Authors: Karen Ranney
O
ne moment, Montgomery’s magnificent ship was silhouetted against the sky, an enormous man-made blue cloud. Her throat closed, her heart swelled with pride. Montgomery had done this. All on his own, he’d harnessed the air, become a god in the machine he’d devised.
As if to demonstrate how talented he was, the airship veered to the left, circling Doncaster Hall. The crowd around her shouted, arms waving in pride and excitement.
Veronica stood where she was, smiling, thrilled at Montgomery’s achievement. How proud he must be. His navigation system was working.
If he could steer his ship, then they wouldn’t have to have outriders following them. He’d know where they were going to land, not too close to the River Tairn like last time.
She studied the envelope as it passed the second time, wondering if she was imagining what she saw. Wrinkles were appearing on the smooth surface of the silk. The oval shape of the ship changed as she watched, became rounder, like the inverted teardrop of Montgomery’s balloon. Seconds elongated to hours as she watched him, the silk growing more puckered as time elapsed.
Around her, the crowd began to murmur, the pride of earlier moments transformed to worry, then fear.
Montgomery was on the far side of Doncaster Hall, no longer flying in a circle. If he didn’t change direction, he would head directly for Ben Wyliss.
A woman in front of her screamed as the bow of the airship abruptly dipped.
A second later, the ship fell from sight.
T
here was no time to think. His hands automatically performed the duties learned over years. He tried to fire the burner, but nothing was happening. He let go the last of the emergency ballast bags, but that didn’t lessen the speed of his descent.
In the end, all he could do was brace himself against one of the supports and prepare for the impact.
The ground was hurtling up to meet him. The only thing he could hear was the rush of the wind, as if God had taken pity on him and muffled the sound of his own racing heart. The river was too close, but even that landing place would have been a blessing next to crashing into the mountain. A sudden gust of wind seemed to toy with his mortality, sending the gondola nearly perpendicular to the sagging envelope.
He’d wondered about that moment often enough, ever since he’d first challenged himself to fly. What would be his thoughts if he knew he was going to die? He’d been in difficult situations before, but none as risky as this. Would he feel regret? Yes—well, that was a question answered. And sorrow. He felt such acute sorrow that it startled him.
He didn’t want to be a ghost in Veronica’s life.
Damn it, he didn’t want to die.
M
ontgomery had disappeared.
The crowd surged forward as Elspeth pulled at her sleeve. Veronica shook it off. She saw Elspeth’s mouth moving, but couldn’t understand her words. A dull roaring noise flooded her ears, as words struck her like bricks.
“Falling.”
“Disaster.”
“Dead.”
The world began to slow, each separate movement taking place in air suddenly gone syrup-like and thick. She was oddly cold. Her hands felt frozen, the tips of her fingers without sensation. A curious fog slipped over her like a gray blanket.
Her thoughts were sluggish as if she were new to the process of thinking. She should join the others, but she couldn’t move. She should say something. How odd she’d lost the power of speech.
Mrs. Brody passed her. “I’ll get the basket, Lady Fairfax.” Yes, the basket. The basket Mrs. Brody used whenever one of the staff was ill or suffered an injury.
She closed her eyes, tried to remember to breathe. Breathing was necessary, wasn’t it? There, she was breathing again. She opened her eyes to find Elspeth looking at her oddly. The maid’s hand was on her arm. Aunt Lilly wouldn’t be pleased. A servant never touched an employer. It didn’t matter anymore.
I can’t do this again.
Had she said that aloud? She must have, since Elspeth was looking at her with sympathy. That was even worse, wasn’t it? Aunt Lilly would be lecturing her for laxity in dealing with the servants. Yet Aunt Lilly would be calling for her smelling salts about now.
Montgomery had fallen.
I can’t lose someone I love again.
She could not love Montgomery Fairfax. He was an annoying American who believed that nothing was quite as good as Virginia. He had a bad habit of keeping silent when most civil men would have spoken. He rarely revealed himself, and when he did, it was to expose a level of pain or anger she couldn’t reach.
