Chapter 27
Some hours later
“No fucking McQuoids allowed!”
Trying to figure out the source of that shouting which had awakened her from a dead slumber, Linnie struggled to open her eyes, but a cheerful, bright afternoon sun streaming through the windows blinded her, and she let them close again.
Her entire body hurt like she’d been physically beaten and left to die on the cold, hard ground.
Linnie opened her eyes again, this time more slowly. Wait. She was on the cold, hard ground—on an Aubusson carpet, to be precise. The decorative article conferred little in the way of heat, and with the fire long dormant, the chill going through Linnie was even more unforgiving.
She blinked and tried to make sense of what’d happened and where she was—and promptly wished she hadn’t.
Everything came rushing back.
Jeremy’s plans to set sail.
His betrayal.
Their sham of a marriage.
Moaning, Linnie curled up on her side, and bringing her knees into her chest, she hugged her arms around them and just held herself.
There were no tears this time. She’d wept herself clear out of every last drop of sorrow, but then Jeremy’s voice rose up, and hers along with it.
You wedding Culross could have never occurred for a host of reasons . . . some of which changed the further it all went.
It? The further what went?
My deception. I was always going to marry you, Linnie. You were too valuable.
Teeth chattering, she hugged herself more tightly and remembered it all.
And as tears burnt her eyes and fell freely, she discovered she’d been wrong about something else: She still had too many tears left to cry.
Then she heard it again. The clamor that’d broken through her blessedly beautiful, black, empty sleep. Shouts. A steady beat of heavy, angry footfalls.
“You aren’t allowed in here.”
“Linnie!”
She knew that voice. Not the one she wanted it to be.
The McQuoid-Smiths. They’d arrived.
“Do you hear me, McQuoid!”
It was Arran.
There came an explosion of doors banging and being slammed.
Broken wood.
More shouting.
“You enter one more room and I’ll shoot you like the dog you are, McQuoid.”
“The hell you will!”
Wait, that wasn’t Arran.
Brone. He was here, too. Which meant Linnie’s entire family knew. They knew she’d been tricked in the worst way, had her heart broken, and been left by the husband who’d never really wanted her.
“Linnie!” Brone thundered, this time even louder.
He and Arran had come to rescue her. Why? It was all too late. She couldn’t be saved. She’d been lost since she was a girl of eleven who’d realized Jeremy Renwood Tremaine was a god amongst mortals.
The door burst open with a force that sent the wood splintering—and then stunned silence.
From where she lay curled on her side, Linnie stared confusedly at the small army of men positioned there. Not just Arran and Brone.
“Both brothers.” Her voice came from far away.
“Oh, Linnie,” Campbell said on a grief-stricken whisper.
Not just her brothers. The Duke of Aragon. Dallin. Cassia’s husband, Lord Winfield—the captain who actually loved and wanted his wife. Even Povey, who’d been hell-bent on killing one or more members of Linnie’s family, was silenced and pale.
Oh, God, could she not have one last scrap of pride to cling to? Tears burnt Linnie’s eyes, and she closed them tight.
The boards groaned under a mad dash of her male kin, and then she was surrounded on all sides—the McQuoid-Smiths forming a protective circle around Linnie.
Near her shoulder, Campbell sank to his haunches beside Linnie. He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “He put his hands on you.”
“Dead,” Brone seethed. “I’ll cut him up into pieces.”
Povey jumped in before Linnie could. “The captain wouldn’t put his hands on no woman,” he said with his usual gruffness, but not his earlier vitriol.
The McQuoid-Smiths ignored him.
“He didn’t,” Linnie said listlessly. “He wouldn’t do th-that.” He would, however, hurt her in even worse ways—and he had. His betrayal had left deep, searing scars upon her very heart and soul.
She saw Brone and Campbell stare at each other. No doubt they even now silently debated who’d duel Jeremy for the imagined affront that he’d actually assaulted his wife.
“He didn’t!” she cried out. “He told me the truth. That’s all he did.” She’d have preferred her husband struck her to this. At least pain of the physical sort faded in time. This crushing, sweeping sorrow would be with her until she took her last breath.
Her male kin exchanged looks over the top of her head. Linnie struggled to stand.
Povey reached for her, but the Marquess of Winfield was already there to help her onto her feet.
“I have it,” she said tiredly.
Cassia’s husband reluctantly retreated.
“Linnie, I’m so damned sorry,” Arran pleaded.
Brone and Campbell frowned in unison.
“What the hell is going on, Arran?” Dallin demanded of his younger brother.
Linnie pleaded with her eyes for Arran’s silence.
His features grew even more strained, and then he looked away. As expected, he went against her request. “Tremaine pursued Linnie with the sole intention of preventing her marriage to Culross.”
