Never Broken (19 page)

His wicked smile took her breath away. “Good.”

London

September 1844

John Ross rubbed the
back of his neck as he pored over his financial ledgers. When he caught sight of his bottom line, he reached for his glass of whiskey and drained it dry.

Where had all the money gone? Not that he was destitute by any means, but to be a member of the court required resources. No self-respecting aristocrat spent the entire year in London, so in addition to his stately home in the city there were payments to be made on his estate in the country. He’d also had to purchase new equipage. While his old coach had worked perfectly, its style was two years out of date. In addition, the gifts he’d sent to Elspeth hadn’t been cheap. However, he’d felt they were worth the expense.

He wanted his daughter to know she was still loved, despite being sent away from the only home she’d ever known. He hadn’t wanted to send her away, but her behavior at court had been embarrassing to him, and possibly detrimental to her future. Even now he was working to find another husband for her, and as had been the case before, he felt uncomfortable in the role of matchmaker. His daughter was beautiful, but she was also headstrong and had gained a defiant streak since the untimely death of her late husband.
If only Clive had lived.

He sighed. He had to find her a husband and soon, if for no other reason than to put an end to her growing reputation for promiscuity. He poured another finger of whiskey and gulped it down. Rumors had recently circulated among the more gossipy court members that Elspeth was worthy only to be bedded and not wedded. His daughter must not be categorized as a loose woman.

Yet it was becoming more difficult than he’d anticipated, for the men all had one thing in common—none of them would marry a woman they couldn’t control. John had hoped the time away from London might make Elspeth realize she couldn’t continue her outrageous behavior without suffering the consequences.

From his seat behind the large mahogany desk, he stared out the window at the bustling city. What was his daughter doing right now? Was she lonely? Bored? He hoped she’d manage to find a way to entertain herself. Certainly she couldn’t stir up trouble in such a desolate place as the Highlands.

Pulling his gaze from the window, he focused his attention back to his work. While the bulk of his funds came from the rents he collected from Dryden and a few other shepherds, it wasn’t enough. He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a tube of parchment. He unrolled it, flattening the corners. It was a crude map of his lands in Easter Ross.

After studying it for a while, he knew what he had to do. He circled a plot on the edge of Dryden’s land. Situated near a small burn, it was valuable grazing land. John briefly recalled Dryden mentioning he’d leased it to a farmer named Mackay.

He drew a long oval around a larger section of land that included a small village. Glencalvie. The villagers paid their rents directly to John himself, but the profits would increase dramatically if the land were leased to shepherds.

On a creamy page of stationery engraved with the crest of Clan Ross, the laird penned a letter to his solicitor, explaining his plans for the eviction of Mackay and the clearance of Glencalvie. After signing his name, he grabbed the cut crystal decanter of whiskey off his desk and unplugged it, not bothering with his glass, and let the burning liquid slide down his throat. He refused to think about the human factor involved. This was business. It was a matter of his survival.

Two weeks later, John received a response. His solicitor had recommended a factor by the name of Peter Campbell, who’d successfully cleared Strathnaver in the 1830s. But because of other commitments, Campbell wouldn’t be available until May, which John didn’t consider a problem. He could wait.

But come springtime, he’d have his grazing land.

“Ah, ’tis a lovely
weddin’ dress, Mary.” The old woman reverently laid the linen fabric across the rickety wooden table. “I dinna know ye were so gifted with a needle.”

Mary flushed at the compliment. “’Tis a labor of love. Your Lillian will make a beautiful bride.”

“Aye, that she will.” Fiona MacDonald folded the dress with care, placing it in an ancient oak chest. From the same chest she pulled out a small wooden box, flipped the lid open, and slowly counted out the money she owed Mary for her work. She placed it in the younger woman’s hand.

“Nay, Fiona,” Mary said, plucking two of the coins from her hand and returning them. “’Tis too much.”

“Ach, lass, don’t be tellin’ me yer so rich ye can be refusin’ money. Yer deservin’ of it. Besides, we got a few extra shillin’s from the sale of the cow.”