Yet he’d introduced her to passion and accompanied her on every journey to bliss. She wanted him to touch her all the time, even when it was vastly improper. She thought about him constantly, blushing when alone, imagining their loving even when she was surrounded by others.
She could not love him, but she did.
He might be dead.
I can’t do this.
She couldn’t move. She was planted in the ground as firmly as the heather. The wind plucked at her hair, blowing tendrils across her face. Her heart, stubborn to the last, continued, one stolid beat at a time. She felt as if she were dying by degrees.
I can’t do this.
She couldn’t go to him. She could not kneel beside his broken body. She could not cradle his head on her lap and brush his thick black hair away from his beautiful face. She could not whisper last words to him, words of love she’d never said, never had the courage to say.
What had he said? Something about facing her fear. How could she do that?
Montgomery.
I
n the instant before impact, Montgomery’s thoughts went to Veronica. Not to his brothers or Caroline, but the woman who’d fascinated, amused, and charmed him since first meeting her at the Society of the Mercaii.
The wind carried the gondola, turning it over until he was almost tipped out. Just as he thought he was certain to be smashed into the side of the mountain, the gusts played with him again like a cat with a ball of yarn. The impact zone changed, suddenly. He was no longer facing a mountain but coming closer to the trees that surrounded Doncaster Hall.
He grinned. He might just escape disaster.
He heard the screams below him, wanted to wave his arms to reassure them, but he’d be a fool to give up his grip on the supports, especially since the wind showed no sign of gentling. A few seconds later, he was thrown into the ancient oaks as if God and the wind had abruptly tired of using him as a plaything.
The only sounds were the breaking of the branches around him, the groans as the gondola caught, slipped, then caught again.
Gradually, however, he became aware of shouts and screams below him, altered in nature. Instead of panic, there was excitement and joy in the voices he heard. He peered over the edge of the gondola, grabbed a nearby branch for support, and waved.
Ralston was among the first to arrive, followed by some lads from the stable. All of the first-floor maids arrived together like a gaggle of geese. Elspeth’s husband, Robbie, the members of the red and blue fire brigade, Tom, all appeared below him.
Where the hell was Veronica?
Shouldn’t she have been there? Shouldn’t her voice have been the first he heard? He pushed aside his thoughts for the very real need to exit the gondola before it slipped from its precarious perch.
“Y
our Ladyship?” Elspeth said, patting her arm.
Veronica blinked. “Yes?”
“Do you not want to go to Lord Fairfax?”
“Of course,” she said, calmly, each of the words enunciated perfectly and clearly. No, God, she could not do this. She could not see him hurt. She could not bear it.
She picked up her skirts. How perceptive she’d been that morning to request Elspeth lace her loosely. She could breathe easily.
Give me strength, God.
Once before, she’d been alone when everyone around her stared at her, wondering if she’d dissolve into tears. Once before, she’d stood in dry-eyed silence, watching as her world crumbled in front of her.
Everyone was there. Everyone at Doncaster Hall had already moved toward the trees. All she had to do was reach out her hand, and they would part silently, urging her onward, creating a corridor to reach Montgomery. She remained where she was, at the fringe of the crowd, marshaling her courage where she had none.
How could she do this?
Suddenly, the crowd cheered. Veronica heard the sound, but it didn’t mean anything. The wind meant nothing. Her heart meant nothing. The alarmed squawking of the birds meant less than nothing.
Montgomery might be dead.
She took a few steps closer, halted on the path, closed her eyes, and again prayed for strength.
“Lady Fairfax?” Mrs. Brody’s voice.
She opened her eyes to see Mrs. Brody standing in front of her. The housekeeper’s coronet of braids had slipped and was askew, her face flushed and sweating. In her arms she held the basket containing all her unguents and bandages, scissors and potions.
“Are you all right, Lady Fairfax?”
She nodded. She thought she said something, but the words simply didn’t matter at the moment. Mrs. Brody moved ahead, the crowd parting for her as if she were a force of nature.