Here, there, or anywhere, her choices never mattered. Linnie smiled bitterly.
When he’d finished, Campbell’s hot Scottish temper got the best of him. “And you didn’t think, as Linnie’s bloody brothers, we deserved to know?” he bellowed.
“As Linnie’s brothers, you should have known,” Arran shouted in return. “If either of you had bloody opened your eyes for one goddamned moment, you would have seen what was happening in front of you, but you didn’t. You were all busy with your own lives, and that’s fine. I’m not judging you.”
“How gracious of you,” Brone sneered.
“I did, however, see.” Arran slapped a palm against his chest repeatedly. “It was I who attempted to make it right.”
“Look how that turned out,” Dallin said quietly.
Arran flinched under the weight of his brother’s condemnation.
Another feud built—this time, within the McQuoid-Smiths’ ranks. She’d not have this on her or Tremaine. She’d made the choice that’d brought her to this moment. Ironic, that.
“Please, just stop.” Linnie rubbed at her aching head. “I am so tired of animosity and hatred and really don’t want to deal with it here and now.”
Linnie managed the impossible: She shut up the McQuoid-Smiths. “Povey, may I have a moment with my family?”
The old sailor’s wizened face grew strained.
“I understand Captain Tremaine gave you orders,” she said gently. “But Captain Tremaine has left, and even though he despises them, these men are still my family. They will not harm me. You know that. They, however, do not. I would like to reassure them to keep what peace still exists.”
“Cap’n’ll hate it, he will.”
Linnie patted his hand. “I don’t believe he will.”
“Then you don’t know the captain, miss,” Povey mumbled.
Her heart wrenched. No, she didn’t. Linnie’s mouth trembled.
The loyal servant’s eyes grew panicked. “No more than ten minutes, Lady Tremaine.”
Linnie’s lips somehow formed a watery smile. “Povey,” she said gently, “I’ll not be ordered about in my own household.”
He ducked his head. “Apologies, Lady Tremaine.”
The moment he’d gone, her family converged closer and spoke in such hushed tones she didn’t hear them at first.
Linnie frowned.
“I said,” Brone repeated, still quiet but audible enough she could make out his words, “we are getting you out.”
Getting her out of what? Or where? Jeremy’s office? This townhouse? Their marriage?
The universe?
Yes, there might be a place to live without breaking apart over and over again—a place where no thoughts or memories of him dwelled all around her.
Lord Winfield was saying, “She is welcome to stay with me and Cassia.”
“I propose Scotland,” Campbell said. “Linnie adores Scotland. It will do her good to be in the Highlands.”
“She should be at home with her sisters and brothers,” Brone countered.
“Yes, I’m sure that’s just the place our unhappily married sister wishes to live? With her unwed siblings and parents.”
Mindful of the servants undoubtedly listening at the keyholes, her family talked mutedly around Linnie. About her future. Her opinion didn’t matter. Her thoughts so unimportant to them, no one asked. No one ever did.
No, there’d been one person.
Let me ask you this, Linnie. Imagine you are free to make whatever choice you want. What do you want from life? What do you want to do and see?
I believe I have the McQuoid-Smith wanderlust blood. I find myself envying you, Arran, Cassia.
Then do that, love.
“I’m sailing on the morrow.”
It was a moment before she registered that quiet statement. All her family remained engaged in discussions about Linnie, except Arran.
“Lucky you,” she said cuttingly.
“You are welcome to join me, Linnie,” he said. “It’s the first sailing since . . . since . . .”
“Since you left Jeremy for dead?”
His ears went red. “You’ll still give him your loyalty.” Even with how he’d betrayed her.
Arran didn’t need to speak the words. She heard them clear enough.
“I love him.” Her voice caught. “It doesn’t just s-stop. Not if you truly care about someone.” She gave him a pitying glance. “But then, you wouldn’t know anything about real love or loyalty.”
He winced. “I shall take that as a no to my earlier offer.”
She certainly wanted to throw her cousin’s invitation in his face.
He’d hurt Jeremy, and his treachery against Jeremy had embroiled Linnie.
But more . . . she wanted to get away. She needed to leave.
To remain here alone—while Jeremy traveled the untamable seas—with nothing but crushed dreams and endless sorrow would break her completely.
“I will go,” Linnie said in a muted tone.
Arran whipped a surprised gaze back over.
She lifted her head. “Thank you for the invitation,” she said stiffly.
Except as she and Arran quietly discussed what Linnie needed for the journey, a niggling voice in her head wouldn’t stop a question from repeating in her mind.
Was she really looking to run away from the hurt here in London, or was she really just trying to be closer to Jeremy?