Chapter Fifteen
Elizabet sat despondent, staring out her window. Alice sat beside her. She’d offered her tea, food, diversion, and when Elizabet had refused them all, she’d finally offered her silent companionship. Elizabet was grateful for her company. Being alone in a house with her parents made life unlivable. Even more with her father’s gloating. And Fergus’s constant attempts to see her. She’d refused, and surprisingly, her father hadn’t insisted. Which only made her suspicious.
“Bess, you’ve got to eat something,” Alice said, pushing a tray of small sandwiches toward her.
She looked at the food and shrank away, her stomach revolting at the sight of it. “I cannot. I’m sorry, Alice. I simply cannot.” Her voice trembled, and Alice immediately pulled her into a hug.
Elizabet sobbed in her friend’s arms. Images of Jack lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood haunted her every thought. Waking or asleep, she couldn’t shut out the sight. Couldn’t forget the feel of his body growing colder in her arms.
She hadn’t shot him. How could she? She’d have sooner turned the gun on herself. But with her screaming like a wild woman, no one had noticed her shot going wide and disappearing through the shrubbery behind John.
But the wound from the soldier had been grievous. And he’d been so cold, so still.
She sobbed anew, her heart rending. Of the soldier she’d shot, the one who’d killed Jack, she hardly gave a thought. Distantly, she worried about that. Shouldn’t it bother her that she took a life? Yet he’d been a threat. He’d shot Jack. And now he was gone. But not soon enough to save her love.
Her father marched into the room, took one look at her, and exploded. “Damn you, Elizabet, enough of this! I’ll not stand here and watch you make yourself sick over some criminal. I’ve allowed you to wallow in your self-pity long enough. You will desist with this behavior at once. Mr. Ramsay will be returning in a few days, and you will be presentable and welcoming, or I will throw you out of this house without a cent to your name.”
Elizabet’s fury grew with every word her father spewed. She slowly stood, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.
“What did you say?” her father asked, his face growing mottled with anger.
“I said, go ahead. Toss me out. I’ll manage. But you won’t. You need me too much. Who else will you sell off to the highest bidder to refill your pilfered coffers? You can’t steal more from your neighbors. You can’t embezzle it from your business partners. The tenants on your estates have precious little to give. And without me to tie you to him, Fergus might stop being your ally and start wanting more for himself. You’ll have a rival on your hands. So do your worst. John is dead. You can’t hurt me anymore.”
Her father sneered at her. He couldn’t argue back when she spoke the truth. But the self-satisfied look didn’t leave his face.
“On the contrary, my dear. Your John is alive.”
Elizabet staggered back a step and reached for the table to steady herself. Alice gripped her hand, providing silent support.
Her father scoffed at her reaction. “Before you go indulging in any fantasies, he won’t be that way for long. He’s been exposed as a highwayman. People are calling for him to swing from the gallows at Tyburn.”
Elizabet steeled her spine, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of watching her lose control despite the tempest raging inside her. “I’m sure you are the chief among those voices, Father.”
“The man is a brigand. His friendship with the king and years of service to the Crown may have bought him some leniency, but he cannot go unpunished. Not with the public outcry against him…”
“Fueled by you!” Elizabet burst out. “The public love him. The only people who don’t are the ones whose own deeds have given them reason to fear him.”
“Says you. Either way, there’s no escape for him now. Though if the king is feeling sentimental I suppose they might let him live. If you call life in a dungeon living.”
Elizabet sucked in a breath but her father wasn’t finished. “Either way, you’ll never see him again. If he lives, he’ll either be imprisoned for the rest of his life, or exiled. He’s a criminal. He deserves to hang.”
“By that logic, so do you.” The words erupted from her before she could stop them. Alice squeezed her hand in warning.
“Careful, girl,” he said, his voice low and deadly. “My need of you extends only so far. I came to warn you to stop this nonsense at once. Reconcile yourself to your marriage. There are worse fates.”
He turned and stormed from the room. Elizabet slumped into her chair and wrapped her arms about herself, trying to drag enough air into her lungs to make her head stop spinning.
