Chapter Twenty-Two
Annabel was surprised by how quickly the others accepted Fiona after she explained what had happened. It was partially sympathy for Fiona’s miserable situation, but it was mostly Theo—Theo had already made the decision and his siblings trusted him completely. They were loyal to him. They loved him. They’d followed him across half a country just so they could be with him after his long absence.
Did he have any idea how lucky he was? Did he even realize?
She had to swallow down a lump in her throat as she watched him speaking with Robert, their heads bent together.
“Wait,” Georgina said. “What do we do?”
“You stay here,” Theo said. “You’re already too involved as it is. Robert and I will escort Mrs. McKendrick and her daughter into Oban, where we’ll await tomorrow’s ship. We’ll leave at night to avoid detection. Everyone except Robert and I will stay here.”
Annabel blinked. “Pardon me?”
“It’s too dangerous,” Theo began.
Georgina wasn’t content with this explanation. “I see. You have some masculine need to protect the weaker sex.” She twisted the words derisively.
“No,” he said, his voice strained and impatient. “Only my sisters.”
Eleanor’s voice was quiet but strong when she spoke. “Then there is no reason Miss Lockhart shouldn’t go with you, if she wishes to.”
“It’s too dangerous for her, too,” Theo said, looking like he wanted to rip his own hair out.
“But she isn’t your sister,” Eleanor said.
“She’s—” He broke off abruptly, staring at Annabel. Her heart gave a startling thump. “It’s still dangerous.”
“I asked you to help me,” Annabel said. “Not take over completely. This is my responsibility.”
“Annabel—” He didn’t seem to realize he’d used her name in mixed company, or that everyone in the room had taken note, judging by the subtle shifts of movement—arched eyebrows, widened eyes—Georgina, however, was smirking, and Aunt Frances didn’t look very surprised, either.
“You won’t change my mind,” she said, ignoring them, only focusing on Theo.
“Very well,” he said curtly, seeming to realize an argument would be futile. “Robert, Miss Lockhart, and I will escort our guests to Oban. And that,” he said when Georgina opened her mouth to argue, “is final.”
They dispersed and Annabel helped Mary dress in the shirt and breeches she’d procured from a crofter family with a small boy. Though close enough in size, the garments hung off the girl’s slim frame. Annabel pinned up Mary’s long tresses as tightly as she could and covered them with a cap.
When Annabel stepped back to check her work, she smiled. Mary looked like an incorrigible scamp. Most importantly, with her sharp nose and chin and angular face, she looked like a boy scamp.
Then she went to Aunt Frances’s room to take a pistol from the hidden chest. Fiona would be alone in a new country; she would feel better if her sister had some form of protection, though she hoped she wouldn’t need it.
Frances was there, inviting her in, when she knocked softly on the door.
“I see we had the same idea,” Annabel said to her aunt, who’d retrieved the chest from the armoire.
Frances touched Annabel’s shoulder after she slipped one of the small pistols into her reticule. “Will you return?”
She jerked toward Frances, shocked. “Of course I will.”
“You don’t have to, my dear,” she said. “I would understand if you wanted to leave with your sister.”
“I…” A sharp pain cleaved her chest. For some reason, she hadn’t even considered the possibility. “But this is my home. You are my family.” She would do anything for her sister, but Frances was the one who’d taken her in, the one who accepted her, just as she was, the one who’d been here all this time.
“This won’t be our home for long,” Frances said.
Annabel opened her mouth to speak.
“This is Lord Arden’s home. I don’t know if I would feel right fighting to stay, especially knowing he’s been generous enough to look for other accommodations for us.”
“You mean rented rooms in Edinburgh?” Annabel said scornfully. “Very generous.”
“It is generous,” Frances said, mildly reproving. “You know this is a fight we won’t win.”
Something inside her cracked. Her aunt was right. Theo could have tossed them out with nothing but the clothes on their backs if he’d truly wanted to. And once Fiona and Mary were safe, there would be no pressing reason why she couldn’t leave. Except…except the very idea threatened to break her heart in two.
“I don’t want to leave you. We…we could all go, perhaps…” But then she’d never see Theo again.
