A Borrowed Scot Page 30

  Montgomery nodded. “Where’s Tom?”

  “He’s fine, sir. I had him by me watching.”

  “We need to find . . .” his words broke off as he turned to Veronica. “What’s her name?”

  “Millicent,” she said.

  “We need to find Millicent,” he said. “If she’s alive,” he added. Ralston nodded, disappearing into the crowd of people from Doncaster Hall.

  During the next several hours, Veronica’s fire brigade performed admirably, arranging themselves in position within moments of the blaze. A line was formed leading to the river, and within two hours, the fire was extinguished. The distillery was reduced to rubble, nothing of the walls or roof remaining. Surprisingly, one of the last of the whiskey kettles still stood, a little battered, but remaining as a stubborn testament to the building’s original purpose.

  The location where the paraffin oil barrel had once stood was covered in earth, a preventive measure to ensure any remaining oil wouldn’t be a hazard.

  He and Veronica were surveying the damage when Ralston and Tom approached, each holding the arm of a woman writhing between them.

  “We found her, sir,” Ralston said.

  Millicent struggled, but the two men held her tight. Suddenly, she fell to her knees in front of Montgomery.

  “Oh, sir,” she said, raising a tear-streaked and scorched face to him. “It wasn’t you, Your Lordship.”

  Ralston frowned. “Fair words won’t make the pot boil, girl,” he said.

  Millicent’s voice changed, grew rough as she sent Veronica a sweeping look of contempt. “It was her, sir.”

  “Explain yourself,” Montgomery said.

  Before the other woman could answer, Veronica stepped forward, grabbed his hand, and gripped it tightly. She didn’t look in his direction, her attention on the maid.

  “Did my cousin tell you to do such a thing? Was it Amanda?” Veronica asked, her voice emotionless. “Did she promise you a position in London?”

  He squeezed her hand in wordless comfort, but she didn’t look away from Millicent.

  “I don’t know your cousin,” Millicent said.

  “Then why?”

  “I worked for that position,” she said. “I deserved it. Five years I’ve worked here, and I do a better job than anyone.”

  Veronica couldn’t find any words to respond to that shocking comment. Millicent and Amanda were separated by country, status, and appearance. Yet they were alike in their single-minded pursuit of what they felt was owed to them.

  “What shall we do with her, sir?”

  “Send her home,” Montgomery said. “Send her anywhere but here.”

  Taking Veronica’s hand, he turned and headed toward the bridge.

  “You thought it was Amanda,” he said.

  She nodded. “It seemed like something Amanda would do. How very strange for two people to dislike me so much.”

  “I don’t think Amanda likes anyone unless that person can serve her needs,” he said. “As for Millicent, she’s a twisted soul.”

  At the top of the bridge, Veronica turned and surveyed the damage.

  “Will you rebuild the distillery?”

  “We’ll build a place for airships, instead.”

  She leaned on the edge of the bridge, gazing down at the water. Dawn was coloring the river orange and pink, shades strangely in keeping with the memory of a night filled with fire.

  “How did she know fouling the paraffin oil would make the burner go out?”

  “Who tends the lamps?” he asked. “Who filters the oil?”

  “Millicent,” she said. “Of course.” A moment later, she asked another question. “She did it because she thought I’d be with you, didn’t she?”

  “You were on the first flight. Everyone at Doncaster Hall saw us, which probably gave her the idea.”

  “I wasn’t on the second flight,” she said. “Nor did she know I’d be on the one you let people know was planned. She’d have killed you, Montgomery.”

  She walked into his arms, clung to him.

  “It’s strange to make someone that angry at me,” she said.

  His silence earned him a quick look.

  “I was never that angry,” she said.

  He smiled, and wordlessly they descended the other side of the bridge, taking the path back to Doncaster Hall, a journey interrupted each time someone wanted to speak with them.

  Veronica was grateful to see no one seemed to blame her still for Montgomery’s accident. Word of Millicent’s confession had probably already circulated through the staff. Also, Montgomery was still holding her hand, and despite how many times they were stopped, refused to relinquish it.