“He’s alive,” Alice said, patting her hand. “Focus on that. He lives.”
Elizabet shook her head, trying to breathe past the lump in her throat. “For now. If my father and the others like him have their way, he won’t be much longer. And I doubt anyone will be eager to share any news of him with me. I’ll never know what befalls him.”
“Oh, my dear Bess,” Alice said, pulling her forward to envelope her in a cloud of lavender-scented satin and lace. “You only have to tell me what you wish to do, and I’ll make it happen.”
Elizabet pulled away and wiped at the tears she couldn’t keep from falling. “Oh? You’ll help me break him out of prison? Or get Fergus out of my life?”
“In an instant! I’d gladly kill Fergus with my own bare hands, and don’t think for a second I couldn’t do it.”
Elizabet choked out a laugh. “Of that I have no doubt.”
“It would probably be easier to break John out of prison.”
“From the Tower? Impossible.”
“Difficult. But not impossible. With his connections, he most likely isn’t being held in the dungeons. They’ll need to tend to his wounds. Prison, exile, or execution, they seem to want him alive to experience it. Therefore, he’ll need to be someplace relatively comfortable and accessible. A few bribes placed in the right hands and a foolproof escape plan and you’ll be away in no time.”
Elizabet sighed and covered her face with her hands. “If only we really could.”
Alice wrapped her arms around Elizabet. She put her head on her friend’s shoulder and for once, let herself completely go to pieces.
…
John blinked at the harsh sunlight glaring down on him. After several weeks in the Tower, locked up and healing from his wounds, the sun was too bright, though very welcome.
“John, sit, please.”
John glanced at King Charles and nodded, sitting in the indicated chair, though he didn’t relax.
“I told you to stay out of this mess,” Charles said. “But you couldn’t let it alone.”
John sighed and rubbed his hand over his newly shaven face. He’d had to clean up before entering the king’s chambers. Perhaps the only time he’d been grateful for the strict etiquette involved in being in the king’s presence. “Your Majesty, I…”
Charles held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter what your excuses are, John. Or even if I agree with them. Your arrest was too public, and Dawsey and Ramsay have too much evidence against you for me to overlook this time.”
“Evidence they have fabricated!” John said, too forcefully. At Charles’s raised brow he sat back in his chair and added, “Sire.”
“That hardly matters now. The rumors are rife, and the evidence—falsified or not—is damning. I’m afraid even I cannot get you out of this one, my friend.”
John’s heart sank, though he had suspected as much. “I understand, Your Majesty. What is to be done with me, then?”
“Well, that depends on you.”
“On me?”
“I know not all the accusations against you are false…” He paused when John opened his mouth, his look enough to keep John from speaking. “But I’ve also looked the other way because, frankly, most of your so-called victims deserved what came to them, and you provided a justice I could not. And because, despite the damage you did to their coffers, you never actually harmed anyone. I cannot do that, in this case, as you stand accused, with half my guard as witnesses, of kidnapping Lord Dawsey’s daughter, on not one but two occasions, I’m told. And in your attempt to flee, you killed one of my guard. Neither of these offenses can be dealt with lightly. I’ve got shouts on all sides to hoist you by your neck.”
John blanched, and Charles’s look softened. “I’m not inclined to do so. Neither am I willing to lock you in some dank dungeon for the rest of your days. My only other choice is to proclaim your English lands forfeit and banish you from our borders. I would advise against returning to Scotland for the time being. Though perhaps, someday you could go home to your estate there.”
Exile? Though a fair sight better than he had cause to hope for, the prospect still weighed heavily on him.
Elizabet.
He’d never see her again. He’d never see his home, his family. Never bring Dawsey and Ramsay to justice. The thought of them roaming free, his brother’s death unavenged and countless more at risk, made his stomach roil.
The king raised his hand and beckoned to the guard standing at the door to open it. John surged to his feet when Dawsey and Ramsay entered.
“Sit down, MacGregor,” Charles said.
John had completely forgotten etiquette in the face of his enemies’ smug faces. “Sire, ye canna let these men roam free.”
