Page 9 of Her Magnificent Mistake (Surprised Heirs #1)

CHAPTER 8

H awk’s stomach was growling as he helped Marcia mount her mare. He was hungry, aye, but also more satisfied than he’d been in…hell, ten years.

And when she caught his hand and smiled down at him, that soft smile so like the one he’d fallen in love with? Hawk was lost. Nothing to do but smile back, and tell himself that this light, effervescent feeling in his chest wasn’t guilt.

Ten years.

Ten years lost because he’d been too much of a coward to burst into that room, declare his intentions, and learn that both Marcia and Bull would have welcomed his suit? He could have spent the last ten years with this joy as a constant in his life, and instead…

Well, instead, he’d better start fooking making up for lost time, hadn’t he?

The sun was already sinking over the distant Loch Striven, but Hawk couldn’t regret the way they’d spent the day. The hours with Marcia in his arms once more had seemed like heaven, and it had been easy enough to push away the old worries about Bull’s response.

Bull would have been delighted to call you brother .

Marcia had said those words, moments before explaining the truth of what had happened all those years ago.

A brother.

Bull had been a brother to him, which is why Hawk had been so fooking guilty when it came to seducing his younger sister.

She was an enthusiastic participant. Dinnae take her agency from her.

“You are worrying again.”

Marcia’s words cut through his thoughts, and when he glanced over at her as she rode so confidently, she was smiling.

Christ, but he loved having the real Marcia back. The Marcia he’d fallen in love with so long ago. The Marcia he still loved.

“I was just thinking.”

She nudged her horse closer. “About us?”

He sighed, admitting the truth, and reached across the intervening space to snag her hand. “Aye. And about Bull.”

“Bull…” Something in her gaze shuttered, and Marcia looked away. “Bull would have been delighted for us, Hawk. I never told him about us, but I wish I had. I wish you had told me your concerns.”

Would have been delighted . The fluffy feeling in Hawk’s chest cooled a little. Would have been . Not will be .

He squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, speaking the truth. “God Almighty, I’m sorry. I thought I could go off and live my life, leaving ye to get on with yers. I thought ye’d find happiness.”

She glanced over at him, her expression curiously neutral. “But you have had your own concerns these years. Allison and your family and Tostinham.”

“Aye,” he sighed again, then straightened in the saddle and reluctantly dropped her hand. “And I cannae abandon them too frequently, even for an afternoon of decadent pleasure.”

Her lips curled wickedly, and she offered a wink. “When it comes to you, I am never certain if you are referring to the pleasure of rambling through the beauty of nature, or what we did in your grandfather’s cottage.”

A surprised laugh burst from him, and he felt his chest loosening again. “Both. Ye do know me well, Marsh.”

That’s what Bull sometimes called her. What Hawk used to call her when he’d still counted Bull as his best friend and not a man he’d betrayed by besmirching his friend’s younger sister.

And the flicker of sadness in her eyes told Hawk that she knew it as well.

But…

Could there be a possibility of a future now? Perhaps, if he were to explain to Bull, beg the man’s forgiveness? If Bull had once suggested Hawk for his sister, could he give his blessing for their union now?

Despite the recent satiation, Hawk’s stomach was a tight knot of confusion and hope. She’d said she loved him, said she could have married him all those years ago, said Bull would have been happy for them…but didn’t say anything about now .

He wanted to ask her to be his. Be his wife, his baroness. Be at his side the way he’d always dreamed.

But was that what she wanted?

Sighing a third time, Hawk led her toward the stables of Tostinham, steeling himself to return to reality.

To his surprise, they were approaching the house—Marcia’s hand on his arm, both of them curiously silent—when he recognize the figure hurrying toward them. “Artrip?”

The butler slid to a stop before them, close enough that Hawk had to resist the urge to pull Marcia back protectively. Artrip’s normally pin-neat combover was in disarray, his tie was crooked, and his eyes were frantic.

“ There you are, my lord,” the older man blurted, his breaths coming in great gasps. “Where have you been? No, do not answer, but it’s about time you arrived so you can tell me—tell us—what in heaven’s name to do with him!”

