Emma Jensen - Entwined (33 page)

"I am sorry, so sorry I drew you into this." Gerard leaned forward, gripped his arm. "I could have left you in peace in the country, but my suspicions weren't enough. You were always the best at finding the rats, Nathan. I needed your certainty."

"I understand. I ask but one thing of you now."

"Anything."

"Cut me loose, Matthew. Promise me that when this is over, you will not summon me again."

There was a moment of heavy silence. Then, "Of course. This will be the end of it"

"Thank you."

Much later, as he sat in the library waiting for a message, Nathan tried to remember the man he had been at the beginning of this cursed war. He had come eagerly to Gerard's service, a bold young buck with visions of heroism, driven by the desire to please his father and make amends for having failed his fiancée. The promise of action, of serving his country, had been irresistible. Before enlisting, he had never been much good at anything other than riding fast, playing hard, and dressing well.

Rievaulx had followed him, lured too, by the possibilities. And what a pair they had made in those early days: brash, careless, always treading that narrow line between clever and brilliant. Rievaulx. Somewhere deep in the Portuguese earth now.

"We'll have our vengeance, Gabriel," Nathan muttered, "tonight if all goes as it should. Will you be content then?" There was something mocking in the silence, and he gave a harsh laugh. "Of course. It really has nothing to do with your peace, does it? It is my own conscience. So, will
I
be content?"

He realized altogether too quickly that his contentment had very little to do with vengeance. It was waiting for him in Hertfordshire.

"I am sorry, Gabriel," he whispered, unsure of precisely what the apology was meant to solve.

It was nearly dusk when Milch appeared, bearing the message that Nathan had been waiting for. If the butler thought it odd that the master asked him to read it aloud, he did not show it. Nathan, face all but pressed to the window overlooking the house's garden, did not turn. He merely listened.

"That is all, my lord."

"Thank you, Milch. You will see the carriage is ready at the appropriate hour."

"Of course, my lord."

When he had gone, Nathan remained at the window. The cards were down, and he had nothing to do but wait.

Isobel turned from the glass. "The garden has grown so since I left. I could smell the rosemary as I came in." She managed a faint smile.

"Savoury, sage, rosemary, and thyme. You could never leave the legend behind, could you?"

Maggie sat still and serene at the table, but her concern was evident in her eyes, hard as she tried to conceal it. "We're to have chicken with rosemary for supper. 'Tis there but for practical use."

Isobel tenderly patted her sister's shoulder as she walked past to her own seat. Wherever they went, Maggie planted the four herbs. "I'll tell you, darling, if I never believed in that sorry tale, I'm inclined to now. Highland women and English men are not meant to marry."

"Oh, Izzy..."

"No, don't say it. I daresay Nathan and I will find some way of managing together. I'll certainly not push him off a cliff. Is it in the blood, do you think? Deception, I mean, and a talent for it. Perhaps my man is related to the other, the one who came to Skye in hopes of toppling the king."

"Izzy, please. It grieves me, hearing you talk so. 'Tis but a legend, the Englishman who came to Skye. I cannot believe Oriel had such devious intent."

Isobel raised a brow. "Nay? You were the one reluctant to accept him, Maggie Líl. What makes you so certain of his good intentions now?"

"I can see how much you love him," her sister said gently. "Your heart would know."

"I imagine our long-departed island maiden felt the same," Isobel shot back with a snort. "And look where it got her—a dirk in the breast and an unmarked grave."

"Isobel!"

"Och,
Maggie, pay me no mind. I'm bitter and past weary now. I'll be better for a decent supper and good night's rest."

Tessa bounded into the room then, hair wild over her shoulders and nothing at all on her feet. "They walk the cliffs, you know, searching for each other. She has the dirk sticking from her chest; he has a deep gash in his head and seaweed wrapped about his throat. I've seen them!"

"You have not!" Maggie scolded." 'Tis only a bedside tale meant to keep foolish young lasses from casting their hearts away and reckless children from walking the cliffs."

" 'Beauty and the Beast' is a bedside tale. Our dead lovers are history. I only wish I'd gotten a closer look. I daresay you can see his brains through his skull."

