Page 18 of Finding Faith (Seduced in Scotland #2)

F aith dressed slowly that morning, still as despondent as she had been when Logan left without a word two days prior. She knew it was her own fault, that Logan was probably appalled with her and her plot. It was just as well, though, she concluded as she headed to breakfast. It had become too easy to believe that Logan was the type of man who might actually care about how she felt. He had come dangerously close to her heart, but he had proven that he could not love her beyond her faults, so it was best now to put the entire thing behind them.

If only she could.

Downhearted, she went to the dining room, where her entire family was gathered for breakfast. Aunt Belle and Hope discussed fabrics, and Grace was reading a book, as per usual. Graham was in the corner, frowning heavily as he examined something with their head groom, Daughtry.

“Concerning indeed,” Graham murmured as Faith walked by to make herself a plate from the breakfast buffet.

Though there were at least a dozen dishes to choose from, from strawberry tarts to poached eggs, bacon, sausages, puddings, and the like, Faith felt she could only manage toast. Taking two slices, she brought her plate to the table, where both her sisters and aunt looked up. Noting the spartan food choices, they peered at her with concern.

“Faith?” Hope said.

“Hmm?”

“Are you feeling well?”

“Yes,” she said in a monotone voice as she scraped a bit of butter against the bread.

Though she didn’t look up to see, Faith sensed her aunt and sisters were sharing a concerned look. But it didn’t matter as Graham spoke to the room before anyone could press her further.

“Thank you, Daughtry,” he said as the head groom left. He turned to address the family. “I’ve some unfortunate news for everyone, but I don’t want anyone to panic.”

Of course, at the word “panic,” everyone turned, anxious to hear what he had to say.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Aunt Belle asked.

“There’s been a theft from the stables,” he said, his gaze flickering to Faith. “Sweetness was stolen last night.”

“Stolen?” Hope said. “Are you sure? Couldn’t it have simply run off?”

“No,” Graham said, shaking his head. “The harness and bridle had been cut and an empty bottle of scotch was found near the grooms’ room.”

Faith frowned while Belle let out a laugh.

“Someone pickled the grooms before robbing them?” she asked. “They might have earned that horse.”

“Belle,” Graham said, his tone one of warning, but the old woman rolled her eyes.

“Was Sweetness the only one who was taken?” Grace asked.

“It would seem so—for now, at least. I’m going out with Daughtry to try and track her.”

“Is that safe?” Hope asked, standing up.

It was sweet to see how concerned she was for Graham. Where most men might tell their spouses that there was nothing to worry about, Graham was always the sort to be honest.

“Possibly not, but we can’t have horse thieves running about the Highlands, can we?”

“But what if it’s the same man who shot at Mr. Harris?” Hope asked, reaching him.

“I assure you, love, that if someone is willing to shoot me dead for a Connemara, they wouldn’t make it far.”

“Be that as it may, a stray bullet can find anyone by chance.”

Graham moved his hand to the back of Hope’s head and pulled her toward him, giving her a comforting kiss on the forehead.

“Worry not, my love. If there’s any pressing danger, we’ll manage it.”

“But—”

“Hope,” he said, his tone gentle in its command, and Hope snapped her mouth shut. “Thank you.”

She didn’t answer as he left the room, seemingly more put out than usual. When she retook her seat around the table, Faith leaned toward her.

“You haven’t told him then, have you?”

Hope glanced between her sisters and aunt as they all patiently awaited her answer.

“No, not exactly.” All three ladies sighed and leaned back into their chairs, making Hope sit up defensively. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Aunt Belle asked. Evidently, she knew Hope’s secret too. “I’ll give you that men aren’t the most attentive sort, but any talk of a baby should make them focus.”

“Graham is plenty attentive, thank you very much,” Hope said, quick to defend her husband. “It’s just that I don’t know how he will feel about it.”

“Well, I’m sure he will feel happy about it,” Grace said, looking around the table. “It’s nature, isn’t it? The goal of all males, in any species, is to reproduce. I believe he will be plenty pleased by this news.”

“Yes Grace, compare him to giraffe or an egret,” Faith said sarcastically, eyeing Grace.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Grace scowled.

“He’s going to be thrilled, my dear,” Aunt Belle said, giving Faith a lightly chastising gaze. “Absolutely thrilled.”

“Yes,” Hope said, unsure. “I hope so.”

Faith took a bite of her toast, grateful to have any sort of distraction from her own worries. It seemed everyone was just about to return to their meals when Andrews, who was standing next to the doorway, turned. With a nod, he took a step forward.

“Mrs. Jeanne Carlyle,” he said as Jeanne entered the room.

