Marshal and the Heiress (19 page)

Pain ripped through him as the corner of a carriage brushed against him. Sarah Ann started whimpering.

“Bloody fool!”

“Daftie.”

Ben straightened, hearing the cries around him. The carriage was gone; he'd caught only a glimpse of it as it disappeared around the corner. Ignoring his own new bruises, he looked at Sarah Ann. Her face was white, her lips trembling. Her hand, where he'd pushed her against the brick, was rubbed raw. Blood dripped from the wound, and when she saw it her whimpering turned into a wail.

“Puir wee one,” a bystander said.

“Did anyone see the carriage?” Ben asked of the growing crowd.

One man shrugged. “It wa' going too fast.”

Anger welled inside him. One accident might have been just that, an accident.

Two? Never.

Someone had just tried to kill him. And Sarah Ann. For the second time.

He brusquely thanked those who had stopped to help them, quieted Sarah Ann's tears, and headed back to the town house. Rage such as he'd never known burned in his gut. As a soldier, then as a marshal, he had been clubbed, shot at, ambushed, left for dead. But he'd never taken any of it personally. Such were the dangers of war, the risks of marshaling.

But
this
was personal. This time, someone was targeting Sarah Ann. A
child.
By all that was holy, he swore, someone would pay. Dearly.

Lisbeth couldn't rid herself of the edginess that had plagued her since Ben had left for Edinburgh. Even Shadow felt it and had refused to jump.

Callum scolded her. “Attention, Lady Lisbeth. You must gi' 'im yer full attention.”

But she couldn't seem to do that, and she didn't understand why. She had always managed to wipe everything from her mind when she worked with horses. They had always been her escape from both the past and present.

Yet she kept thinking of Ben Masters with Barbara, worrying whether she should have gone with them to Edinburgh, after all. She knew she could never play Barbara's games and win, could never match Barbara's beauty or witty conversation. But maybe she should have tried.

Lisbeth did try to convince herself that she cared only about the future of Calholm, of Shadow's future, of the families that called Calholm home. But she couldn't forget the feel of Ben Masters's body against hers, the touch of his hand, the somber steady gaze of those blue eyes. Nor could she erase the memory of his kiss.

“God's toothache,” she swore as she curried Shadow. She always did that rather than allow the stable boys to do it.

Henry the Eighth whined behind her. After Ben, Sarah Ann, and the cat left for Edinburgh, the dog had spent a full day looking for Annabelle. Not finding her, he'd moped ever since. It was ridiculous, a dog pining for a cat, but then Henry was rather eccentric.

“They'll be back,” she reassured him.

But when they returned, would Ben be under Barbara's spell? The idea was agonizing.

“Ye will have to work harder, Lady Lisbeth,” Callum said, interrupting her reverie. “And keep yer mind on training or Shadow will no' be ready for the steeplechase.”

Lisbeth continued stroking down Shadow's withers. “Do you really think he can win?” she asked.

“He's a fine, bonny horse, and he 'as heart. But he needs to know what's expected.”

“I know,” she said with a sigh. “But I'm just worried about what will happen to Calholm, and Shadow.”

“Ye canna worry about anything but that horse,” he admonished her again.

“I know.” She ran her hand down Shadow's shoulder, feeling his shudder of pleasure. “What do you think of him, Callum?”

“I told ye. He 'as a strong heart, but needs a strong 'and.”

“I mean … Ben Masters.”

Callum was silent for a moment. “He be an American,” he said.

“He likes horses,” she said hopefully.

“He also went off wi' Lady Barbara.”

“Because he had to see John Alistair.”

Callum shot her a look of great disgust.

Lisbeth sighed and gave Shadow one last stroke of the brush. “You think she might convince him to sell the horses.”

“She convinced Lord Jamie.”

Lisbeth went still. “What do you mean? Jamie wouldn't …” She stopped at the grim expression on Callum's face.

He looked away. “I dinna mean anything, Lady Lisbeth. I just don't think ye should hope this American will share yer dream—not wi' Lady Barbara convincing him otherwise.”

She convinced Lord Jamie.

