A Borrowed Scot (20 page)

She knew a little about his past but not the whole of it. The truth was a tale filled with tragedy and stupidity, and wasn’t a story he wanted to tell.

He had a feeling, however, she wouldn’t rest until she’d heard all of it.

What would she say? Would the knowledge change her response to him?

Her hair was mussed around her face. Her lips were pink, her complexion was rosy.

What is it about me that displeases you?
Why had she felt so lacking?

She knew about Caroline. Yet in the past weeks, she’d never said a word.

He reached out and placed his hand on her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his palm. Even in sleep she was alluring. Or perhaps she was simply as elemental as air currents to his ship. He needed her.

Her eyes blinked open.

“Come flying with me,” he said, feeling as shy as a boy.

“Flying?” she asked, stretching. “When?”

“Tomorrow.” He amended that comment after a glance at the window. “Today.”

She looked worried.

“There’s no need to be afraid,” he said. “I’m taking the balloon up to test the air currents.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said, but he suspected she was. Veronica had a core of stubbornness to her, one that would refuse to admit any fear.

He waited, patient, tracing a pattern on her arm with one finger.

Slowly, she nodded.

“Is that a yes?” he asked.

She nodded again, accompanying the gesture with a smile.

“If for no other reason than to prove to me you’re not afraid,” he guessed.

Her broadening smile was worthy of a kiss.

“Passion becomes you, Veronica,” he said, pulling back. “Your cheeks are pink, and you look well loved.”

He pulled her into his arms again, and any further conversation was lost beneath a tide of pleasure.

Chapter 21

W
hen Veronica awoke in Montgomery’s bed the next morning, it was to find herself alone and the morning well advanced. She rang for Elspeth, dressed, then walked to the distillery, her stomach fluttering with excitement.

She saw the balloon before she reached the arched bridge. Constructed of blue and green silk stripes, it was a remarkable sight, one that looked to have attracted most of the inhabitants of Doncaster Hall as well.

Montgomery was standing in a square basket below the tethered balloon. He didn’t wave to her as she stood on the arch of the bridge, but he followed her progress with his gaze.

Her body heated, and her heart began to race. He could do that to her with a look.

When she grew closer, he leaned over the basket and extended his hand to her.

“Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” she said. Her voice came out as a squeak, a fact that annoyed her.

His smile faded. “I wouldn’t put you in danger, Veronica. That I promise.”

“I’ve never been up in a balloon,” she said, glancing up at the huge expanse of silk.

Below the throat of the balloon, supported by four wooden dowels, was a metal box.

“Is that your navigation device?” she asked.

“No, that’s the burner.”

“It’s very loud,” she said.

Before she realized what he was going to do, Montgomery put both hands on her waist and simply lifted her into the basket.

She was already feeling a little queasy, and when he released her, she kept her hands on his arms. “I think I am afraid,” she admitted.

“That’s when you feel the most alive, Veronica,” he said softly. “It means nothing if you go through life without being afraid. What’s important is you’ve stared fear in the face.”

“I’m not entirely certain I’m ready to do that, either.”

He smiled. “You already have. You faced the Society of the Mercaii alone.”

“That wasn’t fear. That was foolishness.”

He smiled at her honesty before moving back and making an adjustment on the burner.

She dropped her hands but didn’t step away. She would have gripped Montgomery around the waist and buried her face against his chest if she could have. She didn’t have a dislike of heights. Nor was it that she lacked any trust in Montgomery. This was a balloon. A balloon, so gigantic it seemed capable of carrying them to the moon.

Montgomery signaled to Ralston.

“Are the riders in position?”

“Yes, Your Lordship,” Ralston said.

“Riders?” Veronica asked.

“I’m going to try to return to Doncaster Hall,” he said, “but if the wind currents are too strong, and we’re blown off course, the riders will be able to pinpoint our landing site. Each has a wagon with him.”

“To carry our unconscious bodies?” she asked in a feeble attempt at humor.

He smiled reassuringly, as if knowing her throat was closing and her stomach trembling. Not to mention the fluttery feeling in her chest that made her wonder if she were going to faint at any moment.

“No, for the envelope and the gondola. And our conscious bodies.”

“We’re not going to be tethered?” Veronica was exceedingly proud of her voice since she no longer squeaked.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He turned and faced her. “If you want to wait here, I’d understand.”

This morning was the first time he’d ever willingly sought her company outside the bedroom. She wasn’t about to leave.