  “Why didn’t you choose her?” he asked, when they had a moment alone.

  “Millicent? I had a feeling about her,” Veronica said.

  “Your Gift?”

  She glanced at him, but he only smiled.

  “I’m beginning to think you can see into the hearts of others,” he said. “God knows you have the ability to see into mine.”

  Her smile was a beautiful thing, alluring and tempting. He had no choice but to kiss her in full view of everyone.

  Someone cheered, and he grinned when he pulled back.

  Veronica laughed, tucked her hand in his, and together they continued toward the house.

  Doncaster Hall commanded the knoll like a king upon his throne. Around it sat an emerald cloak of trees. The scepter of river ran close, the rays of a rising sun turning the surface gold.

  The morning air was filled with scent, but unlike Virginia’s heady magnolia and jasmine, this was a mix of burning wood and scorched earth. Overlying it was a breeze carrying the flavor of winter beneath the warmth.

  As they approached the house, Montgomery realized the difference between Gleneagle and Doncaster Hall lay not solely in their locale. Gleneagle had offered an uncomplicated welcome to anyone who approached it. Doncaster Hall seemed to reserve judgment upon its occupants. Once measured and approved, however, a man never wanted to leave.

  This was more than a home or a structure. Doncaster Hall was a heritage, a history, proof that the Fairfax family had existed.

  That was what his grandfather had wanted to replicate.

  People were depending on him at Doncaster Hall just as they had at Gleneagle. Decisions had to be made, decisions he’d pushed away, chosen not to address. He’d effectively escaped into his airships, into the minutiae of designing a baffle rather than thinking about the people who needed him.

  How many were employed in various Fairfax industries? He was a little ashamed to realize he didn’t know.

  “I think, perhaps, that it’s time I became the 11th Lord Fairfax of Doncaster in truth.”

  “Why not?” she asked. “You’re no longer a borrowed Scot, Montgomery.”

  Surprised, he turned his head to look at her.

  She nodded. “You’re a real Scot,” she said, picking up her skirts with both hands and walking several paces in front of him. She turned to face him, her skirts swinging, a smile lighting her face.

  “How does one become a real Scot?”

  She smiled, an enchanting expression that made him want to kiss her again.

  “You’re brave,” she said. “You’ve proven that. Not only from being a soldier in your war but being a pilot in your airship.”

  She regarded him steadily, and he met her gaze head-on. “You’re morally brave as well as physically brave.”

  “I doubt I’m as virtuous as all that,” he said.

  She ignored him, continuing. “You take responsibility. A Scot does that.”

  “Does he?”

  Her smile was back, as was the sparkle in her eyes. “A Scot also has a certain knowledge of his own value.”

  “Arrogance, you mean.”

  She shook her head. “No, not at all. A Scot simply accepts that he’s a better man than most.” Her glance teased him to disagree.

  “You’ve the same feeling for Doncas
ter Hall as you did Gleneagle,” she said, looking toward the house. “Perhaps even more so. You have everything your grandfather wished and dreamed about.”

  “Does that include a wife who understands me?”

  She renewed him, a stunning admission. She didn’t just possess a Gift. She was a gift.

  “Do I?”

  Before he could answer, Edmund stepped on the path.

  “Edmund,” he said, nodding at his solicitor. “I’ve misjudged you.”

  “In what way, Your Lordship?”

  Montgomery smiled, an expression that chilled Veronica. Mr. Kerr should be careful of his next words. Despite his smile, Montgomery wasn’t feeling the least bit affable at the moment.

  “I thought you behind the effort to sabotage my airship.”

  To his credit, Edmund appeared genuinely shocked.

  “I would do no such thing, Your Lordship.”

  “I realize that, now,” Montgomery said, taking a step forward at the same time he drew back his arm, his fist slamming into the other man’s jaw.

