Unraveled By The Rebel (6 page)

But once again, she gave no reply, unable to speak at all.

“And I’ll wager I wasna the only man looking upon your bonny face.”

“I’m not the woman for you, Paul,” she whispered. She had to put an end to this, even if it meant hurting him. “You should turn your eyes elsewhere. I don’t intend to marry anyone at all.”

“Especially a Scottish rebel?” he dared.

That wasn’t it at all, but she couldn’t say so. Juliette lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug. “It’s dangerous, the way you ride out with the others.”

“I’m a doctor. I ride many places.” He took her hand in his, locking their fingers together. “And I’m no’ the only one who was watching you. Ever since I returned from Edinburgh, I’ve seen Strathland riding near the borders of your land.”

“Don’t speak of him.” The thought of the earl shadowing her brought a rise of fear. Juliette wrapped her arms around her waist, adding, “I don’t want to even think of that man.”

“He wouldna hesitate to take advantage of a young lass like yourself.”

And wasn’t she well aware of that? She dropped her gaze, afraid he would see the terror on her face. Paul drew closer, and she sensed the invisible tension between them, though she needed to hold her distance. “I followed you, when I could,” he admitted. “So you had someone to watch over you.” A bleakness slid over her at his confession. If only he’d been there a year ago. If only she could go back and warn the innocent girl she’d been. Slowly, she pulled away, wondering if she could ever find the courage to admit the truth to him.

He released a slow breath. “I would ne’er ask for more than you’re able to give, Juliette. I’ll do naught except be a silent guard, when you’ve the need of one.”

“I appreciate your friendship, Dr. Fraser.” She steeled herself for what she had to say. “But find someone else for your attentions. I’m not the one for you.”

And with those words, she left him standing alone.

Paul spent the night tending several crofters who’d suffered minor burn injuries when they’d tried to put out the fire. He’d mixed a healing salve and bandaged the hands of a few men before walking out to stand in front of Loch Monel. Against a clouded moon, the ripples of the water appeared like silvery fins. He stood there for nearly an hour before he heard footsteps approach.

“You’re looking restless, Fraser.” Cain Sinclair held out a cup. “I’ve brought ale. No’ enough tae get drunk, but it’s a start.”

Aye, it was a welcome beginning. He raised his cup and offered, “
Slainté
.”

Paul took a deep sip of the ale and then admitted, “I learned who set the fire. ’Twas Joseph MacKinloch, their footman.”

“For God’s sake, why?” Cain demanded.

“Strathland’s men took his sister hostage. They threatened to kill her unless he set the fire. He thought they’d let her go if he did it.”

“And the daft idiot believed them? Strathland canna be trusted.” Cain swore and tossed back his own cup. “Where is MacKinloch now?”

“I told him no’ to show his face here again. Punishing him willna bring back the house. The bloody fool.”

Cain sobered, falling silent in agreement. He crossed his arms and stared out at the water. “Speaking of fools, were you daft enough to bother
her
again, Fraser?”

Paul didn’t have to ask who Sinclair was talking about. Everyone knew he wanted to wed Juliette. He’d overheard the wagers on how long it would take her to say yes.

“I’ll ask her as many times as I have to.”

“And still, she’ll say no.” Sinclair drained his own cup and let it hang from his fingertips. “A man should ken when he hasn’t a prayer of winning the woman he wants.”

“Why should I give up?” He drank the ale, but though it quenched his thirst, it did nothing to allay the bitterness. “She just needs convincing, that’s all.” He shrugged, as if it were naught to worry over. But Sinclair came closer, his face serious in the moonlight.

“I shouldna be sayin’ this to you. But you’ve been a friend, ye ken? There’s a reason why she says no.” He let out a slow breath, as if choosing his words carefully. Glancing down at his empty cup, he cursed and then muttered that he was wanting another drink.