"Tessa!"

The girl shrugged, then skipped across the room to poke among yesterday's sugar biscuits. "Will you stay, Izzy? Robbie says your husband will be along soon enough to drag you off to the Hall, but I said I would plant him a smashing facer should he try."

Isobel forced a grin, her strength sapped all the more for the girl's boundless energy. "I'll bide a while,
pigidh bheag,
but I expect I'll have to go again sooner or later."

"Mmm.
I will smack him for you, if you wish, should he show up. Have we no gingerbread, Maggie? I'm peckish."

"Supper will be ready soon enough. You should have just enough time to make yourself acquainted with some soap and water."

"Oh, Maggie."

"Off with you now! Another day like today and I'll be able to plant seeds on your neck. 'Tis nearly enough dirt there now."

Tessa grumbled all the while, but disappeared with a towel and filled pitcher. Isobel watched her go, a genuine smile blooming. "I think she's grown, too."

"Perhaps, but you've only been gone a month."

" 'Tis amazing what can happen in a month's time." She rose to help Maggie set the table. "Look at what the lads did in a mere day."

"Aye, which reminds me. What of their debt, Izzy? I've a bit put by, but not nearly enough."

"Cuist!
As if I would take your money or allow them to! Nay, I sent a note to St. Wulfstan, telling him I had taken over the debt and would settle it upon my return."

"Are you going back, then?"

"I'll have to eventually."

"And this St. Wulfstan will sit patiently and wait?"

" 'Tisn't the money he wants, Maggie, but some sort of satisfaction against Nathan. He'll have it in his own way now, whether I'm there or not."

Isobel forced herself to set the knives gently on the table. "You shouldn't be too hard on Rob and Geordie. They were merely being their usual witless selves. They had no way of knowing they'd come up against and between two men with old wounds."

"Aye, well, forgiveness is only good 'til the next time they go empty heads first into deep water."

"I don't think they'll be so quick to fall into deep card-play next time.

Nathan put the fear of God into them last night."

Maggie snorted. "For all the good scaring them has done in the past."

"Oh, you've never seen my husband in a rage. 'Tis enough to send the devil himself running for cover."

"Yet you love him. That frightens
me,
Iseabail Roís."

Isobel set the plates aside to catch her sister's hands. "He has reasons for his deception, Maggie. I'll not pretend to understand why he did what he did, but I'll not condemn him completely, either. There's a nobility in him, and honor. Hidden and slippery, aye, but there."

"You've already forgiven him for lying to you about his sight."

Isobel stepped back, drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. "I suppose I have. But I don't understand and I'm still hurting. Rob's right; Nathan will come here sooner or later. I'll be here when he does, and perhaps we'll be all right in the end." She shook her head, uncertain of anything at the moment. "The worst part of it, Maggie, is that from the beginning he told me there would be secrets."

"Och,
Izzy, it hardly matters," Maggie shot back. "You did all he asked of you with a good deal more honor than he showed."

Perhaps Maggie was right, but for now, all Isobel wanted was to be in the midst of her family again. Aye, they had faults, but they were beyond obvious. What one saw on the surface was precisely what one got.

How much easier things would be if the same was true of Nathan. It would be simple, hardening her heart against a man whose core was as harsh and damaged as his shell.

"Izzy, lass! You've come for a visit!"

Jamie MacLeod, red-faced and weaving, appeared at the kitchen door.

"And looking quite the lady. London must suit you."

She returned his clumsy embrace, cherishing the familiar smell of wine and sage soap. In the end, she was forced to concede that there was indeed some comfort in knowing certain things would never, ever change.

"Oriel's back at the Hall, is he? Well, you'll have your darlin' family over for supper soon enough. Daresay we'll have a grand spread. Splendid cellars, your husband has. Endless." He tottered over to the stove and banged a few lids. "Good lass, Maggie. I've an appetite like the sea." Then he headed, far more steadily, for his own meager cellar.

His daughters sighed in unison, then laughed aloud.

