Forgetting the Scot Page 11

  They spilled out into the brilliant sunlit field where they had met Alex and Magnus earlier in the day. Squinting and gasping for breath, Virginia clutched at the cramp in her side.

  “I can’t believe it,” Charlotte said.

  “Believe it. That was a wolf, I’ve no doubt,” Lucy said.

  “No. I mean I can’t believe we still have our baskets.”

  Charlotte was right. They still held their baskets full of precious mushrooms. They hadn’t lost a one. Their laughter evaporated all trace of the terror induced by their encounter with the wolf.

  “Merde. Alex is not going to believe me when I tell him about the wolf.”

  …

  Magnus had balked at Alex’s request until he heard the reason. Virginia, Lucy, and Charlotte had returned from foraging with an intriguing report.

  “A wolf, ye say?”

  “Aye. Swore they all three saw a wolf. It was probably a wild dog. That would explain the missing sheep from the north pasture.”

  They spurred their horses over a shallow crossing on the River Forss. Alex and Goliath made it across first. Finbar sped up and tried to pass Goliath. Finbar didn’t like being last.

  He tugged on Finbar’s bit to remind him who was boss. “If you’re planning to hunt the beast down, we’re headed in the wrong direction.”

  “I thought we’d collect Declan. He’s been handfast to Caya nearly six weeks. I ken he can stand to be awa’ from her for a day or so.”

  Declan was the best tracker and the best shot. Magnus and Alex could match any man with swords, but a sword wasn’t much use on a hunt. Only a musket and knife were needed for a hunt.

  A day or so. Shite. He’d promised Virginia he would visit her after supper this evening, something he’d been looking forward to. As much as he enjoyed a two-day trek through the woods, an hour in her company was worth more to him.

  “If you have Declan, ye dinnae need me. I have something I need to do.”

  “No, you don’t.” Alex sounded a lot like his father, Laird John.

  He growled back at Alex. “What do you mean?”

  Alex gave him a hard look. “The viscountess is married.”

  His first reaction was to flatten his bampot cousin for calling out his dishonorable intentions. However much he wanted to deny it, he had planned to seduce Virginia this evening. Everything about that plan was wrong. Alex was right. She was married. He felt the blood drain from his head. Sudden shame made it impossible for him to respond, and he remained quiet for the rest of the ride to Taldale Farm.

  Declan’s new wife, Caya, met them in the yard. He was ludicrously happy to see the lass. She looked radiant, so different from the sullen mouse they’d met only two months ago. He’d been too out of sorts to notice the change in her the last time he’d seen her.

  The first night Declan had laid eyes on Caya, he had insisted she was the wife he had dreamed about, and he’d wagered his whisky business in a gamble to win her from her worthless brother. Declan hadn’t cheated exactly. He was a genius of sorts when it came to cards. He had the ability to keep track of the deck in his head. Still, there had been some risk. When Caya found out her brother had lost her in a game of cards, she’d gone willingly with Declan, a man she’d never met before that morning. Declan’s luck had held. She’d fallen in love with him and when the same pirate that captured Virginia had stolen Caya, the men had risked their lives to rescue them all. In a way, he had Caya to thank for his Virginia.

  She’s not yours, ye gomeril. And she never will be. She’s a lady and you’re nothing.

  Surprisingly, it took very little to convince Declan to join their hunting party. His only objection was leaving Caya alone in their big empty house.

  “Lucy will be by to collect you, lass,” Alex said. “Pack a bag. She wants you to stay at Balforss tonight.”

  He and Alex turned their backs while Declan and Caya engaged in a passionate goodbye. The two made daft promises to miss each other, and think of each other, and not be able to sleep or eat properly without the other.

  “Jesus, man,” Magnus groaned. “Say goodbye and get on your bloody horse.”

  An hour later, they reached the forest clearing where Lucy had described their encounter with the wolf and searched. Declan found scat, evidence that a dog or something akin to a dog had been in the area recently. They spread out on foot and continued to prowl the reaches of the wood. Finding no other clues, they headed toward the foothills bordering the westernmost boundary of Balforss lands—the only logical place an animal could hide from humans for any amount of time.