Without another word, Mary tucked the money in the pocket of her skirt, returning Fiona’s warm smile. Fiona and her husband had their daughter later in life and tried to give their only child the best they could. It was difficult, and they’d had to sell the pig and one of their two heifers to pay for the wedding. But the expense was worth it. Lillian MacDonald appreciated every sacrifice her parents made, no matter how big or small.

Which was why Mary had agreed to make the bride’s dress. Lillian was a jewel, one that Mary had hoped would catch her Iain’s eye. But obviously God had other plans, for Lillian was to wed Malcolm in three weeks, after the fall harvest.

Fiona placed her moneybox back in the chest. “’Tis time for my tea. Can ye stay for a cuppa?”

Mary shook her head. “I thank you for the offer, but Blaire’s visitin’ at the MacBains, and I must fetch her soon. But ’tis nice we can come to Glencalvie every so often so she can play with others her own age. I worry about her bein’ lonely at home.”

“I wouldn’t fret too much about that. The wee ones always seem to get along one way or the other. ’Tis when they get grown that the trouble starts.” Fiona shuffled across the sparsely furnished room and retrieved an iron pot. “Hard to believe ’tis harvest time already. I reckon that fine son of yers will have the plot harvested quick enough.” She dipped out several cups of water from the bucket by the door and dumped them into the pot.

“Speakin’ of yer Iain,” she continued, “we’ve not seen much of him over the summer. Usually, he comes a few times and helps the smithy. Bannock’s been missin’ him. ‘Course I think ’tis the lad’s strength behind the anvil he’s missin’ more—now the lazy man’s havin’ to do all the work himself.”

Mary forced a chuckle, trying to hide her surprise at Fiona’s words. Iain’s absences from their farm had been more frequent than ever this past summer. If he hadn’t been in Glencalvie, then where had he gone?

She put the question out of her mind, not wanting the answer anyway. Her son was in God’s hands. She needed to remember that. Besides, each time he’d left, he always returned home after a couple of days, safe, sound, and even a little contented. Seeing Iain happy after so many years of turmoil was an answer to prayer. How God worked it out was His business.

“I’ll be glad when Lillian and Malcolm have a bairn or two,” Fiona said, pulling Mary from her musings. “’Tis peaceful times right now, good for startin’ a family. After so many troubles, I ken we’re back in the Lord’s favor once again.”

Mary frowned. “But we’ve never lost God’s favor. Or His grace.”

Shrugging, Fiona tossed a few tea leaves into the boiling water. “I’m not so sure. Seems God helps those that got. Those that don’t, well, He forgets about them.”

“Surely you don’t believe that?”

“All I know is our little village is being left alone,” Fiona pointed out. “And I’m glad for it. ’Tis the only thing I’m wanting, lass. To live in peace.”

“‘Tis what we all want.” Mary nodded.
’Tis what we all deserve.

Elspeth lifted her arms above her
head and stretched, her fingertips brushing the smooth cherry wood headboard of the large four-poster bed. She glanced down at the white sheet tangled around her torso. Cool air drifted through the open window, fluttering the sheer linen curtains and caressing her bare legs. Bringing down her arms, she moved to cover herself more fully but changed her mind as she felt Iain stirring next to her. She rolled on her side and saw his eyelids flutter open.

“How long have I been sleepin’?” he asked groggily.

She shrugged, running her hand over his chest. “I haven’t kept track of the time.”

He turned and looked out the window, muttering a curse as he shook off her hand and leaped out of the bed. “’Tis nearly daylight.” He yanked on his trousers.

“What does that matter?” She rose on one elbow and watched him as he dressed, his powerful muscles rippling as he shrugged into his shirt. “Stay,” she commanded, not wanting him to leave just yet. No, she wouldn’t be ready for him to leave for quite a while.

Ignoring her, he tucked in the tail of his shirt, then turned his back as he sat down on the bed and tugged on his boots.

Inching up behind him, she pressed against his back and whispered, “Didn’t you hear me? I want you to stay.”

“I heard you, m’lady.” He jerked on his other boot and rose abruptly, causing Elspeth to land face down on the mattress.

She sat up and clutched the sheet to her chest. “How dare you treat me like a peasant wench?”

Iain spun and faced her, a surly smile on his lips. “I treat you only as you deserve, m’lady.”