Veronica focused on Ralston. The majordomo stood at the base of a venerable oak in his shirtsleeves, head bowed as if he were praying. Then he looked up, as if to solicit God’s help from the sky itself.
She felt as if she might faint. Her heart was choking in her throat, and a heaviness slithered through her stomach. Elspeth was at her side, evidently refusing to leave her.
“Hurry with the ladder!” Ralston yelled, a command accompanied by a bright smile.
She abruptly halted in the middle of the path, enraged at his humor.
A boot fell from one of the trees. Then a second boot joined the first.
She pressed both hands against her chest as she looked skyward. The envelope had fully collapsed, sagging among the treetops and blocking out the afternoon light. The gondola was hanging in a space between two mature oaks, almost like a child’s swing.
Speechless, she watched as Montgomery climbed out of the gondola, grabbed one thick branch with both arms, and began to descend the tree.
“Praise be,” Elspeth said from beside her.
Relief began to heat the ball of ice in Veronica’s stomach.
The crowd greeted Montgomery like a hero. Tom clapped him on the back. Ralston did the same, then surreptitiously wiped his eyes. Most of the maids fell behind Mrs. Brody, even Millicent, adding their words of relief.
He was one of them, their laird, their Lord Fairfax.
Montgomery glanced in her direction, made his way through the grove of trees, accepting the words of those who pressed close.
He reached her, stood in front of her, bits of leaves still clinging to his hair. She wanted to reach forward and brush them loose, but she’d lost the power to move.
They stood looking at each other, only an arm’s length separating them. The distance might as well have been miles.
The breeze blew around them, tousled his hair, and swept one leaf off his shoulder. The crowd around them grew silent, no doubt interested in their conversation.
Or their lack of it.
He didn’t say anything, but neither did she. Moments ticked by like sluggish snails. The sun beat down on her head since she’d dispensed with a bonnet. She smoothed her hair back from her forehead, looked away, then back at him.
“W
here were you?”
“Where was I?”
“Yes, madam, where were you?”
She hadn’t raced toward him; she hadn’t rushed into his arms. She hadn’t laughed with delight at his safety. She hadn’t screamed his name. Instead, she’d stood on the fringes of the crowd, calm and unaffected.
She had nothing to say, no explanation to offer him even as he waited.
Abruptly and insanely, he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to wipe that half smile off her face, bring misery into her eyes. He wanted her to feel the depth of betrayal he felt at this moment.
“Should I apologize for surviving?”
She blinked at him. Just that and no other reaction. As if she were so cold that the heat of his anger could not melt her.
She was hot enough in passion. Was that the only way to reach her? Had he been a fool to think that she might have cared for him?
He
was
an idiot to have felt so vulnerable around her, to have confided in her. He
was
an idiot to think that passion could lead to something greater, something more.
They were no better than rutting animals. He’d be her stag, her stallion, her boar, taking her when he wanted. But he’d be nothing else. Not companion or confidant or love.
He glanced at Elspeth, an unspoken request. The maid nodded and slipped away.
“Very well, Veronica. We’ll use each other and fuck each other. But I’ll be damned if I ever tell you another secret, and I sure as hell won’t ever trust you again.”
Veronica took a step back, her fingers resting at the base of her throat. He wasn’t going to let her escape. He stepped forward, leaning close so only she could hear his words.
“I could almost believe that you had something to do with my crash. Do you want to remain in Scotland so much you’d make yourself a widow?”
“You think I had something to do with your accident?” she asked.
“Was it an accident?” he asked, his voice cold. “You were in the old distillery last night. What were you doing there?”
“I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “I told you that.”
“Did you touch anything?”
She shook her head.
He studied her for a few moments, wishing she’d say something, hoping she’d offer up a word, an explanation, an excuse. When she remained silent, he turned and walked away, motioning for several of the men to follow him.
She had the time to comfort a maid, but she’d no time for him.
R
age had rolled off him with such force that she felt it physically. He wasn’t angry at his airship, or the trees, or whatever had caused his crash. Instead, he’d focused all his rage on her, as if she were responsible for what had happened to him. As if he
wanted
her to be responsible.