“You are the one who should be back in irons, MacGregor,” Dawsey said. “The only criminal in this room is you!”
“I should have let the soldiers run you through,” Ramsay said, trying to appear bored, though hatred blazed from his eyes. “Though I wish I could have seen your darling Elizabet shooting you with your own pistol. I didn’t think she had it in her. Perhaps, I should get her something extra special for a wedding gift.”
John leaped toward Ramsay, all but growling, and grabbed Ramsay’s sword, yanking it from the scabbard to hold it to Ramsay’s throat. The soliders shouted at John and rushed for him, but John thought of nothing but the man before him.
“Here is yer villain, Your Majesty! Here is the man who should be in irons at yer feet. He and Dawsey both! I have evidence, sire, more than enough to convince ye of their crimes. I waited only for a witness, so there would be no mistake. But take these men into custody now, and I can show ye the truth of my words, I swear it.”
In his mad panic to make Charles understand, to ensure that Fergus did not once again get away, John failed to see Charles’s growing anger. His soul-crushing desire to bring Fergus down overshadowed everything.
“You dare draw a blade in my presence!” Charles said.
Too late, John realized his mistake. But Ramsay hadn’t. His slow smile seared into John like a slow drip of acid.
John immediately dropped the sword, but the soldiers had already surrounded him.
“Enough of this,” Charles said, waving the soldiers away. They tried to protest, but he waved them off again. Had John made such a dumb mistake in the presence of the rest of the court, he’d have been run through on the spot.
“Sire,” he said, his body trembling with the desire to wipe the smug grin from Fergus’s face. To avenge his brother and keep Elizabet safe forever. “My deepest apologies. But I implore ye, dinna let these men go free.”
“This is outrageous!” Dawsey cried, his face growing a mottled purple. “You have no cause to hold us. There is no such evidence as he claims—”
“Aye, there is! Enough to see ye hanged, you and yer foul accomplice.”
“Enough!” Charles bellowed.
The soldiers, probably in confusion as to who was the real threat, did the prudent thing and surrounded them all.
Charles sat back in his chair and fixed each of them with a cold gaze before turning his attention to John. “You have told me time and again that these men are criminals of the highest order. Yet you present no evidence to support your claims. They, on the other hand, have provided a great deal of evidence pertaining to your own guilt.”
John’s blood thundered through his body, in panic or rage, he knew not. All he did know was that his revenge was before him, and he’d not get the opportunity again. He’d likely be hanged or imprisoned. Fergus would never again be in his grasp. If John ran him through now, they’d both die for certain, as Charles would not overlook such a breach twice. Especially when Fergus dropped dead at the king’s feet. But if John were to suffer death anyway, he’d gladly take his enemy down with him.
“Do you or do you not have solid evidence, witness or no, that will convict my Lord Dawsey and Mr. Ramsay?”
John hesitated, Elizabet’s tearful image in his mind’s eye. Elizabet pleading for her father, blackguard that he was, for her sake and her mother’s. He wanted Dawsey to pay for his crimes. But he needed Ramsay to pay. Needed to avenge his brother with every ounce of his MacGregor blood. He’d minimize Dawsey’s involvement, if possible. For Elizabet’s sake. But he would not risk losing Ramsay, even if Dawsey must go down as well.
“Aye, Your Majesty. I do.”
“Then, if you want justice done, MacGregor, present your evidence or hold your tongue and be sent to the Tower.”
It took John a second to realize what the king had said. “Ye’ll listen to my petition, sire? Though I have no witnesses?”
“You said you had evidence. Witness or no, present it. If these men are guilty of that which you accuse, they will be dealt with accordingly. Bring forth your evidence.”
John’s head buzzed. Finally, the moment was upon him.
“Yes, MacGregor,” Fergus said, his voice still calm and measured. “Bring it forth. Present the evidence that will condemn me. And Dawsey along with me. And Dawsey’s family along with him.”
