Page 52 of To Love a Scottish Lord (Highland Lords #4)

“We should be going,” Hamish said. She nodded, understanding that they’d wasted too much time already. She needed to be away from the city before Sir John and his men returned to Inverness. Every moment she delayed was another moment that she brought danger to her friends.

Together, they left by the rear door, followed by the Grants, Mr. Marshall, and Brendan. The only belongings she’d take with her were those given her by Elspeth and Mrs. Grant. There was no time, and it was too unsafe to return to the home she’d known for eleven years.

“Will we ever see each other again?” Elspeth asked as Hamish opened the door, unfurled the steps.

Mary turned to her friend as Mr. Grant called Hamish to the rear of the coach. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I hope so.” She hesitated and then asked one last favor of Mrs. Grant. “You’ve already done so much for me, but could you do one thing more?”

“If I can.”

“Could you take Betty in? Charles won’t be kind to her after her testimony at the hearing.”

Mrs. Grant nodded, smiling. “Of course, and Cook as well, if she’d like to come.”

“I shall miss you dreadfully,” Elspeth said when her mother stepped back. “Who will know my secrets now?” She slanted a glance toward Brendan. Mary smiled in response.

“I shall miss you as well,” she said. “But you must write me as often as you wish. When I have an address, send me all your letters, and I’ll do the same.”

Elspeth sent a look in Hamish’s direction. “I doubt you’ll have time to write, Mary,” she whispered, smiling.

They hugged one last time, and Mary got into the carriage, pushing her skirts aside, and waiting for Hamish.

“If you have a moment,” Marshall said from behind Hamish. “I’ve a gift for you.” In his arms, he carried a leather chest. For a moment, Hamish thought it a duplicate of the case Mary had used for her medicines, but then realized there were clasps around the top to allow the sides to drop down.

Marshall lowered it until it rested in the back of the carriage.

“I’ve been working on a new design of my electrical machine, but I would like you to have this one.”

He opened the case to reveal an apparatus consisting of a hollow glass cylinder supported on two wooden cradles.

On the outside of the cylinder, midpoint, was a metal bar with a handle.

Against the length of the glass was a piece of black leather attached to a rectangle of crimson silk.

Behind the cylinder was a thin rod topped with a metal ball.

“The practitioner cranks the handle while the patient grips the ball,” Marshall instructed. “You’ll get a shock. Not enough to kill,” he said, in an obvious attempt to reassure Hamish, “but more than sufficient to cause some stimulus to the damaged nerves.”

“Mary will be overjoyed,” Hamish said, hoping to mask his own, less enthusiastic, response. “Thank you.”

“Use it for your good health, Hamish. A way of apology for my earlier forcefulness.”

Hamish smiled. “If I’d not wanted to marry, Marshall, no threats of heaven or hell would have swayed me. Even those against the Grants.”

Marshall studied him for a moment, then nodded once. “Yet you would never have allowed them to be harmed, I think.”

“No,” Hamish agreed.

Marshall stepped back, and Hamish thanked them all again.

“Where will you go?” Brendan asked.

Hamish stepped away from the rear of the carriage. The lantern was extinguished, and the courtyard plunged into darkness.

“To Gilmuir,” Hamish told him.

It was too dark to see his brother’s face, but surprise was evident in Brendan’s voice. “Is that wise? Do you really want to bring trouble down on Alisdair and Iseabal?”

“We won’t be there that long,” Hamish said. “Only long enough to buy a ship from Alisdair.”

“You’re going back to sea?”

Hamish nodded, thinking that he should confide in Mary before Brendan.

The two brothers looked at each other, the darkness easing the farewell. For the first time since India, Hamish felt close to Brendan. Or perhaps loving Mary made him feel as if he belonged to the world again.

“Will you go back to Castle Gloom and gather up my belongings?”

“I will,” Brendan promised.

“Be careful,” Hamish said. “As soon as word of Mary’s escape is discovered, I’m certain we’ll fall under suspicion.”

“I’m a MacRae. I’ll be fine, as you will,” Brendan said, the echoes of childhood daring in his pronouncement. “You should have told me about India, Hamish.”

Hamish nodded. “I think perhaps I should have,” he agreed.

But he’d had to begin to accept his own actions first, before he could share them with another soul.

It was strange, however, how much lighter he felt after his confession in a crowded courtroom.

He’d never forget Thompson, or that singular moment when he’d made his decision to live, but Hamish no longer hated himself for refusing to die like those around him.

The farewells done, Hamish climbed into the carriage. The door closed, the signal was given to the driver, and the coach began to move.