Chapter Four #3
“Rumors on the street. When a chit is worth her weight in gold, people notice everything.”
Lyssa had always been uncomfortable with the speculation her father’s money brought her. Coldly, she said, “My father is no different than any other. He wants his daughter to do exactly as he says, and when she doesn’t behave—”
“Such as marrying the man he has chosen for her?”
“Such as marrying the man he has chosen for her,” she confirmed, “then like any other father, he can resort to harsh measures.”
The Irishman actually laughed. “Measures like what? Bread and water for an hour? Confined to your bedroom with servants to wait on you hand and foot for the day?”
His mockery hit home—especially because his jests were true. And she saw herself through his eyes: a vain, pampered creature who had taken off for Scotland in a snit and was now deeply in trouble.
“You may laugh, Irishman,” she returned tightly. “You know little of my life.”
“Ah, but I can dream,” he said.
Her temper broke. “Dream about what? About being just barely tolerated in Society because your father has wealth? About being forced on people who do not want to have anything to do with you? I smell of Trade, Irishman, and there are those amongst the ton who will never let me forget it. My father doesn’t mind forcing his way through, but I do.
And I hate the idea that I am to be married to a man I have not one thing in common with, just because of his title.
I am being treated like little more than a broodmare.
Once my husband has an heir from me, he won’t want to talk to me again.
He’ll have my fortune and my child and I will be nothing. ”
“Such is the lot of most women,” the Irishman observed. “I’m not saying it is right,” he hurried to add, “but it is the way of the law.”
“It was not my mother’s lot. She married for love. She defied all convention and chose her life and her mate.”
He frowned. “Don’t tell me you are going to be looking for a mate in Scotland?”
“No,” she said firmly, suspecting he was teasing her and almost hating him for it. “I’m going to Amleth Hall because even though I have everything I want—all that money can buy—what I desire most eludes me.”
“And what is that, Miss Harrell?”
“Acceptance, Irishman. Welcomed acceptance. I’m tired of being the outsider.
The one they poke little jibes at as if I have no intelligence or feelings and am certainly beneath notice.
I hope to find a place amongst my mother’s family and at her home.
She’s been gone so long and yet, inside me—” She tapped her breast right above her heart.
“—I have a need to be there, close to where she was. A need I can’t explain with reason. ”
She’d said too much. She knew it by the sudden silence between them and she wished she had been more circumspect. Her temper and her tongue had betrayed her again!
Of course, there was something about the Irishman that provoked her into speaking her mind. That is why she’d foolishly revealed more to him in the last five minutes than she’d ever had to anyone in her whole lifetime.
Now she stood in front of him completely defenseless.
And she hated the sudden silence between them.
Shifting her weight from one foot to the next, she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “Well?” she challenged. “Don’t you have anything to say? Some comment about how ridiculous I am?”
“Where did you say this Amleth Hall is located?”
Lyssa feared she hadn’t heard him correctly. She pulled her plaid tighter around her shoulders. “Close to Appin. Abrams—I mean, Charley—told me we were perhaps only two days from there.”
“Heading north, right?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go.” He didn’t wait for her response but turned and started in the opposite direction Fielder and his men had gone.
Lyssa stood rooted to the ground, stunned by his sudden change of mind.
The Irishman paused, looking over his shoulder. “Are you coming? I assure you, Miss Harrell, the walk won’t be easy. We’d best get on with it and put as many miles between ourselves and Fielder as we can.”
“Why?” she asked bluntly. “You were set against it when I offered money. And my father won’t pay you until I’m delivered to him in London.”
“Aye, but north is the direction Fielder and his men don’t expect us to take. You are certain you still have family there?”
“Yes, I should.”
“Then we can hope they will help us get you safely to London. There are many roads to the capital. We’re merely taking one that is unexpected. Now, we’d best start marching.”
Still Lyssa did not move. There was more here—her women’s intuition told her so—and she wanted to know what it was. “Is that your only reason, Irishman, to avoid Fielder?”
The moonlight turned his eyes to quicksilver, and she sensed he saw everything, knew all. His answer surprised her. “I understand wanting to be accepted, Miss Harrell. I understand all too well—and my name is Campion, not ‘Irishman.’ I’ll thank you to use it. Now come.”
He didn’t wait for her response, but turned off the wagon path and started walking through the woods.