Saving the Scot, page 32
He stumbled out onto the main thoroughfare, Princes Street. He remembered the address of the attorney, but got confused about the direction. Sunlight stabbed bolts of pain through his eyes and into his brain. Just like the spiteful Scottish sun to choose this day of all others to shine like the blazes.
A hack stopped in front of him. Blasted Nathan Robertson leaned out the cab window and laughed. “Turned you down again, did she? Poor sod.”
Ian shaded his eyes and swayed. It was becoming more and more difficult to see properly.
“Something wrong, Sinclair?” When he didn’t answer, Robertson got out and ushered him into the hack with him. The hack provided blessed shelter from the sunlight. “Where are you going, man? I’ll take you to the address,” Robertson said.
What seemed like an eternity later, Robertson helped him out of the hack. “Are you certain this is the right place, Sinclair? It’s a solicitor.”
“Aye,” Ian said. “This is the right place.”
“Will you be all right? You dinnae look well.”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
Ian barreled through the door and pounded up the stairs to the office of Andrew Carlisle, Esquire. “Carlisle,” he called. “Open the door. It’s Ian Sinclair. I need…” He rested his forehead on the cool wood of the door and gathered the strength to call again, the sound inside his head only amplifying the pain. “I need to talk to you.”
The door opened. “Captain Sinclair. You look unwell.”
“Where’s the Crawford boy? Rory? Where is my son?”
Carlisle helped him to a comfortable chair and got him a brandy while he explained the key details of what had transpired over the last three months. Yes, the Crawford woman did suspect she was dying. No, the boy had not been informed of her passing. Yes, she’d made arrangements for the bulk of her property to be liquidated and held in trust for the boy. No, the boy has no other blood relatives who have laid claim to him.
“Rory has been at the Danderhall Academy since the first of September,” Carlisle said. “It’s what the Crawford woman wanted and, therefore, what I assumed you wanted.”
“Is he well?”
“As far as I know, yes. The headmaster has been instructed to send quarterly reports to my office.”
“And he has no one?”
“No one. Mrs. Crawford did state in her will that she wished for the boy’s natural father to assume full custody.”
Ian nodded. The beast inside his head settled, his headache ebbed, and he could breathe normally again.
“When I met with Mrs. Crawford, I assured her that your intention was to claim the boy. She said my assurance gave her great comfort.”
“Did she.” Carlisle recognized Ian’s question as a statement and did not answer.
“The Danderhall Academy has an excellent reputation. I know the headmaster personally. You may, of course, leave the boy there with confidence or…”
“Or?”
“Or you can collect Rory and take him into your household.”
For the first time, the thing that made his brain itch spoke to him with words. Or maybe it had always spoken to him and Ian had never listened until now. It said in loud capital letters, Rory’s place is with you.
“Today? Can I get him today?”
“You can remove him anytime you like.”
An hour later, he reached for the knocker on the front door of his sister’s house and, with a healthy measure of dread, he let it fall. His brother-in-law Mark Pendergast answered the door.
“Ian. You’re back. Good to see you, man,” Mark said and hauled Ian inside. “Come on in. Maggie will be glad to see your face.”
Ian heard Maggie call his name before she trundled down the stairs with open arms to greet him. After a fierce embrace, she pulled away and examined his face carefully. “What’s happened?”
“Sit down. I have something to tell you, sister.”
Chapter Eighteen
Late that afternoon, Ian stood before the headmaster of Danderhall Academy for Boys with one hand crooked behind his back, and a book clutched to his chest with the other. He waited more or less at attention while the bespectacled, berobed, and bewildered headmaster read the document from his solicitor. Ian felt like he was fourteen again and in deep trouble. Any minute, the headmaster would ask him to hold out his hand for a tawsing.
At last the headmaster peered over his spectacles and said, “Master Rory has only been with us for a month, hardly time to adjust completely, but his performance thus far appears promising. Are you absolutely certain this is the wisest course of action?”