In all of his years, Hawk had never seen Artrip in such disorder. Was he frantic about the impropriety of Hawk being gone with an unmarried lass all afternoon? Or was that just Hawk’s guilty conscious?

Wait. Him?

Frowning, Hawk dropped Marcia’s hand to comfort the butler. “I’m here, auld friend.” He patted Artrip’s shoulder gently. “What’s amiss? How can I help?”

“Her brother !” Artrip’s voice was pitched too-high as he swung toward Marcia. “He has—his head injury is most?—”

“Rupert is hurt?” Marcia blurted, jerking forward. “What happened? Where is he?”

The butler half-turned toward the house. “I placed him in the blue guest suite with your maid, Smythe-Smith—no, Smith-Smythe-Smith?” He shook his head, his breaths still coming in great heaves. “But not Lord Rupert, my lady—rather, your other brother.”

Marcia’s eyes went round, and Hawk whispered, “ Bull .”

Oh Fook

Artrip nodded, the movement sending his too-long combover bouncing atop his head. “Mister Lindsay, yes. He had…uh.” Something flashed in Artrip’s eyes and he glanced back toward the house. “He had a fall, his head has been hurt. He was found near the trail to the Glen.”

Hawk’s hand closed around the butler’s shoulder and he shook the poor man a bit harshly. “What do ye mean?” he barked, panic tinging his voice. “Bull was in the Glen?” There could be only one reason. “Why?”

Artrip tried to shrug, but merely winced. “He arrived this afternoon, and—I was not here, I am sorry to say—and when he found out you and Lady Marcia were up the Glen, said something about needing to save her and rushed off.”

Oh fook .

Hawk felt the band tightening around his chest once more.

He’d been right. There wasn’t a future for him and Marcia. Save her?

Because as soon as Bull had discovered they were together, he’d tried to protect her from Hawk. Because he didn’t trust Hawk? He suspected Hawk of hurting her?

And could hurt her again.

Fook . Hawk’s gaze dropped in defeat.

“Where was he?” Marcia asked.

“Beneath the cliffs.” The butler took a deep breath and reached up to smooth down his ungovernable hair. “Perhaps a rock fell from one of the overhangs above? I found him with his hat dented, unconscious and bleeding, and now he does not remember anything.”

Just like that, Marcia’s breath whooshed out of her as her shoulders slumped. “Amnesia? Oh, thank fook.”

Jerking in surprise, Hawk turned an astonished gaze her way. It wasn’t the curse, so much as the complete calm that had settled on her the moment she had heard that her brother was gravely injured.

Marcia blinked, then schooled her face into worry and blinked at Artrip. “I mean, he cannot recall anything ? How concerning.”

Except she hadn’t been concerned. “Marcia…” When she turned innocent eyes to him, Hawk studied her with a frown…and gasped in realization. She didn’t believe Bull was really hurt? That’s why she’d relaxed . “What is it?”

“You heard Artrip.” She nodded toward the house. “My brother was hit on the head and now has amnesia. Smath-Smaythe-Smoth is sitting with him. I should go.”

“Smythe-Smith-Smythe, I think you will find, my lady,” the butler corrected, some of his usual formality returning.

“Oh, yes, I…I must be thinking of my other maid.” But Marcia’s smile looked a little sickly, and the curtsey she offered both of them—since when did Marcia curtsy?—seemed awkward and rushed. Without even a goodbye , she rushed toward the house.

The two men watched her go.

“How disturbing,” murmured Artrip.

“Indeed.” Hawk crossed his arms in front of his chest. “She seemed relieved he had amnesia.”

“I meant, my lord,” the butler announced stiffly, turning to him, “it is disturbing your friend was hurt at all.”

“What? Och, aye, of course it’s disturbing.” He should go to Bull, visit him. Tell him Marcia was safe. But… “Bull rushed off to save Marcia when he discovered she was alone with me? That’s what ye said?”

He doesnae trust ye. Ye hurt her once before.

“I was not here, my lord, but that is what McMackinacker the footman told me, and although he is a lad with some gambling debt and perhaps a reason to wish a gentleman ill, I have no reason to doubt him on this. Now, if you will please excuse me, I will send him to discover why the doctor is not here yet.”