Whether it was the smell of food or the promise of drink that attracted the boys, they appeared almost immediately. Both still had a shade of green to their skin. Isobel, warmed by the pleasures of home, managed a twinge of pity. It could not have been easy for them, being bounced for hours along country roads so soon after their encounters with too much brandy, a loaded deck of cards, and Nathan. She even patted Geordie's head consolingly when he slumped into a chair.

"You'll feel better for a meal," she offered, and went off to summon the perhaps cleaner Tessa.

It was a supper like so many before. Jamie fell to snoring as soon as his belly was full, Tessa spilled the milk, and Rob ended up rushing from the table midway, face the color of grass. Through it all, Maggie presided with serene disapproval, slipping away for a bit—furtively, as if no one would notice—to prepare a soothing tisane for poor Robbie. Calmed, feeling far removed from London and what had happened there, Isobel sat back in her chair and reveled in the simple scene.

It ended all too soon, with Tessa bounding off to dig for worms or some such activity, the boys slinking off, no doubt, to Harris's. Jamie, for his part, stayed just where he was, rattling the china with his snores.

Isobel and Maggie cleared the table in companionable silence. Maggie was quite vocal, however, in her refusal to let Isobel help with the rest of the cleaning. "Not in that gown, lass," she scolded, "or with that boulder on your hand. You sit and play the grand lady for one more night." Her voice softened. "There will be time enough for all the old tasks."

Isobel glanced down. She had not thought about the fine muslin, nor about the ring. Now she tugged at the latter, thinking to put it aside during her stay. It would only be in the way and serve to remind her of things better set aside as well, at least for the time being.

The ring resisted, sliding no farther than her knuckle. Cursing it, Isobel twisted it one way and then the other, hoping to pull it free.

"Isobel..."

"Aye?"

Maggie was busy with the pots. "I said naught."

"Papa must have wakened."

Maggie peered over her shoulder. "Nay. He's still out."

"Isobel!"

"What is it?" She turned in her seat. Maggie was staring at her now, brow furrowed. "You didn't hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Nathan's voice. It had sounded so like his voice that time. Of course she was thinking of him. She'd thought of little else since creeping from their home. Wearily, she closed her eyes.

And saw him.

He was sprawled on a dusty floor, limbs thrown out and eyes shut.

There was a tear in his sleeve, another in his white shirt, and a dark stain, spreading slowly across the floor.

"Oh,
Mac Muire!"
Isobel's eyes sprang open.

"Izzy?" Maggie's face was pressed close to hers. "Isobel?"

She was huddled in her seat, her right hand clasped over the left, pressing the pearl and diamond ring deeply into her palm. And seeing nothing. "Please," she begged, having no idea where the plea was meant to go. "Please help."

"Isobel..."

"Nay, Maggie." She pulled away from her sister's embrace and struggled to her feet. "I must go."

"Go? Go where?"

"Back to Town." Isobel was already out of the kitchen and on her way up the stairs. She stopped, then rushed back down. All she needed was her cloak; the rest could stay. "I cannot explain now, but I've no choice."

" 'Tis nearly dark! You wouldn't arrive 'til the middle of the night. Wait, go in the morning if you must."

Isobel gave her a fierce hug. "Gather sage for us, Mairghread, for love."

And Maggie, her own eyes seeing as much inside as out, did not try to stop her. Instead she nodded, held Isobel close for a moment, and let her go.

Nathan navigated the steps slowly. It had been more than a year since he had last been to this place, the house where the Ten had gathered whenever a quiet meeting was needed. The door opened at his touch, creaking slightly as it swung inward. He could smell dust, dampness, the odors of disuse.

It was more than appropriate that it should all end here, where it began.

He moved slowly, trying to tread silently on the marble floor. It was as dark inside as out—not that it mattered. Cursing his helplessness, Nathan peered around the foyer and listened. He couldn't hear anyone moving about, but with his vision poor as it was, he was an easy target.

It was earlier than arranged, only half-past eleven. He had taken the chance that he would arrive first. Not that it was much of an advantage, but any little bit helped. He had every hope of walking away from the encounter.

Heart thundering in his ears, he took a few hesitant steps forward. There was a coatroom to the left, stairs straight ahead—and any number of doors he had never seen behind. There had been no reason in the past. Now, each was one more possible snare.