“Silence,” Charles said. “Take them to the Tower. They can wait there while MacGregor presents his case. Then we’ll see if there is ought to this matter. Escort him to his chambers. You have one hour to gather your evidence,” the king said, with a flick of a finger at John.
The soldiers hauled away a shouting Dawsey. Fergus though…Fergus merely stared at John, his face almost serene.
John followed his guard back to his quarters willingly, longing to be alone. He sank into a chair before the fire, his head in his hands. He’d just seen Dawsey and Ramsay dragged from the room to be thrown into the Tower. He should be euphoric. The king would hear his considerable evidence despite no corroborating witness. With one fell swoop, he could gain his freedom, avenge his brother, and see justice done with the punishment of his enemies.
But Fergus’s words echoed in his ears. Dawsey’s family.
Elizabet.
What had he done?
Her father had just been taken to the Tower. At John’s word. To avenge his brother, yes. To save others from the misfortune of meeting Dawsey or Fergus or their henchmen, yes. And yes, even to save his own neck. But at what cost?
He had loved his brother more than anything. He’d spent a long time chasing revenge for his brother’s death. But Elizabet…he loved her with his whole being—body and soul. And yet he’d betrayed her at the first opportunity.
He stood and paced the room, his heart in shreds.
What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?
Her anguish-filled face as she’d held him in her arms, declaring her love for him, as he bled out into the dust, tore at him. His brother, God rest him, was gone. Dead and buried and past any pain that anyone might inflict upon him. Elizabet was alive. Needed him. Trusted him. And he’d failed her.
He stopped pacing and strode to the armoire in the corner of the room, kneeling before it to remove a false bottom. He dragged out a small case and brought it to his chair, opening it to rummage through the contents. Everything he’d collected against Dawsey and Ramsay. Documents showing shipments, contacts, bribes. Personal memos to contacts. Even a few letters not so subtly bragging about their activities. Enough to keep the men in the Tower a good long while, if not anything else.
The evidence Charles required of him.
He went through it, separating out the pieces that explicitly implicated Dawsey. The memos, the personal letters. The other papers might point to him if the trail were followed closely. But Fergus had been his hired gun, the one who’d gotten his hands dirty. Dawsey had been smart enough for that. Without the letters, there might not be anything to tie Dawsey directly to Fergus.
John held the stack of papers, his hand faintly trembling. He gripped them until his knuckles turned white and a slight sweat broke out on his brow. And then he opened his hand and let the papers fall. Right into the fire.
Fergus was much more dangerous. More deadly. And more desperate. But he would drag Dawsey down with him, John had no doubt. So if he turned over the evidence against Fergus, Elizabet would still suffer. John couldn’t bring himself to destroy the evidence against Fergus. He needed to be stopped. The man was a murderous bastard, and no community was safe while he roamed free.
But neither could it be John’s hand that brought him, and by extension, Dawsey, down. Elizabet would suffer. And John would rather die alone in a filthy cell or at the end of a rope than cause her one moment more of grief.
He placed the box back in the armoire inside one of the drawers rather than back in its hiding place. It would be found. But Fergus would have a slight head start, if he were smart enough.
The soldiers returned to escort John to the king. He left with them, his heart both lighter and heavier at once. He was sorry for what he was about to do. But had he done otherwise, he’d have regretted it for the rest of his days.
Which were sure to be short, judging by the confused and livid expression on the king’s face.
“I don’t believe I heard you correctly,” Charles said. “Do you have evidence to present, or not?”
John took a deep breath. “No, sire. I’m afraid it’s been misplaced.”
Charles rubbed his temple. “You do understand I’m trying to save your life, hmm?”
“Aye, sire.”
“I need only a reason to set you free. I cannot do it due to past friendship or royal mercy. You’ve angered too many at court. Give me my reason. Turn over your evidence. Have the Lady Elizabet sign a document, detailing what she’s witnessed at her father’s and Ramsay’s hands. I but need an excuse to investigate them further and claim unjust sabotage committed against you. You’ll have your life. And your freedom.”
John’s heart thundered so hard blood roared in his ears. This was everything he’d waited for. Worked for. Sacrificed everything for. Revenge and justice were at hand. Finally.
