Chapter 19
She wore a black gown once again. Thane missed the riding habit’s lighter shade.
“I trust you’re recovered from our excursion?” he asked.
“Effie saw to it that I was steamed, boiled, and baked,” she replied with a little smile.
“Aye, she’s always been thorough. But she cares.”
“I know. She’s very sweet.”
“Here.” Thane offered her the bunch of folded letters. “These were from Brodie. I thought you might like to read them.”
Cat reached for them, then paused. “But aren’t they private?”
He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve held back any that you couldn’t see.”
“How many of those were there?”
“Not a one. Brodie’s correspondence was nothing out of the ordinary.”
Cat read over each letter, smiling. She laughed out loud a few times, and wiped away a few tears. On the last letter, she looked up. “He asked you to take care of us—my mother and me.”
“Aye, he asked each of the men to do that. We all promised to do the same for each other. When you’re on campaign, you need some kind of hope. And knowing that there was at least one reliable man who could look in on those you left behind, that helps you sleep at night.”
Cat bit her lip. “I wonder how many of those promises had to be kept.”
Thane nodded at her wording. It was easier than asking how many soldiers died, and how many people grieved them. “All I know is that I kept mine, and I know Brodie would have too, if it had been the other way around.”
“Thank you for showing them to me,” she said, handing the letters back.
“Keep them while you’re here,” he urged. “You might want to read them again.”
“Very well,” Cat said, holding them to her chest.
“I got a few other letters today, of more recent vintage. The men are likely on a ship this moment, bringing Tacita to you.”
“Oh.” Cat didn’t seem as relieved, or elated, as he thought she’d be.
“Isn’t that good news?”
“Yes, of course it is. Does that mean…do they know who’s behind the…who tried to kill me, that is?”
“Not that I’ve heard. But they may have learned something since then. That’s the problem with letters…you can only hear from the past.”
She nodded, gripping Brodie’s letters more tightly.
Thane swallowed. “Speaking of the past, tell me about Patrick Melrose.”
“Goodness, why?”
“Kai wrote about him, said he inquired about you. Melrose denied any involvement.”
“Kai needn’t have wasted his time. And believe me, Melrose is a waste of anyone’s time.” She rolled her eyes.
“Why did you ever get engaged to him?”
“I don’t know,” Cat said. She gave a shrug that somehow made her look even more melancholy.
“I was younger then. He paid attention to me. It was nice to have someone who called on me and took me out for a ride around the park, or escorted me to a party. And when he proposed…I…I didn’t know how to say no.
I was flattered, I suppose, but I also didn’t want to hurt him by telling him I didn’t really want to get married.
All my school friends were getting proposals and planning their weddings. It seemed I should do it too.”
“So you did want to marry,” Thane said, envisioning a younger, more whimsical and hopeful Cat.
“I tried to want it,” she said, “but after a few weeks I knew I couldn’t fool myself into thinking I’d be happy.
My mother noticed, and we talked. She waited for me to come to her about it, but I think she already knew what would happen.
So I told Patrick I couldn’t marry him. And he did not take it well.
Said I lied to him and strung him along and I was a turncoat, all sorts of cruel things.
Brodie happened to be home on leave at the time, and he came in and heard it, and they just…
turned into boys, brawling in the parlor.
And all I could think was I am so lucky I stopped this now.
I would have been miserable as Patrick’s wife. As any man’s wife.”
“But you don’t believe Melrose would hold a grudge.”
She shook her head. “Why would he? He already has exactly what he wants.”
“And you? You got what you wanted too, didn’t you? A life free of all men. Melrose probably told all his circle, and everyone else was afraid to go near you.”
“You make me sound like one of Macbeth’s witches,” she snapped. “And honestly, if this is what you say when you hear why I didn’t marry, it only strengthens my resolve to avoid a husband.”
“You weren’t avoiding me in the bothy.”
Cat’s eyes widened, and he regretted his words.
But then she hissed, “How could I, when I had all of three steps before I hit a wall?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know exactly what you meant, and I’ll avoid you from now on, Thane MacPhearson.”