“I believe the age of six is young to be separated from family, sir.”
“From what I know, you are a stranger to the boy.”
A trickle of sweat ran down Ian’s temple despite the chill in the air. “I would like the chance to put that right, sir.”
“There is the additional trauma of finding out his grandmother has expired,” the man said.
“Aye. I know. All the more reason he needs family.”
The headmaster sniffed in a lungful of air through his long beaky nose and returned to the letter. After another interminable minute, he said, “You understand my hesitation is born only from a concern for Master Rory’s well-being.”
“Of course, sir.” The wait had begun to test Ian’s patience. The matter was clear. Ian had the power to take his son whenever he wished. If the perverse pedagogue continued to stand in his way, Ian would walk over him to get to Rory.
At last the headmaster rose and gestured to a chair. “You may have a seat. I’ll return with the boy in a few minutes.”
Left alone, he set down the book he’d purchased for Rory, one of Ian’s favorite stories as a lad. The muscles in his arms and legs cramped and trembled very much like they would before battle. This wasn’t a battle, he told himself, but lives were at stake, his and Rory’s.
His gaze drifted over the bookcase, desk, globe, and mismatched chairs positioned in corners of the room. The wood-paneled study was awash with afternoon light streaming in through a large bay window. Outside, at least two dozen boys of various ages ran about on a field playing tag. The younger lads had no chance, but seemed to enjoy the game no less than the older ones. Was one of them Rory? Would he be able to pick him out from the rabble?
He heard voices, and Ian spun toward the door. The headmaster entered, nudging Rory inside saying, “This is Captain Sinclair. He would like to talk to you. I’ll be just outside if either of you need me.”
Ian stood speechless, drinking in his son—lean, wiry, with hair cropped shorter than the last time he’d seen him at the Leith Docks. Rory wore the short pants and coat that was the academy uniform. His socks had fallen and bunched around his ankles and his left knee was skinned. Had anyone been there to comfort the boy?
Rory watched him with dispassionate gray-blue eyes so like his brother Alex’s it made Ian’s heart hurt. He reached out a hand and said, “Do you remember me, Rory?”
With a solemn face, Rory placed his small hand in Ian’s and shook. “Aye, sir. You’re the captain.”
Ian smiled ruefully. “Aye.” He took a deep breath. “I have some difficult things to tell you. Do you think you’re old enough to hear them?”
Rory’s brow buckled slightly and he made a tentative nod.
“Did your gran ever talk about your da?”
“She said he got lost after the war but one day he’ll find his way home and be my da. That’s why I didnae want to come here. If he comes home, he might not know where I am.”
Ian didn’t know whether to curse or bless the woman for the fabrication. He bent to one knee to be eye level with the lad. “I found you, Rory. I’m your real da.”
Rory’s brows drew together, the thin dark arches identical to his own. “Why did you not tell me before? When we met on the dock? Did my gran scare you? She scares a lot of people.”
Ian almost smiled at Rory’s concern. “No, son. I wasnae scared. I had to go away. It was a long voyage. I’m sorry I didnae get here sooner.”
Rory smiled. “It’s all right. You’re back now.”
“Thank you.” He choked on the words. Of all the reactions Ian had expected from Rory, mercy was not one of them. Swamped by emotion, he struggled to maintain calm. Steeling himself, he said, “Now I have to tell you the hardest part, Rory.”
Rory looked at him long and hard, his chin dimpling. In a small voice, he asked, “Did my gran die?”
“Aye, son.”
The boy’s face rippled. Ian reached out with one arm, and Rory fell against his shoulder. Ian held him, his palm nearly spanning the boy’s narrow back. He hadn’t known until this second how much he wanted to hold his son. The thing inside his head uncoiled and the rightness of the moment spilled over his whole body. Ever since he’d learned of his existence, Ian had, in some sense of the word, loved Rory. Now, he knew he would love the boy with a full heart and forever.