  Montgomery watched as Edmund fell like a stone to the path. He stood over the man, shaking his hand as Veronica stared in shock.

  “If you knew he was innocent, why did you hit him?”

  “He’s innocent of that deed, but you’re not entirely innocent, are you, Edmund?”

  He bent, hauled the man up by his collar, and held on until the solicitor blinked a few times.

  “You were the one who told me about the Society of the Mercaii. You were the one who urged me to attend.”

  Edmund sputtered but said nothing coherent.

  “You’re a member, aren’t you? I should have known the night of the séance.”

  She took a few steps away from Mr. Kerr.

  “Was he there?” she asked. “That night, was he there?”

  She stared at Edmund. She’d never known the identity of any of the members of the Society. Yet she’d sat in this man’s company, had held his hand during the séance, and all this time, he’d been there. He’d seen her naked. Perhaps the feeling she’d had about the solicitor was based, not on her Gift, but because he’d made her uncomfortable in other ways.

  Montgomery let go of Kerr’s collar, and he fell back to the ground, remaining there and looking up at Montgomery warily.

  “Are you going to hit him again?” she asked.

  Montgomery turned to look at her. “Do you want me to?”

  She’d never had such a champion. What a strange time to want to smile.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want you to hit him again.”

  “I got rid of Millicent. It’s your choice what to do with him.”

  “Must you continue to employ him?”

  “No,” Montgomery said, stretching his hand to her. “Consider him no longer employed at Doncaster Hall.”

  He glanced down at Edmund. “I’ll not be summoning you again,” he said. “We’ll just have to find a way to get along without you.” He turned to Ralston. “If you would do away with that, please,” he said, pointing in the solicitor’s direction.

  Ralston nodded as he and another man lifted Edmund to his feet.

  Montgomery grinned at her, the expression changing his face to someone younger, less marred by memory, less filled with grief.

  Her heart turned over in her chest.

  She went to him and placed her hand on his cheek.

  “I love you, Montgomery Fairfax,” she said softly, giving him the truth.

  He pulled her into his arms.

  “Thank God for it,” he said, pressing his cheek against her temple. “Thank God for that.”

  As they stood there, dawn approached shyly, banishing shadows, spreading over the landscape and setting it aglow.

  For weeks, he’d questioned his decision to come to Scotland. As the first tentative rays of a renewed day stretched toward Doncaster Hall, Montgomery knew why his path had led him here. Not only to understand his past but to accept his future.

  This moment, this instant, was the most perfect homecoming he’d ever had.

  He could almost see the ghosts of his past, James and Alisdair on either side of Caroline, hands linked, arms swinging, walking into dawn’s horizon. Their laughter caught at his heart, reminding him of days gone by and hinting at days to come.

  “What about you, Montgomery Fairfax?”

  He didn’t even pretend to misunderstand her.

  She pulled back, watching him, feeling her heartbeat escalate as he smiled at her. From the beginning, passion had linked them, leading to something stronger, more complete.

  “I didn’t want a wife,” he said.

  “Yes, I know,” she said flatly, stepping back.

  He pulled her into his arms again.

  “Then Fate or Providence gave me you,” he said.

  Loneliness had once lived in his eyes, as well as pain. Now, however, another emotion was there, something that had her throat closing and tears washing to the surface.

  Her head tipped back, her face offered up to his gaze. Her features were perfect, her eyes a pure green this morning, the soft rose of her cheeks and lips adding color to the ivory of her complexion. His lips hovered over hers, a mere breath away.

  “Do I love you? How can I not? You’re confusing, amusing, fascinating, and I suspect you’ll lead me a merry race for the rest of my life.”

  “That was not the most romantic declaration of love I’ve ever heard, Montgomery Fairfax.”

  “Shall I agree to work on it?” he asked, bending his head to kiss her cheek. “Each day, in every way.” He kissed the edge of her jaw.

  He looked at her, not at Doncaster Hall. The sunlight struck her hair, lit her eyes, and illuminated her lovely face. Her beauty, face, feature, and soul, struck him and stole his breath.