She wanted to slap that mocking grin off his face. But her indignant outbursts never appeared to affect him, and he regarded her tantrums with calm and infuriating indifference. “Why I put up with you I’ll never know.” She lifted her chin and smoothed the sheets around her. “Leave me now. I’m quite weary of your presence.”

He laughed and crossed his arms. “Strange, a second ago you were anythin’ but weary.”

“Get out!” She picked up a silk pillow and hurled it at him. That he caught it with the grace of a feline angered her further. “I don’t ever want to see you again, Iain Mackay!”

He tossed the pillow aside. “As you wish, m’lady. ‘Twas not my intent to return after today, anyway.” He turned on his heel and headed for the window, opening it wider. Below the sill was the trellis he’d used all summer to gain access to her room.

She scrambled off the bed, snatching her satin robe. She quickly put it on and cinched it at her waist. Surely he hadn’t taken her seriously. How many times over the past four months had she, in a fit of anger, sent him away? Yet he’d returned again and again. It had turned into somewhat of a game to them. Without warning, he’d changed the rules.

Her father still hadn’t told her when she would be returning to England. When she queried him in her letters about coming home to London, his replies were vague and unsatisfying. For all she knew, he was glad to be rid of her. Her exile in the Highlands seemed interminable.

The only bright spot was the ease with which she’d been able to conduct her life. She surmised Iain could stroll through the front door of the house and Dryden wouldn’t say a word. Her so-called guardian didn’t care what she did as long as it didn’t interfere with his business. The time she spent with Iain was all she had to look forward to. She couldn’t bear to lose it.

“Please Iain,” she said, hating the note of desperation in her voice as she walked toward him. “Don’t leave.”

He stopped and turned to her, his expression cool, unreadable. “Unlike you, m’lady, I have work to do. ‘Tis harvest time and for that a man needs his rest and his strength, two things I’ve been lackin’ lately.”

She moved close to him and stroked the rough fabric of his woolen shirt, then smoothed his tousled brown hair with her hand. “I know farming is a demanding job. But could you spare a little time for me?” She slowly traced the outline of his lips with her fingertip. “My life would be so empty without you.”

He moved her hand away from his face but didn’t let go. “We are about one thing, m’lady. It goes no deeper than that.”

Elspeth entwined her slim fingers with his large ones. “I’ll admit, in the beginning having you was all I wanted. I knew you used me to spite my father, and I accepted it. But I’ve come to care for you a great deal. So for me, love,” she said, trying not to choke on the word, “my feelings for you run deep indeed.”

For a moment, he simply looked at her, completely motionless. “It would be unwise to play me false.”

The darkness of his voice chilled her blood. “I know,” she said, forcing a light tone. “You’re twice as big as me and three times as strong. I’d be a fool to lie to you.”

He released her hand and cupped her chin in his massive palm. She watched, fascinated as his brown eyes changed from cold stones to warm embers. “I would never harm you like that, Elspeth,” he said softly.

To her surprise, her heart skipped a beat. Since the day they met he’d refused to call her by her given name, always referring to her as m’lady, and never in a deferential manner. “What did you call me?”

“Elspeth.” He smiled, then wrapped his arms around her waist.

“I like hearing you say that,” she admitted, telling him the truth for once.

“I like saying it.”

She trembled as he drew her closer to him. There was a sparkle in his eyes she’d never seen before. Suddenly she realized how easy it would be to fall in love with Iain Mackay.

The very thought terrified her.

Elspeth pulled out of his embrace and moved to stand at the side of the bed. Loving Iain was not part of the plan. He was a diversion, a way to pass the time, so she didn’t die of boredom waiting for her father to bring her back to London. Once that happened, she would leave Easter Ross and never look back. No commitment, no regrets. It had all unfolded just as she’d intended. Until now.

She could imagine the reaction of her father, not to mention London society, if she returned with Iain as a suitor. Or even worse, a fiancé. He’d never fit into her life in England, and remaining in the Highlands for the next thirty years or so was inconceivable. Their disparate worlds couldn’t, and wouldn’t, converge.

The heavy tread of his boots thudded behind her. His hands gently gripped her shoulders. Unable to resist, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. When he turned her around, he nudged her slowly until her back was against the mattress. The passion she was used to seeing from him was there, along with a new tenderness that made her forget everything else. “I thought you had to leave.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Disappointed?”

