Chapter Two
While John MacGregor wished nothing more than to accompany the delectable Elizabet back to Barrington Manor himself, he needed to find out what in the seven blazes of hell Fergus Campbell, or Ramsay as he appeared to be calling himself, was doing so far from his father’s lands in Scotland. Or why he was so far from London, where he’d been sent after the skirmish at Glenlyon.
Fergus, it seemed, shared his eagerness. Fergus looked him up and down with a sneer that had John clenching his fists for control.
“Well, well. The Highland Highwayman.” He spat the name out as though it left a foul taste upon his tongue. “I must admit I’d assumed the tales of your deeds were merely bedtime stories to amuse children. And yet, here you are. Quite far from your home, it would seem. I must admit, I find you…disappointing. I suppose most fantasies fail to live up to reality.”
“Aye, as yer fantasies of assuming leadership of the Campbell clan never lived up to reality. I didna think to see ye again after the MacGregor Lion sent ye scampering back to yer mother after yer ill-advised campaign.”
Fergus’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You give yourself away. You must be one of Malcolm MacGregor’s lapdogs. Only a MacGregor would believe the lies he has spread of our little skirmish. And his prowess. A failure I shall remedy the next time we meet.”
“I’m sure he looks forward to that day, Campbell.”
Fergus’s expression darkened, and John couldn’t keep a satisfied smile from his lips. “My apologies,” John said, though his tone betrayed no such remorse. “Ramsay now, is it?”
“My mother’s name, and the only one I claim.”
John raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure yer father might disagree…”
“I have no father,” Fergus spat. “A man who would betray his only son, turn him in like some criminal—”
“Ye are a criminal,” John said, raising the pistol a bit. “What else do ye call waging war on a neighboring clan against the orders of yer father and chief?”
“I did what my father was too weak to do. I kept our clan safe, made it strong.”
“You ransacked villages with no cause, maimed and killed innocents, stole or destroyed crops and livestock, and devastated countless lives. And were sent to London for appropriate punishment. Which, I see, ye managed to weasel yer way out of.”
“And how do you know so much about it?”
“I keep my eyes open and my ears to the ground. The charges against ye were grievous.”
Fergus gave him a sneering smile. “It helps to have sponsors who will vouch for you. Oh, you needn’t worry. I spent a few weeks languishing in that hellhole they call a prison. But, as I said, the word of a few well-placed men who know the right people goes a long way.”
“And where did ye get the money to buy yerself such support? I know yer father wouldna have helped ye.”
“How would you know anything about my father? Have you switched loyalties? Abandoned your MacGregor master for a Campbell? I suppose it matters little. Sending a masked coward to prance about the forests at night would be a likely thing for either of them to do.”
John’s grip tightened on his pistol, his finger itching to pull the trigger.
“I dinna work for anyone. But I make it my business to ken what is going on.”
“Yes, well isn’t it fortunate to have two parents? The inheritance from my English mother bought my freedom and will buy me a highborn English wife. And I’ll use her to breed the Scottish taint from my blood once and for all.”
The thought of Fergus laying one hand on Elizabet filled John with a rage so strong it soured his stomach. He pulled a second pistol from his belt and leveled them both at Fergus.
“Get off yer horse before I shoot him out from under ye.”
Fergus cocked a brow.
“Willing to fight a duel for a bit of skirt you don’t even know? I didn’t realize you were so foolhardy. I’m one of the best swordsmen in the country.”
“Maybe so, but that is relevant only if I were intending to use a sword. Or fight a duel. Which I’m not. I’m merely giving ye the opportunity to die on yer feet. Now, get down,” he said, giving each pistol a little shake.
Before Fergus could answer, the sound of another horse approaching filtered through the trees, and both men stopped to see who approached.
Philip, John’s friend, distant cousin, and right-hand man slowly entered the clearing.
He reined in his horse and took in the scene before him, his masked eyes glancing at John for silent orders. His appearance returned some semblance of sanity to John, though he gripped the pistols so tightly his joints ached. While he’d love nothing more than to ensure Fergus never left that clearing, it would solve nothing. Well, actually it would solve a great deal. But it would also cause more complications than John had the time or desire to deal with. He finally gave a slight shake of his head and stifled a sigh.
Fergus briefly glanced at Philip, his face twisting in a grimace before turning back to John. “We will have to settle this another time. I must return to the manor. Elizabet’s father and I still have a few points to finalize. And I’m suddenly very eager to claim my bride.”
His lecherous smile had John taking a step toward him, his guns raised again. Philip moved his horse closer, keeping his distance, though obviously ready to intervene, if needed.
“If I were you, ye wee bastard, I’d be sure never to cross my path again,” John said.