  In that instant, he realized Doncaster Hall was neither more substantial nor blessed than any other building. It was, after all, only a structure, not capable of sentient thought or feeling.

  Home was here, with this woman, with her courage and optimism, with her strength and resilience. Veronica was his home.

  She stood on tiptoe, laid her cheek gently against his, feeling the abrasiveness of his unshaven skin. Turning her head slightly, she brushed her lips against the side of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his chin, before slowly trailing a path down his throat. Her lips rested against the pulse furiously beating there, placed the tip of her tongue there tenderly, breathed against the spot of moisture.

  “Are you for seducing me, Veronica Fairfax?” he asked in the brogue of Scotland.

  She smiled, feeling his lips against her temple as he spoke.

  “I am, Montgomery Fairfax. Have you any objections?”

  He pulled back, looked at her, amusement fading from his face.

  “I love you, Veronica. There, is that better?”

  Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him in response.

  Epilogue

  Mary Tulloch looked into the surface of the mirror. Her reflection was the same image she’d seen on that long-ago day when she was little more than a child.

  She’d no complaints with life. She’d been loved and had loved; her children were healthy and a comfort. She’d been kind when she could and cruel when the occasion warranted it.

  Now was time for it to end.

  The reflection changed, as if the Tulloch Sgàthán had heard her thoughts, brown clouds boiling around the edge of the reflection.

  A young girl, shockingly attired in faded blue trousers, stood there, her face twisted in an expression of irritation. A white pea was tucked into each ear, both peas connected by a white vine to something clutched in her fist. Behind her stood a crowd of people being led by a woman in a strange dress, consisting of a kilt and a man’s jacket.

  She could almost hear the derision in the girl’s voice as she spoke to someone and wondered at the reasons for her anger. As she watched, the girl separated herself from the others, stomping away until sh
e came to a plot of land so familiar Mary’s heart clenched.

  Her cottage was different, however, marked by placards and ropes. She tried to read one of the signs, but her vision had faded over the years. Instead, she concentrated on where the girl had gone, some distance behind the cottage.

  She tripped on something laid into the earth, something existing even in this age. Her heart racing, Mary watched as the girl knelt, tucked the white beans and vine in her pocket, and lifted a rotting board. Slowly, the girl bent, her hand outstretched.

  The image faded, but the purpose of it had been clear enough.

  The day was blustery and threatening a storm as Mary Tulloch left her cottage. She took her time walking to the edge of her land, knowing that it might be the last time she made the journey. With some effort, she lifted the boards placed over an abandoned well, the very place she’d found the mirror all those years ago. Gently, she laid the Tulloch Sgàthán on a pillow of dirt for a girl in the future to discover again.

  Author’s Notes

  An occult organization operated in London beginning in the 1830s. The actual group, on which the Society of the Mercaii was based, was discontinued in the 1840s, although some speculated it still functioned well into the 20th century, albeit under more secrecy.

  John Contee Fairfax was born on a James River plantation in Virginia and became the 11th Lord Fairfax of Cameron. I’ve borrowed some of the Fairfax history for Montgomery’s antecedents. Denton Hall was the seat of the Fairfax family in Scotland.

  Lord Fairfax is a Lord of Parliament, a title created in Scotland before 1707. Its equivalent is close to a baron in the English peerage.

  Early balloons were used to report troop movements on both sides in the Civil War. They were mainly tethered, the altitude enabling the pilots to overlook enemy lines. President Abraham Lincoln established a Balloon Corps that was disbanded in 1863. Once General George McClennan, one of the early supporters of balloons for aerial reconnaissance, was relieved of his command, little enthusiasm, and even less money, existed for the project. However, experimentation with aeronautics continued.

  Paraffin oil is known as kerosene in the United States and Canada. In the early days of kerosene production, it was considered deadly because of its propensity for exploding. Today, because of the advances in the refining process, kerosene is a much safer product.