The Runaway McBride (37 page)
Read The Runaway McBride Online
Authors: Elizabeth Thornton
“I was afraid of that.” She shook her head. “All this because Basil Hughes committed one small criminal act. My father used to say that our choices have consequences, but this became a tragedy worthy of Shakespeare.” She looked up. “What will happen to Hughes? ”
“It’s possible that he will be charged with bigamy, but with Sophie dead, the authorities may decide it’s not worth the effort. No, the real punishment will come in his pocket. Since he is not married to her, he can’t claim a penny from the estate. Everything will go to the nephew.”
She said slowly, “You mean to Alastair?”
“Yes, Alastair Dobbin.”
Her eyes went wide, and her face was suffused with pleasure. “I’m happy for him. I know how he’ll spend it. He’ll head up the next expedition to Egypt. He said I should join it.”
“The next expedition.” He checked himself. It was the name Alastair Dobbin that annoyed him. “Will you join it?”
Their eyes met and held. A moment of silence went by. If a pin had fallen on the carpeted floor, they would have heard it. Finally, Faith cleared her throat. “Perhaps I shall,” she said.
“Oh? ” Another heartbeat of silence went by. “And what about us?”
“Is there an ‘us’? ”
“You know damn well there is.” His features looked as though they were carved in granite. “We are lovers, Faith. We share dreams—”
“What we share are nightmares,” she cut in. “The only reason you’re here is because you had a premonition about me.”
“A premonition that came true.”
“Yes, I know. I shall never forget that I owe my life to you. But you told me yourself that saving me was your mission in life. Well, mission accomplished. You’re free to do what you want, as am I.”
She felt as though her fate was hanging in the balance, and her breath caught as she waited for his response.
He struggled to his feet. “Stop spouting rubbish,” he said, not angry, not amused, more in the tone that one would use with a tiresome child. “I know what you want better than you do.”
Stung, she shot back, “You don’t know what I want.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” His lips were turning up. “I’m a wizard, remember? ”
Before she could think of a cutting reply, the door burst open, and Roderick came in. He was waving a piece of paper over his head, and words spilled out of him. “This telegram just arrived. James, we’re in. Daimler has accepted our, well,
your
investment, and I’m to go to Paris just as soon as I pack my bags.”
your
investment, and I’m to go to Paris just as soon as I pack my bags.”
Faith forgot her quarrel with James. The difference in Roderick startled her. Gone was the mask of the world-weary man of the world and in its place was something far more appealing. “Who is Daimler?” she asked.
“Hasn’t James told you? He has developed a self-propelled vehicle that runs on petrol, and I’ve been accepted by the French firm that he has licensed to make his machines. I’ll be working on the technical side of things. This is a dream come true for me.”
She looked from one to the other. “A—what kind of vehicle? ”
“He means automobiles,” said James.
Roderick added, “Automobiles are the thing of the future, Faith, just as trains were in their day. The Americans and French are streets ahead of us here in Britain.”
“Really?” She smiled at Roderick and ignored James. “I’m truly pleased for you, Roderick.”
James said, “You told me to take an interest in Roderick, and I followed your advice.”
Her eyes fairly bored into his. “So your new focus is to be automobiles now, hmmm?”
“Nothing of the sort. Well,” James amended, “it would be impossible not to be interested, but I’m not going to get involved.”
“Oh, I’ll just bet you’re not. Just make sure you don’t turn Roderick into a replica of yourself. Excuse me, it’s time for bed.”
When the door closed behind her, Roderick said, “Was it something I said? ”
Chapter 25
Her eyelashes lifted, and she came slowly awake. “Who is
there?” she called out. There was no reply. She rose onto her elbows. “James?” she whispered. She was sure someone had called her name.
there?” she called out. There was no reply. She rose onto her elbows. “James?” she whispered. She was sure someone had called her name.
Silence.
Her lids grew heavy, and she sank back against the pillows.
She was in a grove of trees. It was dark, and a fine mist was rising from the warm earth. James was there, running ahead of her. She saw a terrace and light streaming through the French doors.
They were outside the parlor where she had confronted Sophie Hughes.
Get ready to run, Faith. I’m going to distract her. When I do, run like hell.
She knew, then, that James was reliving the night he had saved her. His heart was pumping hard and fast as he raised his revolver and fired into the air. He didn’t bother to try the door handle but kicked in the door and charged into the room.