Paul waited, but the longer time passed, the more Sinclair hesitated. “There’s not someone else, is there?” He didn’t want to think that Juliette had given her heart to another. It seemed impossible, given the way she’d accepted his casual touches in the past day. But she
had
avoided him, especially after he’d returned from Edinburgh.

He stared hard at Sinclair, not wanting to hear the reasons. And yet, he needed to understand her reluctance.

“It’s no’ someone else. It’s because she was hurt, Fraser.”

Hurt? Every tendon within him tightened with a fear he could not name. A coldness descended over him, for he suspected he would not want to hear any of this.

And yet, he needed to know. “What do you mean,
hurt
?”

The man said nothing for a time, staring out over the water. “It was over a year ago, in autumn. You were still in Edinburgh.” He kept his words neutral, but with every pause, Paul’s uneasiness grew. “I came out looking for my brother Jonah, who’d been fishing. When I found him, Jonah told me he’d heard a woman crying.” Sinclair stared hard at him. “I followed him to the grove of trees over the rise of hills toward Ben Nevis. It’s on the earl’s land, north of Eiloch Hill.”

The pieces of Sinclair’s story started to form together, and Paul made no move to interrupt.

“When I found Miss Andrews, I thought she’d been lost or twisted an ankle,” Sinclair said. “She was sitting on the ground, sobbing. Her hair was undone, and her bodice all torn up. When she saw me, she begged me no’ to tell.” The man’s face turned violently angry, as if remembering what he’d seen.

Ice froze up the rivers of blood within him, and in his mind, Paul saw a vision of Juliette, frightened and alone. Her hair fallen around her shoulders, a wrenching terror on her face.

Her words came back to haunt him:
If it’s a wife and children you want, you should look elsewhere.

He replayed the sadness on her face when he’d spoken to her hours earlier. She’d claimed that she couldn’t give him the life he wanted… that she didn’t want to marry any man. His mind tried to put together another reason, anything else that could have happened.

But he knew. In his gut, he knew that Juliette would never have gone off on her own. Someone had taken her to an isolated
place. Someone she’d trusted… or perhaps she’d been forced there against her will.

And that someone had hurt her.

The force of his rage, that someone would dare to harm the woman he loved, reverberated within him like a violent storm. “Who did this?” he demanded. If the man wasn’t already dead, Paul had no qualms about murdering him for what he’d done. When Sinclair didn’t answer, he repeated the question, grabbing the man by his shirt, letting the violence stream through him. “For God’s sake,
who
?”

Sinclair’s face turned grim. “She wouldna say. But I took her to your mother’s house.”

“My mother knew?” Though he’d seen Bridget a time or two, not a word had she spoken of Juliette.

The darkness simmering within him threatened to erupt into a violent temper. For he hadn’t been there to rescue Juliette. She’d been unprotected… and Paul blamed himself for that. It was as if an invisible hand had reached inside and ripped him apart from the inside. Fury mingled with a drowning guilt and the need to make amends, to help her heal.

“Bridget took care of her before I brought her home,” Sinclair admitted. “Your mother… helped fix her dress so that no one would know.” His friend shot him a warning look. “Lady Lanfordshire knows naught of this, nor her other daughters. If you say one word, I’ll be denying it with my last breath.”

Though Paul nodded absently, his mind was reeling. “You should have told me sooner.” It seemed impossible that this could have happened to the girl he loved. That anyone would have harmed her. She had suffered from this and told no one. Not even her own family. And though his instincts wanted to rage at Sinclair for never telling him of it, he knew the man had kept the secret he’d been given.

“You told me this, so I would no’ push her too hard,” he said dully.

“Aye. She doesna trust men. And you can understand why she’s refusing to wed.” Cain crossed his arms over his chest. “I won’t be speaking of this again. I only told you because you should understand why she will no’ let any man close to her. If it’s Juliette you want, then you’ll have to be patient.”

Patience was the last thing on Paul’s mind. He wanted vengeance against the man who had done this to her. Just imagining her terror numbed him from deep inside. She’d been alone, suffering through an attack that never should have happened.