  They stopped long enough to catch two good-sized salmon and a small trout. When they reached the clearing they had used since they were boys, the cousins went about setting up camp as they had done dozens of times. So ingrained were their habits, they had no need to speak, no need to divide duties. Each wordlessly went about his usual task. Declan gathered firewood. Alex saw to the horses. Magnus prepared the fish.

  By nightfall, they sat comfortably around a raging fire roasting filets of fish on sticks and passing a flask of good whisky.

  “When did you start the whisky distillery?” he asked Declan. “Three years, was it?”

  “Aye.”

  “When do ye ken your whisky will be drinkable?”

  “Och, you can drink the three-year-old now and it willnae kill ye. But it’ll be fine whisky in another year.”

  “Four years.” Alex pulled a hunk of pink flesh off the roasted salmon and slurped it into his mouth.

  “I’ve thirty-six casks of the first batch. I’ll sell thirty and set aside six. Those I’ll let sit for another four to eight years.” Declan licked the fish grease off his fingers. “Will Ian and Peter be ready to sail the ship to America by then?”

  Alex laughed. “Their new crew sailed from Thurso to Orkney and back without sinking. They’d better be ready by mid-summer, or we’ll go belly up.”

  “Starting to doubt the wisdom of our little endeavor so soon?” Magnus joked.

  Alex made a throaty-sounding hum in response.

  Magnus finished the last bite of his salmon, wiped his hands on his trousers, and took another pull on the whisky flask.

  “Did they decide on a new name for the ship, yet?” asked Declan.

  “Ian wants to call her Challenger and Peter wants to call her Sea Wolf. Da says if they cannae decide by the twenty-ninth of June, he’s going to name her himself.”

  “What’s June 29th?”

  “His birthday.”

  “Caya and I will have our church wedding on the twenty-ninth of June.”

  “Are you sure you’ll be able to sleep tonight without your Caya?” Magnus goaded Declan.

  “At least I have something better than my right hand to kiss goodnight, ye reekin’ stoater.”

  “Sod off. I’m left-handed.”

  Their laughter was cut off abruptly when a sound echoed in the distance—a sound none of them had heard since their time in the army on a lonely Spanish plain—the eerie lingering aroooooooooo of a lone wolf.

  The hair on his arms rose stiff and prickly. The sound died off and then rose again, breaking at first from high to low then tapering off.

  “Jesus.” Alex hissed.

  “That’s a Goddamn wolf,” Declan said.

  Magnus remembered the awful chorus of night howls that would follow every battle when the wolves would come for the bodies left on the field. He hadn’t been afraid of dying in battle so much as being eaten by wolves after. The three had made a pact that whomever survived would bury them that had fallen. He darted a look across the fire at Declan and Alex. He knew they were remembering their promise to each other while fighting in Spain.

  “Fenrir the great and terrible wolf,” Declan said. “Son of Loki.”

  “One of your old gods?” Alex asked.

  “Aye.” Declan recited the myth as if in a trance. “Fenrir was chained and silenced by Tyr, god of justice. When the end of time comes, Fenrir will break his
chains, shake the mountains with his howls, and consume the king of the Norse gods, Odin.”

  They listened to another long baleful howl.

  “I dinnae expect time to end this night, but I’ll take first watch,” Alex said. “We’ll keep the fire going.” Then he added, “For the warmth.”

  Magnus doubted Alex was afraid. He’d known Alex all his life, and he’d only seen him truly frightened once, three years ago, when Lady Sutherland’s factor, Patrick Sellar, had kidnapped Lucy in order to cow Laird John into dropping his investigation into alleged murders. Alex had spent two days crazed with fear for Lucy’s life.

  He remembered looking into Alex’s eyes and finding them vacant, as if all humanity and reason had left his cousin and only a kind of berserk killer remained. Thank God, Alex’s brother Ian had been able to bring him back to his senses in time to reason out a way to find Lucy and bring her safely home.

  He and Declan spread out their bedrolls and settled while Alex stoked the fire and wrapped himself in his tartan. The wolf drew out another howl, a lonely sound.