Playtime was over, and the raucous mob of boys tumbled into the hallway outside the office. Ian gathered his son into his arms and walked to the far corner of the room where Rory’s grief would be his own. He sat in a chair, stood Rory on his feet in front of him, and waited. When it looked as though the boy had recovered somewhat, he retrieved his handkerchief, and handed it to him. “Take this and blow.”
Rory dutifully obeyed, and returned the handkerchief. As Ian pocketed the thing, he asked, “Do you like it here?”
Rory shrugged one shoulder noncommittally. At Ian’s doubtful look, he said. “Nae.”
“Would you like to come live with me?” Ian held his breath, waiting for Rory’s answer.
On the carriage ride back to Edinburgh, Ian gave Rory the book he’d purchased for him before he left for Danderhall. Rory read the fly page out loud, mispronouncing some of the words and stumbling over the more difficult ones. “The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner: Who lived eight and twenty years all alone in an un-inhabited island on the coast of America, near the mouth of the great river of Oroon…Oroon…”
“Oroonoque,” Ian assisted.
“Oroonoque; having been cast on shore by shipwreck, wherein all the men perished but himself. An account of how he was at last strangely delivered by pirates.”
“Well read.”
Rory smiled at the praise. “Is that what happened to you?”
Ian considered his earnest question. “Sort of. I wasnae shipwrecked, but I did feel like I was all alone. And I wasnae rescued by pirates.”
“Who rescued you?”
“A pretty lady with green eyes who likes to wear trousers.”
Rory’s eyes opened wide. “Is she a fairy?”
So bittersweet was the moment, Ian laughed even though it hurt to do so. “Nae, son. She does remind me of a pixie, the kind that causes all sorts of trouble, but she’s a real lady.” She was a real lady that had, for one glorious hour, been his, and then he’d lost her. But he’d found his son. If there was one thing he’d learned from Louisa, it was that his son needed him. And, if he was completely honest with himself, he needed his son.
…
Louisa regretted her harsh treatment of Ian almost immediately after he left. Ian had been furious with her when he’d discovered her deception but he’d given her an opportunity to explain herself. She hadn’t even given him that. Had she leaped to the wrong conclusion? Was Ian’s reason for marrying as he had said, that he loved her? Had she been too hasty to think that he’d only wanted a mother to care for his son? She went to her room and stayed there for the rest of the day, refusing to see anyone.
The next morning, Nathan told her about meeting Ian on Princes Street in a sorry state. “What did you say to the man, Lou? He looked like hell.”
Louisa knew then she had been terribly wrong. She had to find him. Despite his protests, Nathan took her to where he’d left Ian, the office of a solicitor by the name of Carlisle. The man claimed she was asking for information that was confidential. He was of no help at all. A trip to the Leith Docks also proved fruitless as the Gael Forss had already left port. Had Ian gone away, as well?
Days passed and with each one, her anxiety grew. Nathan’s and Connor’s pointed questions regarding Captain Sinclair’s intentions had only sharpened her unease. She wouldn’t tell them about her quarrel with Ian. Their opinion of him had soured and discovering he had a son would only further complicate matters.
On the morning of November third, Louisa stirred to the sound of the upstairs maid refreshing her basin water.
“Morning, miss,” Constance chirped. “That captain fellow you were expecting just arrived.”
Louisa bolted upright in bed with a gasp. “He is?”
“Aye. He’s talking to Mr. Nathan in the parlor.”
Heart beating with a combination of relief and anticipation, she bounded out of bed. “Quick, Connie. Help me dress.”
Louisa’s impatience to see Ian made dressing and putting her hair in order twice as difficult. Partly because Constance was not a lady’s maid and had no idea how to assist, but mostly because Louisa’s sudden, jerky movements only complicated the ordeal.
When she deemed her reflection presentable, she raced down the corridor. The front door closed as she reached the top of the stairs. Nathan stood in the entry.
“Did Ian leave?” she asked glaring down at him. “Did you send him away?”