Cat stormed off, and he let her, because she was correct and he was an idiot. He just hoped no one saw Cat and him fight. It would lead to questions.
So he stayed there and brooded, not appreciating the brilliant stained-glass sky one whit.
Why did Cat always make him lose his temper? He thought of their conversation again, his mind pulling back to the earlier part, before she got angry. When she was talking about Melrose. What had she said?
He already has exactly what he wants. Cat’s phrasing was simple, but it illuminated something Thane had been missing.
People rarely took action—whether violent or not—unless they had a reason to.
Thus, most men who objected to Cat’s political views would grouse and grumble, but nothing more.
Why would they? They already had a superior position in society, and even if Cat and her compatriots managed some small change, those men were not in any danger of losing their comfortable lives.
But someone had shot at Cat, which implied that they were not comfortable or content with their situation. And they’d identified Cat as the reason. Not Mrs Roberts, the leader of the League. Or any of the other members. They picked Cat.
Why?
Thane gazed out at the landscape, lost in thought. An idea was coming to him, but far too slowly. Something about Cat’s attacker…
Just then, Andra sauntered toward him, a sunny yet seductive smile on her face. He groaned inwardly—he’d much prefer to be solitary while puzzling out this thought, and Andra never heralded calm introspection.
“You’re out here all alone,” she said, now offering a pretty pout. Her skirt seemed to hitch up of its own volition. How the hell did she manage that?
“I was,” he told her, not bothering to hide the edge of irritation that he felt.
“I saw Miss Ross leaving. I thought you two might have had a tiff.”
He shook his head. “I never have tiffs.” Well, with Cat that was mostly an aspiration.
She laughed. “Then why’d she storm off?”
“Who knows?”
“I’m glad I found you anyhow.” A touch of her hand along his arm signaled her line of thought.
He didn’t feel the least bit interested, especially since he sensed that she was performing a role she expected that he expected her to play. Time to end it. So instead, he asked, “Andra, what do you want in life?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Have I not made it clear that I want you?”
“Don’t flirt. I’m dead serious. When you were growing up—no, strike that. If a stranger came up to you today, and said, ‘Andra lass, describe the sort of life you’d be happy to live,’ what would you tell them?”
Andra sank onto the stone wall. “Hmmm. I suppose…a tidy croft somewhere, with my man off to work in the morning and back every evening. Children playing…and all the food we ever needed. And a pretty dress I save just for holidays.”
He nodded at her words. It was a familiar image to anyone in the Highlands.
Even though Thane had grown up in finer surroundings, thanks to his family’s wealth and ancestry, he wasn’t that far removed from the common Scotsman.
He lived among them. And he knew that the average Scot didn’t require much to be content (and indeed, often made a point on thriving with far less than others would consider adequate).
Andra’s wishes were very close to what most women her age would say.
“You do not want,” he said, rather deliberately, “to be the lady of a great house.”
“Lord, I’d be no good at that! Fine hostess, dressed like a princess and not able to sit down without a brigade of help!” She didn’t quite sneer…but almost did.
“A fine house offers some advantages.”
“Stephen says we don’t need more than three rooms—” She broke off, embarrassed at the slip, and what it revealed.
“So that’s the man you picture? Stephen Reid.”
“Aye, then. Stephen Reid. He’s got a farm over the hill, north of here.”
“I know it. Has he asked you to marry him?”
“Not yet.” She frowned. “He says he wants to build up his savings before he gets a wife and children to take care of. But with the last few harvests not so good, and so many workers being moved off the land, there’s less call for what he’s been growing, and so he’s barely able to keep his head up.
And I don’t know when it’ll change.” She sighed.
“Do you care for him?”
“Aye. Very much.” She wasn’t looking at Thane as she spoke, lost in a dream she might never attain. After a moment, though, she suddenly lifted her head, realizing what she’d admitted. “Oh! I mean, I care for him. But not like you…”
“Hush, Andra,” he told her, chuckling. “You don’t have to lie to me. Even if you had fancied yourself in love with me before I left, it was a long time ago.”
