Lost Bride Chapter 9

SEVEN

FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS

The gauzy gray sky touched the tips of the mountains as Lucy rode back from the fairy cairn to her erstwhile home, feeling defeated. She had analyzed the cairn until her head ached. What was she not doing that she’d done the first time? Was it the time of day, the weather, what she was wearing, or her state of mind? Well, that was a problem because, after all this, her state of mind was not strong. She was not one to give up, so the more the cairn’s magic eluded her, the more determined she grew. It wasn’t that she was unused to failing. She’d done that enough. But she’d always pressed on and worked harder to succeed. But in this case, there was nothing to work at. All she could do was keep trying and not give up hope. The latter was the hardest, even for her.

At some point, Rory had stopped saying “I’m sorry” when they returned from the cairn. As they both walked away, he would just take her hand. She never told him how that simple act comforted her. She feared if she did, her whole heart would spill out in a big, ugly mess. No, she wouldn’t go there.

The ride back was unusually silent. They rode separately now. Rory had taught her to ride, and she had her own horse, which afforded her more time to think without the distraction of putting her arms about his waist and leaning against him. She did love how that felt, which was why it was better not to feel it. The trips to and from the cairn were a vulnerable time when his touch made her feel less alone, maybe even stronger, while she regrouped. But that same touch sparked a fire that could burn her.

He had never once pushed their relationship after the night they had kissed at the cèilidh. Rory Munro didn’t need to be told more than once; he was too proud for that. Not that she faulted him for it. He was so good to her. But he would not beg for anything. It was that pride that made her feel safe with him. He would be by her side as she made her way down this path she had stumbled upon, but he would not ask her for more than she was able to give. What he didn’t know was how much she wished that she could give more, for she could not deny that Rory Munro was one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

A fire flickered

in the carved limestone fireplace and cast a warm glow on the library. In the window alcove, Lucy sat reading by the last daylight in the shortening days before winter.

“Oh good, you’re here! I’ve got something for you.” Rory’s eyes were bright, and color still clung to his cheeks from a brisk ride through the chilly evening air. Back from business in town, he carried a package wrapped in paper. As he drew nearer, he untied the string and set it down on the seat beside Lucy. “I thought these might suit you.”

He handed her three lengths of cloth, one at a time. The first two were lightweight tartan, one moss green and blue, and the other red with wide blue and green stripes, and the third was a deep-green silk. He watched her examine the fabric.

“They’re lovely.”

“It’s time you had some clothes of your own.”

“Thank you.” She held and touched the fabric with an admiring but increasingly puzzled look.

“And I thought, too, that sewing might help pass the time.”

“Rory, I don’t know how to sew.” She hated to admit it after he’d gone to such expense for her.

He looked at her as though she’d just told him she didn’t know how to breathe. “You cannae sew?”

Lucy shook her head.

Rory tried to process that news. “They dinnae teach that to girls where you come from?”

“No, not to everyone.”

“But what do you do in the evenings when you sit by the fire?”

Lucy decided her answer was better left vague. “Oh, sometimes we read books or play games.”

“Oh, like chess?”

“Sure.” She smiled. Video games would have been too much to explain.

“I see. Well, I’ll ask Effie to stitch these up for you.”

“I hate for her to have to do extra work for me.”

Rory shrugged. “We’ll find someone to help with her chores.”

“Well, all right, as long as it’s no extra work for her.”

Rory’s eyes shone. “You’re a kind lass.”

“It’s easier than being unkind.”

“Aye, so it is.” He put his hand on her shoulder and kissed her on the forehead and turned away. “I’ll fetch Effie.”

Lucy watched while he went to the doorway and instructed the footman to find Effie. Lucy still felt the touch of his lips on her forehead.

Minutes later,

Effie and Lucy were in the kitchen, leaning over the fabric, discussing the best use for it. Having finished taking Lucy’s measurements, Effie gathered up the material in her arms. Lucy was sitting down for some tea, when lengths of fabric fluttered to the floor.

Effie murmured a hasty “excuse me” and ran outside with her hand over her mouth.

Lucy and Mrs. MacEddie stared at the empty doorway. While Effie had made it out of sight, she had not made it out of earshot.

“Do you think it’s something she ate?”

Mrs. MacEddie bristled. “I beg your pardon. It’s nothing she had here, I assure you.”

Lucy winced. It probably wasn’t the best time to explain the concepts of germs and bacteria. “Oh no, I didn’t mean

your

cooking, Mrs. MacEddie.”

Mrs. MacEddie turned her scowl back to her soup pot.

Lucy bent over the rumpled pile of fabric. “Well… uh… I’ll just pick this up and be on my way.” She hastened to leave it in a neatly folded pile on the table then made a quick exit before she dug herself in any deeper.

A muted thump

on the front door caught Lucy’s attention just as she was about to go up the main stairway. She looked about for the footman, but she was alone. She felt foolish for having looked for a servant. It wasn’t as if she’d never opened a door by herself. As she touched the door handle, she heard a grunt. She pulled open the heavy wooden door and gasped. “Angus!”

He collapsed over the threshold in a heap. Blood dripped from his nose as he looked up at her through the one eye that wasn’t swollen completely shut. He didn’t even look like himself for the swelling and bruising. She dropped to her knees beside him. “Who did this to you?”

He labored to speak. “I owed someone some money.”

