The Beautiful Stranger (40 page)

What of her lack of connections? Even Paddy was cool to her.

I wouldnt know what her lack of connections means in Edinburgh drawing rooms, but here? Paddy will accept her once Mother is through with her. Kettering, Albright, our cousin WestfallDarfield, certainly.

They will most assuredly ignore anything as superficial as connections. Who else concerns you?

Arthur gaped at his brother. And what invitation do you think we shall receive at the height of the Season? he asked disgustedly. When you and the others are off to some ball, who exactly do you think will want us at their supper table?

With a frown, Alex resumed the study of his French cuff. What does it matter if you are in Scotland? I looked up, gauging Arthurs reaction, and quickly continued before Arthur could speak. Look here, Arthur you have lived your life in the shadow of others. Dont deny ityou are the third son of a duke and could not help being thrust into mine or Anthonys shadow. You were one of the Rogues of Regent Street, true, but you stood aside and watched them live. And you had complained to me on more than one occasion that the Christian Brothers Enterprise does not need you. Very well, then. It is time you lived for yourself, high time you sought your own meaning in life and perhaps improve the quality of it.

Kettering said you had a fine time of in Scotland, that you actually liked working the land. What do you have here that could possibly compare?

Arthur was speechless.

He was speechless long after he left his brother study. He had offered no answer to Alexs challenge, and Alex had let it lie. But as Arthur walked home alone to Audley Street, he was struck with the thought that perhaps Alex was right. He had never really lived, not life the others. He had often thought his life lacking some how, as if there wasnt enough to it to justify his existence.

But to Scotland?

Ah God, he missed her. In spite of his anger, h missed her. And as much as he was loath to feel so, h was deathly worried about her. The foolish lass intended to hand herself over in some noble gesture to free Thomas. If he had known when she left, or how she left he might have tried to stop her, but her head start was devastating to any hope of stopping her.

It was that which he was contemplating when he almost collided with a party of ladies out for an afternoon walkabout. The group of women startled him; he clumsily tipped his hat before he saw Portia among them, smiling up at him beneath her parasol.

Lord Christian, she purred. What a delight.

Lady Roth, he responded coolly, bowing, and greeted the three women who accompanied her.

I am surprised to see you about. I had heard you were quite indisposed once your little friend had run back to Scotland. The women giggled as Portia looked at him with a devilish glint in her eye.

How he despised her. The woman was devious, calculating. He glanced at her three friends, all of whom he knew very well by reputation. They were no better than Portia, all of them sporting identical, knowing smiles. You should take better care of whom you select as confidantes, Lady Roth. As you can see, I am quite well.

And we are very glad to see it, sir. I should hate to think of you pining away for some poor Scottish lassie. The women tittered again, and Portia smiled so broadly that it creased the heavy cosmetics she had applied to her face.

Arthur smirked, tipped his hat again. You are as considerate as always, Lady Roth. Good day, ladies.

He stepped around them and continued walking, aware of Portias low laughter behind him.

And as he strolled on, he silently agreed with Kerry. She could never fit in this world; she could never possess the gall it required. His world did an injustice to her and for the first time, Arthur wondered seriously why he couldnt fit into hers. The days he had spent in Glenbaden had been some of the happiest of his life. He had felt like a man there, invincible, strong.

The idea teased him for the rest of the day. Over a solitary supper, Arthur reached an epiphany of sorts.

As much as he was hurting, he truly did understand why Kerry did what she didher integrity was one of the things he so very much admired about her. And while he might quibble with the how of it, he had not exactly listened to her wishes. He had imposed what he thought was best, assuming she had no knowledge of what was best for herself. How bloody arrogant of him. And he knew of the familial bond that existed between her and Thomas, and damn well should have known that she would move heaven and earth to clear his name.

The truth was, he thought as he picked at the lamb on his plate, that he would do anything at this moment to have her back, including leaving behind everything that he was and all that he had for Scotland.

And why not? He had nothing to lose but himself.