But what did that matter? She could hope all she wanted, lust for him all she wanted, and it wouldn’t change anything. He wouldn’t accept affection easily, if he ever accepted it at all.
She was more practical than this; she wouldn’t let her emotions influence such a monumental decision.
But then Frances said, “I’m an old woman. I have no business starting a new life in a different country—I’m quite set in my ways. But you are young and adaptable. You should go if you wish to.”
She had no idea what she wished. “I doubt we’d have enough money, anyway. Fiona will need all she has to make a comfortable life for herself.”
“Lord Arden might.”
Annabel stared at her aunt, a strange yet familiar feeling descending on her like a shroud. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked, barely breathing.
Frances’s eyes widened. “No. No! Oh, my dear girl…I would love for you to stay with me. But I don’t want my own selfish feelings to get in the way of what you want. And I don’t…” She paused. “I don’t wish to see your heart broken.”
Annabel’s eyes burned. Her throat burned. “Do you think that is what will happen if I stay?”
“I think you’re hoping for things that may or may not happen. Lord Arden seems like a good man, but he’s also wounded.” Frances sighed. “I’ve known many men in my life, possibly more than I should have”—Annabel managed a wavering smile—“and they can be the most stubborn, hard-headed of creatures. They pretend that they’re easy, and they’re not. They take in all the little hurts life inflicts and they let them simmer, and they pretend nothing is wrong.”
Frances shook her head. “Your Lord Arden might heal, but it will be a slow process, and he might lose the best thing that could ever happen to him while he waits.”
Annabel nearly broke into tears when Frances absentmindedly tugged on a tendril of her hair, a gesture of affection that was so motherly, she wanted to curl up into a ball and cling tight to herself just so the feeling didn’t fade.
“I think I’m frightened,” she whispered, a mere breath of sound. About too many things to count—Fiona and Mary’s safety, and her own, about leaving the only place she’d ever loved, the only place she’d felt free, and Theo…everything about Theo frightened her to death.
“I know,” Frances said simply, and pulled her into a long hug.
That night Theo hitched the horses to the cart and set off at a slow clip on the winding road. A sliver of moon and dusting of stars shone a gentle light along their pathway, and the night was clear and cool. Annabel pulled the blanket more securely around herself and Mary, who was still half asleep. She managed to bump her elbow into Robert’s ribs and elicit a grunt in the process. The equipage was packed in rather tightly between four adults and a child, but a larger carriage wouldn’t have traversed the Highland roads very easily.
These roads had been designed for foot soldiers, in the case of a Jacobite insurrection, and not all of them had been maintained well since the threat of the Jacobites had died away.
Theo drove silently, while Robert chatted with them, rather amiably considering the seriousness of the situation.
“This is the most adventure I’ve had in some time,” he said. “Georgina and Eleanor will be jealous.”
“I’m not certain I would consider this a fun sort of adventure,” Annabel said, sharing a glance with Fiona.
“True, but you are both more than capable of meeting the challenge. Lovely and brave, it’s quite a combination.”
She laughed slightly and Fiona smiled. She’d always thought Robert’s flirtations were silly and amusing, but not particularly deep, but in this case, she realized he was doing his best to put them at ease. She wondered if there was more to Robert Townsend than she’d first assumed.
“I feel like I’m in a Defoe novel,” he continued.
“Well, perhaps one day you can write a book about the experience,” she said lightly.
“And I shall ask my brother to include a poem.”
Annabel had to stifle a giggle behind her hand. Fiona glanced at her. “What is it?”
“My brother thought he could be a poet,” Robert said mournfully.
“And I couldn’t,” Theo said, breaking his silence. “There’s no need to revisit the details.”
“Oh, I think there is,” Robert said. He began telling Fiona about Annabel’s challenge to his brother, but Annabel was only half listening. She was watching Theo instead. She could see the side of his face, and though his expression was strained, there was a slight curve to his lips.
She wanted to trace that curve with her fingertips, lick it with her tongue. She wanted to tease him just to see the way his face changed when he laughed.
She wanted…so many things.
And at the moment, all of them felt just beyond her grasp.