She shook her head, pasted a smile on her face. “I’m looking forward to a new experience,” she lied.

Montgomery glanced at her, amused, and went about his duties.

She wanted to sit down, curl herself into the smallest ball possible, and wedge herself into the corner of the woven basket. Instead, she stood frozen to the spot, terrified any movement might cause the balloon to carry them into the air before Montgomery was ready.

Dear Lord, she was going to be flying in only seconds.

“Montgomery,” she said, about to beg him to help her out of the basket. He glanced over her shoulder at her, smiled reassuringly, and she changed her mind. She shook her head, and he signaled to the men holding the mooring ropes.

One by one, they began to walk closer to him. The balloon ascended, and Veronica held on to one of the supports of the gondola as it gradually rose. Her stomach seemed fixed on the ground below and was refusing to make the journey.

Montgomery began to pull the mooring ropes back into the basket until they were tethered only by the strength of two men holding one rope. He leaned over the basket, an utterly foolhardy move in her opinion, and shouted to Ralston.

The men released the last rope, and they were aloft.

The balloon sighed, fell some distance, and began to sway in the air. Montgomery pulled the rope into the gondola as they ascended still higher.

She closed her eyes, grabbed the support with both arms, and pretended it was all a dream.

The last time she’d asked for divine intervention because of a decision she’d made had been the night she’d attended the Society of the Mercaii meeting. She was in the same situation again. No one had forced her into this basket. No one had made her take this adventure unless it was her foolish pride.

“You have to open your eyes,” he said, his tone amused. “Otherwise, you might just as well be sitting in your drawing room.”

“At the moment,” she said between gritted teeth, “I wish I were.”

“Veronica.”

She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her, a smile on his face.

“There’s your Scotland,” he said, extending his hand as if offering the panorama to her.

She looked up, which was easier than looking down. A bird flew by, looking as startled at the sight of them as she was to be so close to him.

She was flying, improbably and impossibly, flying. She might as well look.

Her hands came up in the air, fingers splayed as if to press against an invisible barrier as she edged to the side.

He laughed and grabbed her around the waist with one arm, pulling her closer to him.

“You’re safer here than you would be walking on a London street. Or in a train.”

“That’s not exceedingly reassuring,” she said. “Since we aren’t walking through London or in a train at the moment. We’re very, very high up.”

With one hand, Montgomery reached over, increasing the flame.

“What are you doing?” she said, panicked.

“I’m ensuring that we’ll stay aloft,” he said, looking down at her.

“How do we get down?”

“See that rope?” he asked, pointing to a tightly wound rope on one of the gondola supports.

She nodded, careful not to do so vehemently. Even her breathing was cautious.

“It’s connected to a baffle on top of the envelope. I can release some of the hot air, which will allow us to land.”

“Softly, I hope.”

He only smiled.

She parted her feet a little, the better to combat the balloon’s swaying sensation, and looked over the side again.

They passed over Doncaster Hall, and she was startled to note the many chimneys, as well as the steep pitch of part of the roof. It seemed as if every person living at the Hall waved to them, and she held up one hand in greeting, feeling as if she were a queen greeting her subjects.

The world lay before them, a panorama of incredible beauty. The sun, a blurry disk behind a shelf of clouds, was to their left as they headed west.

She’d never thought to see the world from this perspective and was so fascinated she lost her fear after the first few moments. Granted, it helped that Montgomery had pulled her back against him, and his arms were wrapped around her waist. She tipped forward to see the sprawling countryside beneath her, slowly passing, as if they were still, and the world was on some sort of tumbrel.

In the distance, three long mountain ranges stretched like indolent maidens, their limbs pointing toward Doncaster Hall, their heads in the north. Atop them was a mantle of white, a soft and downy blanket, warning of the winter to come.

The River Tairn, an engorged silver snake, coiled back on itself, wrapped around Doncaster Hall and slithered through emerald glens. The sparse tufts of grass near the flocks of sheep became a lush green carpet and the sheep themselves no more than black faced clouds. The air was crisp and cold, as if winter had not yet folded over to spring.

She was giddy with delight.

Peace radiated from Montgomery instead of the horrible pain she’d felt from him for so long. Peace and something else, perhaps joy. For that, alone, she’d come up in his balloon again. To share his happiness was worth any type of fear.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, her hands gripping Montgomery’s wrists. She relished his warmth but almost forgot he was there in the wonder she saw before her.

The only sound was the noise of the burner and the thump of her heart. Otherwise, the world was still and perfect.