She could feel his panic when he came into the hall and thought he had lost her. When he heard the first shot, he started to run. Two more shots made him as fleet-footed as a deer. He was on the servants’ staircase, pounding up the stairs, hoping to get between her and Sophie Hughes. She could hear his breath coming loud and harsh as he pushed himself to the limit, sensed his stark terror at the thought of losing her.
Faith, where are you?
He sagged with relief when she answered. He heard the fourth shot go off then the fifth, and he gritted his teeth. Only one bullet left in the chamber.
Why was he counting shots?
He was in a dark corridor. Ahead of him was the gallery. He could see Faith, but between Faith and him was Mrs. Hughes. She had one shot left. He was afraid to use his own gun in case he hit Faith. Sophie Hughes was raising her revolver. She couldn’t miss Faith at that distance. He had to do something. Only one bullet left. He started to run.
Come on, woman, aim your gun at me.
“Mrs. Hughes, you’re under arrest for the murder of Madeline Maynard.”
“Mrs. Hughes, you’re under arrest for the murder of Madeline Maynard.”
“No . . . !” Faith’s scream came out a moan.
The bullet hit him with the force of an exploding artillery shell. His revolver skittered away, and he sank to the floor. He heard the click of the hammer on the empty chamber. Sophie Hughes had wasted her last shot on him. Faith was safe.
A new terror confronted him. The Hughes woman was trying to force Faith over the banister. In a haze of pain and sheer animal ferocity, he dragged himself to his feet and started forward. The only thing that made him move was the fierceness of his emotions. If he stopped now, he would be utterly helpless, and Faith would die. He knew what he had to do. As he came on, he roared the ancient Burnett battle cry.
A battle cry? Faith was frozen. This was something new. This was not how the dream should end. What did James think he was doing? A wave of panic swept through her.
She had to stop him.
“Wake up, James! Wake up!” She said the words over and over. “Wake up!”
The scene on the gallery faded, and she came awake on a cry. Pushing out of bed, she grabbed for her robe and went tearing out of her room, along the corridor to James’s room.
The lamp was lit, and he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head cupped in his hands. He looked up at her entrance.
“I’m all right,” he said. “Faith, it was only a dream.”
When she crossed to him, he got to his feet. Still disoriented, she spread her fingers over his chest. Beneath the fine lawn nightshirt, his flesh was warm. She could feel the steady beat of his heart.
She closed her eyes and let out a shivery breath.
Then she pinched him, hard, on his good shoulder.
“Hell and damnation, woman!” He groaned and rubbed his shoulder. “That hurts!”
“How do you think I feel?” Her voice was rising with every word. “You did that deliberately.”
He looked faintly guilty. “Did what?”
“The battle cry. I saw what was in your mind. You were going to rush Mrs. Hughes and let your momentum carry you both over the banister.”
He didn’t deny it. “I wouldn’t have hit the marble floor. That’s the nature of dreams. We always waken before something really bad happens.”
She spoke through her teeth. “That’s not what you once told me. You said that many people die in their sleep, and there was no accounting for it.”
He scratched his head. “Did I?”
He captured her in his arms and pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed. “Why are you so angry? When you rushed in here, you looked as though you were ready to fall into my arms. Now you want to beat me. Why? ”
She saw the laughter in his eyes, and that made her tip up her chin. “You’re the seer,” she said, “you tell me.”
He dropped a kiss on her jutting chin. “Fine, I will. I think you’re in love with me. That’s why you’re so angry.”
“What?” she choked out.
“You’re in love with me.”
She almost scowled. She almost fell into the familiar pattern of taking refuge in an air of injury. For so many years, she’d thought that he had abandoned her. Though she’d come to know it wasn’t true, the old hurt had become second nature to her. But no longer. The dream tonight had been an awakening. She was no seer, but she had experienced every emotion as he experienced it, and just remembering how he’d felt made her catch her breath. If that was not love, she did not know what love was.
It came to her in a flash: James and her mother. She’d told him that he and Madeline had much in common. It wasn’t true. Madeline did not know what love was. She’d read her diary. There had been plenty of lovers, but no one had ever touched her heart. She and her father could attest to that. Poor Madeline. She never knew what she had lost.
James wasn’t going to go the way of Madeline, not if she had anything to do with it. He had her, he had his family and his cousins. She didn’t expect him to dote on them, but a little interest and encouragement wouldn’t come amiss. He might be surprised at the result.
