“Aye, well maybe I wouldn’t know,” Ian conceded. “But I’ll tell you this, because he was probably too damn stupid to mention it. When you were taken by Webb, Niall nearly lost his mind. He’d have died to get you back safe.”
“Oh, don’t say that!”
“It’s true. He’d have killed or been killed, whatever he needed to do to save you. And if that’s not a good reason why he ought to be your husband, I don’t know what is.”
He left her pondering that, but she had no time to actually do anything about it. Once Heather’s friends began to arrive at Carregness, it seemed no one would ever stop arriving.
First were the Duke and Duchess of Lyon, whose imminent arrival sent Maeve into a fury of cleaning. “We’veneverhad a duke stay at Carregness,” she whispered to Heather.
“He used to be a soldier,” Heather told her. “Believe me, he’s slept in worse places. And the duchess has done her own share of sweeping and dusting. She’ll not think less of your efforts.”
Poppy, Rose, and Camellia arrived the next day, having all traveled up from London together. (Rose’s husband Adrian had stayed behind, declaring that a carriage full of giggling schoolgirls would drive him mad, though in fact he realized that the opportunity for his wife to enjoy the company of her friends was a rare thing, and might not happen again for years.)
Ian and Robert flirted with the unmarried female guests shamelessly, and the married ones more shamelessly still. Every night seemed to be a new excuse for a feast, and based on the levels of mirth among the guests, everything was perfect.
However, between Heather and Niall, there was a divide. They were polite to each other (mostly), and didn’t avoid each other (mostly). But no one could miss the awkwardness between them. It was an open secret that they were both searching for a way to quietly dissolve the marriage, and that was why Mr. Kemble had gone to Edinburgh to consult with some Scottish solicitors while sending letters to other colleagues in Oxford and London. Thankfully, no one else knew about the consummation, and Heather agreed with Niall that if she showed no sign of pregnancy in the next several weeks, they could safely pretend that nothing had happened. He also apologized, which felt terrible, and promised he’d never touch her again, which felt worse.
With her birthday approaching in a few days, Heather should be happy. Freedom, security, and an independent life lay ahead of her.
She was not happy at all, though she did her best to hide it.
It helped to have her friends with her, and it was easier to distract herself by hearing their stories of all that had gone on in their lives since they’d last been together. Was it Rose’s wedding?
Then one afternoon, Niall asked her to meet him in his bedchamber (the old laird’s room being given to the duke and duchess for their visit).
Heather stepped in hesitantly, wondering what he wanted. “I’m here.”
“Good. Sorry to pull you away from your friends, but we received news of your uncle.”
“Oh, no.Nowwhat’s he up to?” Heather asked, frowning.
“Absolutely nothing. He’s dead.”
“What?”
“Apparently he was killed while traveling to London. It took several days for the authorities to find out who he was, and then longer to locate you and send word. This notice came via your family solicitors, who forwarded it.”
Despite everything, Heather was appalled. “What happened? Was it an attempted robbery? Are highwaymen still a danger on such well-traveled roads?”
“It doesn’t say, only that he was killed, probably dying from a stab wound from an unknown assailant.”
“But what about Brom? Was he killed too? If he survived, he could tell what he saw.”
“Evidently, he’s missing. No one has seen him since they were in Carlisle, the last place they spent the night. Brom was very fond of that knife he owned, wasn’t he?” Niall asked, not bothering to hide the inference.
“He was loyal to Uncle Cyril,” Heather objected.
“Was he? Or was he loyal to a stable position and steady pay? I think he guessed that Cyril’s campaign to regain his guardianship of you was doomed. He knew I wouldn’t let it happen, even if Cyril wouldn’t accept that.”
Heather thought her way through it. “So, he finds a quiet spot on the road, waits for a moment when Uncle Cyril’s back is turned, and…”
Niall nodded. “He pushes the body to the side of the road, hiding it from view. Then he drives the carriage further, perhaps to an inn where it will be assumed to belong to a guest for a little while. He packs up what money he could find, takes a horse, and vanishes.”
“That’s awful.” Heather shook her head, then said, “But I could picture it.”
“Well, whatever the truth is, you’ll face no more opposition from your uncle.”
Did she face opposition from Niall? Why was it so difficult to just talk to him now? (Aside from the fact that every time she looked at him, she envisioned him naked in bed, coaxing her to bare her whole body and soul to him. It made casual chat awkward.)