If he convinced Elizabet to bear witness against her own father. Against Ramsay? He knew she would gladly do so. However, the men were linked. They could not destroy one without the other, and Elizabet would never have a hand in her own father’s downfall.
Or maybe she would.
He’d nearly died in her arms. He wasn’t entirely sure if she knew he yet lived. But she loved him. When he’d lain bleeding in her arms, she’d told him so. Assuming she would be happy to discover he still lived, would she agree to anything he asked? Would she testify against her father? She wouldn’t have to satisfy his need for revenge. But would she to save his life? His freedom?
She might.
Could John ask her to?
He sat silent, his heart and mind raging in turmoil. Battling desires branded him. His need to see his brother avenged, to keep others safe from the murderous tyranny that was Lord Dawsey and his hellspawn follower Fergus Campbell Ramsay had burned as a rampaging fire within him since the day his brother had drawn his last breath. He’d devoted his life to their downfall. How could he walk away from that, especially when doing so would buy his own freedom?
But Elizabet…she was an ache in his soul. A hunger that would never be sated. Were he to spend every moment of his life in her presence, he’d still cry out on Judgment Day that they hadn’t enough time.
If she felt even a fraction for him what he felt for her, she’d testify against her father. She’d ransom John’s life with her own peace of mind. But doing so would destroy a part of her.
And that would destroy a part of him.
He released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “I have nothing to give ye, sire. And I willna ask it of the lady.”
Charles raised a royal brow. “We are talking about your life, John.”
“I ken that well.” He gave the king a small smile. “I suppose I’ve finally found something that means more to me.”
Charles shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever found that myself. But, if you’ll not reconsider…”
“Nay.”
“Then I am sorry, John.” The king nodded at the guards who stood near the door, and they came forward to collect him. “I am sorrier than I can say.”
Philip stood waiting by the carriage, looking nearly as bedraggled as John.
John climbed up to sit beside him. “The ship leaves tomorrow. I’ve been given instructions to be on it as soon as possible.”
Philip nodded. “It’s a mercy you were given that long. That they let you go at all.”
John’s thoughts strayed to Elizabet as they often did. In fact, he spent every waking and dreaming hour consumed with thoughts of her. But even as a provisionally free man, he could do nothing about it. She needed to stay where she was. Unhappy perhaps, but safe and alive.
Philip’s constant glances in his direction began to grate on his nerves.
“What is it, Philip?”
Philip shrugged. “I merely wondered if ye’d be visiting Lady Elizabet before taking ship.”
Every ounce of his being cried out yes! But John shook his head. “We’ve already said our goodbyes. Why prolong the pain?”
“Then ye do love her?”
John frowned at him. “What I feel for her makes no difference. I’m exiled.”
“But perhaps not permanently.”
“That doesna matter. I willna drag her from place to place, ruin her future with the taint of my past. She deserves a better life than that.”
They arrived at the docks, and Philip didn’t say anything else while they unloaded the carriage, took everything aboard, and got John settled in a cabin.
“Do ye think having Ramsay as her husband is what she deserves then?” Philip said, continuing their conversation as though they’d never stopped talking.
“Of course not. I left the evidence against him. And I’ll do my utmost to bring him down before a marriage between them ever takes place. I may be banished from court but I still have some connections. And perhaps now that their smuggling empire is exposed, by rumor if not by law, the union will no longer be so advantageous to either party.”
The cabin was tiny, with hardly any room to move. It definitely wasn’t built with two large Highlanders in mind.
Philip stared at him until John snapped, “What?”
“I dinna believe Ramsay will let matters as they are stand much longer. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasna dragged her off to church already. Can ye really leave her to that fate?”
“Can I really take her from it? To what? Dinna ye think I havena thought this through? I had little else to do in that prison cell than go over every detail of every plan I could think of. None of them end well for her. What if she were hurt? I dinna ken where I will end up yet. How can I ask her to live a life of such uncertainty and danger?”