Nathan’s expression hardened. “Captain Sinclair came to formally withdraw his offer of marriage.”
“What?” Louisa picked up her skirts and tore down the stairs. She shoved past Nathan and reached for the front door.
“Lou, wait. Dinnae go do that—” Nathan called.
She ignored her brother. He’d do and say anything to hurt Ian and spoil her happiness. Outside on the front steps, she spotted Ian climbing into a hack, and shouted to him. When he didn’t turn to acknowledge her, she ran to the carriage door and flung it open. Ian’s face lifted, startled by her intrusion.
“Ian Sinclair, get out of this carriage and face me like a man,” she shouted. When he didn’t move, she hiked her skirts up and made an unladylike leap into the carriage. She settled in the seat across from him, chest heaving, hair and skirts in disarray. “How dare you speak to my brother without talking to me?”
His expression was so laden with conflicting emotion, she couldn’t read it. Sorrow and happiness, desire and reserve, anger and relief. Her tears started then.
Ian was quiet for a long time. He handed her his handkerchief, which she took, gratefully. She would have rather he held her, but he seemed determined not to touch her.
At last he said, “Your brother thought it best I not speak to you directly.”
“My brother is an arse,” she blurted.
A smile flashed across his handsome face and faded. “I made a mess of things. I’m sorry.”
“So, you dinnae want to marry me anymore?”
“I want you, more than you will ever know. But my son needs me. His gran died. He has no one, and—”
“May I meet him?” she asked.
Ian cocked his head, as if he didn’t understand the question. “You want to meet him? Why?”
“Because he’s your son. He’s a part of you. Of course, I would want to meet him.”
“You’re no’ angry wi’ me?”
“I’m furious with you. I cannae believe you would ask me to marry you without telling me about him, but…” Louisa inhaled a shaky breath. “Oh, Ian, I miss you so much. Will you hold me?”
He scooped her into a tight embrace and buried his face in her hair. “Give me another chance, Louisa. I need you. I love you.”
“Take me to Rory.”
She trembled in his arms. Ian must have thought she was shivering, because he released her suddenly and said, “Where the hell is your cloak? Are ye daft? You cannae go out in November without a coat.” He launched himself out of the carriage. “Wait here. I’ll fetch your things.”
He returned five minutes later with her ermine-trimmed cloak and gloves and gave the coachman an address. They settled next to each other and were quiet for a while, as the coach rumbled through the cobblestone streets of Edinburgh and over the North Bridge.
Ian asked, “What made you change your mind?”
“Once I had time to think, I realized you didnae mean to deceive me any more than I meant to deceive you. It just happened. I’m sorry I didnae give you a chance to explain. I was too quick to think the worst of you.”
“You were wrong, you know. I would never leave you alone. How could I when I only want to be with you? But you were right about one thing. I do want you to be Rory’s mother. He needs a mother, and I dinnae ken how to be a father.”
The carriage made a slow, winding journey through the old part of the city until the buildings and crowded streets opened and gave way to hedge-lined fields, an area Louisa had never been to.
“Where are we going?” Louisa asked.
“King’s Park. My sister Maggie has taken the children for a picnic.”
His sister. She would meet his sister and her brood, as well. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew marrying Ian would mean that his family would become her family, yet she hadn’t fully envisioned the setting where she might actually meet them. Her vague image of the event involved champagne or tea and cakes, at the very least.
The carriage paused at a footpath leading into a forested area.
“We’re here.” Ian studied her. “Are you sure you want this?”
“I’m very certain, but I sense you are not. Are you worried Rory willnae like me?”
“I want what’s best for him, but I’m not certain what that is.”
She took his hand in hers. “I vow that, no matter what happens, I will put Rory’s concerns before my own.”
Ian swept her into his arms again with such ferocity, her bonnet slipped off and dangled by the ribbons. The kiss was bruising, penetrating, unlike any other. The desperation was almost frightening. The driver called out, and he released her lips, his breath roaring in her ear.