Dressed in a cream-and-brown gingham riding habit with a matching tam-o’-shanter, Jeanne smiled broadly as she came swooping into the room.

“Good morning, my friends,” she said as everyone turned to look at her. “What’s this? So much gloom for so early in the morning. I hope there is nothing in the tea that’s turned your stomachs?”

“Of course not,” Belle said, waving a bejeweled hand at an empty chair. “Please. Join us.”

“I’ve already had my breakfast,” she said, turning to Faith. “Are you ready?”

“Oh dear, were we set for lessons today?”

“Yes. Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Not exactly, but I’m afraid lessons won’t be possible today,” Faith said, picking up her teacup. “Sweetness has been stolen.”

Jeanne’s smile fell away.

“A horse thief? In these parts?” she asked, unbelieving. “That’s preposterous.”

“It’s true,” Hope said. “And Graham and several of our grooms have gone to try and track him. Much to my dismay.”

Jeanne looked back and forth between Hope and Aunt Belle.

“Do you think the man who shot at Mr. Harris just two days ago is the same one who stole the horse?”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t a faodail,” Faith said, more to herself than anyone, as she sipped her tea.

It was a throwaway comment. She had grown to enjoy the Gaelic terminology, and she seized the excuse to use the newest word she’d learned. But when she cast her eyes on Jeanne, her cheeks had turned ghostly white, and she was staring at Faith with eyes as round as saucers.

“What did you say?” she breathed, her tone barely above a whisper.

Faith gave her a curious look as she gently set her teacup down.

“Did I not use that correctly? I thought I did,” she said, noting her sisters’ confused stares. “It means lucky find, doesn’t it? I meant that Sweetness wasn’t just found, was she?”

“Where did you learn that term?” Jeanne asked, taking a trepid step toward Faith.

Faith looked back at Jeanne, puzzled at the intensity in her voice. She noted that the others were watching their exchange with interest.

“Mr. Harris taught it to me,” she said honestly. “Just the other day.”

Jeanne blinked once, then twice before her shoulders dropped. She shook her head and inhaled slowly.

“Oh. Of course,” she said. “Of course.”

“Well, not exactly,” Grace said, leaning forward. “We heard that voice by the loch, didn’t we?”

Faith nodded at her sister.

“Yes, that’s true. I only asked Mr. Harris what it meant later—”

“What voice?” Jeanne asked suddenly, coming fully up to Faith before crouching before her. “What voice called that out to you?”

The urgency in Jeanne’s eyes gave Faith an unsettling feeling as Jeanne gripped Faith’s hand on her lap. She squeezed it.

“There was this… this voice,” Faith said, shaking her head and looking back at Grace for assistance. “A man’s voice. Grace and I heard it when we went to the loch one morning to pick herbs. And…”

“And what?” Jeanne asked desperately.

“And I heard it other times, as well—during Aunt Belle’s birthday party and once when I was out walking alone,” Faith said. “It sounded like someone was calling out to me, but I wasn’t sure what he was saying. It wasn’t a word I had ever heard before. Fortunately, when I spoke it to Mr. Harris, he explained what it meant—though he said it can also be used as a term of endearment. I guess it’s comparable to darling, or sweetheart, or—”

“My love,” Jeanne whispered, her eyes glazed over with some forgotten memory.

Almost instantly, she stood up, releasing the death grip she had on Faith’s hand.

“I have to go. If you all will excuse me,” she said, turning on her heel, nearly knocking into Evans, the butler from Harris House.

Evans? Faith stood up just as Jeanne tore out of the house.

“What the devil was that all about?” Aunt Belle asked, but Faith’s focus was on the butler.

“Evans?” she said, coming toward him. “What are you doing here?”

The man bowed.

“My lady, we bring you a gift from Sir Logan,” he said, waving his hand behind him. Three strapping young servants brought a large, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper and twine.

Faith’s heart beat erratically as they placed the piece on the ground before her. Had he sent the painting to her? Or was it something else?

No , she thought, coming toward it. This could not be anything else. Her shaky hands reached out as she moved the tips of her fingers over the rough paper. He had given her the painting. He had given her Odalisque Reclined.

She could barely believe it. He had been so adamant about keeping it. He had even made her consider not ruining it simply because it truly was a masterpiece, regardless of the subject matter. The artist in her didn’t wish to hurt it, but her pride wouldn’t let go of her. It had been the most critical thing in the world to her, and now that it was finally hers, she felt only slightly relieved.

For now, the thing that mattered most to her wasn’t here.