“But if ye love her…”
“Aye, all right ye wee prickling bastard. I love her. It is because I love her that I refuse to drag her into the mess my life has become. She deserves better than that. Better than me.”
“Perhaps she should be the judge of that.”
John gritted his teeth until his jaw cracked. “No. I’ll no’ have her risking herself for me. It’s over, Philip.” He sat on the narrow bunk and took a deep breath, the salt air reviving him a bit. “She’s feisty, resourceful. She’ll manage until we can find out what Fergus is up to and put a stop to him once and for all.”
John meant what he said. He couldn’t subject Elizabet to such an uncertain life. If she would even want it. He’d asked her to betray her own father. And she’d rightly condemned him for it. Even if she couldn’t shoot him.
But…he couldn’t leave her completely unprotected. “Watch over her for me, Philip, aye? Send word if she truly needs me.”
Philip nodded his head. “Aye, my friend. I will.”
John’s gut twisted. He should be the one ensuring Elizabet’s safety. But he’d done enough harm to her, enough damage to her life. He’d not make things worse. And if there was anyone he trusted near as much as himself or Malcolm, it was Philip. He would watch over her until John could do so again.
He rubbed at his chest, trying like a child might to ease the ache within.
Maybe, someday, it would work.
…
A knock sounded on her door, and Elizabet sighed. “I’m not hungry,” she said, hoping whoever it was went away.
The door opened, and Elizabet pinned the intruder with a furious gaze. Alice patted her hand again, and a twinge of guilt ran through her at the fearful hesitation in her maid’s eyes. She’d never been cross with Lucy before. But she had no wish to be disturbed, and Lucy had been made well aware of that fact.
“Pardon, my lady. But there is a visitor downstairs…”
“I wish to see no one. Send them away.”
“My lady, forgive me, but I think you’ll want to see this person.”
Elizabet was about to send the maid away, but curiosity got the better of her. “Why is that?”
“He didn’t come to the front door, my lady. He came to the kitchens and asked for me. He said to tell you,” she frowned as though trying to remember the exact words, “his name is Philip and that you have a mutual friend of whom he has news.”
Elizabet was already pushing past Lucy, the tiny flame of hope in her heart bursting into an inferno. “Where is he, Lucy?”
“Waiting in the kitchens, my lady.”
Elizabet didn’t waste time with any more questions. She flew down the back stairs, skirts bundled in her arms, Alice close on her heels. When she saw Philip in the kitchen she stopped short. He was thinner, pale, with dark circles beneath his eyes. He hadn’t had an easy time of it. But he was there, free. And smiling.
“My lady,” he said, removing his hat as he bowed. Then he bowed to Alice, his eyes lingering.
“You have news?” she prompted. She knew she should probably ask after him. He’d been taken, along with John. But she couldn’t wait for social niceties.
Philip’s gaze flickered back to her, and he nodded. “He is to be exiled.”
Relief and pain flooded through Elizabet with such force her knees gave way, and she sank into the chair Philip had vacated. He would live. But…exile. He would leave England, would never return. She would never see him again. She hadn’t thought it possible for her heart to break more than it already had, yet the pain struck her sharp and deep. She clung to the thought of his face, smiling down at her.
“He asked me to give ye this,” Philip said, handing her a letter.
“Thank you.” She took it and held it close to her bosom. She’d wait until she was in the privacy of her own room before she read it.
“I must leave, my lady. My laird departs with the tide.”
Elizabet’s gaze shot to his. “So soon?”
“Aye. The king felt it best that he be gone as soon as possible. Hoping it will appease his enemies, I believe.”
“Where will he be going?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Would it help to know where he would be? Or make it worse?
“Oh, France at first. From there, my laird hasna quite made up his mind. Seems right lost, truth be told. And it could be a long, lonely journey for a man on his own. Though he does have a private cabin on the ship. It’s small, to be sure, but I’m sure there is room if he were to find a companion…”
Her heart pounded in her chest, and she looked around the kitchen to see if they could be overheard. Lucy stood nearby, ensuring their privacy. Alice’s eyes were so wide her brows were nearly to her hairline.
