Claimed By The Laird Part 17

"You say that," Lucas said, "but Eyre-"

Something came into her eyes then, a shadow of puzzlement and suspicion. Lucas knew at once, with a lurch of the heart, that in his fear for her he had given himself away. He had robbed himself of the chance to tell her the truth in the way he wanted.

"You seem very well acquainted with what Mr. Eyre thinks," she said quietly. "How can that be?"

Lucas took a deep breath. "Because I've been working for Lord Sidmouth," he said. "I am the man he sent to bring your smuggling gang down."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"NO," CHRISTINA SAID. But she already knew that it was true. She could see the guilt in Lucas's eyes. For one long, terrible moment she wished the question unsaid, wished just to be ignorant, and happy in that ignorance. But it was already too late. A swarm of memories was pressing in on her; she remembered the smugglers capturing Lucas on his very first night in Kilmory when he had been spying on the cliffs. She thought of all the questions he had been asking and the fact that he had met openly with Eyre.

Lucas was not a servant. He had never been a servant. No wonder he had not been remotely deferential. He was a man accustomed to decision and command, authoritative, forceful and powerful.

Everything fell into place, forming a pattern of deception so bright and painful Christina was only astonished she had not seen it before. Lucas had hidden in plain sight and she had been so foolish, so besotted, not to see it.

She felt cold. She started to shiver and wrapped her arms about her. Suddenly her clothes seemed too thin, too flimsy to protect her. She needed something as a defense against him, and against the terrible, appalling images that were in her mind of the way she had made love without holding back, and in return he had lied to her.

"Let me explain-" Lucas started to say, but she shook her head, putting her hands over her ears. She felt so sick she could not even look at him, and she did not want to hear any more of his lies.

He had said he respected her and cared for her. "Don't say a word," she said. "Please. Don't speak to me."

Disgust and despair swept through her, making her shake with mingled anger and mortification. She felt hot; her stomach ached with sickness. Those who said that there was no fool like an old fool were correct. She had been dazzled. She had fallen in love with Lucas and it was all a fantasy. What hurt the most was the self-delusion. She had wanted it to be true and so she had believed it. She had seduced herself with an illusion. She blamed herself even more than she blamed him.

"I don't suppose that your name is even Lucas Ross," she said quietly. "And you are most certainly not a gardener-or a footman." Anger flared in her, sudden and hot. It felt good, better than cold misery.

"I should have seen it from the first," she said. "You were the worst d.a.m.ned servant there ever was-you did not even pretend to keep to your place. But I was so besotted I couldn't even see it!" She made a sound of disgust. "Well, you are sacked, Mr. Ross, or whatever your name really is. You will pack your bag and leave Kilmory at once." Then, realizing that she was about to be sick, she rushed into the closet, slamming the door behind her. She only just made it in time.

She was dimly aware that Lucas had followed her into the room. She wished she had bolted the door. But it was too late; he wrung out a cloth in the cool water from the bowl on the dresser and held it out to her, then when she refused to take it he went down on one knee beside her and wiped her face as though she was a child. She hated to admit it, but it did help her to feel better. He picked her up then, again as easily as though she was a child, and carried her back into the main room, putting her down on the sofa and crossing to the Armada chest where he started to rummage through the contents.

"Go away," Christina said.

He ignored the instruction. "I am looking for a shawl for you."

Christina slid off the sofa and fetched one herself. She saw his face darken at her refusal to accept his help. She ignored him, wrapping it tightly about her.

"Christina." He had come back to her. "Please-hear me out. Let me explain to you why I came here-"

"I don't think that there is any possible explanation that can excuse you, Mr. Ross," Christina said. She looked into his eyes and felt another wave of despair.

"How it must have amused you to play me," she said, trying to hide her hurt behind sarcasm and hearing the hollowness in her own voice. "You are a fine actor, Mr. Ross, but what a role, making love to the old spinster aunt. I hope they pay you well."

"Stop it," Lucas said. He sounded angry. He caught her elbows and drew her close. She tried to resist but it was hopeless; she was too tired and miserable, and anyway her body betrayed her, recognizing his touch, softening under it, wanting him still. She could have screamed in frustration. He was the last man she wanted to comfort her and yet she longed for him to take her in his arms and hold her and tell her he loved her.

