Page 29 of Return to Wildsyde

“Just larking about,” Hamilton said easily, moving to stand in front of Luella, as though to shield her from his brother’s wrath. “What crawled up your arse and died?”

“I’ll nae have ye set your cap at my brother, Miss Fulbright, so if ye have some scheme in mind to seduce him, ye may set it aside.”

“Lyall!” Hamilton exclaimed, his shock evident.

“And ye will keep yer hands off her,” Lyall said, turning on his brother with equal fury. “I’ll not have ye caught like I was and ye are a deal too carefree to see the danger ye court.”

Luella had been too stunned by the accusation to react at once, and now she realised with growing dismay that she was more hurt than angry. She knew Lord Buchanan did not want her around and she had accepted that. She could hardly blame him for not wishing to see a constant reminder of the dead wife he had despised and had done her utmost to stay out of his way. She had believed they had come to an understanding, however, and that he had trusted her not to cause trouble in return for what he was doing for Jack. The idea she would jeopardise her brother’s chances by messing around with Hamilton…

She met his eyes and knew there must be anger, hurt, and reproach in her own, but she could not find the words to express her feelings. They seemed to crowd in her throat, making it ache, but she dared not let them loose for fear of what she might say. She would not endanger Jack’s chances for the future, and so she refused to make a scene. Instead, she picked up the basket of cherries and strode away without a word.

“Ye miserable bastard,” Hamilton said furiously, once Luella was out of earshot.

Lyall did not need to hear the words to have some sympathy with them. The look in Luella’s eyes had been quite eloquent enough. He cursed himself inwardly for acting with more haste than judgement, but he was not about to admit that fault to his brother.

“She’s not to be trusted,” he said stubbornly, which was nothing more than the truth. “And ye were looking at her like ye had been handed a cream cake and could not wait to take a bite.”

“Aye, and perhaps ye are that angry because ye want to take a bite yerself, eh?” Hamilton shot back.

Lyall stiffened. “Ye dare say such a thing to me? Ye think I would touch the girl after everything her family have done? Are ye off yer heid?”

Hamilton subsided. “Nah, I dinnae think it,” he admitted grudgingly. “But ye are too quick to condemn her. We weren’t doing anything. I just dared her to mimic my accent; she has a rare talent for it. She’s fun, Lyall, and clever and good company, which ye would discover, if ye would only give her a chance. She is nae the devil, ye ken?”

“Perhaps, but the devil does not tell ye he is the devil, he wheedles his way into yer life and yer heart and before ye know it, it’s too late. Just don’t dally with her, and… just be careful, aye?”

Hamilton nodded, but there was more pity in his eyes than anger now, and Lyall did not need to see that, so he turned on his heel and left his brother in the orchard.

Chapter 10

Gabriel, if there is anything you can do, for God’s sake, do it. I am growing desperate. I have had men out looking everywhere and spoken to everyone. No one has seen him since the night of the 15th. He left the club in the early hours, a little the worse for wear, but never returned home to his rooms. I cannot think someone has kidnapped him, for there has been no ransom. God help me, I have had every morgue and back alley searched, checked every corpse until I am sick to my stomach. He has simply vanished, and I feel entirely impotent to act. Matilda is beside herself and I feel I will run mad if I cannot discover some trace of him soon. Pip is coming to stay with us, which may give her some comfort at least. We have kept this from Catherine for now. She is staying with friends in the countryside, and I pray we can keep it from her until I can offer her some better news.

―Excerpt of a letter to Mr Gabriel Knight from The Most Hon’ble Lucian Barrington, The Marquess of Montagu.

22nd May 1845, Wildsyde Castle, The Highlands of Scotland.

Mrs Baillie regarded her cautiously as Luella slammed the basket of cherries down on the kitchen table.

“The fresh air and the sunshine dinnae restore yer temper, then? Ah, well, perhaps pitting that lot will do the trick. Get on with it.”

She handed Luella a small but sharp knife and, for a moment, Luella daydreamed about sticking it in Lyall Anderson’s black heart. The great miserable brute. How dare he? The more she thought about his words, the angrier she grew. How dare he stand there, with the sun behind him so she’d had to squint up at him as if she were looking up at some angry god? He'd looked like one too, the devil take him.

Frustration gnawed at her, for as angry as she was, she could not help but feel sympathy for him, too. She could only imagine how badly his pride had been hurt by the mess he’d got himself into with Lilith, and she knew how cruel Lilith could be when she was thwarted. No doubt she had rubbed his nose in it deliberately. Still, that was Lilith, not her, and she had not been doing anything she ought not. Except then she remembered the look she had given Hamilton—only in jest, mind—but she had also seen the way he had looked back at her.

Lyall had seen it too.

Damn and blast.

Furious now, both with herself and Lyall, she sat down and began cutting into the cherries and prying out the stone. Within a few minutes, her fingers were stained red with cherry juice.

Mrs Baillie set down a huge copper pan on the kitchen table and Luella bestirred herself to look into it.

“Sugar syrup,” Mrs Baillie explained. “I’ll let it cool awhile and then pour in the whisky. We’ll seal the cherries in jars with the whisky syrup. In a few weeks they’ll be soaked through, but they’ll get better if they’re left to bide a while longer. They’re delicious with a dollop of cream.”

“Aren’t they very strong?”

“Nah, a babe couldnae get drunk on them once they’re good and ready,” Mrs Baillie said with a smile and returned to her work.

Luella nodded, and carried on with the cherries, still seething inwardly. It took hours to pit the entire basket, but the big jars looked lovely, the jewel-like cherries bathed in the amber liquid. If she had hoped such monotonous work would soothe her frayed temper, she was disappointed and, whilst Mrs Baillie was occupied in serving the midday meal, Luella reached for a jar and fished out a cherry. They were still sweet, but the whisky had already wrapped around them, giving them a little burst of something forbidden. Luella had never tried whisky before but, mixed with the sugar syrup, it tasted rather lovely.