“I escorted her to London a few days later,” Sinclair continued. “She stayed with her aunt for a long time. I think she was avoiding Ballaloch.”

And now that she’d returned, Juliette seemed eager to leave. It was possible that her attacker was still here.

Paul let out a slow breath, wondering what he should do now. He couldn’t allow her to know that Sinclair had told him. But now, her reluctance made sense. Her innocence had been stolen from her. More than likely, he’d frightened her when he’d tried to hold her in the stable.

“I need time to think,” he said to Sinclair at last. “But you’ve my thanks for telling me of this. I willna let on that I ken.”

With that, Sinclair gave a nod and returned home, leaving Paul alone with his thoughts. He started walking toward the frozen loch in long strides, then he began to run along the edge. He could hardly see in front of him, save the reflection of the silvery ice against the moon. But he increased his pace, running hard, as if to punish himself.

His lungs burned, and still he ran. He circled the loch, hardly caring that it was past midnight. He wouldn’t sleep this night. Not after what he’d learned.

When his legs began to give out, he slowed down to a walk, his breathing unsteady. His ribs felt as if someone had driven a red-hot knife into them, and he reached down for a smooth stone
along the edge of the loch. He gripped the edges and hurled it hard, letting it crack against the ice.

It had been over a year since she was attacked. He understood now why Juliette had stopped answering his letters. Why she’d withdrawn from the world, claiming she would marry no man and that she had nothing left to give. A woman who had been violently hurt would want nothing to do with men.

Paul walked through the glen, letting the thoughts pour over him, replaying their moments together. She’d been afraid of him, but not to the point where she didn’t want to see him. And she hadn’t pulled her hands back when he’d brought them to his chest.

God help him, he couldn’t say what he should do. She’d pleaded with him to go, telling him to give up. But was that truly what she wanted? To be left alone?

He couldn’t abandon her. They’d been friends for years, and friends didn’t walk away when they were needed. If it took years to rebuild her trust, so be it.

He’d become a doctor to heal others. But this was a deep wound, one that had battered her spirit. To win her back, he would have to woo her slowly, to bring back the friendship they’d had and make her feel safe again.

And he fully intended to find her attacker and put the son of a bitch in the ground.

“W
hat will we do?” Juliette asked quietly. Her mother was staring outside the window at the snow. From the empty look upon her face, likely she hadn’t slept at all.

Beatrice took a deep breath and faced her. “You and your sisters will go to London without me. You’ll stay with your aunt Charlotte for the time being.” She straightened, her mouth set in a line. “I will see about repairs to the house. If it can be fixed.”

Though her mother was trying to be strong, her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. Juliette moved in closer and took Beatrice’s hand. “It will be all right.”

“We don’t have the money to rebuild,” her mother confessed. “And—and it’s winter. What will your father say if he returns early? I don’t know how we’ll manage.”

“We have the sewing profits,” Juliette reminded her. “The crofters were helping Victoria. Let them continue to do so, and Mr. Sinclair can sell the garments in London, as he’s done before.” She made no mention of the fact that they were sewing undergarments instead of dresses. Beatrice wasn’t much of a seamstress, and all they needed was her permission—not her assistance. It was better if she didn’t know that her daughters were sewing scandalous corsets and chemises made of silk.

“And His Grace might help us,” Juliette added. Victoria’s husband likely would not let them suffer. The Duke of Worthingstone appeared to be a good man who loved his new wife.

“I know he would. But I don’t like relying upon others to solve our problems.” Beatrice returned to her chair and picked up a
sheet of paper and a pen. She dipped it into an inkwell and began writing. But when Juliette drew closer, she saw that her mother’s hands were shaking.

“I don’t—I don’t even know what bills were paid, and whether Mr. Gilderness collected the rents in Norfolk.” She rubbed her forehead, and covered her mouth with one hand. “There’s just so much. The ledgers are burned, and I can’t remember it all.”