She felt powerless to send him away, even if she’d wanted to. She’d worry about the repercussions later. “No. I’m not disappointed at all.”

May 1845

Iain crouched and scooped
up a handful of cool dirt, inhaling the rich, earthy aroma as he let it sift slowly through his fingers. His plot of land might be small, but it contained fertile soil. Last year’s harvest had been an exceptionally good one, and he fully expected the yield to be just as great this autumn.

Standing, he breathed in the crisp spring air. After another long winter, he welcomed the springtime. All around him were signs of an awakening land—the verdant budding trees, the fresh scent of field grass, the light twittering of birds as they flew overhead.

But as he surveyed his newly tilled plot, memories washed over him as they did every spring, bringing with them both comfort and pain. The memories of his boyhood in Strathnaver, of working side by side with his father as they planted the crops. Those were times Iain treasured, for his father had been happiest when he worked the land, and it had been a mutual feeling shared between father and son. Iain never longed for the past more than he did during spring planting.

Yet this year was different. Iain still thought of his father, but without the bitterness his memory always conjured up. Had enough time passed to heal his wounds? Perhaps, but he suspected Elspeth had more to do with his complacency than the ticking of the clock. Knowing she loved him had changed his life.

He’d never met a woman like her, and not because she was beautiful or the daughter of a laird. She had spirit and strength. He’d seen through her innocent act from the beginning, and he’d been so filled with fury at John Ross and the rest of the traitorous lairds that he’d taken what she was so willing to give.

But revenge came with a cost—his guilty conscience. He was disrespecting her and himself by bedding her. Iain wanted more from a woman than her body. He wanted a relationship—and he wanted love. Believing that wouldn’t be possible with Elspeth, he’d been serious about ceasing their trysts.

Then she’d said she loved him. The words had driven deep into his heart, filling him with an emotion he hadn’t felt in years.
Hope.

With a smile he slung the burlap sack filled with seed potatoes over his head, positioned the strap across his chest, then began to drop the small pieces of potato onto the ground. He stopped at the end of one furrow and looked in the direction of Dryden’s estate. The desire to throw down the potato sack and go to Elspeth was almost too strong to resist. The heavy snow and bitter cold of winter had made travel to Dryden’s impossible. Other than the one day in early spring when he’d managed to make it to her room, he’d spent the past few months cooped up, his dreams of her the only thing keeping him from going crazy. Now that the weather had improved, nothing was stopping him from going to her except finishing the planting. That, along with caring for his mother and Blaire, came first. But when he finished sowing the seed potatoes…

“Iain!”

His mother’s frantic voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up and saw her running toward him, her dull gray skirt gathered up high. “Iain!”

He broke out in a cold sweat. Something was wrong. He sprinted to his mother, reaching her in a few long strides.

“What happened?” he said, touching her shoulders. “Is it Blaire? Is she all right?”

Ma’s chest heaved as she took in big gulps of air. “Blaire… is… well.”

“Then what has you so distressed?”

She burst into tears. “’Tis happenin’ again, Iain. ’Tis… “

“What’s happening?” he said, unable to keep the impatience from his tone.

“The laird is evictin’ Glencalvie!”

Iain felt the blood drain from his face. “Nay, Ma. You must be mistaken… “

“’Tis no mistake, my son. Glencalvie is done for.”

Enraged, he flung the bag off his shoulders and ran to his cottage. A terrified Blaire cowered in the corner. He scooped her up in his arms and gave her a fierce hug. “’Twill be all right, lass.”

“I’m scared, Iain. Mamma was so upset.”

“Shh, there now, lass.” He forced himself to be calm for her sake. As he set her back down, his mother came through the door. “Go to Dryden’s,” he ordered.

Ma’s expression clouded with confusion. “You’ll not go with us?”

“I will join you when I can.”

“What if he will not give us refuge? His fealty is to the Laird.”

“Trust me, he will. Tell him I sent you. And have him summon the laird’s daughter, Elspeth. Tell her what’s happenin’.”

“But Iain …”

“Just go!” He ushered them out the door. “I’m off to the village. If it’s a fight John Ross wants, by God ’tis a fight he’s gonna get!”