The butler bowed stiffly, then turned to march toward the house. He seemed much calmer, more in control now, than he’d been when Hawk and Marcia had arrived. Clearly his master’s presence had soothed the poor fellow.

Hawk should have been focused on his best friend’s injury. He should offer to ride after the doctor himself. He should comfort Marcia, or at least consider why she looked so relieved that her brother had a traumatic brain injury.

But instead, frowning after his family’s oldest retainer, Hawk could only wonder one thing: why Artrip had been at Pook’s Glen to discover Bull’s injury in the first place.

“ B ull, what the hell?” Marcia blurted out as she brushed past a nervous Allison waiting outside and, ignoring her, burst into the guest room where her brother had been placed.

In the increasingly anxious moments leading up to her actually finding the bloody place in this maze, her pace had increased until she was practically running down Tostinham’s corridors. So yes, she did “burst” into the room. It was a surprise in truth that the door was still upon its hinges.

But then she froze, breathing heavily, her hand still on the latch, when her brain finally caught up with her eyeballs.

She’d expected to find her unrepentant brother grinning at her, arms wide, as he swept her into a hug and expected praise for interfering with her investigation.

She did not expect Gabby’s tear-stained face or Rupert’s worried expression as they straightened from their candlelit vigil beside a still figure on the bed.

“Marcia,” Gabby choked. “He’s…”

Marcia’s heart froze in her chest. Do not be dead, Bull. You cannot be dead.

As if pulled by an invisible string, she stumbled toward the bed and the recumbent figure. The relief she’d felt when she’d heard he couldn’t recall anything—when she remembered his plan to have amnesia, and assumed that was what this all was—was gone. The anger she’d felt when she thought about Bull swooping in to rescue her…gone.

Replaced with dread.

Marcia fell against the bed, her palms going to the mattress to keep herself upright…and realized she shouldn’t have discounted her brother so easily.

Bull blinked up at her, his grin crooked beneath a white bandage. “Hello, Marsh,” he croaked.

Her knees gave out and Marcia sunk to the floor beside the bed as her lungs once again obeyed her brain, and decided to breathe. “Bull. Bull . What the…”

His hand fumbled for hers. “Hell. Aye, I heard ye.”

Exhaling shakily, Marcia glanced at Gabby, whose smile looked watery as she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “We could not get him to wake up for the longest time,” she confessed. “But he seems better now.”

“Better,” Rupert agreed somberly, reaching for Marcia’s elbow, “but he still cannae remember much about the day. Rest, hydration, and gentle brain stimulation such as puzzles or reading, or playing chess with yer younger brother. That is what is best for head injuries.”

Marcia allowed her younger brother to help her off the floor, and she ended up sitting on the mattress beside Bull as Rupert hovered over them both. Frowning, she bent over Bull.

“You remembered who I was just fine,” she accused him.

Bull shrugged, then winced at the movement. “I can remember arriving at Tostinham, and learning ye were off alone with a murderer. I remember thinking I needed to save ye.”

Marcia felt her cheeks heating in embarrassment, though there was no way her brother could know exactly how she’d spent the afternoon. Covering the awkwardness with anger, she poked him sharply in the shoulder. “Save me? You are no knight in shining armor, Bull Lindsay.”

His grin was crooked as he captured her hand, but he quickly sobered. “Kenning what the bastard has managed in the last few years, I could no’ chance the two of ye being alone out in the wilderness.”

Gabby took up the story. “He shoved his hat back on his head, jumped back on his horse and rushed off again, heading toward Pook’s Glen. The next we knew of him, Artrip was dragging him into the house.”

Certain her cheeks were flaming—despite the reminder that Bull didn’t actually know what she’d been up to with Hawk—and desperate for a distraction, Marcia focused on the details.

What did they know?

“Artrip brought him back?” That was right; the butler had said he’d been the one to find Bull. “What happened?” She leaned over her brother, reaching for the bandages to carefully unwind them.

Bull winced again. “Told ye, I dinnae recall.”

“Seriously?” She pierced him with a glare. “You do not have to pretend for us, Mister What If We All Had Amnesia ?”