They crossed the road and several more glens. A farmer, in his wagon, stopped his team of mules to stare up at them. A carriage on the road halted as well.

“Does everybody stare?” she asked.

He leaned close, spoke near her ear.

“They’re fascinated. Wouldn’t you be?”

She nodded. “And a little envious,” she admitted. Yet she was the one in the balloon, experiencing it all, seeing it all.

A few cottages sat together, like a frightened clutch of geese. She knew, suddenly, where they were, traveling northwest, toward Lollybroch. She wanted to close her eyes, to block out the sights so familiar to her. Yet, at the same time, she couldn’t quite deny herself the recollection of all of those warm and lovely memories.

Near the main road in Lollybroch was the Presbyterian church, its spire unassuming as if afraid to call too much attention to itself.

“I didn’t know we had a village so prosperous this close to us,” he said.

“That’s Lollybroch,” she said.

“Your home.”

She nodded, surprised he’d remembered.

“Where did you live?” he asked, leaning forward to look at the cottages tucked into the rolling glen.

“There,” she said, extending her arm and pointing toward McNaren’s Hill. “On the other side.”

She took a step away from him as if to distance herself from her memories. For several long moments, she didn’t say anything, afraid she couldn’t speak over the sudden constriction of her throat.

“Must we go there?” she finally asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. “I’d rather not,” she said softly. “Please.”

“I’m working on a way to guide my airship, Veronica,” he said. “Until then, we’re at the mercy of the wind.”

She nodded her understanding, facing forward again. This time, when he came to stand behind her, he didn’t wrap his arms around her. She stood alone, watching the approach of McNaren’s Hill, feeling herself grow colder as they neared her home.

Whether or not she saw her house, that night was forever emblazoned in her mind. All she had to do to relive it was allow herself to think about it. Normally, she pushed away the memories the moment they came. Otherwise, she’d be immobilized by pain.

There, the lane leading to the house. Another signpost, the tree struck by lightning when she was seven. The creek, the grove, all landmarks she’d known from her childhood.

The only sign a two-story house had once stood in that spot was a soot-darkened brick half wall and the remnants of the kitchen fireplace. Saplings poked up through the blackened earth, as if the forest was attempting to reclaim the spot, healing it with new growth.

A swift breeze skittered across her face like an icy hand.

Veronica closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe calmly, slowly, deeply.

“What happened?” Montgomery asked.

She didn’t open her eyes.

“A fire.”

She would have stepped away from him had the gondola been larger.

He didn’t speak, didn’t pry, granting her the privacy of her past she’d denied him. They hovered over the site until a gust carried them eastward. In those moments, it felt as if God were testing her. As if He wanted her to feel everything she’d successfully hidden all this time.

Because she’d been so insistent that Montgomery share his secrets with her, could she do otherwise?

“My father woke me,” she said, pushing the words free. “He was shouting. He put his strongbox in my hand and said something, I never did understand what. Then he went back inside to get my mother.”

Montgomery remained silent.

“They never came out. I tried to get to them,” she said, glancing down at the scars on her palms. “I couldn’t get the door open. I stood there and watched as the house burned, and I couldn’t do anything.”

She’d stood there for hours and hours, waiting for her parents to appear. They never had, and when the roof had fallen, she’d known they were dead. When three of the four walls caved in, she’d remained there, clutching the strongbox tightly as if her father’s spirit were trapped inside. Finally, a few of the villagers had urged her to come away, and she had. She’d seen to it that they were buried in the churchyard only days before Uncle Bertrand had arrived to take her to London.

Her heart felt as if it had been carved open by a spoon.

Montgomery put his hands on her shoulders, moved closer.

She didn’t want his pity or even his comfort. If he was kind to her, she’d begin to cry. Everyone had wanted her to be so strong, and she had been. Her uncle considered excessive emotion a character flaw, announcing that tears would not honor her father or her mother.

At her uncle’s house, there had been few opportunities for her to give in to her grief. But seeing what was left of the house nearly overwhelmed her.

She lowered her head.

“I’m sorry, Veronica.”

She nodded.

He squeezed his hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes on her tears, felt the sway of the gondola in the wind. God Himself might have been cradling her in apology for His earlier test.

“My parents died of fever,” he said. “I still miss them.”

She nodded, wanting to thank him for sharing that information with her. The reason he did so wasn’t hard to understand. He’d seen her grief and wanted to ease it. But it wasn’t just grief she felt.