“This is a most puzzling morning,” Aunt Belle said as a chair moved noisily against the flagstone floor somewhere behind Faith. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Faith nearly croaked, spreading her arms wide to shield them from it.

After a moment of silence, Belle spoke.

“A most puzzling morning indeed. Andrews? See to it that this package is brought up to my niece’s room, at once.”

Andrews nodded to his mistress and directed the other servants to carry the piece out of the dining room. Faith looked at her aunt, who seemed to know what was beneath the paper.

“It was very generous of Mr. Harris to, er, gift you, one of his paintings,” she said firmly, her eyes flickering to the others.

In an instant, Faith knew what to do.

“Yes, well, he is a great collector,” she said diffidently. “I am most appreciative of his kindness.”

“Oh, is it the horse painting?” Grace asked before turning to Hope. “There was a dreadful horse painting in Harris House that is apparently very valuable to artistic folk. I didn’t like it much, but then I don’t know about these things.”

“Is that so?” Hope said, turning to Faith. “How kind of Mr. Harris.”

“Yes, and I should like to inspect it at once. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, leaving the dining room in haste.

Faith followed Evans, Andrews, and the footmen up the staircase as they carefully carried the painting to her room, which overlooked a swan pond that Aunt Belle had installed years prior. Once they set the work of art up against the far wall, Faith thanked them as they began to file out, resuming some previous discussion.

“…Shall we alert Mr. MacKinnon about Sir Logan going after that curious character, then, Evans?” a footman asked over his shoulder to the butler.

“Yes, immediately,” he answered, giving Faith one last nod. “Good day, my lady.”

“Oh, um, Mr. MacKinnon is out, I’m afraid,” she said as the butler and footmen paused. “He went out this morning to trail a thief.”

“A thief, my lady?”

“Yes. My horse, Sweetness, was taken during the night.”

The butler’s dark eyes widened slightly.

“Is that so?” he asked before turning to the footmen. “We have to return to Harris House at once.”

A pebble of worry settled in Faith’s stomach as she looked at all their faces. Something was wrong.

“What’s the matter?”

But before Evans could open his mouth, a muffled barking could be heard from outside. Turning, Faith hurried into her bedroom and looked out the window.

Along the stone block edging of the swan pond, Jaco was barking and jumping erratically back and forth, scaring the pair of swans clear across to the other side. She swiveled around to look at Evans and waited, staring at him expectantly.

“My lady, a man appeared this morning, on the edge of Harris House lawn. He was dressed in black and appeared to be riding your Connemara.”

Faith’s brow scrunched.

“A man dressed in black riding Sweetness? Are you certain?”

“Yes. Sir Logan took off after him.”

Her eyes widened.

“Did anyone follow him?”

“No, my lady.”

“Why?”

“He ordered that we were deliver this to you first and foremost. But we will begin our search now, my lady.” He dipped his head and disappeared out of her bedroom.

Faith watched them leave before returning to watch Jaco jump and bark almost frantically. With one last look at the wrapped painting, Faith gathered up her skirts and rushed down the hallway to her sister Hope’s room, which had a staircase leading from its balcony down into the walled garden. Faith rushed across the room, through the French doors, and down the stone stairway, before running through the garden to the gate.

“Jaco!” she said in a loud whisper.

The dog instantly stopped his barking and jumping. He cocked his head in her direction and, upon seeing her, came rushing over. Faith was kneeling immediately, petting, and rubbing the dog’s fur.

“There’s a good boy,” she cooed, scratching his head. “Good boy. Where did you come from?”

She scratched behind his ear, and he whimpered suddenly, dropping his front paws from her lap. Concerned, Faith pulled her hand back and noticed a slight red on her fingers. Was that blood?

Peering down at Jaco, she moved her hand gently over his head. One ear was in excellent condition, but the other had the most minor of curves cut into his flesh.

“Oh, my good boy, what happened to you?” she asked.

Faith heard the footmen’s carriage pull away as a sinking dread settled in her heart. Was Logan injured? Looking behind her, she knew she could get through the forest and to Loch Fyne in minutes. Turning back to the dog, she made a decision. It might be reckless, but then she didn’t much care at that moment. Graham wasn’t home, and she refused to endanger either of her sisters. If she alerted anyone else to her plan, such as a servant or groom, they might try to convince her to stay put, so she decided it would be best to go alone.

“Where’s Logan, boy?” she asked, and the dog’s head perked up. “Where is he? Can you lead me to him?”

Jaco barked once, then again before taking off around the garden’s stone wall toward a grove of pine trees that edged the loch’s eastern shore.

Faith gathered her skirts into her hands without looking back and took off running after him.