Highland Heiress (22 page)

“Is he…do you mean he's really dying?”

“I'm afraid so, my lady. I confess I'm amazed that he's been able to hide his illness from you this long.”

He had because she'd been too selfish, getting involved with Robbie and thinking about her school, and then too consumed with desire for Gordon McHeath to pay attention to the man who'd given her so much, and whom she'd repaid so poorly. All this time, she'd assumed his drinking to excess was weakness of character. Instead, her father was dying and he'd been drinking because he was sick and in pain.

“He always tries to protect me and I've been too busy with my own concerns,” she said, choking back a sob, her heart full of guilt and remorse and regret as her future altered yet again—in a way as different from happily learning the true depth of Gordon's feelings as cake was from haggis.

“If you'll excuse me, my lady, I'll examine him now. I think it would be best if you weren't in the room. Your father will be less likely to make light of his symptoms,” the doctor said quietly.

Without waiting for her to reply, he left Moira alone in the hallway and went into the drawing room.

D
ismayed, distraught, worried about her father and concerned about Gordon, wondering what would happen if and when Robbie was caught, Moira wandered down the corridor, her steps instinctively taking her to her morning room.

For so long, until they'd come to Dunbrachie, it had been only her father and her. She remembered their happy times together in Glasgow, before he inherited a title he'd never known he had any right to. Before she'd met Robbie McStuart, or Gordon.

She couldn't leave her father now. Her school would have to wait. Her future with Gordon would have to wait. She hoped he would understand. Surely he would understand.

She walked to the window and looked out at the vast lawn and garden and wood beyond. She would trade all this if her father could be well again.

And then she saw Gordon coming around the yew hedge, walking slowly and holding his side. She didn't care that he was alone, or wonder where Robbie was as she threw open the door leading to the garden and rushed out to meet him. “Gordon!”

He held out his arms and she ran into his embrace, nevertheless taking care of his obviously sore side. “What happened? Are you in a lot of pain?”

“I'm all right, just tired and rather sore.”

“You shouldn't have run after him!”

“Never mind that,” he replied. “Your father…?”

She wanted to tell him everything then and there, about her father's illness and that he was responsible for the fire and everything else, but more than that, she wanted to be sure Gordon would be well. “The doctor is with him, and when he's finished, Dr. Campbell can see you, too. In the meantime, you must lie down and rest.”

“Soon,” he said, taking her hand as they walked slowly toward the manor house. “I must tell you about Robbie.”

Although she was anxious to hear about that, Robbie's fate was less important than Gordon's health. “That can wait if you're tired.”

“I'm not too tired to tell you what happened,” he replied as they entered the morning room and sat together on the sofa. “I caught up to Robbie, in a tumbledown building in the wood.”

“Then you made him come back with you? Where is he?”

He shook his head and sighed. “No, he got away from me again.”

“How? By hurting you?” She jumped to her feet. “Let me call the doctor.”

Gordon reached out and grabbed her hand before she could. “He knocked me down, but that wasn't the only thing that made it possible for him to get away. There was another man already there and he was seriously injured. I stayed with him.”

“Another…? Who? What was he doing there?” she asked as she sank back onto the sofa.

“One of the men who attacked me and burned down the school, I think the one who was the dog's master. That red-haired fellow was there, too, but he was dead.”

“Dead?” she gasped, trying to make sense of what he was telling her. “How? Did Robbie…?”

“If anybody had a hand in it, it wasn't Robbie. He was as stunned as I when we came upon them lying on the ground,” Gordon replied.

He took hold of her hand in both of his. “It looks as if they were up in the loft of the building and fell. The red-haired man must have broken his neck. The other man has broken ribs and one of his hips was dislocated. We brought him back here. The doctor should examine him, as well, although I don't think there's much that can be done. I think the internal damage was severe and he'd been lying there too long.”

“Oh, Gordon!” she cried softly, her voice trembling. This was terrible to hear, but she had something to tell
him, too, and she would, as difficult as it was. “My father paid those men to destroy my school.”

For a moment, Gordon simply stared at her in stunned silence. “Why?” he finally asked.

“He told me he was worried that the people who were against my school might try to hurt me. He wanted me to stop, but didn't think he could convince me, so instead he hired those men.”

