Emerald (Jewel Trilogy, Book 2) (46 page)

His arm ached to the very bone. Perspiration dripped slick from his forehead, stinging his eyes. But the other man's breath came hard and ragged.

Measuring his foe, Jason put his all into one determined swipe of his sword, and Gothard's went clanging to the floor and skittered into the crowd of gaping spectators.

"I came not to kill today, Gothard, but merely to see justice done." Jason sucked in air, smelled the other man's desperation. "There are those here who will see to it you won't escape."

An affirming murmur came from the crowd, and men jostled forward.

He waved them back. "Tell me what you said isn't true."

"As God is my witness, it
is
true. And you won't live to enjoy what should have been mine!" Gothard went into an all-too-familiar crouch, coming up with a pistol in his hand.

In a flash of blue velvet, Scarborough leapt forward and knocked the gun from his brother's grasp. It went flying, barely missing a matron's head as it sailed though the window with a startling crash. "You won't live to kill again,
brother
."

Scarborough nodded at Jason, who moved closer, his sword still outstretched.

An unearthly sound escaped Gothard's throat before he shoved past Scarborough and ran through the crowd. Rainbow shades of satin and silk swirled in a colorful kaleidoscope as wedding guests darted to avoid him. He burst through the doors that lead to the garden, broken glass crunching beneath his feet as he disappeared into the trees.

Within a heartbeat Jason was after him, chasing him along a graveled path. Footsteps pounded behind him; he assumed they were Scarborough's and ran faster. This time he wouldn't prove himself less than a man. Even should he have to do the unthinkable, Gothard wouldn't get away.

But first he needed answers.

His lungs burned with the effort to catch up. Damn, Gothard was fast. But not fast enough. Gothard might be running for his life, but Jason was fueled by fury and a resolve borne of weeks of frustration. His muscles pumped with determination; his jaw gritted with iron will.

His quarry was nearly within reach.

He pulled up short when Gothard staggered to the ground.

He hadn't registered the sharp report of the bullet. But he turned to see the pistol that had shot it. And the woman on the other end of it.

Emerald MacCallum.

It hadn't even occurred to him that she was after the reward when he saw her at the inn. He'd thought only of Cait. Now he looked to the ground and Gothard's still, lifeless form. He dropped to his knees and felt for a pulse.

Dead. Gothard was dead. He frantically searched the limp body, for a letter, a miniature, anything. Anything that would prove or disprove what the man had claimed.

"He was telling the truth," Scarborough said quietly from behind him.

Jason sat back on his heels, feeling the unmanly sting of tears in his eyes.

A crowd was gathering again, people pouring through the doors and out into the garden. Scarborough turned and conducted a hasty, whispered conversation with Lord Darnley. Together they hustled the guests back inside. It took some minutes, and by the time Scarborough returned, Jason had composed himself.

The gray day had finally delivered on its promise, and a light drizzle fell from the sky. Silently Scarborough walked Jason down the garden path, away from the sight of the body.

Their brother.

Jason dropped onto a stone bench, his hands dangling limply between his spread knees, his eyes blindly perusing the wet gravel beneath his feet.

Scarborough sat beside him. "My mother had an affair with your father before either of them married." His voice was low, his words matter-of-fact. "When he fell in love with your mother, he left mine pregnant. Eventually she was offered to my father as a widow with a young son. She was beautiful, and her family had land that bordered his. Her dowry. He didn't know the truth at the time, but when he learned it later, he forgave her. Their marriage wasn't bad, all things considered."

Jason's father—the valiant war hero—had had an illicit affair. Had left a pregnant woman. Had left behind a child.

"Geoffrey was the oldest," Scarborough continued, "but he would never inherit. He resented it. He made my life a living hell."

"I'm sorry," Jason muttered, feeling somehow as though he were to blame.

"He never knew who his own father was until our parents died. While going through their things, we found—a letter. From your father to my mother. From that moment, Geoffrey…" Scarborough seemed at a loss for words. His fingers curled into fists. "He lost his mind. It's the only way I can put it. It was as though he finally had somewhere to channel all that hatred. I'm sorry I threw him out, though. If I'd known he would come after you, I'd have coped with him somehow. I feel a substantial burden of responsibility here, and for that I apologize."