The season was already beginning to turn in the Central Highlands of Scotland. From the small window of her cell, Kerry could see bright red, yellow, and orange leaves falling and skating across the small courtyard. With each leaf that fell, she wondered if she would live to see the trees in Glenbaden again.

Their trial would occur, Moncrieffe said, when the justice of the peace came through the Perthshire region to hear criminal matters. Maybe a fortnight. Maybe longer. She and Thomas would be tried together.

Thomas. She had seen him for only a quarter of an hour before they had taken her away. Drawn and terribly thin, he had been shocked to see her, having believed her dead. He had been too overwhelmed with relief to tell her much, other than everything would be all right. At the time, she had believed him, because she had believed that once she explained what had happened, they would free Thomas.

But no.

Cameron Moncrieffe had leveled an accusation that she and Thomas were lovers, and had killed Charles so that Kerry would not have to honor her late husbands agreement to marry the poor, simple lad.

It was an absurd accusationthere were several people who knew the true relationship between Kerry and Thomas, and furthermore, had seen him leave with the cattle. Unfortunately, most of those people had left Glenbaden for good, and Kerry had no idea where Big Angus and May may have gone.

Nonetheless, she naively believed that the truth would prevail, and she had tried to convince the sheriff who had brought her here that she had killed Charles in self-defense. But the more she insisted on the

truth, the deafer he and Moncrieffe seemed to be. No one believed herno one would listen to her.

So she and Thomas were to be tried for murder and the penalty for their crime was, as Moncrieffe had maliciously delighted in telling her, death by hanging. To emphasize that point, he had put her in the cell of an ancient tower on the Moncrieffe estate that overlooked the site on which they were building the gallows.

Alone in that cell, with nothing to amuse her but the changing season and the progress on the gallows, Kerry inevitably spent her days thinking of Arthur. She missed him terribly. Oh, she had forgotten all about the evictionit had not taken her long to see that he was right, that Fraser had lost her land, not him.

She believed what he told her about his role in it all.

The hardest thing she had ever done in her life was to leave without seeing him. But she could hardly blame him for not wanting to see her, not after she had refused to marry him in the manner that she had.

She had been angry, confused and even in the best of circumstances, it was impossible to explain to him how terribly ill suited she was for London. Arthur had moved in those circles all his life; he could not possibly fathom how foreign it was to someone like her, how out of place she seemed. How everyone, including his own lady aunt, had felt it, too.

Only Arthur had believed she would be accepted.

She missed him, cried herself to sleep almost every night thinking of him, and woke every morning longing for his smile and soft caress. But then the matron would come with a bowl of what passed for oats, the cold seeping in through the thick walls of the tower would penetrate her bones, and she would begin her prayers all over again, until her thoughts bled into memories of Arthur.

How she had loved him. And she would, apparently, go to her grave loving him.

On a particularly cold morning, her gaolerMrs. Muir, Kerry was finally able to coax out of herbrought a basin of cold water and a rag. Yer to clean yerself up, lassie. The baron would speak with ye.

Kerry moaned. Mrs. Muir lifted her thick brows and thrust a dirty rag forward. With inhuman strength, Kerry willed herself from the lumpy mattress that passed for a bed and walked to the basin.

She washed, managed to knot her hair at her nape by the time Moncrieffe sailed into her cell, seeming to fill what little space there was. He looked remarkably fresh; his gray hair was perfectly arranged; a diamond pin winked from his throat where it held his neckcloth in place. With his hands clasped behind his back, he slowly circled Kerry, thoroughly examining her.

He came to a halt in front of her. A fortnight within these walls hasna done you any favors, Mrs.

McKinnon. Yet I think you are salvageable.

Kerry shrugged indifferently. How kind of you to remark so. But why should you bother? You intend, do you not, to see me hang before winter comes?

Moncrieffe smiled. Rather an acerbic tongue for one in as much trouble as we find you, Mrs. McKinnon.

Her patience had long since drained from her and Kerry was in no mood to play games with the baron.