Lucy looked up and heaved a sigh. “Oh, Angus.” She stopped herself from saying more. He didn’t need to be beaten up again, this time with words. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” She stood and hooked her elbow in his and pulled without success. The footman returned and uttered an initial gasp before regaining his composure. He and Lucy together got him on his feet. Angus hooked one arm about each of their necks, and they practically dragged him into the library to the tapestry-upholstered settee. Lucy sat beside him, while the servants bustled about, caring for Angus and looking for Rory, who was nowhere to be found.

Before long, Rory came in with no jacket and his shirtsleeves rolled up. “Och, my horse threw a shoe, and I had to walk him home. God’s wounds, what happened to you?” His initial shock soon turned to disgust as he watched Angus doing his best to smile charmingly at Lucy.

Lucy arranged a wet cloth on Angus’s forehead then dabbed with another to finish cleaning the dried blood and dirt from his wounds. That done, she looked up at Rory. There was no sympathy there.

“What is it this time?” Rory asked over his shoulder as he went to the desk.

Angus’s answer was barely intelligible. “Card-playing debt.”

Rory said to one of the servants, “Get him upstairs.” Then he walked to the window and folded his arms until Angus was gone.

Lucy followed Angus upstairs and made sure he was comfortable before marching back downstairs to the library. “Whatever Angus has done, you don’t kick a man when he’s down.”

“Do you know how many times I have relived this scene? If it weren’t for me, we wouldn’t have the home that we’re standing in now. He’d have gambled it all away. And for all I know, he may have just done that too. As soon as I’m able to discuss it without wanting to punch him in the face, I’ll get to the bottom of this latest debacle, and once more, I’ll bail Angus out of whatever fix he’s gotten himself into. Because that’s what I do. You dinnae have to like it, but you might consider keeping your opinions to yourself if you’re gonnae stay here.”

Lucy felt as though the rug had been pulled out from beneath her. She had never seen Rory this angry, and she didn’t like being on the receiving end of it. “Oh, I will! I’ll keep my opinions to myself as I walk out the door!” Which she did.

Rory calling her name was the last thing she heard when she closed the front door of the house behind her. That was all well and good until she stopped and wondered where she thought she was going.

Rory fumed

for a few minutes before he went after her. With his own horse out of commission, he took Angus’s horse and caught up with her about a mile down the road. “And just where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

Rory nearly smiled. “Well, you’re not doing a very good job of it.”

Lucy stopped, heaved a sigh, and said over her shoulder, “Well, you know what they say—if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” She resumed walking.

Rory dismounted and led his horse by the reins as he walked beside her. “I was angry and said things I shouldn’t have said. I’ve hurt you, and I dinnae like how that feels.”

Lucy stopped. “That’s all that matters, isn’t it? How

you

feel.”

He seethed with frustration. “How I feel? I have spent the last several weeks setting my feelings aside because of how

you

feel—because that’s what you want. You, Miss Lucy Buchanan, get everything that you want.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. If I got what I wanted, I wouldn’t be here!”

He lashed out in return. “But you are. And you might have been lost in the hills or worse if—” He stopped himself.

“Go ahead, say it. If it weren’t for you. And I’m thankful. I know that you probably saved my life, and I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me.”

The fact that she said it so sincerely made him feel all the guiltier for what he had said. He felt very small at the moment. “I dinnae want your thanks, nor do I want you to leave.”

She looked at him with disarming directness. “You can’t shut me up.”

He raised his eyebrows. God knew he’d found that out on his own.

“Rory, I will not be shushed and set in the corner to tend to my sewing. I can’t be like the women you’re used to. I can’t sew, but I can think. I’ve got a brain and opinions. I may not always be right, but I’ve got a right to be wrong—and to voice it.”

Rory considered her words for a moment. “All right. But you need to listen to me now before you pass judgment.”

“Fair enough.”

“There are things you dinnae ken about Angus. I’ve been cleaning up his messes since we were wee lads. My father’s always been blind to his flaws, so you’ll have to forgive my lack of patience at hearing the same excuses I’ve heard all my life.”

Lucy nodded and glanced in the direction of the inn.

His eyes crinkled a bit in the corner. “Don’t go.”

With round eyes, Lucy looked up at him. “I don’t want to.”

“Ever.”

She met his gaze, and he knew there was something between them.

“I don’t want to,” she repeated, this time in a whisper.

Rory offered his hand, and she took it. Then they took their time on the quiet walk home.

Rory stood

beside Angus’s bed. “How much?”

Rory cursed when he heard the amount. “Are you trying to ruin us?”

“No. It just happened.” Angus lay in bed looking like a sad, helpless puppy.

“Dinnae give me that look. This is your estate. Yours. Here I am, second son, doing all I can to preserve your legacy, while you do everything you can to waste it. When the captain finds out—”

“Does he have to?”

Rory had seen that pleading look too many times to be moved. “Aye, he must know. ’Tis his money, and he’ll be up and about soon enough to see it himself. I’ll not take the blame for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

He was always sorry. That was the trouble with Angus. Everything, including apologies, came too easily and often too late.

Rory looked at him with piercing eyes. “The next time you get into a bind, I may not be here, and then, for a change, you can pick up the pieces yourself.”

“There willnae be a next time. I swear it.”

Rory nodded and left. How many times had he heard those same words?