"It's not your fault." Jason shoved the damp hair from his eyes. It was his father's fault. His not-so-perfect father. A human man after all, selfish enough to act in his own interests, a man who had made mistakes.

Mistakes that Jason had paid for. And little Mary and her mother. And Adam and Caithren, and who knew how many others?

"I thank you for being so candid." He rose and held out a hand.

Scarborough stood and grasped it tightly. "I'm sorry."

"And for jumping in to save me from Gothard's pistol."

"I was only evening the score. You saved me from his sword. I would never have recognized him in that disguise."

Their eyes met, man to man. Two men who both did what needed to be done.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts." With a nod, Scarborough backed away, then turned and walked toward the house.

"Pardon me, but are you the Marquess of Cainewood?"

The voice was light and musical, and Jason swiveled and rose to see Emerald MacCallum. By God, she topped him in height. How had he ever insisted that Cait was Emerald?

Taken aback, he blinked. "Where is your emerald amulet?"

Her eyes looked puzzled. "My what?"

"Your…" He shook his head to clear it. "How did you get your name?"

She grinned. "My birth name is Flora. The first time I went tracking, I recovered a large cache of stolen emeralds. The news sheets called me 'Emerald' MacCallum, and the name stuck."

Of course. It made perfect sense. Another misconception that had stubbornly lodged in his head.

"Lord Cainewood…" When she swept off her man's hat, the drizzle beaded on her bright red curls. "I believe you had offered a reward…?"

He measured her, unblinking. He sensed she was a good woman, drawn to desperate measures. Something he understood now more than ever before.

And he remembered a man saying she was a mother.

"You have children?"

"Aye." Her eyes saddened, and he knew what to do.

The pouch in his surcoat was heavy. He drew it out and handed it to her.

Frowning, she spilled the contents into her hand and slowly counted a hundred pounds, then put the rest back.

"Keep it," Jason said. "All of it."

"But…there's more than two hundred pounds here! Maybe three. The reward was a hundred." Her expression said she thought he'd lost his mind.

Perhaps he had. "Keep it," he repeated. "I didn't exactly want to see justice done this way, but perhaps it is for the best." He shrugged. "As for the money…I would just as soon not picture you chasing men all over England. Go home to your family."

She smiled, her face transforming. Her eyes brimmed with tears. And once he'd thought that a woman like her would never cry. Another thing he'd been wrong about.

"Take it and make a life for yourself," he said. "And your children."

"I will," she breathed. "God bless you, Lord Cainewood."

Caithren could barely lift her feet to mount the steps to the town house.

Her father was gone, and now her brother. And, dear God, she'd killed a man. And Jason was gone from her life.

It was all too much to absorb.

Ford shoved open the house's front door. "Why is it that anything the authorities are involved in seems to take forever?"

A sound of derision came from her throat. "I expect they've nothing better to do than be bothersome."

"Hush, sweet Cait." Cameron patted her arm. "The question was rhetorical. It's been a long day and night, but you can rest now." Stopping short on the threshold, he turned to Kendra and Ford. "Good Lord. You people actually live here?" Clearly aghast, he stared into the plush interior.

Kendra beckoned him inside. "Father bought it in the pre-war days, before our family's capital was depleted in defense of the king. Jason is cash poor, but he has…things."

"Jason seems to have plenty of money," Cait disagreed.

"It's all relative." With a shrug, Kendra started down the corridor. "Come, we'll sit and talk."

"I don't want to talk," Cait said to her back.

Cam lifted a brow. "She wants to wallow."

Reaching the drawing room, Kendra turned with a sympathetic look. "Go on in. I'll stop by the kitchen and ask for some refreshments."

Cait set her jaw, but followed the men into the room and plopped onto the burgundy brocade couch. Cameron sat beside her, and Ford settled into one of two matching carved-walnut chairs.

Kendra took the other chair a minute later. "Cait. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Her hands tried to find her amulet, then her laces, and finally fell into her lap. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to kill him."

