Neither of them had packed a valise. They wouldn’t be gone that long.
The sky was a bluish gray, the air thick with rain. Even the trees were a dull green, the river a flat pewter color. How much of the scenery was his mood and how much was the weather?
Doncaster Hall’s bricks turned a persimmon color in the rain, the house distinct against the backdrop of a gray sky. In Virginia, he would have welcomed a storm. The rain would have been a blessing for the crops.
Raindrops hung pendulous from the frame of the window, then streaked the glass, obscuring his view of the house. He wasn’t at Gleneagle but Doncaster Hall. Not Virginia, but Scotland.
“I’m a smith, Your Lordship,” Robbie said, from the other side of the carriage. He still looked terrified. “I don’t understand why you want me to come with you.”
Montgomery turned his head and regarded the man. “Have you always worked at Doncaster Hall?”
“Only in the last two years, sir. I was apprenticed to Old Darby, but he took sick with the gout and had to lie about most of the day.” Robbie bit his lip so hard it turned white, then evidently gathered his courage. “Are you angry with Elspeth, sir? She’s a good girl and loyal, too.”
“I’m sure she is, Robbie.”
A moment later, he took pity on the man. “I’ve a mind to fetch my wife. Since yours is with mine, it was natural to invite you along.”
Robbie nodded, but the gesture didn’t appear relieved. “Yes, Your Lordship.”
“I’m an American, Robbie. I was an American long before I was a lord. Every man is as good as another in America.”
“We’ve our share of pride in Scotland, sir.”
“Good, then you won’t object to calling me Montgomery.”
Robbie looked at him in shock. “I’ll not be calling you that, sir. It wouldn’t be respectful.”
“While I would take it as an insult to be forever called Your Lordship. I’m tired of it, Robbie.”
He laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.
“Is it that Her Ladyship didn’t ask permission, sir?”
He opened his eyes and regarded the smith.
“Is that why we’re going after them, sir?”
Damned if he knew how to answer Robbie.
He didn’t like the feeling he was getting, the one crawling up his spine and chilling his skin. Shame wasn’t an easy acquaintance, and never more than at that moment, whenaccompanied by a perfect recall of everything he’d said to Veronica.
However he tried to fit her into the role of selfish, manipulative murderess, she refused to fit. She was, however, impulsive, obstinate, passionate, and secretive.
Secretive? Or protective?
He remembered the look on her face when her uncle had ridiculed her, the pain quickly covered by an expressionless mask. She’d looked the same that morning, when he’d asked her why she’d been at the distillery the night before.
He’d hurt her.
Damn it.
She’d hurt him.
Damn it.
He closed his eyes again, but images of Veronica were still there. Veronica, staring at the ruin of her home. This morning, at dawn, when he’d loved her. Every time he loved her. All the past weeks when she’d been obstinate and relentless in poking and prodding at him until he felt his heart creak open.
You’ve been a fool.