"It was not like that," Lucas said. "It was never like that."

"It doesn't matter," Christina said wearily. "Let me go," she added quietly. "Let me go now."

Lucas released her at once and she felt even worse, cold, alone and so lonely it felt as though her heart was cracking in half.

"It matters," Lucas said fiercely. "It matters more than anything in the world. I regret nothing that happened between us, Christina."

Almost, she believed him. He looked so sincere. She had thought she could read his face so well, but she did not know him at all. She had not recognized his lies for what they were.

"You put at risk everything I cared about," Christina said. She felt the protective fury surge through her again. "You endangered the people I love, the clan I work so hard to protect." Her voice shook. "They are my life, Lucas, and you wanted to destroy it all."

She saw Lucas's eyes darken with anger. He was holding on to his temper with an effort and somehow the knowledge made her even more furious when he had no reason to be angry and she had every reason.

"I protected you," Lucas said. He spoke very quietly. "I did not tell Eyre about the whisky still. He could have arrested you days ago if I had spoken up."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" Christina snapped. "I am sure you had your reasons."

She saw some expression flicker in his eyes and knew she had hit on the truth. She felt another wave of sickening misery.

"What was it?" she said. "What was that reason?"

For a moment she was not sure he would answer. She saw a muscle tighten in his cheek. The line of his mouth and jaw was set hard, inflexible.

"I did not come here solely because of the smuggling," he said. He spoke slowly, as though he was reluctant. She understood that. So much damage had been done already that she shuddered at the thought of more devastation. He looked up; met her eyes.

"I came to find out what happened to my brother," he said.

She saw it then. She saw it in the slant of his cheek and the angle of head and the gaze of his dark eyes. She saw it and wondered how she could have been so blind before. Peter Galitsin had been a boy, and Lucas was most definitely a man, but the resemblance between the two of them was undeniable.

"Peter Galitsin," she whispered. She put out a hand to steady herself. The wall of the Round House felt chill against her hot palm. She remembered the questions Lucas had asked about Peter's death. He must have believed that the smugglers were connected to the murder. She felt sicker still, but there was nothing left in her stomach to be sick with.

"What is your real name?" she asked. It felt like a trivial question in a way, particularly when she had no idea whether he would tell her the truth or not. Desolation chilled her again. He had misled her in more ways than she could count.

"My name is Lucas Black," Lucas said. "Peter and I were half brothers."

Christina felt another flash of bitterness so sharp it felt like a dagger thrust. "So the tale you spun me about being illegitimate-"

"Was true," Lucas said harshly. "I was born out of wedlock to a Russian princess and a Scottish laird."

Christina gave a slight negative shake of the head. She did not know how to believe him now. She could not disentangle truth from falsehood. She remembered Lucas talking about a misspent youth on the streets. She thought of the pa.s.sion with which he had spoken of the scars of illegitimacy. Could it all be lies? She was not sure if it even mattered. She could never trust him now.

"I suppose you suspected me of killing your brother," she said with a flash of pain she could not hide. "That was the reason you did not denounce me to Eyre before. You were waiting to find out if I was guilty."

Lucas squared his shoulders. "I cannot deny that was how it started," he said. "I thought that the smugglers had something to do with Peter's death. You are their leader. So yes, that was what I believed to begin with." He gave her a very straight look. "But I had not been more than a week in your company before I knew that could never be the case. You would never do such a thing."

"If that is so, why did you not tell me the truth?" Christina demanded. She knew the answer almost as soon as she had spoken and did not wait for his reply. "You were afraid that if I learned you had deceived me, I would sack you," she said flatly. "You wanted to stay at Kilmory. So you kept lying, kept using me, pretended to care for me and all the time you were hoping I would lead you to your brother's murderer." She was ashamed of the way that her voice broke. "d.a.m.n you, Lucas," she said more quietly. "Why could you not have come here openly to ask about Peter? I would have helped you."

