Page 53 of To Love a Scottish Lord (Highland Lords #4)

H amish settled into the seat beside her. Slowly, they made their way out of the Grants’ courtyard, bound for freedom and even more adventure.

She turned and looked at Hamish. “What happened to Thompson?” she asked gently.

He glanced at her, and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer. When he did his voice was low and hesitant. “When I was rescued, my first thought was to go back and find him. It was too late; he was already dead.”

“Was there suppuration in his wound?” she asked.

“Some.”

“Any discoloration?”

“There were red streaks leading from it to his thigh, and down to his foot.”

“Smell?”

He nodded. “Are you determining the degree of his injury, Mary? If so, I can tell you that he probably would not have survived his wound.”

“But you still blame yourself.”

He said nothing, and she was suddenly reminded of those moments in the courtroom when their gazes had locked and he’d told her the story of his escape.

It hadn’t seemed important that there were people all around, rapt and entranced by his tale.

He’d spoken directly to her, telling her what all those nights and days and conversations between them had only hinted at.

Now she understood the agony of his soul more completely.

“He was alive, and because of me, he died,” he said gently, cupping her face in his hand.

She understood, at that moment, exactly what kind of man he was.

Because he accepted the responsibility for his actions, he was also branded by them.

But if he’d been another type of man, she wouldn’t have been so captivated by him.

She never would have remained at Castle Gloom for all those weeks, and her heart would not be touched now by his unvoiced pain.

She had a confession of her own.

“Have you ever noticed that when you stub your toe and concentrate on the pain that it seems much worse? Whereas if you stub your toe and think of other things, the pain disappears within moments?”

“There must be a reason for such a question,” he said, amused.

“I’ve never told you about Gordon. Not truly. I preferred not to think about him.”

“So the pain would go away?”

She looked away, fingering the curtain and staring out as if she could view Gordon from there.

All she witnessed were the sights of a town in which she’d lived all her life.

A place that felt alien to her now. “Not the way you mean. Perhaps more my guilt. I was grateful to my husband for more than one reason. He was kind to my mother, and helped settle my father’s debts.

At first, it wasn’t difficult to love him. ”

He remained silent, listening.

“A few years later, his mind began to wander. He would accuse me of not feeding him immediately after our evening meal. He said that Charles stole his gold, and the neighbors were laughing at him. He began to forget things. Once, I came into his workroom and found him just sitting there, holding one of his tools. When I asked him if anything was wrong, he looked at me as if I were a stranger. He wanted to know if he worked with the tools and what he did. I wanted to cry. A few minutes later, however, he was working again.”

“He was an older man, and sometimes the old lose their way.”

She shook her head. “It was more than that. I should have investigated it further.” She turned to face him.

“I began to spend less and less time with Gordon. I’d find any excuse to leave the house, and when we were there together, I was always in my workroom.

If I’d been the kind of wife he deserved, perhaps I would have noticed his condition.

“I’m not innocent, Hamish,” she said, speaking the hideous truth. “I want to be, but I’m not.” Accident or not, she’d urged Gordon to drink the medication that might have killed him.

“Neither am I,” he said gently. “Leave innocence to babies and saints, Mary. People are flawed, incomplete, and occasionally simply wrong. Even Gordon deserves his share of blame.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because he didn’t tell you he was also taking Grampian’s potions. Does that not reveal a lack of trust on his part?”

She considered that point for a moment. “Will we always feel guilty, Hamish?” She should have chosen a better time to ask, perhaps, but there might never be a more intimate moment.

They were alone with the rest of the world sleeping around them.

Their whispers were carried on the night wind, the chill of the evening evident in the puffs of smoke that coated each word.

“I think so,” he said after a moment of silence. “Some guilt is not an altogether bad thing, Mary. It keeps us from repeating our actions, makes us hone our souls.”

A philosophy she’d never before considered. “What will happen to Charles? He, too, knew what was happening, but chose to tell no one.”

“Perhaps nothing right now. Or not that we can witness.”

She glanced at him, surprised.

“Unfortunately, some wicked people escape justice and good people pay for crimes they didn’t commit.

Life is occasionally not fair.” He sat back against the seat and reached for her as the horses rounded a corner.