Removing the bandages revealed a bloody bruise above his hairline, and an abashed Bull. “It’s still a good plan, Marsh. It’s just…”

“You really cannot remember anything? Really-really?” She glared down at her brother.

“Really-really,” he assured her.

“This is not part of some convoluted amnesia-trope plot? Where one of us pretends we do not know who we are to manipulate some poor bastard into falling in love with us?”

Gabby snorted, Rupert shook his head ruefully, and Bull’s lips curled downward.

“I dinnae even ken what that means,” he sighed in exasperation. “Besides, despite what half the family seems to think about my proclivities, Hawk isnae my type. I’m no’ pretending.”

Fine . Marcia supposed she ought to accept the truth.

Her fingers gently probed at her brother’s injury. “Gabby, you looked at this?”

“I cleaned it as best I could. If he were a dog or a zebra, I would know what to do, but head injuries are frighteningly complex.”

“Artrip sent for the doctor,” Rupert offered. “In the meantime, we should keep him comfortable. Hydration, puzzles?—”

“Nay,” grunted Bull, struggling to sit up. “We should try to trigger my memory, in case something important happened.”

“Nothing important happened.” Marcia applied firm pressure against his chest, forcing him back against the pillows. “You were clumsy and knocked your head against a rock or something. Hawk and I were up the burn for…for quite a while. That was enough time for you to arrive, fall, be knocked unconscious, and be found.”

Do not ask what we were doing. Do not ask what we were doing .

From the speculative gleam in Gabby’s eyes, the younger woman had already guessed.

“I’m no’ that clumsy,” groused Bull, his face as pale as the pillow he laid against. “I just cannae remember what happened.”

“A shock might help trigger his memory.” Rupert was pacing, hands behind his back. “I remember reading an article about something similar, with—with Allison. There’s a chance, if we can remind him of something surrounding the injury, the information will shock his brain into remembering more details.”

“And what is the other chance?” Gabby asked. When Rupert glanced at her, not understanding, she elaborated, “You said there is a chance he will remember. So what will happen if we shock him with a reminder and he does not remember?”

Rupert shrugged. “His brain explodes?”

“Worth it,” Marcia deadpanned, lips twitching as she spread her fingers across her brother’s chest, grateful for his warmth and strong heartbeat.

“ No’ worth it,” grumbled Bull. “I like my brains inside my skull, thank ye verra much.”

“Och, dinnae fash,” teased Marcia, mimicking his brogue. “You will be fine. Shock away,” she commanded Rupert.

But her younger brother was looking uncertain. “Perhaps we ought to allow him rest.”

Aye, that was likely for the best, but Marcia couldn’t help the niggling doubt plucking at the back of her mind. Something important had happened today—not just in the cottage atop the burn, where she’d discovered that Hawk loved her still—but down in the Glen as well.

They were supposed to be on the hunt for a murderer…

Her hand rose to the sparkling blue glass pendant she’d taken to wearing daily around her neck. Humming thoughtfully, she tugged the piece of jewelry across the chain as she stared unseeingly across the room.

Rupert, meanwhile, cleared his throat. “I’ve just asked Allison to watch for the doctor and escort him here. I suppose her uncle has returned by now as well. Would ye like me to…?”

Marcia barely heard him, because she was so deep in thought, but Gabby stood to walk Rupert toward the door. “I think it is a splendid idea for you to keep Allison company awaiting the doctor. Hopefully he will have some insights.”

Then the door was closing behind Rupert and Gabby was stalking determinedly toward the bed where Marcia sat.

Oh dear.

“Marcia Elizabeth Calderbank, what happened today?”

Jerking guiltily, Marcia blinked up at her pseudo-cousin and long-time friend. “What on earth do you mean?” she blurted, knowing she was blushing again, and tightening her hold on the pendent.

Gabby waved her arms as she paced. “You disappeared for hours . With a murderer . And then you come home looking all disheveled, not even wearing a hat, and your blouse is misbuttoned and your hair poorly pinned .”

Eyes widening, Marcia shot upright.