Fergus didn’t even bat an eye. “You’re awfully eager to see my blood spilled. Not that I care one wit about your pathetic vendetta. But I am curious as to what has spurred such an ungodly hatred.”
John’s chest heaved with the effort it took not to kill the piece of human filth before him. “I have vowed to avenge my brother’s death. I’ll not rest until you are in the ground with him.”
Ramsay’s eyebrows rose at that. “Oh? Did I kill him?” he said, his tone as happily casual as if he were asking if he might have another cake at tea.
John’s finger itched to squeeze the trigger. “He was a soldier, killed while attempting to apprehend a band of smugglers.”
Ramsay shook his head with a tsking sound. “Such dangerous times in which we live.” He smiled down at John. “My condolences to your family.”
“Ye filthy, murdering bastard!” John lunged, but Philip moved his horse to block him.
Ramsay glared at him. “What makes you think I had anything to do with the death of some obscure soldier on a godforsaken moor?”
John smiled, though he knew the expression was as cold as the ice running through his veins. “There have been rumors about your involvement. And as I never said where my brother was killed, I’d say you just confirmed those suspicions.”
Ramsay’s face paled, but he maintained his arrogant attitude. “I’m sure the word of a highwayman will hold up nicely in court,” he said, his smug smile turning John’s stomach.
John swore and took aim over Philip’s horse, but Fergus laughed and wheeled his horse about, disappearing into the trees before John could say anything else.
John rounded on Philip. “Why did ye stop me? He killed Angus! He all but admitted it.”
Philip dismounted. “Maybe so. Or maybe he was merely trying to rile ye into a temper. Either way, there’s naught ye can do about it now. Killin’ him would have brought ye more trouble than ye need.”
John shoved his pistols back into their holsters, his lungs burning as though he’d run ten miles. The death of his brother still festered, raw and unforgiving. Having Fergus throw it in his face was a bitter pill to swallow.
“What was Fergus Campbell doing here?” Philip asked.
“Fergus Ramsay, he’s callin’ himself now,” John all but spit out. “I’m no’ sure what his plans are, but I dinna think he’s up to any good.” He tore his eyes from the spot where Fergus had disappeared into the trees and looked at Philip. “How did ye find me?”
“I was watching the manor as ye asked. As far as I can tell, Lord Dawsey is planning on leaving in the morning, so I’ve sent word to the men to ready themselves for daybreak.”
John nodded his agreement and waited for Philip to continue.
“There was a great uproar when the girl’s horse turned up without her. I saw Fergus and recognized him. Thought I’d follow and see if I could discover what the wee bastard was doing here. And found you.”
John rammed his hand through his hair and kicked some dirt over the fire before mounting his own horse. “He’s up to no good. He’ll bear some watching.”
Philip regarded him until John nearly squirmed under his gaze. “What is it, man?”
Philip shrugged. “Ye think he had something to do with what happened to Angus?”
“How else would he know of the death of an obscure soldier? If he wasna standing on that moor with the smugglers, he wasna far away.”
“So, this is about yer brother then? Not about this girl?”
John was about to argue, but Philip wouldn’t believe him anyway. “Not entirely, but aye, I’d pity any woman bound to that bastard.”
“Aye,” Philip agreed. “But there’s no law against it, John. Like it or not, she’s not our concern. Ye need to keep yer distance. Or all our plans will be for naught.”
John clenched his jaw until his teeth ached, and he wheeled his horse around without answering. Philip was right. He couldn’t risk everything they’d worked toward because he had taken a passing fancy to some girl. And while he was certain Fergus knew more about his brother than he’d said, he was also certain Fergus wasn’t the man in charge of the operation. As much as he ached to slide a blade between Fergus’s ribs, he might be their best chance at taking down the bigger game.
Besides, he might be able to spear two rabbits with one arrow and prevent Fergus from marrying Elizabet by taking Fergus himself down. Whatever he was doing in England, John was sure he was up to no good.
Discover that, and he could bring Fergus the justice he richly deserved, avenge his brother, and save Elizabet from a life of misery.
…
Elizabet leaned back against the cushions of the carriage bench, her head pounding with frustration. After a token exclamation of concern at her adventure of the day, her parents had spent the better part of the afternoon berating her for risking the match with Fergus Ramsay. The only match likely for her now that her reputation was jeopardized, and that was if he’d still have her. Servants talked. By the time they reached London, half the town would likely know she’d been found in intimate circumstances with an outlawed highwayman.
She seriously doubted anyone in London would care, as most of them had done far worse. Then again, most had the wherewithal not to get caught. And the fact that the man was a notorious criminal didn’t do her any favors. Had he been anyone else, her transgression would hardly have made a ripple.