Lisbeth suddenly felt sick. She was anxious to learn more, but Callum had disappeared.

He was lying. Or he was wrong. He had to be.

The sick feeling grew stronger as she headed toward the house that had never really been her home.

Chapter Eleven

Questions continued to whirl around in Ben's mind. Questions and suspicions.

He'd stayed mostly silent during the journey back to Calholm, blocking out Barbara's endless chatter, giving only the occasional polite reply.

She'd been properly horrified on hearing the news of their “accident.” He would have preferred not to mention it, but he'd had to tell Barbara because Sarah Ann's hand was bandaged and she was chattering about it. The event had gone from being terrifying to adventurous in her four-year-old mind.

It was still terrifying to him.

Last night he'd thought briefly about returning to Denver with Sarah Ann. But dammit, that would be running from evil. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Pursuit of justice, he guessed, was ingrained too deeply within him. He couldn't allow the attack on Sarah Ann to bear fruit for the perpetrator. Besides, running might not be good enough. The murderer might follow them to Denver, unwilling to let them live in peace. Whoever the person was might believe the only way he—or she—ever would be safe from the threat he and Sarah Ann posed would be to kill them.

No, Ben concluded. Running was not the answer. He had to find the would-be murderer. Hugh had already tried to bribe the American solicitor. He also had the most to gain by Sarah Ann's death. But both widows had something to gain, too.

And opportunity? One person had had more opportunity than anyone: Andrew Cameron. In fact, he was the only person Ben knew who had been present on the Glasgow docks and in Edinburgh, who could have engineered and executed both attacks himself.

And Cameron was a friend of Lisbeth's.

Though he hated the direction of his thoughts, Ben wondered if Lisbeth had sent Cameron to trail Sarah Ann from America. There had been time. Ben had lingered in Denver, waiting for the final adoption papers. And what was the nature of Cameron and Lisbeth's relationship? Were they lovers or conspirators—or both? Cameron's motives could be love or money. And Lisbeth had made it clear what she wanted: the horses and a Grand National championship for Shadow—and Calholm.

Exactly how badly did she want to win the championship? Badly enough to commit murder?

The carriage rolled up to the manor house as dusk was falling. The wind was gaining strength, and the dark clouds blowing in only added to Ben's somber mood.

“I want to see Pep'mint,” Sarah Ann said, barely able to contain herself. At that moment, Annabelle yowled piercingly from within her basket.

Sarah Ann pulled the cat out, hugging her. “I love you, too,” she comforted, but the assurance apparently wasn't enough. Annabelle streaked out of Sarah Ann's arms, through the door that the coachman had just opened, and across the yard toward the house.

Barbara raised one eyebrow as if to say, “Not again.”

Ben sighed. He had heavier thoughts on his mind than a temperamental wayward cat. “Let's go find Annabelle,” he told Sarah Ann as he set her down on the ground, “and then see Peppermint.”

Tears were welling in Sarah Ann's eyes. “I hurt her feelings, saying I wanted to see Pep'mint.”

“I don't think so,” Ben replied, getting down on one knee so he could look at her on her own level. “I think she was just tired of traveling and wanted to be home.”

“Really?” she said hopefully. “Do you really think so?”

“I do, indeed. She's probably begging a bowl of milk right now, enraging the cook by walking over her table.”

Sarah Ann giggled, and her tears stopped. There had been several angry outbursts from the cook concerning Annabelle and Henry. Also threats to leave, but each time Lisbeth had cajoled Fiona Ferguson out of her bad humor.

“Maybe she went to see Henry?” Sarah Ann said.

Most likely to bedevil the poor dog.
“Maybe,” he said.

“Maybe Lady Lisbeth can take me to see Pep'mint.”

He hesitated. He didn't want to leave Sarah Ann alone with any member of this household, not even for a moment, but he didn't think anything would happen here. The other two incidents occurred well away from Calholm and were made to look like accidents. Still, he had to be cautious.

After all, Jamie Hamilton had died at Calholm and Ben had no way of knowing if the riding accident that had killed him had actually been carefully engineered.

Still, how was he supposed to keep Sarah Ann in sight every moment? Could he really protect her here? And from whom? And how could he find out the answers to all his questions?