“I kept waiting for some horrible news,” she said. “Everyone did, I think. No one ever said anything, but if Thane MacPhearson died over there…what did that mean for everyone here? With your parents gone and no brothers to take charge.”
“Effie would have managed.”
“I suppose. But it’s not the same. You’re not going back, are you?”
“To fight? Christ, no.” He was done with that life.
“Good. You’re needed here.” She said that with simple matter-of-factness. No longer the mistress aiming to keep her place, but just a local who knew what was expected of everyone.
“Andra, let me ask you something else. Suppose you saw a way to get what you wanted—the croft, the wedding, everything—but to do it, you’d have to commit a crime. Would you?”
“What sort of crime?” she asked, her eyes narrowing speculatively.
“Murder.”
“Thane MacPhearson!” Her voice horrified. “No one would do such a thing!”
“Oh, people have and people do. Not you, though,” he added with a reassuring nod. “You’re not the type. Do you think your Stephen would do it?”
“Never! He’s a good man, and he’d not hurt a flea. A person would have to be hollow inside to do that sort of thing. Think of living in a house and looking at the walls and the roof every day and knowing that it was bought with death. I’d never sleep a wink in such a place.”
“Aye. It takes a certain type of person to be able to kill when it’s not necessary.”
She looked at him, worry on her face. “Is this about the war? Are you upset about something you had to do then? You shouldn’t be. The soldiers on the other side didn’t worry about you, I’ll wager. Everyone just wants to make it to the next day still alive.”
“I’m not ashamed of anything I did on the battlefield…” He halted. True—it was what happened away from the battlefield that kept him up nights. “War is war. We all knew what we were meant to do when we took the king’s coin.”
“Then what are you asking about?”
“I’m trying to understand the sort of man who kills for reasons other than self-preservation.”
“Well, he’d have to be daft, wouldn’t he? Just someone who’s crazed and lashes out, like a beast.”
“That’s one kind of killer. But what about a man who’s a little more…measured. Someone who takes the time to stalk his prey, plans things out.”
“That’s pure hate, then,” Andra said, shuddering. “Or greed, maybe. But you have to live with everything you do. Can’t imagine there are many men who can truly live with killing someone to get what they want. Unless they can tell themselves a story that makes it feel right.”
He drew in a breath, struck by her words. That made sense. Perhaps someone was using Cat’s politics to justify his own violence—telling himself it was the right thing to do.
Thane despised true believers. He hated them while in the army.
He hated them outside it. True believers would destroy anything and everything as long as they didn’t have to confront any suggestion that their own view wasn’t completely correct.
True believers were the sort of men who ordered whole brigades to march into certain death because the plan looked good on a map.
Was that the sort of man who wanted to kill Cat?
“Excuse me, Andra. I have to write a letter. It’s probably too late, but I have to try to let them know…”
“Thane?” Andra was looking at him curiously. “Does this have something to do with Miss Ross?”
He paused, gave a slight nod, but said, “I can’t talk about it.”
“Does someone want to hurt her? That’s why she’s here, isn’t it?”
“I just said—”
“Thane, you don’t have to tell me,” Andra said, holding up one hand. “But please don’t think I’m stupid.”
“I’ve never thought that.”
“You’re trying to help her, aren’t you? I hope you can. She seems like she needs help—she’s so sad.”
He was surprised at Andra’s sympathy for Cat, but then again, it wasn’t as if Andra had any tender feelings for Thane anymore. He said, “Of course she’s sad. She’s in mourning.”
Andra shrugged that explanation off. “When you solve her problem, are you going to ask her to marry you?”
“No!”
“Why not? She’d be a fine mistress here. She’s got the proper touch, all elegant and smooth.”
“She doesn’t wish to marry.”
“Hmm. I always found you persuasive when you want something.”
He was alarmed. “I’m not going to…it’s not going to happen.”
“Very well, no need to make a fuss about it. Shame, though.”
Andra got up off the wall and sashayed off, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. That left Thane all alone, temporarily forgetting about the letter he needed to send. He stood there, imagining Catriona Ross as the lady of the house. The lady of his house.
He knew what it felt like to want something you couldn’t have.
And, yes, he could picture doing something drastic to get it.