“This is what happens when mobs gather.” Her husband’s nostrils flared. “There is no reason to the violence. Regardless of intent, innocent people get hurt.” He glared down at her. “This is what your friend has wrought, and I fear he intends to do much worse.”
He turned to Summerset. “Call for my carriage, would you? I’m taking Winnifred back to our apartments.”
The blond man nodded and turned.
Sin called him back. “And Summerset ….” He dug his fingers into her waist. “Thank you. For saving my wife. However did you get here? We thought we’d left you at the paper’s office.”
“You did. But before I could encourage the typesetter to leave the office so I could search it, he tore out of there like the devil was after him.” Summerset raised his hands, palm up. “I was curious and followed. He came directly here, checking his watch every five minutes as though there was someone he didn’t want to miss.”
“Or something.”
A shiver coursed through her at Sin’s dark tone. Why would men wish to wreak such mayhem? And how was it even accomplished? Printing and distributing the leaflets was easy enough, but inciting people to pick up stones ….
Her stomach cramped. All the gratification of her meeting with Mr. Holme vanished. His ideas on soil enrichment had inspired new ones of her own. Ideas that now seemed small and unimportant.
She was finally just understanding how terribly wrong the situation was in her new home.
Both in Scotland, and with her husband.
She peeked at his square jaw as he strode to the waiting landau.
Could their relationship ever return to normal after his declaration?
He settled her inside and climbed in after her.
Sutton shut the door and cocked his elbow on top of it. “We’ll see you back at the house.” He jerked his chin at Winnifred. “Do you require a doctor?”
“No,” she said the same time Sin said, “yes.”
He grumbled and slouched back on the seat, crossing his arms.
The carriage rocked into motion, and Sutton stepped back with a wave. They turned off High Street, the silence growing until she could no longer stand it. She hated leaving things unsettled. She needed structure, a plan moving forward, even in her relationships. Especially there. “Where do we go from here?”
He chose to ignore her meaning. “You return to Kenmore. It’s not safe here.” He cracked his neck. “I’m staying until I discover who is behind this.”
Which could take a very long time. Winnifred turned on her hip, away from her husband. Rebellion could be a convenient thing. It didn’t escape her attention that while Sin investigated, he also was glad to use the time to avoid her company, as well.
A separation of sorts. One that could only bode ill for their future.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sin hefted the sledgehammer and slammed it down onto the post. Stay in Glasgow until he’d discovered the traitors? Bah. He swung the hammer again, the vibration in his hands at the contact a soothing balm. His resolution hadn’t lasted five minutes. The urgent letter from his mother requesting his return had seen to that. A wall breach and a flooded field. He hefted, pounded out his frustration. A field they could ill afford to lose, not when crops were already failing.
So, he stood in the mud and swung a hammer, something any simpleton could do. He had no solutions except brute force. No inventive plans to save Kenmore.Thwack. A marquess? Nae.Thwack, thwack. He was a bloody imposter. Not good enough to be laird of Kenmore. Not nearly good enough to be Winnifred’s husband. And now unable to take part in preserving the union.
At least Sutton and Summerset remained in Glasgow. They wouldn’t leave that city until they’d uncovered the plot.
A shout rose, and Sin spun to see the section of canal wall he and his men had been rebuilding for the past four hours collapse into rubble. He scrambled back from the splintering beams and the cloud of dirt, only to dart in when he saw the lad, Jock, half-buried beneath debris.
“Dig in!” he shouted to the others. “Let’s get him out.” The rocky soil sliced into his fingers as he hand-shoveled the earth off of the footman. The boy’s exposed face was a grimace of pain.
Other hands joined in, pushing dirt off and uncovering Jock’s limbs. Thank God the earthen wall of the canal still held. If it breached, the boy could drown. In a matter of moments, Jock was pulled from the scree and lifted out of the trench. Dozens of hands carried him to safety and laid him on the ground.
Sin climbed out of the pit and knelt by Jock. “What hurts?” He ran his gaze over the lad’s body but saw no obvious broken bones or abrasions.
“Besides from it feeling like Ole Man Seamus sat on me chest, only me knee, milord.” Jock pushed up onto his hands. “I’ll be all right.”
The crush of men gathered near laughed. Most of Kenmore’s tenants had come out to help with repairs. The canal was the life blood of all their fields, and the bit of sport at Seamus the crofter’s ponderous expense acted like a pin to a blister, popping the tension and relieving the pressure.
