Chapter Six
Aberbeag Castle, Scotland
Connall was nota fool. He knew that his cousin’s new maid was not normal. Certainly, they both knew every titled lady had her own maid, but Sadie had lived without servants for the last five years of her mother’s life. That wasn’t lack of money but because Sadie’s mother had been a viper-tongued shrew, and no servant stuck around for that kind of abuse. The Scots were a sturdy lot, but some things were too much for even them.
So Sadie’s sudden maid had to be something else.
“Who is she?” he demanded as they loaded up the carriage.
“My maid,” was the only answer.
And since he’d been awake the night through shearing sheep, he hadn’t the strength to argue. The woman seemed meek enough and vaguely familiar. Nothing in her appearance or his memory told him to beware. And Sadie generally had a good head on her shoulders. So he shot his cousin a hard look as she put one foot in the carriage.
“I’ll know the answer before we make London,” he said firmly.
“Connall, please—” She cut off her words as he tugged her backwards hard enough that she stumbled back onto the ground.
“Swear, Sadie, or I’ll not take either of you.”
His cousin bit her lip then nodded.
“Sadie—”
“I swear!” she cried. “Now can we please go?”
“We can,” he agreed. He let her climb back into the carriage and was much too grateful when he was at last able to sit down. Shearing sheep was an exhausting activity, hard for most men to do for a day. He’d been at it all week and through the night. It was finished, thank God, but he was bone tired. He planned to sleep at least until Edinburgh if not halfway to London.
He didn’t count on getting a fever.
It wasn’t surprising, given how hard he’d worked to get the shearing done. Every part of his body ached from the work or so he’d thought. It was a fever, and now he was shivering in the carriage and cursing every damned bump in the road.
If he were alone, he’d hole up in an inn until the worst of it passed. Indeed, the women suggested it, but he had a schedule to keep. He knew that there was a dangerous stretch of road in northern England, one renowned for highwaymen. Aaron had recommended a group of men who protected travelers. Their leader was Reuben Bates, and the man had agreed to meet Connall’s carriage in Halifax and escort it the rest of the way to London.
Unfortunately, they were already a day late. He didn’t want to make Reuben wait any longer just to huddle in a bed and feel miserable. Better to huddle in the carriage and feel miserable and at least make progress toward London.
So that’s what they did while he shivered beneath blankets and the carriage made its way toward Halifax. The women whispered to each other, sharing quiet secrets while they cast worried eyes in his direction. If he felt better, he’d tease the truth out of them with charm. As it was, he wrapped himself in depressing thoughts about his father who was dying and the woman he’d longed for since he was a boy.
He’d left Mairi in London to suffer the countess’s “gentle” instruction. He’d rushed back home to finish the shearing and escort Sadie to London. But during every moment of the last week, he’d thought about Mairi.
No other woman matched him in sass, fists, or sheer stubborn blindness. As children, they’d traded verbal barbs and fists. She wasn’t as strong as he, but she was fast, and when it came to it, she could punch harder than most men. She’d punched him often until the afternoon when the punches had become kisses.
Everything changed after that, and he was man enough to admit it was his fault. He’d been too aggressive, too hungry for passion. He’d frightened her, and she’d run from him straight to Liam. Not in a passionate way, but as if he were her life’s purpose. She stopped helping her father make glass and began working in the castle. Within a year, she became chatelaine because everyone understood she would become mistress there when she and Liam wed.
Everyone, that is, except Liam who had plans of his own. And now that Liam was blissfully happy with a new bride, it was time for Connall to stake his claim. But rather than run to him, Mairi had run to London. It’s how she made it clear that he was not the man for her no matter what he wanted.
Clear as MacAdaidh glass. She did not want him. So perhaps while wrapped in fevered misery, it was time for him to face the truth. Mairi was determined to find someone else, and he would do well to look to another woman. With his father likely to pass within the next few years, it was high time for him to marry and produce an heir.
Except the thought of someone other than Mairi left him sulky. He kept his misery to himself as much as he could, but there was no denying that he felt right sorry for himself. Feverish, travelling, and mourning a love that wasn’t returned. Damned pitiful he was, and so he kept his mouth shut.
He did not tease the truth out of the women, he did not eat much for fear that it would come back up, and he never, not once, realized they were being robbed until the carriage stopped and the door was hauled open.
“Out ye come, lassies,” the man said in a bad brogue. It was obviously fake, but the pistol was real. “One by one, easy now.”
Connall didn’t give them time. He launched himself forward, blankets and all, to tackle the bastard. There was only one shot in that pistol, and as expected, it went off with his attack. Even sick with a fever, Connall was quick, and he made sure the ball went wide. It shot a hole in his favorite carriage, but no one else was harmed.
He planned to beat the man senseless.
He got fouled in the blankets instead.