She pulled her hand away and rose, pacing in front of Gordon, too upset to sit. “I knew he was concerned about my safety. I was aware that he feared my idea for a school in Dunbrachie was going to cause trouble for me. I even knew he feared it would prevent me from finding a suitable husband—but I never,
ever
imagined he would go so far as to burn it down!”

“A misguided effort indeed,” Gordon agreed, wincing slightly as he rose to face her.

“Perhaps it was the drinking that made him think that a good plan,” he said with quiet sympathy.

“He wasn't drinking because he was worried about that. He was overimbibing because…” She drew in a deep shuddering breath before continuing, for it was so difficult to face this next truth, let alone speak of it. “Because he's dying. There's a growth in his abdomen. Dr. Campbell told me so when he came today. He wanted my father to take laudanum, but he refused. The doctor thinks he's been drinking to dull the pain instead. And all this time, I was condemning him for weakness, for being selfish, for breaking his promise, when I should have seen…or asked…”

His own fatigue and pain forgotten in light of her
anguished distress, Gordon put his arms about her and held her close.

“Oh, Gordon, I said such terrible things to him!” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He had heard that sort of dry-throated remorse, the guilt, the sorrow, many times in his practice.

“Don't blame yourself,” he said softly, his lips against her hair. “I suspect that even if you had asked him if he was sick, he would have denied it. I've met other men like your father, who think silence is better than revealing the truth, who believe that by keeping their illness or troubles to themselves, they spare their loved ones fear and worry. They don't realize that ignorance can cause more worry and pain, and their efforts to be stoic can lead to havoc and misunderstanding when they're gone. Yet I'm sure that in his heart he wanted to spare you, because he loves you.”

His words touched her heart and lifted the worst of the burden of guilt and regret from her. She leaned against him, gaining strength from his strength, and consolation not just from his words, but from his presence, and his love.

“He thought he was protecting me,” she agreed, “just as he was protecting me from a bad marriage when he told me about Robbie.”

“Do you think it would help if he knows he doesn't have to worry that you'll be alone? That there is another man who loves you deeply and who'll try to keep you safe and happy for the rest of your life? Who can hardly wait for the day he can call you his wife?”

As happy as that thought made her, she didn't
immediately agree. “Considering how he feels about you, it might be best not to speak of our plans, at least not right away. Perhaps in a few days.”

“Whenever you think best,” he said, stroking her cheek.

She took his face between her hands and kissed him slowly, tenderly.

As she wanted to—and would—kiss him every day of her life.

 

A few hours later, the constable stood in the earl's drawing room, twisting his hat in his hands and shaking his head as he addressed Moira and Gordon.

“We've searched everywhere and questioned every innkeeper, livery stable owner, postilion and tollbooth keeper between here and Edinburgh, and as far north as Inverness and halfway to Glasgow and Stirling, too. Nobody's seen him. Only sign of Sir Robert has been the coat on the beach up near Plockton, like I said.”

Moira and Gordon exchanged wary, dismayed glances.

“You're certain there was no boat there?” Gordon asked.

“No, sir, none, according to the fishermen who use that stretch of sand.”

“Oh, Gordon,” Moira said, trying not to cry. In spite of everything Robbie had done and all the anguish he'd caused, she didn't want to believe he was dead.

“Aye, my lady, it's a bad business when a body does himself in, but that looks to be the way of it. Sir Robert walked into the ocean and never came out.”

Mr. McCrutcheon cleared his throat and his manner became more professional and less like an undertaker offering solace to the bereaved. “To the other matter, about the fire. Since all the men responsible are dead and we never did find out who paid them, there isn't much we can do in the way of prosecution, I'm afraid.”

Moira and Gordon exchanged glances. Knowing the truth themselves and given her father's condition, they had decided not to enlighten the constable, at least not as long as her father still lived.

“We're satisfied knowing that they won't be setting any more fires,” Moira said.

“Aye, well, that they won't. Now, about the inquest, Mr. McHeath. The coroner thinks there's no need for you to come back to Dunbrachie to give evidence. He says that man we thought you killed wasn't killed at the school at all, so there's no chance you did it. He'd been dragged a ways, you see.”