Elizabet turned back to Philip. “He said he wants me to join him?”
“He didna specifically say so, no. However,” he said, before Elizabet could despair too much, “he is an honorable man. He would never suggest ye leave the comfort of yer home for an unknown life with an outlaw. No matter how much he may want ye with him. Especially when he believes ye hate him for what he asked ye to do.”
Elizabet sank back in her chair. He wanted her. That’s all she needed to know. “Thank you, Philip.”
He doffed his hat again and turned to leave. “A few hours, my lady. No more.”
She nodded, understanding his unspoken warning. She didn’t have much time to make the most important decision of her life.
The second the door closed, Alice whisked her back upstairs, locking the bedroom door behind them.
“Well?” she asked.
Elizabet stared at her, silent, her mind a whirl of emotion.
“Bess! What will you do?”
She shook herself out of it. There was no time to wallow in the storm raging within.
“I haven’t much time. I’ll need your help if I’m to leave without my father knowing. At this time of day, we are lucky. He won’t be home for a few more hours and Mother…”
“Elizabet.” Alice took her hands and gently pushed her into a chair. “I know you are overwhelmed with everything, and you probably can’t think of anything more than John not being sentenced to hang.”
She tried to stand back up. “Well, of course…”
“Please, think things through before you make a decision you can’t change.”
Elizabet stared at her, openmouthed.
“I will help you in any way I can, no matter what you choose,” Alice promised, “but I want to be sure you are making this decision rationally. If you leave with him, there is no turning back.”
Sitting in that chair to calmly consider her options went against everything in her heart. Her hands trembled with the need to run out the door after Philip and not stop until she was back in John’s arms.
“What is there to think about, Alice? I love him.”
“I know, my dear. And if you choose to run away with him, I will do whatever is in my power to ease your way. But consider what that will mean. Can you leave your home, live as an outlaw? Always looking over your shoulder? Penniless, if the Crown seizes his estates as they most likely will?”
“Why are you asking me this?”
Alice leaned forward. “Because I want you to truly consider the price you might have to pay.”
“I would be with the man I love.”
“Yes. But you haven’t known him long. And he is, in fact, a highwayman. A criminal, no matter what his motivations. Can you trust him? How would you live? What if you were to have children? Can you really give up this life and all you’ve known for him?”
Elizabet didn’t answer right away. Part of her was angry at Alice’s questioning. I love him! What else mattered?
But despite what she might be feeling, Alice was right. As miserable as her future might be if she stayed at home, it was certain, at least. Fergus would be intolerable, but eventually she might find a way to fight back. Perhaps be of some use to John instead of the hindrance she would probably be if she joined him. Give him some part of the justice he craved. She still wouldn’t worsen her mother’s lot by betraying her father. But Fergus…she’d give him up in a heartbeat.
With John…she would never know what the next day would hold. Exciting, in some aspects. But the thought of so much left to the fates or chance made her stomach curdle into knots.
And Alice was right. She didn’t know him well. If at all. Did she really love him? Or merely the idea of him?
But then other images came to her mind. Other memories. His eyes crinkling with merriment. The man would probably joke if they draped the noose over his neck. Elizabet flinched away from that thought, shoved it to the deep, dark recesses of her mind. She focused on other things. His strength, his loyalty. The sound of his voice…gruff or cultured, depending on the situation, but always his. His touch on her skin. His whispered words of love as he held her. His willingness to give up his own life for her, again and again.
Running away with him…she’d lose some things, yes. But she’d have him. Forever. And that thought made her heart sing.
“Yes, I can,” she finally answered. “If I had to live without him, if I had no choice but to let him go, I’d find a way to go on. I would keep breathing. But little else, I think. I do have a choice, though. And I choose not to lose him. I won’t allow him to slip away and leave me. When the soldiers came…he wouldn’t leave me. Not even to save his own life. I’m not going to leave him. He is my life.”
Alice smiled. “Well then. I think we have some packing to do.”
Elizabet laughed, her heart lighter than it had been since John had first been taken. She would be with him again. Soon. And this time, no one would separate them.