  “There’s just the one,” Magnus said. “Do ye ken maybe he’s the last of his kind?”

  “Could be,” Alex said.

  He felt an odd kinship with the beast. Like the wolf, he was alone. Would always be alone. No siblings. And like the wolf, he had no mate. Nor would he ever have one, because after meeting Virginia, how would any other woman compare? No. He was the last of his line.

  The wolf howled again.

  “Alex?”

  “Aye?”

  “I dinnae want to be the man who kills the last wolf in Scotland.”

  …

  Caya’s visit eased Virginia’s disappointment when she learned Magnus would not be coming as he had promised. Caya had only spent one night aboard the Tigress with Virginia and the other three women, but it was she who had been their salvation. Caya had been the reason the men of Balforss had attacked the ship and freed all the women. That had bonded them for life.

  After supper, the ladies went for a walk in the garden, something Lucy and Alex did on nice evenings. Lucy and Charlotte walked along the garden path with arms linked. Virginia and Caya followed, their arms entwined, as well.

  “Marriage agrees with you,” Virginia said.

  “I never even dared to wish for this kind of happiness. Sometimes it scares me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m afraid this life is too good to be true. Sometimes I wake in the night worried God will take Declan away from me and leave me alone again.”

  “Do you tell Declan about your fears?”

  “He says that we should enjoy every moment of our happiness because things won’t always be good. Bad things will happen to us, but we needn’t worry because we’ll face them together. We’ll never have to fight alone because we have each other.”

  “He sounds like a wise man.”

  “Oh yes. Declan is wise and strong and handsome and brave and kind and loving and he’s very—”

  “Go on.”

  Caya lowered her voice. “He’s very ardent.”

  “Ardent?”

  “Yes. He’s…” Caya held her back and waited until Lucy and Charlotte walked farther ahead. “He’s very virile.”

  “What do you mean, dear?”

  “I mean he’s insatiable. He wants to…you know, a lot. I expected once a night, but he wants to do it two or three times a night, and every morning, too.” Caya’s eyes got big. “And sometimes he wants to do it in the middle of the day.”

  “You don’t enjoy his attentions?”

  Caya’s face brightened. “Oh, he’s very attentive.” Her blonde eyebrows collided. “But I’m worried that our case is unusual. Is there such a thing as too much loving?”

  Ah, what she wouldn’t give to have such a life, to have a husband who desired her, cherished her, loved her so much he couldn’t keep his hands off her. What she wouldn’t give to have Caya’s problem, too much loving.

  “Declan is a young man and, from what I know, young men have a great amount of stamina and a strong drive to plant their seed. As long as you are agreeable, there’s nothing unusual about Declan’s ardent behavior. Especially as you are newly wed.”

  Caya sighed. “Oh. Good. Because I would hate to tell him to stop.”

  Virginia bit her bottom lip trying hard not to laugh, but the more she tried to hold it in the worse it got.

  “Is something wrong?” Caya asked.

  She lost control. “No darling. It’s just…I’m so happy to see you again. Or I should say, I’m happy to see you at last, now that I have my spectacles. You are as lovely looking as you sound.”

  “Those little glass windows help you see better?”

  “Much better.”

  “Wherever did you find them?”

  “Magnus found them at the market in Wick.”

  “Isn’t that funny? Declan found me in Wick.”

  The next afternoon, Virginia relieved Lucy of her cranky daughter. “Since Jemma won’t nap, why don’t you take a lie down instead?”

  Lucy nearly collapsed with relief. “God bless you. I don’t think I can take another minute of her redheaded nonsense.”

  “Come on, my little ginger snap.” She scooped Jemma up from the carpet. “Let’s go feed the duckies, shall we?”

  “This story is dreadful. I’ll come with you.” Charlotte tossed her book aside, a romance entitled Zastrozzi by PBS, whomever that was.

  “Me, too.” Caya set her sewing down and bounced out of her chair.