"I'm not speaking of Wat Gothard." Kendra's eyes mirrored everyone's concern. "I'm asking how you feel about your brother. And…about Jason."

"I'll miss Adam. We weren't close, and, truth be told, I didn't hold him in high regard. We hadn't seen much of each other in years. But he was my brother, my blood, and I loved him." She struggled to swallow the lump that had been lodged in her throat since Jason told her the truth. "As for
your
brother, he knew Adam was dead, and he didn't care enough to tell me."

Ford rose. "That isn't so." As he paced the Oriental carpet, the butler walked in with a large silver tray. "I talked to him before he left the Bull Inn. He'd known for but two days, Cait, and he failed to tell you because…" He turned, and his blue eyes sought hers. "…not because he didn't care, but because he cared too much. He was afraid you would hate him once you knew."

"Hate him?" She accepted a cup of warm chocolate from the butler, but shook her head at the proffered plate of cakes. "Whyever would I hate him?"

Ford's brow knitted. "For killing your brother."

"That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard." Stunned, she sipped from the cup, grateful for something to do with her hands and mouth. Other than yelling or throttling Jason. "The killing wasn't intentional, and he knew I believed that. We discussed it days ago. Before either of us knew it was…Adam." At her brother's name, her vision blurred, but she took a deep breath.

"He thought that wouldn't matter to you." Ford took a cake, then just held it, as though he wasn't sure what to do with it. "Whether it was intentional or not."

The butler set down the plate and left.

"He was your brother, Cait," Ford said softly.

"It was an accident." She sat a while, open-mouthed, then said, "Now I do hate him."

But the thought that Ford could be right brought a thread of hope.

She held on to it like a lifeline.

"If not for killing your brother, why hate him, then?" Kendra frowned into her cup. "Because he left you at the Bull Inn after telling you?"

"No. Never that." The chocolate wasn't sitting well in Cait's stomach. "I had all of you, and Gothard and Scarborough were both at that wedding. He had to go." Setting her cup on a low table, she drew an embroidered throw off the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. "He had no choice."

"Then why?" Rising, Kendra came close and knelt at Cait's feet. "I want to understand. If not because he left you, why do you hate him?"

"I don't hate him." Tears flooded her eyes. Tears she wouldn't shed for Adam—not in so public a place—flowed freely at the thought of Jason's betrayal. "I love him, and he doesn't trust me to forgive him. That hurts."

Beside her, Cam took her hand. "Do you really love him, Cait? A man you've known for but days? An…Englishman?"

She nodded, afraid what he must think, yet unable to deny it.

But he surprised her. "Then you must forgive him for thinking such of you." His hand squeezed hers. "It goes two ways, aye? Remember what your mam used to say: Gae it oot and get it back."

"Pardon?" Ford said.

Kendra shot him a lowering glance.

"What we give, we have," Cait translated quietly. She took a deep breath. "Forgiveness. And trust. Jason and I…we haven't seen a lot of either between us, but maybe it must come from me first."

Kendra reached for a cake and turned it in her hands. "Make him suffer, Cait. God knows he deserves it." She looked up, and they shared a wan smile. "But then you'll marry him, yes? Because—"

"Nay." Fresh tears leaked out. "I love your brother, but I cannot marry him."

"Why?" Kendra breathed. "I thought—"

Cait shivered, but not from the cold. "Upon marriage my property would become Jason's. The land that goes with the title is worth nothing without the larger portion, the many acres that came through my mother. To me, now that Adam is gone." Swallowing against the sadness, she tightened the wrap around her. "Cameron deserves it, and I love him too much to see him lose it."

With a gasp, Cam pulled his hand from hers. "It was never meant to be mine, Cait! Any of it!"

"Aye, it was and it is." She blinked back the tears. "You were next in line. Eldest son of my father's brother. Sir Cameron Leslie, now that Da and Adam are gone. You knew that, surely?"

"Nay." He looked stunned. "I mean…Good Lord. Of course I knew I was next in line, but I never thought about it. I thought only of you, Cait. Within an hour after hearing the news, I was on my way here to fetch you back home. Knowing you wouldn't find Adam."

"See? You thought of me first. It's always been that way between us, Cam, and it won't be changing now."