She folded her arms across her middle, drummed her fingers on one arm. I am well aware of the sort of trouble we find ourselves in, my lord. If there is something you would say, Id ask that you get on with it and spare me the childish games.

The man actually laughed. He strolled casually to the window and gazed out at the gallows construction.

Not a terribly good view, is it? he asked idly, and turned around. I suppose I could change this view for you, if I were of a mind.

Aye, and how would you do that?

Simply move you to a more suitable location, my dear.

A silent warning flagged in her chest; her eyes narrowed. And where might this more suitable location be, then?

Moncrieffe moved to where she stood, standing so close that she could smell the cloying scent of his cologne. He lifted his hand; with one finger, he stroked her cheekbone. Moncrieffe House, he murmured.

The view from the master suite is superb.

Kerry instinctively recoiled in horror. Moncrieffe, however, was not abashed by her revulsion. He chuckled, caught her by the mess of her hair.

Think, Mrs. McKinnonyour life for my bed. I shouldna think it such a horrid suggestion then, he said, and leaned closer, his mouth brushing her hair. You would delight in my skill as a lover.

Her stomach roiled; Kerry stumbled away from him and covered her mouth with her hand. Never, she managed to choke out. I would rather die

Are you insane? I offer you freedom

That is not freedom!

It is as close to freedom as you will ever be, madam! Do you think yourself such a prize as to hold yourself away from me?

The image nauseated her; Kerry swallowed it down, shook her head.

Then why in Gods name do you refuse me? I would give you your life for it! he snapped angrily.

Why should you make this offer now? she choked. What of your son? What of avenging his death as you so publicly proclaimed you would do?

Moncrieffe shrugged. It was destined that one of us would have you. As Charles couldna seem to manage it without getting himself killed, it seems appropriate that I should. Ive admired you for long, Kerry McKinnon, and I doona intend to force my affections on you like a beast. But it seems that you have solved a dilemma for us both.

Her stomach roiled again, only stronger, and she pressed her hands flat against her abdomen. Do you mean to say you knew what Charles intended to do?

Moncrieffe laughed, a sharp, mocking laugh. Of course I knew! I sent him there, did I not? How else was I to make sure you would honor your husbands commitment?

She would be sick. Looking at the man standing before her as if it were perfectly natural to send his son

off to rape a woman, she felt the oats she had eaten move in her belly. She whirled away, rushed toward the chamber pot in the corner of the room, and fell to her knees, unable to contain the purge of her revulsion.

Behind her, Moncrieffe chuckled nastily. There now, lassie. Charles wasna a genius, but he wasna a cruel boy. In time, with my help, he would have learned to be gentle with you.

She closed her eyes, tried to block the sound of his voice, but he was suddenly crouching behind her, his hand on her neck. Now I, on the other hand, will be as gentle or as wild as you want me to be. You will not regret it, he murmured, and licked her ear.

I would die before I would submit to you, she whispered.

Moncrieffe suddenly shoved her aside; she fell hard, hitting her head against the stone wall. Think long and hard before you speak to me thus again, he said low. His boots rang sharply on the stone floor as he stalked away from her. I will return, Kerry McKinnon. The boots stopped. Perhaps I will give you a sample of what you might expect in my bed, hmmm? He laughed again; his boots clicked across the floor. She heard the door open and close, the grind of the lock in the ancient keyhole. Only then did she push herself up. With trembling fingers, she felt her forehead. Blood trickled from where her head had struck the wall. She slowly pushed herself to her knees, and then to her feet, and stumbled to the small window for some air.

Arthur.

Where was her beautiful stranger?

She passed two days in a nervous state of anticipation waiting for Moncrieffe to come again. Mrs. Muir finally brought food more than a day after Moncrieffe had come. Another full day passed before the woman appeared again, this time with a bowl of what Kerry could only call gruel. Moncrieffe was, apparently, trying to starve her into submission.

Mrs. Muir left the bowl on a small table and walked to the door. She paused, turned halfway around and said, Yer barristers come.