Unraveled By The Rebel (17 page)

The winter air was frigid, the snow drifted in piles across their land. Beatrice Andrews was careful with her footing as she stepped outside the charred remains of their home. In her arms she carried the pieces of what had once been a mahogany desk belonging to her father. She moved without thinking, letting her thoughts drift as she cleared out the mess of wood.

The soft sound of footsteps crunching through the snow made her look up. The wood fell from her hands as she saw her husband, Henry Andrews, Colonel Lord Lanfordshire. Her hands covered her mouth as she realized no, it wasn’t her imagination. But he was thinner than she’d last seen him, with a rough beard tinged gray.

His uniform was caked with mud from the road, his boots wet with snow. One arm was bandaged in a sling, and she could not tell if it was broken or wounded more deeply. His face was stoic, and he didn’t move toward her—he only stared.

Her heart trembled, and her face reddened, for she didn’t know what to say or do. If she ran into his arms, she might accidentally hurt him. Then, too, it had been so long since she’d seen him last. Although they had been married for over twenty years, the distance between them had gradually increased until she was hesitant to embrace him.

Finally, he walked forward until he stood before her. For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes taking in her appearance. She was embarrassed that her clothing was in tatters, her hair in a rough tangle. What a sight she must look to him.

“Beatrice,” he said. His voice was cool, holding no emotion at all. He could have been talking to a stone, not the wife he hadn’t seen in three years.

“Henry.” She nodded to acknowledge him, nervously wiping her hands upon the apron she was wearing. “It’s been a long time.” So long, she wasn’t accustomed to having him here. She’d had to make so many decisions on her own, learning from her failures.

“It has,” he said.

Say something else,
she wanted to plead.
Let me know that you missed me. Anything.

But he only glanced behind her at the burned roof and skeletal stone walls. “What happened to our home?”

“Someone set fire to it a few weeks ago.” She lifted her chin and nodded at the crofters, who were carrying out the debris from inside. “I wrote to you, but I suppose you never got the letter. We’re still in the process of rebuilding.”

“And the girls?”

She softened at his mention of them. “They’re fine, and all of them are staying in London. Victoria got married a few weeks ago, to the Duke of Worthingstone.”

That,
at least, provoked a reaction from him. Victoria hadn’t left the house in five years, and yet she’d made a splendid marriage. Although Beatrice hadn’t done anything to play matchmaker, she couldn’t resist gloating.

“A duke? For our Victoria?” Her husband couldn’t hide his shock, and at least it gave them something to discuss. She led him inside, stepping over the rubble of burned wood and stone.

“It was a shock to me, too,” Beatrice admitted. “I never dreamed she would ever find a husband at all, much less a duke.”

“I’ve missed a great deal, it seems.”

His voice was rough, and she realized he was no longer talking about their daughters or the house. His eyes locked on to her, as if he couldn’t believe he was seeing her again. He hadn’t looked at her like that in at least ten years.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. “You have, yes.”

She touched the front door, considering whether to lead him back outside. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to see how badly the house was burned.

“There’s a lot of damage inside,” she said. “I’ve been living at Eiloch Hill for the past fortnight, but I believe the roof is sound now.” She opened the door wider, deciding it was best if he knew everything. “We don’t know who set the fire, but it will take months to restore the house,” she admitted. “The duke has sent some men to help, but I’ve been trying to salvage our belongings as best I can.”

Her husband spoke not a word, his attention upon the mess that had once been their home. Had he heard anything she’d said?

“Henry?” she asked, pausing at the parlor entrance. “Are you all right? Does your arm pain you?”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

She turned around, meaning to lead him into the rest of the house, and it took him a moment before he followed. Though she spoke in a constant stream of conversation, telling him about the crofters who had offered their help to clear out the house, she sensed that he wasn’t listening at all.

She broke off in mid-sentence, waiting for him to reply. He never said a word but doggedly followed her to the other side of the house and back through the kitchen to the exterior.

Seeing him again made it so hard to hold back her emotions. She wiped at her cheeks, hiding her feelings. Straightening her spine, she pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and turned to face him.

“We’ll rebuild the house,” she assured him, taking in a deep breath. “His Grace kindly offered us the use of Eiloch Hill for as long as we need it.”

Henry stepped forward, and she went motionless. For a moment, both of them stood still, waiting for the other to speak.

In the end, he reached out and touched her cheek. His hand was cold against her skin, but the caress went down to her bones.

And in his eyes, she saw regret.

Two months later

Juliette was restless. Although she’d continued to see Paul at social gatherings, he’d been careful not to push beyond friendship. He would dance with her once, and the rest of the evening, he maintained a respectful distance.

But every time she saw Paul speak to another young woman or dance with her, it was like a splinter digging beneath her skin. A possessiveness dominated her mood, and she couldn’t understand
why
the jealousy was taking command of her.

He’d done this on purpose. The quiet distance was slowly driving her into madness. Even being with her sisters could not distract her from the growing need to see him again.

Today, the clouds brewing in the sky mirrored her gray mood. Her sister Margaret had gone out shopping, but it was long past the time when she should have returned. Juliette paced across the room before she decided to go downstairs and peer outside the window.

Margaret was predictable, down to the last minute. She had never returned so late, not in all the time they’d been in London.

The streets were a crowded tangle of carriages and merchants, with people milling about everywhere. Juliette stared at the throng, hoping for a glimpse of her sister. Minutes later, she spied a hackney approaching their residence. It stopped, and Cain Sinclair emerged. In his arms, he carried an unconscious Margaret, her hair tangled with blood.

Panic struck Juliette like a fist, for she’d never imagined that anyone would attack her sister.
Dear God, let her be all right.
She hurried to the door, throwing it open before the footman could get there.