She turned away. She did not want him to see her like this, in pieces. "You were right," she said. "I want you to go. Leave Kilmory."

"No," Lucas said. His jaw had set stubbornly. "Christina-"

"Please," Christina said. "Stay at the Kilmory Inn if you wish to continue your inquiries. I don't care. But if you have even the smallest degree of respect for me, do not, I beg you, pester me with any more excuses."

She pushed blindly past him out of the Round House and stumbled down onto the beach. It was only then that she realized she was barefoot and had left her stockings and shoes behind. The sand felt cool between her toes. The breeze had a sharp edge. The blue twilight wrapped about her, but for once the timeless beauty of Kilmory could not touch her. She felt cold to the soul, with what was left of her heart shattered into a million pieces. She had been right all along about love. It hurt. You could lose it in an instant, and then everything changed.

d.a.m.nATION, BLAST AND b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l.

Lucas ran an exasperated hand through his hair.

That could not have gone much more badly. It had been far too little, far too late. He could see that now, now that the damage was done. His quest had blinded him to the hurt he would cause Christina when the truth finally came out. He had made some disastrous miscalculations, proving nothing to her other than that she could not trust him.

Fool. b.l.o.o.d.y fool.

She had been hurt so badly before. Her whole life, all her certainties, had been destroyed in one moment. Now he had unwittingly done the same thing, taken her certainties, taken her world, and broken it.

He went outside and sat on the flat stone facing the sea. The driftwood fire had burned down to a glow of smoldering ashes now. The sky over the sea was rose and gold. The breeze felt cold. He sat there for a long time, thinking.

In pursuing his search ruthlessly to the end he had lost the one thing he had come to care for above all else: Christina, and the promise of a future with her.

Yet Peter deserved justice, too. He could not simply abandon his brother's cause, not when Peter's murderer was still out there, not when no one else would ever bring him to justice. He felt horribly torn. He could not leave Kilmory without doing all he could to discover the truth. But more important still was the need to prove to Christina that she could believe in him.

I would have helped you, Christina had said. He wondered if, even now, she might be persuaded to do so. She had such a pa.s.sionate belief in natural justice. He had to trust that her goodness, her generosity, would help him now, even though he did not deserve it.

Lucas got to his feet slowly. The urge to go after Christina, to override all her objections, was strong, but equally powerful was the respect he had for her. He could not force her to help him. This time he had to earn her trust. He had to win her all over again.

It was as he emerged onto the beach that he saw Eyre galloping across it on a rangy gray, the sand kicked up by its hooves into a spray. As Eyre saw him he reined in and drew to a halt. He did not dismount but sat looking down on Lucas from a great height, his eyes narrowed.

"Out late, Mr. Ross."

"I've been swimming," Lucas said with a shrug. "Gardening is a dirty business."

"So is spying," Eyre said pleasantly. "I hear you've been busy seducing the duke's daughter as part of your investigation. Nice work, Mr. Ross. I hope it was worth it."

With the greatest effort of will Lucas kept his mouth shut and his hands from Eyre's throat. The excise officer only wanted to provoke him; Lucas knew that. But it was almost impossible not to defend Christina and give the man the confirmation he sought.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Eyre?" he said coldly.

"Not really," Eyre said. "I've got an informer in the castle now. I don't need your help." The horse sidestepped as Eyre's hands tightened on the reins. He looked up at the cliff and following his gaze, Lucas could see a number of other riders on the track at the top. "We're on our way to the whisky still now," Eyre said. "Word is we'll catch the smugglers in the act tonight."

"Best of luck," Lucas said, feigning boredom over the sudden pounding of his heart. Surely, he thought, Christina would not have gone straight from him to the whisky still. Yet angry, disillusioned and miserable, she might well have wanted to hide away from the prying eyes of her family. He felt the tension grab him like a vise.

Eyre raised a hand in a mocking salute and galloped away. Lucas forced himself to walk slowly back along the beach toward the castle as though he had not a concern in the world, but as soon as he was out of sight he broke into a run.