Vaguely, she recognized she ought to answer Gabby. Vaguely, she recognized she ought to rebutton her shirt and re-pin her hair, which apparently she’d done incorrectly as they’d redressed in the cottage, and had been gallivanting about with evidence of her activities where anyone could see it. Vaguely, she knew she ought to be embarrassed. No, not embarrassed. Mortified.

But instead, her mind raced, triggered by something Gabby had said.

“A hat,” she breathed. She glanced down at her supine brother. “Did you have a hat?”

“A hat?” he parroted.

“On your head. The thing you wear on your head to keep the sun and rain off your face. A fooking hat , Bull.”

“First of all,” he said, managing to sound affronted, “I wear a hat to keep my coiffure from becoming mussed. If it becomes a fooking hat, then I’m fooking incorrectly.”

She smacked his shoulder. “Where is your hat, you idiot?”

“ Second of all …” He glared at her as he rubbed the spot she’d hit. “How should I know? My head is pounding, my mouth is dry, and my sister is screeching at me.”

Gabby rushed to pour him a cup of water. “He was wearing it when Artrip dragged him in. Perhaps during whatever happened, it fell off, Bull was injured, and Artrip plopped it back on again before he brought him back?”

Taking the cup from her cousin, Marcia struggled to lift Bull’s head with the other hand so she could help him drink. “Where is it? Which one was it?”

As her brother sipped, Gabby hummed and glanced around the room. “It must be here somewhere. I remember it was gray, with a small brim.”

Ask my valet to find my gray hat with the smaller brim—that brown one I wore last time I climbed the burn is too big…

Marcia jerked, remembering Hawk’s words from earlier in the day when he’d invited her to Pook’s Glen. “Oh no.”

“Marsh!” Bull sputtered, and she glanced down to see she was dribbling water across his face.

“Sorry,” she murmured, dropping his head—he Ooofed for emphasis, she was certain—and straightening. “I need to see that hat.”

Gabby was just turning back to her, holding a man’s hat before her. “Found it! There’s blood on the band.”

Thrusting the half-full glass at Bull, Marcia eagerly grabbed the hat.

Aye, it was gray and small-brimmed.

And today, as they’d climbed the burn, Hawk had been wearing another gray hat—he’d made a joke about mischievous fairies when he’d knocked it off accidentally.

Holding her breath, Marcia turned the hat over in her hands.

There was blood on the inner band. Bull had been wearing it when he’d been injured.

If he’d fallen, the hat would have fallen off before he’d hit his head, surely?

What had happened out there in Pook’s Glen?

“I do not think this was an accident,” she whispered. Marcia slowly lifted her eyes to her brother. “I think someone was trying to hurt you.”

Bull’s gray gaze had gone hard. “But Hawk was with ye .”

“I know,” she breathed. Lifting the hat, she positioned it as if it were on top of a person’s head. “If you were wearing this when someone attacked you, it would explain why there was blood on the inside of the hat.”

Gabby, who was still standing nearby, reached out and adjusted Marcia’s hold so the hat was tipped a bit backward. “If he was wearing it pushed back on his head a bit more, the bloodstains would line up with his injury.”

“I would never ,” Bull murmured in an affronted tone, reaching out to pinch her hip. “Despite what that twin brother of yers might tell ye, a man’s hat isnae merely utilitarian; it’s a fashion statement.”

Marcia slowly nodded as she readjusted the hat to sit properly on the nonexistent forehead in front of her; her older brother took fashion seriously, he always had. A thought—a horrible, wonderful thought—had been ricocheting around her mind for the last few moments. Now she took a deep breath…

And cocked her hands back, so the hat was at a forty-five degree angle, and her invisible, imaginary Bull—who was of course wearing his hat correctly—was looking upward.

Judging from Gabby’s sharp inhalation, she understood.

“If Bull was looking upward when he was struck, the blood and the injury would line up,” the other woman announced slowly. Her fingers brushed over the hat’s brim, and then Gabby tipped her head back to stare up at the ceiling, as if she could see whatever Bull had been looking at during the moment of impact.

“I told ye I dinnae trip and fall,” Bull muttered. “I’m no’ as clumsy as Hawk. So what happened?”

“You were attacked.” Marcia dropped her hands—and thus the hat to her lap—and took another deep breath. “And I think I know why.”