard with one hand, and turned, his aim to get as far away from Gordon MacDermond as humanly possible. Unfortunately, Mr. Loftus took the opportunity to shout out an instruction to Helmut. He glanced in their direction, and found himself face to face with Elizabeth.

  He really had had enough tonight.

  She was just going to have to see him limp, damn it.

  He turned back to Gordon. “Go back to England. Go marry your Miss Thompson. Leave Shona with some reputation.”

  On his way out of the Hall, he saw Shona standing there, her face carefully expressionless, her eyes flat.

  She’d heard it all, then.

  “You’ve won,” he said. “I’ll sell the castle. Americans can live here for all I care. I don’t care anymore.”

  In the silence, he gathered up the remnants of his dignity and made his way from the Clan Hall. This time, there was no piper to lead the way.

  Chapter 28

  They’d certainly given all the inhabitants of Invergaire Glen enough to talk about, hadn’t they? The final appearance of the Imries would be fodder for gossip for years to come.

  She tilted her head up, pressed a smile on her face, and faced Gordon. She should say something witty right now. Something cutting, perhaps, to let him know just how much she didn’t care that he’d been talking about a Miss Thompson.

  Poor Shona Imrie, gave her virtue and innocence to Gordon McDermott. Then, just when you’d think she would have learned better, she fell in love with him again.

  He was coming closer, and her smile, anchored with such determination, was wobbling.

  She turned and walked in the other direction.

  “Are all Scotsmen so foolish?” Elizabeth asked, finding Fergus in the west tower. Did he think himself invisible? Everyone knew this was his favorite place at Gairloch. “Even when there’s no reason for them to be?” she added, drawing near.

  Fergus didn’t turn when she spoke, answer, or acknowledge her in any way.

  “I’m not going away, you know. Even though it’s apparent you very much wish I would.”

  “I adored you from the beginning,” he said, staring out at the night-darkened landscape. “I’ve plighted my damn troth to you on numerous occasions. I’ve bared my heart more than once. And now,” he said, turning to face her, “you come to my aid? Why? Because you like to see me laid low?”

  “Is that what you are?” She regarded him somberly. “I think you’re in a bit of a temper. Are you feeling very sorry for yourself as well?”

  “Go away, Elizabeth,” he said, turning back to the window.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t think I will.” She took a few steps toward him. “Your sister thinks I’ve avoided you because of your leg,” she said. “I know that’s not true of me, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s true for you.”

  She approached him, placed her hand on his shoulder, feeling the rebuff in his movement away from her touch.

  “Do you think I care about your leg?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  She sighed.

  “My family isn’t as proud as yours, Fergus.”

  He didn’t say anything, only shook his head. Repudiation in a gesture.

  Very well, it must be the whole truth, then.

  “I never received your letters,” she said. “But if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  He turned and faced her. “So you’ve said. Is that what you came to tell me? I understand, Elizabeth. You want nothing to do with me.”

  “Oh, Fergus, it isn’t that.”

  “Then what the hell is it?”

  An indication of his anger, that he swore in front of her.

  She straightened her shoulders. “I can’t read. I never learned.”

  For the longest moment, he only studied her. She looked away, then back at him, determined to be done with this once and for all.

  “My father was a thief. My mother was a prostitute. My brothers are skilled at many things, none of them legal.”

  “I didn’t want to marry your family, Elizabeth.”

  She didn’t know what was more disturbing about that statement—the fact that he’d wanted to marry her, or that it sounded as if he’d changed his mind.

  “I come from London. Kensington, a battleground in its own way. My mother had seven children, three of whom died before they reached the age of three. The rest of us were sent to work almost as soon as we could walk by ourselves. Some occupations were not those to boast about.”

  Elizabeth turned her hands, staring at her palms. “I’ve gotten used to washing,” she said softly. “But before Miss Nightingale, I might have gone weeks without a bath. It’s what I knew. I’d never seen the broader world or even imagined it. I was simply trying to survive, and I somehow thought it was the same for everyone.”

  He didn’t speak, so she conti
nued.

  “I became ill one day and was taken to Middlesex Hospital.” She stared down at the wood floor. “I didn’t know it was cholera until later, or that Miss Nightingale herself had been my nurse. When I heard she was going to treat the wounded, I begged to go with her. I was willing to learn anything I could.”

  She wondered if he knew this confession was difficult for her. It seemed he did, because he reached for her. She put both hands in the air, palms toward him. She really couldn’t finish her story if he touched her.

  “I had no other place to go, Fergus, but that’s not why I wanted to be a nurse. I found that by helping others, I could forget where I came from.” She took a step toward one of the windows.

  “Miss Nightingale taught me everything,” Elizabeth said. “I learned to speak like her, to dress like her, to be better than I was. I learned nursing to heal myself, then realized I could be a help to others.”

  “You’re as far from your past as we are from London, Elizabeth.”

  She looked at him.

  “Do you think I give a damn about your family, Elizabeth? I’ve got a family that goes back three hundred years, and a pittance to my name.” His arms stretched outward to encompass the whole of Gairloch. “I’m laird of this great and grand place, and I haven’t the funds to repair the roof or buy sheep.”

  “Well, good,” she said.

  “Good?” His eyebrows rose. “Good?”

  “You’re a very imposing man, Fergus, being the Laird of Gairloch. And winning the Victoria Cross. If you have no money, then it means we’re alike in one way.”

  “You have more than me.”

  “How can you say that? I’ve nothing but what Mr. Loftus pays me. No family, no honors, certainly no history to call mine.”

  “You have something of infinite worth to me,” he said. “My heart.”

  How easily he could steal her breath.

  “But I have nothing to offer a wife,” he said.

  “Oh, how can you say that?” she said, going to him and placing her hand on his chest. Her other hand went to his cheek where it rested, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. “You’re such a handsome man.”

  “One who loves you, Elizabeth.”

  She looked up at him.

  “I’ve never stopped.”