Within seconds, Cain Sinclair trudged up the steps, his arms gripped tightly around her sister. The man’s face was grim, and Juliette feared the worst.

“What happened?” she demanded. “Is Margaret all right?”

Her sister was hanging limp against him. Someone had wrapped a makeshift bandage around her temple, but it was stained red. While it appeared that she was still breathing, that didn’t diminish Juliette’s fear at all.

The butler wasted no time in issuing orders to a footman, demanding fresh water and bandages.

“Miss Andrews was trying to stop the Duchess of Worthingstone from being kidnapped,” Mr. Sinclair answered, following her into the drawing room. “Your sister is missing, and the servants found one of the footmen dead. Miss Andrews was lying on the pavement bleeding. She hit her head when she was thrown from the carriage.”

Just the thought of it sent a cold fear trembling through Juliette. She couldn’t think of why anyone would want to hurt Margaret or gentle-hearted Victoria. Especially now, when the duchess was expecting her first child.

Seeing Margaret wounded only drove the fear deeper. Though her sister’s prim ways might be irritating at times, she didn’t doubt that Margaret had gone down fighting for Victoria. She could only pray that the injuries weren’t life-threatening. Never before had she seen her sister this pale, and she reached for Margaret’s hand, feeling utterly helpless when the young woman seemed unaware of it.

Mr. Sinclair sat down on a settee, still holding her in his arms. The motion brought forth a low moan of pain from Margaret, and Juliette’s worries intensified.

“She needs a doctor,” she insisted.

“Go and fetch Fraser,” Sinclair said quietly. “He’s the only one I’d trust with your sister.”

The look in his eyes made her wonder if he knew about the separation between Paul and herself. Though she’d wanted to mend the breach, she hadn’t known what to say or do. But Mr. Sinclair was right—Paul was the best doctor to help Margaret, and this gave her the perfect reason to seek him out.

“All right.” When the footman brought in the water and bandages, Juliette ordered him to prepare the carriage and fetch her pelisse. Though she was trying to remain calm, two of her sisters had been threatened. Margaret still hadn’t opened her eyes, and Victoria was missing. Inside, her heart had gone cold with fear for both of them.

“Do they know where the duchess is now?” she asked Mr. Sinclair, while tying the ribbons of her bonnet.
Please, let someone find her.

Sinclair shook his head. “The servants are still searching.”

Juliette reached out to take her sister’s hand. When she glanced over at Mr. Sinclair, his demeanor was grave. He was holding Margaret against him, as if afraid she would close her eyes and never awaken. Gone was the teasing Highlander who often liked to provoke her sister. Instead, his attention was locked on her face with worry.

“Dr. Fraser will take care of Margaret,” Juliette promised. “I believe that.” She swallowed hard and added, “But we need to find Victoria.” The fear inside her gathered intensity at the thought of her sister’s attack. She clenched her hands together to stop them from shaking. “Has His Grace returned from Scotland?”

“Not yet. The duchess was alone with the servants when she was taken.”

She gripped her hands together, fearing the worst. Her sister hated going outside, and if she’d ventured out into the open, there had to be a strong reason for it. Juliette couldn’t imagine the paralyzing terror the duchess must be enduring now.

But Cain Sinclair could find her. She was sure of it.

“Does anyone know where Toria was taken?” Juliette asked. “Or the reason why?”

“The servants said that Mr. Melford, Lord Strathland’s factor, paid a call upon Her Grace not long ago,” Sinclair admitted. “It wouldna surprise me if someone wanted to ransom her. Or use her to influence the duke.”

“Then likely they’ll take Victoria north, toward Ballaloch,” Juliette predicted.

“Aye.”

“You can find her. There aren’t that many roads leading to the western Highlands.” Juliette had no doubt that Mr. Sinclair could track her sister’s whereabouts, particularly if Lord Strathland was behind the attack. “If they’re in a carriage, they’ll have to stop at the tollbooths. It will slow them down.” Her gaze narrowed upon him. “But you don’t have to stay to the roads if you’re on horseback. You could catch up to her.”

Mr. Sinclair brushed a tangled strand of Margaret’s hair to one side. There was reluctance in his expression, as if he didn’t want to leave. But he gave a nod. “Tell Miss Andrews where I’ve gone, when she awakens.”

“Of course,” she promised. “And I’ll have Aunt Charlotte’s cook prepare food for you to take. You’ll have to leave quickly.”

Mr. Sinclair lowered the young woman back down on the settee and grazed his hand over Margaret’s cheek in a caress. Then he stood and picked up his fallen hat. “Go and fetch Fraser. He’ll take good care of her.”

She nodded in agreement. “Find Victoria,” she pleaded. “And send word to us, as soon as you know she’s safe.”

He put on his hat and went to the door. “That I’ll do. But would you tell her—” His words broke off as if suddenly realizing what he’d been about to say.

“I’ll tell her that you were the one to save her,” Juliette promised, guessing what he wanted. Although there was no chance of her sister ever desiring a Highlander instead of a lord, she would grant Sinclair that, at least.

His expression was enigmatic. “Aye. That’s good then.”

Her aunt arrived home at that moment, and Charlotte exclaimed at the sight of Margaret. “Help me bring her to her room,” she commanded a footman. “And someone fetch a doctor.”

Juliette met Sinclair’s gaze, and he nodded in silent agreement. She would go after Dr. Fraser herself, despite the impropriety.

“Find Toria,” she pleaded with Mr. Sinclair once more. If anyone could manage it, she trusted Sinclair. He ignored the law when it suited him, and she had every faith that he would succeed.