There was a spy at Kilmory, someone who had betrayed Christina and her smuggling gang to the excise officers. He wondered who that person could be. The irony was that Christina would believe that he was the traitor. She would never believe his protestations of honesty now, a.s.suming he ever had the chance to see her again. He thought of Eyre and his cohorts heading along the loch to the whisky still and he ran faster.

He pounded on the front door of the castle and it felt like hours before Galloway came, stately as a galleon, to open it.

"Mr. Ross?" The butler's face was set in lines of deep disapproval. "This is the front door. The servants' entrance-"

"I'm aware of where it is," Lucas said tersely. "I need to see Lady Christina."

The butler looked both affronted and wary, and in that moment Lucas knew that the servants were all aware of his affair with Christina and that Galloway utterly deplored it and would never in a hundred years allow him to see Christina or pa.s.s on any message to her.

"Her ladyship is not at home," Galloway said, and started to swing the door closed, but Lucas blocked it with a slap of his palm on the wood. The butler jumped.

"Has she gone to the whisky still?" Lucas demanded.

Galloway blinked at him, impervious, silent.

"d.a.m.n it, man," Lucas roared. "Tell me!"

"Mr. Ross!" Galloway was shaking with fury. "You are insolent. You will be dismissed from your post."

"Too late," Lucas said. "Lady Christina has already sacked me." He turned away. He could not afford the time to see if Christina was inside the castle. He did not want to draw further attention to the fact that she might be missing or indeed to their relationship, though it seemed it was too late for that. The only thing he could do was go to the whisky still and hope against hope that she would not be there.

He knew that if she had gone there he would be too late. The excise officers had fifteen minutes advantage and they were on horseback. They would be at the bothy already.

He turned and ran.

Too late...

The stones slid beneath his boots. The heather and bracken whipped at his legs. As he came around the headland toward the loch, he saw smoke rising into the still blue of the night sky. His heart gave a huge thump of fear. Eyre had set the bothy alight.

Lucas ran up the slope. It felt as though his lungs were bursting, but he drove himself on. He could not see the excis.e.m.e.n anywhere. The bothy door swung wide, hanging off its hinges. The lock had been smashed. The interior was alight and burning fiercely; the smoke was thick and choking, gla.s.s shards everywhere from the broken window.

Lucas rested a hand against the splintered door frame and drew in deep gulps of fresh air.

Christina. He had to find Christina.

Then he heard shouts and the drumming of hooves. Fresh fear gripped him. Pushing away from the door, he ran out onto the path. The moon was up now and it illuminated the hunt below. He could see the figure of a woman, cloaked and hooded, fleeing through the heather down toward the edge of the loch. She was sure-footed and did not stumble or hesitate once. Her cloak billowed out behind her like a sail, black against the inky blue of the night and the purple haze of the heather. But for all her speed, she was not going to get away. Lucas could see the trap. Behind her the riding officers were fanning out, a half dozen of them on horseback in a semicircle, some of them driving her downhill toward the water, some of them coming in along the sh.o.r.e of the loch.

Soon she would have nowhere to run.

She reached the edge of the loch and half turned to look behind. Eyre was thundering down through the bracken at her back, the others shouting, circling, drawing ever closer, their blood lit with the excitement of the chase, all except Bryson, who appeared to be having a short, sharp argument with Eyre. Eyre raised his pistol and the breath jammed in Lucas's throat on a shout. He saw the riding officer try to level the pistol and heard the snap of the shot. Christina checked for a second in her headlong flight along the edge of the loch.

Eyre was trying to kill her.

He did not want to capture her. He did not want to take her prisoner. He wanted her dead.

Sheer, atavistic terror grabbed Lucas by the throat. He set off down the hill toward them, knowing it was hopeless, that there was nothing he could do to save Christina and that Eyre would surely have shot her before he got there. But he would take the man down and kill him for what he was doing, for the hunt, and the terror and the cold-blooded execution.

Christina had reached the point where a spit of shingle ran out into the waters of the loch. Eyre was so close at her back that Lucas saw him reach out to grab her cloak and only just miss. Christina did not hesitate. She walked into the loch. Lucas saw her skirts billow out, her cloak spreading across the water.

She would rather drown than give herself up to these thugs and bullies.