“How can you tell?” Moira asked, pleased that Gordon needn't testify, but surprised by the constable's explanation, too.

“The mud on his clothes, and it was matted in his hair. Too much of it, the coroner says. Never occurred to me to take that into account, I'm sorry to say, but then, by the time I usually see a body, the family's washed it.”

Mr. McCrutcheon put his hands on his knees and hoisted himself to his feet. “Yes, it seems like the three of 'em managed to do each other in. Pity more bad 'uns don't do the same, but then what are prisons for, eh?

“I'll be off now then,” he continued when they didn't
reply. “I'd say it was a pleasure, Mr. McHeath, but that doesn't seem quite right under the circumstances.”

“I can say it was a pleasure to meet you, though,” Gordon said, rising to shake his hand. “You'll let us know if you hear anything more about Sir Robert?”

“Aye, sir, aye,” he affirmed. “Well, good day. And here's hoping the next time we meet, it's under more sociable conditions.”

Gordon nodded, then turned back into the room, where Moira stood looking out the windows at the garden. The day was gray and gloomy, but she was like a ray of sunlight against the windowpanes.

“Do you believe Robbie's dead?” she asked when he came up behind her and wrapped his arms about her.

“Without any other evidence, it's difficult to say what happened. I'd like to think he simply went to the shore to think, removed his jacket and forgot it when he left, but when I recall how he was the last time I saw him—” Gordon shook his head “—it's difficult to be optimistic.”

“I'm so sorry I ever agreed to marry him,” Moira said with a heavy sigh. “How much pain and trouble for all of us could have been averted if I'd known my own heart better and not let my pride and vanity sway me!”

“We're all liable to pay heed to our pride and vanity,” Gordon said softly. “If I hadn't, I wouldn't have been so thrilled when Robbie paid attention to me when I was young. I would have seen his flaws and realized I should avoid him. If I had known my own heart better, I would have realized that what I felt for a certain young
woman in Edinburgh wasn't love, or even desire. It was just boyish admiration.”

He pulled Moira back against him. “Now that I know what love is, I know I was a fool to think that what I felt for Catriona was even close.”

Moira turned in his arms, so that they were face-to-face. “I've been thinking, Gordon, and I've decided to tell my father about us today. There have been too many secrets already.”

Gordon studied her determined features. “Are you quite sure?”

“Quite. Besides, I'd like him to be at our wedding. And I think it should be…soon.”

“Today would suit me admirably,” Gordon sincerely replied, “but if I must wait a few more days, so be it.”

She gave him a wistful smile. “I would rather it be today, too, but you must have some time to return to Edinburgh and see your clients.”

“I also have to prepare for the move to Dunbrachie. And I should inform my friends they're going to be receiving wedding invitations.”

“I hope your friends like me.”

“Well,” he said slowly as he sat on the sofa and drew her down onto his lap, “I confess I haven't given much thought to any socializing we may be doing. I've been thinking about being alone with my wife.”

“I've thought about being alone with my husband, too,” she confessed as she wound her arms around his neck.

His lips quickly found hers, and they shared a kiss.

“Good God!”

Moira sprang up from the sofa and turned to see her father standing indignantly on the threshold.

“Papa!” she cried, hurrying toward him, surprised and upset, but not because she'd been caught kissing Gordon. “What are you doing out of bed? The doctor said—”

“Bother the doctor!” he interrupted. “I know when I'm well enough to get out of bed—and it's a damn good thing I did, too, when this is what I find!” He pointed at Gordon, who had also gotten to his feet. “Get out of my house, you…you rogue!”

Moira put her hands on her father's outstretched arm, gently forcing it lower. “Please, Papa, you don't understand.”

“The hell I don't! I saw what he was doing!”

“What I was doing, too, Papa,” she said as she faced him. “There's no need to be angry. We're going to be married.”

The earl's eyes widened as he stared at her, then Gordon, then his daughter again.
“Married?”
here repeated, as if she'd announced she was getting a tattoo.

“Married,” she confirmed. “As soon as possible.”

“Are you with child?” he demanded.

“No, Papa!” she cried, aghast and suddenly sorry she'd announced their plans. But she had, and there was no going back now. “We're in love and we're going to be married. You wanted me to be a wife, didn't you? Well, now I will be.”