“The Hindus believe that a man will ultimately pay for his crimes. If not in this life, then in the next.”

“Is that a philosophy you espouse?”

He chuckled. “It begins to make perfect sense if one can believe in a universal justice.”

“He should be made to pay for his actions, Hamish. If he’d only spoken sooner, Gordon would not have died in such agony.”

“One thing that my time at Castle Gloom taught me was that I didn’t want to waste the joy of my days on hatred and anger. You helped me realize that, Mary.”

“I did?” She smiled, realizing that, like Charles, he offered her a choice. But this one was so much more palat able. To be bitter or happy. “I say we should consign Charles to the past, Hamish. Along with Sir John.”

He bent his head to kiss her, taking her from this chilled and shadowed place into one filled with warmth and delight.

Suddenly, her cheek was pressed against his chest, her arms were under his, her hands pressed flat against his back.

He was there, solid and real, not simply a man she’d dreamed to fill in her nights.

She clutched his shirt, not wanting to move.

Days of being subjected to Sir John’s imprisonment, the hearing, and her own sense of sorrow for failing Gordon conspired to overwhelm her. Because of her fatigue, her grief, and her longing, she wasn’t wise, or restrained, or mindful of her pride.

“I love you, Hamish,” she said, no doubt startling him with her declaration. She’d thought of him in the morning when she’d awakened to visions of his smile, and replayed all the memories of their loving at night to keep her company.

She wrapped her arms around him as far as they would go, pressed her cheek against his chest, and closed her eyes. Tears fell now, dampening her cheeks and his shirt.

When he would have pulled away, she held on tighter, not allowing him to move or see her crying.

“Mary,” he said tenderly. Just that and no more.

“You’ll come to love me,” she promised him rashly.

“Do you think I don’t now?” he asked, extricating himself from her grip and pulling back to look down into her face. “Or do you suppose I go about betraying my secrets, rescuing prisoners, and proposing marriage to any woman?”

“You didn’t exactly propose,” she corrected, blinking up at him. “I believe we were cowering under some sort of theological threat.”

He smiled at her and gently wiped the tears from her face with one thumb. “I do not cower,” he said.

Mary pulled back and studied his face, wondering at the delightful sense of buoyancy she was beginning to feel. A bubble of excitement was opening up inside her and spreading from her toes to her fingertips.

“Besides, you had to marry me,” he said.

“I did?”

“Yes, to save my reputation.”

He kissed her again, and she felt his smile.

The carriage left Inverness with all possible speed, but not so much that their flight would attract attention. Less than an hour had passed since they’d left the jail, but there was still the possibility that the ruse with Hester and Micah hadn’t worked.

A little while later, Mary fell asleep beside him and Hamish extended his arm around her. Gently, he untied her bonnet and slipped the ribbon free before tossing the offending headgear to the other side of the carriage.

He propped up his feet on the opposite seat so that he might make himself a bed for his wife. He eased her head down until her cheek was pillowed on his thigh. She made a soft sigh as if she fell into a deeper sleep. He hoped her dreams were sweet ones.

All that time at Castle Gloom, she’d never complained, never made herself out to be a long-suffering spouse to garner attention or sympathy. She’d commented on Gordon’s good qualities and remained silent about the rest.

How long would it take him to know her, and would the journey prove to be as fascinating as the introduction to Mary had been?

They drove onward into the night, the moonlight illuminating the road. Twice, Hamish thought he heard the sound of hooves thundering behind them, but it was only the hills and valleys carrying back the sound of the speeding carriage.

They were little more than shadows, an occasional silhouette thrown down onto the surface of the road by the moon to their left. He leaned back against the seat, allowing his eyes to close, hearing the rhythm of the shod hooves of the four horses.

With any luck, there would be a ship available at Gilmuir, one that Hamish could purchase from Alisdair.

It would be a difficult bargain. Alisdair would want to give the ship to him, but the shipyards at Gilmuir were his brother’s future, and he wouldn’t jeopardize it.

Besides, a MacRae ship was worth the price.

Sleek and fast as a swan coming to rest on the water, one of Alisdair’s ships would take them from Scotland with all possible speed.