“Cat got your tongue, Faith? ” he teased.
“I used to think,” she said, “that Penelope was pitiful, spinning and weaving all those years while her husband was off adventuring. I used to think that when he came through the door, she should have seized the nearest bow and shot an arrow through his black heart.”
He looked baffled. “Penelope?”
“And Odysseus.”
“Ah. The Greek legend. But now you think—what? ”
“I feel sorry for Odysseus. All those years adventuring—for what? He never knew what he had lost.” She looked directly into his eyes. “When we are married,” she said, and almost laughed at the way his jaw sagged, “I’m not going to be like stay-at-home Penelope. I don’t mean I’m going to follow you from pillar to post like a piece of lost luggage. It works both ways. Where you go, I go, and where I go, you follow.”
He was laughing when he draped an arm around her shoulders. “Is this a proposal, Miss McBride? ”
“That depends on how much adventuring you intend to do.”
“Very little. In fact, I don’t want to go anywhere. My business seems to run itself. I’m ready for something different.” He frowned. “What are you thinking? And don’t try to look innocent. A look comes into your eyes when you’re plotting something.”
“I don’t plot! I make plans. If you must know, I was thinking of your father. He doesn’t have enough to do. You have your trains, Roderick has those motorized thingies, and Margaret would be content if your father was content. She loves him very much, you know. You should do something for him, James.”
“Such as, for instance?”
“Such as help him to restore Drumore Castle to its former glory. That’s his main interest in life, isn’t it? ”
James was aghast. “Do you know how much money it would take to restore a crumbling castle?”
She answered him coolly. “You’re the financier. You know how to make things happen. I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you’ll find a solution.”
His stare was almost a glare. By degrees, it melted. He leaned toward her and nipped her shoulder. “What about me? I told you that I’m ready for something different.”
“Such as?” She was smiling, because she knew well enough what he was ready for. His mouth was warm as it brushed over her cheeks and hovered just above hers.
“A sorceress would do,” he said. “You know, someone like you who can share my dreams. It would save us a lot of misunderstanding. I’ve never been good with words. That wouldn’t matter to a sorceress. You’d always know what I was thinking and feeling and vice versa.”
She made a face. “Oh, no, you’re not going to cheat me of the words. And you’re not going to read my thoughts whenever the fancy takes you. I forbid it! Everyone is entitled to a little privacy.” She framed his face with both hands. “We’ll use words. It’s easy. Trust me. Repeat after me,” she looked earnestly into his eyes, “I . . . love . . . you.”
He kissed her throat. “I love you, love you, love you,” he whispered fiercely, then his lips found hers.
THE ABERDEEN JOURNAL, AUGUST 29, 1885
James Burnett, heir to the Laird of Drumore, was married at Drumore Parish Church on Friday to Miss Faith McBride with the Reverend Peter McEcheran officiating. The bride wore white satin with a Burnett tartan sash, and in her hair, the traditional sprig of Burnett holly leaves. Miss McBride is the daughter of the late Professor McBride of Oxford and his wife, Madeline Maynard.
The guests represented many of the leading families of Grampian and the east coast of Scotland, among them the Burnetts of Crathes, the McEwans of Banff, the Hepburns of Feughside, and the Gordons of Aberdeen. Also present were the locals for miles around who had come to witness the marriage of their favorite son.
The happy couple will spend the next few months on an extended honeymoon, touring Egypt and Greece before taking up temporary residence in Paris, where the groom’s younger brother is employed designing and testing the Daimler motorized automobile.
The laird intimated that his own traveling days are over, and he intends to renovate and refurbish the castle with a view to letting it to interested parties, most likely Americans, who have strong ties to Scotland. His own family will continue to live in the castle in their private apartments. He also graciously intimated that visitors to the castle will always be welcome and may call on him to show them around this historic building that played such a significant part in Scottish history.
The reception was held in the castle. When it came to the groom’s speech, he ended it by asking everyone to rise and toast his maternal grandmother, the late Lady Valeria McEcheran, who, he avowed, was the matchmaker who had brought him and his bride together. This confidence was met by thunderous applause from the inhabitants of the local village. Shouts of “To the Witch of Drumore” made those ancient stone walls reverberate like thunder. The question that was on everyone’s lips when the shouting had died away was, “Who is Lady Valeria’s successor? ”
So far, no one has come forward to claim the title.
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