  Jemma immediately grabbed Virginia’s precious spectacles off her face and tried to put them in her mouth. She coaxed them out of the toddler’s sticky fingers and pocketed them in her apron. Naturally, Jemma screamed bloody murder until Caya found the child’s abandoned dolly behind a chair and handed it to her. The tiny tyrant cast a resentful look at Caya, as if accusing her of dolly theft. Virginia wrestled Jemma into a bonnet, which she promptly tore off. After one more try at the bonnet, she gave up the battle. There was plenty of shade near the duck pond.

  Once they were outside, Jemma quieted. In fact, the sunshine had a calming effect on all the women. They walked the half mile or so to the spring-fed pond, enjoying the intermittent bleating of sheep, the ring of the blacksmith’s hammer, and the hum of bees among the tall wildflowers.

  She inhaled Jemma’s intoxicating baby smell, a combination of rosewater, dog, and this morning’s porridge. If she hadn’t had the “accident,” her baby would have been around Jemma’s age. If Langley hadn’t been a monster, she’d be holding her own child in her arms right now.

  Best not to think of that. She could lose herself forever in that sadness. Instead, she’d look forward to when her home for foundlings was finished. She’d have dozens of children to hold in her arms then. She liked to think of herself as a kind of mother to the boys and girls who would live at the home. That is, once she returned to London and got her affairs in order. Why hadn’t she received a response from her solicitor, yet? It had been almost a month since she’d sent her request to Mr. Begley.

  Jemma squirmed in her arms, and for a moment she imagined what kind of child she and Magnus would make together. A boy child, perhaps? With black hair like his papa? And what would they name him? Fergus after Magnus’s stepfather. No, they would name him Steven after the father Magnus had lost when he was a boy. She shook herself awake from her brief fantasy and immediately started grieving for the baby she would never have. What a sad perverse life she led inside her head.

  The angel she held in her arms grew heavier. The toddler had fallen asleep, and she experienced a stolen pleasure in that a baby, any baby, would find slumber in the arms of a barren woman like herself.

  Charlotte and Caya spread a blanket under a great pine, the thick carpet of dried pine needles beneath making for a comfortable pallet, and Virginia lay the sleeping redhead on her back. The ducks made a few angry protests either in defense of their pond or because they expected b
read crumbs and received none. Eventually, the quacking racket subsided, and the three women sighed back on the blanket.

  Virginia closed her eyes. A light breeze moved the trees, allowing light to dance and flicker through the branches. She concentrated on the shadows behind her lids, mesmerized by their constant movement. Mrs. Pennyweather must have given up hope by now. She needed to reassure the woman that she had not forgotten about her. Virginia would write to her just as soon as she heard back from her solicitor. If she didn’t hear back, if everything went wrong, she would have to return to Bromley Hall, her prison, her hell on earth. But for now, she could sleep knowing she was safe.

  The soft buzzing of Charlotte’s snores woke her. The sun had dipped below the line of trees. They must have slept at least an hour or more.

  Lucy called from some ways up the path. “Charlooootte. Virginiaaaa. Cayaaaa.”

  Virginia rose from their blanket and went to meet Lucy. She waved. “Over here.”

  “Where’s Charlotte?”

  “We all took a nap. Did you sleep well?”

  “For a little while.” Lucy brushed past her. “Someone’s come for Charlotte.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “A man.” When Lucy reached the blanket, she gave Charlotte’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Wake up, darling. There’s someone here to see you.”

  Charlotte stirred, groggy and slightly irritated by the interruption. “Who?”

  “A Mr. Terrence Howard. He says he’s your solicitor.”

  “Oh, dear God.” Charlotte scrambled to her feet.

  Lucy snatched Jemma off the blanket before Charlotte accidentally trampled her.

  Caya woke with the commotion. “What’s happened?”

  “Someone’s come for Charlotte.”

  Charlotte checked her hairpins. “My hair. Does my hair look all right?”

  “You look perfect as usual, darling,” Lucy assured her. “You seem upset. Who is Mr. Howard?”

  “Dear Lord, I’m a mess. I can’t see him like this.” Charlotte looked truly panic-stricken.

  “I’ll have Laird John send him away—”

  “No!”

  Virginia held Charlotte by her shoulders and gave her a little shake to get her attention. “Calm down. You look fine. Beautiful as ever. Take a deep breath and tell us, who is Mr. Howard?”