The irony of his situation did not escape Ben. During his last assignment—the one that probably would have ended his career as a lawman even if he hadn't adopted Sarah Ann—he had forced an outlaw to infiltrate and befriend a band of outlaws with the express goal of betraying them. Ben hadn't realized then how difficult it was to live among people you couldn't trust, to pretend a friendship that didn't exist.

He was now in the same situation into which he'd forced Diablo. He couldn't voice his doubts, couldn't ask questions, couldn't mention his suspicion that the carriage mishap had been planned. If he did, he would lose an advantage, make the guilty person wary and more difficult to detect. No, he would do far better to set a trap with himself as the tethered goat.

“Ben … Mr. Masters.”

It was only then that Ben realized he'd left Barbara in the carriage. She was still awaiting his assistance.

“My apologies, Lady Barbara,” he murmured as he took her hand and helped her down. She tripped on the step and fell directly into his arms.

She was all womanly curves, and he felt every one of them. And he knew he was meant to feel every one of them.

Ben was trying to set her on her feet when he saw Lisbeth. She was galloping in on Shadow, her body wrapped in those boyish clothes and her hair flying behind her. Horse and rider arrived with a burst of exuberance, but that exuberance seemed to fade as Lisbeth pulled up in front of the carriage and looked at Barbara, who was still clinging to him.

“Barbara, Mr. Masters,” she said formally and with just the slightest note of disdain. “I didn't expect you back so soon. I'll inform cook.”

“Lady Lisbeth …”

She had already turned the horse toward the stables, but Sarah Ann's plaintive cry stopped her. She turned back.

“May I go with you to see Pep'mint?”

“No,” Ben said.

“Yes, of course,” Lisbeth said at the same instant.

Their gazes met as Ben set Barbara away from him. Lisbeth's eyes were angry.

Unaware of the human drama unfolding, Henry bounded onto the scene, galloping to Sarah Ann, lifting one paw in greeting and giving her face a swipe of his tongue.

“I want to see Pep'mint,” she begged.

“What about Annabelle?” Ben asked.

“You can find her. You're bestest at finding her. No one can find her as good as you.”

Ben had no choice. There was no reasonable excuse he could give for not allowing Sarah Ann to go with Lisbeth.

“Just for a few minutes,” he finally said, then looked at Lisbeth. “Sarah Ann needs her dinner and some rest.”

Lisbeth nodded, her expression suddenly guarded. She leaned down and pulled Sarah Ann up in front of her in the saddle. Her strength didn't surprise Ben; she had to be strong to control a stallion like Shadow. He watched as they rode to the stable and Lisbeth dismounted, then allowed Sarah Ann to slide into her arms. They disappeared into the stable.

Barbara was still only inches away from Ben. “Horses will always be her only love,” she said.

“What about Jamie?”

Barbara shrugged. “It was a marriage of convenience. At least for Jamie.”

“What do you mean?”

“His father wanted another heir. Her family wanted a title.”

“I thought—”

“That they were in love?” She smiled sadly. “There are few real love affairs among the peerage.”

“What about you and Hugh?” he probed.

Her face suddenly changed, became shuttered. “Hugh needs … someone.”

It was the last thing he'd expected to hear from her. There was almost something painful, even wistful, about the way she'd spoken.

She looked up at him. “You have a freedom in America we don't have, we don't dare have. We all live in the past, with legends and history and myths. Love is secondary to family and custom and duty. And none of us are trained to do anything but look good.” The last was said almost bitterly.

“Except for Lisbeth?”

“She's worse than any of us,” Barbara said disdainfully. “She dreams impossible dreams and won't accept that they are impossible. She believes she can bring back the past and make Calholm what it once was.”

“And you, Lady Barbara,” he probed, “what would you make of Calholm?”

“Profitable.” She hesitated. “We can double the income if we clear the training field and farmland and buy more sheep. We can't do that because we have no cash. It's all tied up in those bloody horses.”

Ben's eyes narrowed. “Is that what Hugh would do? Clear the remaining tenants from the land and sell the horses?”