Under the circumstances, her parents had thought it best to promptly pack their bags and head back to London, despite the doctor’s advice for Elizabet to rest for the night and postpone journeying until the next day, at least. They’d bundled her into the carriage before they’d had a chance to digest their dinner, hoping to beat the gossip to town.
“Father,” she finally said, interrupting yet another tirade. “I know Mr. Ramsay is wealthy and that his money could help the family. But we don’t even know where his wealth comes from. We know nothing about him, really. Shouldn’t we find out before…”
“That is none of your concern, young lady!” Her father threw up his hands and sat back against his seat, glancing at her mother for validation. “Honestly, listen to the cheek of the girl. Pretending to know anything of the situation. Acting as though she knows best.”
“But Father, he could be a criminal, or…”
He turned his attention back to Elizabet. “Judging by what happened today, you can hardly complain about that! You seem to have no trouble with criminals. I do not care where his wealth comes from. I care only that he’s willing to spend it to get himself a wife. Your only dowry is some run-down estates from your grandmother. All you have is that pretty face and a good family name to entice a husband. We are not going to turn down the one man who is willing to take you with little incentive and is willing to pay for the honor. We must pray he still wants to do so after this incident.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong, Father. Except nearly get myself killed in the storm.”
“I’ll not discuss it any further!”
“But don’t you find it odd that the man was born in Scotland but speaks without a hint of an accent? Or that no one knows why he was sent from home in disgrace, or if he even was, for that matter? That is my point exactly. No one seems to know anything about him. At all. You don’t find that concerning?”
“I don’t care what occurred in his past or what youthful indiscretions got him sent away from Scotland. Godforsaken place, anyway. Why anyone would choose to live there, I can’t imagine. I care only that he does not change his mind about the future. You very nearly ruined us all!”
He turned back to her mother. “Imagine the insolence, riding out against our wishes. Getting caught in that storm. Being found in the arms of some outlaw in the middle of the woods.”
Elizabet started to argue that point again but realized that, strictly speaking, it was true. Still… “Father, I’ve told you, nothing happened. He rescued me, found shelter, tried to keep us warm. That is it. When you say it like that, it sounds so much worse than what actually occurred.”
“Yes, that is the problem. It doesn’t matter what really happened, only what people will say happened. Mr. Ramsay was certainly too much of a gentleman to mention it, but servants talk, Elizabet. Don’t ever forget that. I bet half the county knows of your little tête-à-tête by now. We can only hope the gossip doesn’t ruin everything!”
Elizabet turned to look out the window and choked back the lump in her throat. Her father would never see reason. How could he auction off his only child to the highest bidder? She’d never understand. Nor would she ever do such a thing to her own children, should she have any. With Fergus. Though handsome enough, his cold demeanor overshadowed his pleasing features. He never acted overtly cruel, but something about him unsettled her. The thought of being married to him sent a cold shiver up her spine. She, however, had no say in the matter, even though she would never love him.
She repressed a shudder.
“Do stop pouting, dear,” her mother said. “You’ll get frown lines.”
Elizabet bit her lip and kept her gaze firmly out the window, though she couldn’t see much in the night. The moonlight illuminated some of the landscape, but not a great deal. The lanterns swinging from the carriage cast ominous shadows on their surroundings. Or maybe that only reflected her mood.
The exhaustion of being the Earl of Dawsey’s daughter always pulled at her. Always aware that she must live up to the reputation her father had worked so hard to cultivate. That of a prosperous lord in great favor with the king. A pretense, in point of fact, but one that must be maintained at all times. Her father lived in deathly fear of his peers discovering how precarious his position was, both at court and with his creditors.
As a lord who’d supported the former Lord Protector of the Commonwealth of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Oliver Cromwell, Lord Dawsey had navigated an almost impressive road back to favor, or tolerance more like, once King Charles II had regained his throne. Elizabet was fairly certain the only reason her father hadn’t ended up swinging from a rope at Tyburn was because the king simply didn’t have the time or resources to exact retribution from all the traitorous subjects who had deserved it. The most prominent ones had been punished, naturally. Her father had never been prominent, though, no matter who ran the kingdom. A fact which beleaguered him, but had probably saved his neck.
And now, furthering his ambitions claimed all his attention. As his only child, an attractive daughter of marriageable age, Elizabet’s value as his most prized possession lay in what she could bring him through her marriage.
She tried to put everything out of her mind. Everything but the charismatic man who’d rescued her in the forest. She would think of him for the rest of her days, regretting only that they hadn’t had more time together. She’d have liked to have had a kiss to remember through the cold, lonely years married to a man like Fergus Ramsay.
She closed her eyes and sighed.