Enlightened (24 page)

“Elizabeth,” he said. “I’m so sorry I led him to you.”

“David.” Her voice was little more than a breath. “Am I allowed to go with you?”

Her cautious hope was unbearable.

“Yes. Come on. Euan’s waiting outside.” He steered her across the hall towards the front door, Murdo following behind. A blank-faced footman swung the door open for them.

(First) The Second Party undertakes, entirely at his own cost, and within one month of execution hereof, to present a petition to the Court of Session in Edinburgh for dissolution of the marriage between the Second Party and the said Lady Elizabeth…

As they crossed the threshold of Kinnell’s house, Elizabeth made an inarticulate noise somewhere between a sob and a sigh of relief, clutching at David’s arm with gloveless fingers. It was only then that David realised that Kinnell was turning her out in the clothes she’d been wearing when she was snatched—no bonnet or gloves or cloak, just a plain muslin dress that was wholly inadequate for the biting March weather.

“Wait a moment,” Murdo said behind them when Elizabeth shivered. He shrugged off his coat and tucked it about Elizabeth’s shoulders. “That’s better.” He smiled. “Come on, the carriage is waiting a little way down the street.”

As soon as Murdo’s coachman saw them, he jumped down from his perch to open the carriage door, and Euan started forward from his seat in the corner.

“Thank God, Lizzie! Oh Christ, what has he done to you? Are you all right?”

She fell into his arms, half sobbing, half laughing, Murdo’s coat listing off her narrow shoulders to land on the carriage floor as David and Murdo climbed in after her, slamming the door closed behind them.

“I’m fine,” she said, taking Euan’s face in her hands and pressing kisses all over it. “I’m fine. Don’t look at the bruises, love, they don’t matter. I’m here now.”

“I’ll kill him,” Euan muttered, even as his arms came tightly about her.

“Don’t think about him.” She brushed his fair hair off his forehead in a tender gesture, as though he was the one that needed to be protected.

“How can I not?” Euan asked. “What if he does it again?”

The carriage lurched forward.

“That won’t happen,” Murdo assured him.

Euan sent him a bleak look. “How can you be so sure?”

David drew the agreement out of his coat pocket and held it out. “Read it.”

(Second) The First Party will pay to the Second Party the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds Sterling within seven days of the date of execution hereof; the Second Party accepts that sum in full and final settlement of all claims he may have against the First Party howsoever arising.

Euan and Elizabeth bent their heads over the paper together. When they looked up, Elizabeth’s eyes glistened with tears.

“I can’t believe what you’ve done for me,” she whispered. She looked at Murdo. “Your reputation’s ruined and over something you didn’t even do.”

Murdo smiled gently. “I am not entirely selfless. I gained something for myself from my actions.”

“But two hundred and fifty pounds?” Euan said. “It’ll take us forever to repay that.”

Murdo looked at David, even as he answered Euan. “I don’t want repaying. Two hundred and fifty pounds was nothing to what I’ve gained from this. Nothing at all.”

Euan opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, David said, “Don’t, Euan. Just accept it. For Elizabeth.”

Euan fell silent.

“Will it work, David?” Elizabeth asked. “Is Kinnell bound by this?”

“It would be nigh on impossible to enforce,” David replied. “But the point of it isn’t to win a battle in court. It’s a different sort of insurance.”

“Because he admits to treating his wife cruelly?” Euan said. “Do you really think his reputation would be damaged by that?” He sounded sceptical.

“I think it would, a little,” David said. “But that sort of dishonour pales in comparison to the damage that would be done to his reputation if it got out that he had failed to honour an agreement between gentlemen in order to avoid a duel.”

Euan snorted his disgust, but the corners of his mouth turned up as he did so.

Murdo turned to Elizabeth. “In short, you are free—as am I. Time to make the best of our lives, don’t you think?”

Murdo prevailed upon Euan and Elizabeth to stay at the townhouse.

After he’d informed Liddle about their unexpected guests, the butler smoothly moved into action, dispatching a footman to have a bath readied for the lady and leading the tired, battered couple upstairs.

Within a few minutes of their return, David and Murdo were alone, hovering in the empty hallway, smiling at one another.

“You look exhausted,” Murdo said.

“I feel like I could sleep for a week,” David admitted. “I barely closed my eyes last night for worry.”

“Let’s go upstairs, then. I’m done in too.”

Despite his eagerness to be fully alone with Murdo, David took the stairs slowly, not pushing himself too hard. Murdo noticed, of course.

“How’s the leg?” he asked when they finally reached the top.

“All right,” David said, leading the way to Murdo’s bedchamber and pushing the door open. “It’s better when I keep moving. Sitting around is the very worst thing for it, I think.”

Murdo followed him inside, closing the door behind them. “Going back to legal practice doesn’t sound like a good idea, then.”

David was already halfway across the room, but at those words he turned. Murdo was leaning against the closed bedchamber door, watching him with an intent expression.

“I suppose—I suppose I’ll have to make sure I take breaks. That sort of thing.”

Murdo swallowed visibly. “Don’t.”

“What?”

Murdo gave a short laugh, letting his head knock back against the door. “I don’t mean don’t take breaks. I mean—don’t go back.”

“What?” David said again. God, he sounded stupid.
What? What?

Murdo’s expression grew determined, the look of a man undertaking a task he’d dreaded. “I don’t want you to leave Laverock House,” he said. “I want you to stay with me. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

David stared at him, too shocked to speak. The notion of having something he wanted so very badly—a lifetime beside the person he loved—was something he’d deemed impossible. And now Murdo was offering it to him. No, demanding it of him.

As he struggled to find words to reply, Murdo’s determined expression faltered.

“You’re always telling me that what we have can’t last, that we have to be careful. Always reminding me that you’ll be leaving me soon…”

David thought, suddenly, of Chalmers, and of the woman he had loved. The beloved he’d regretted leaving to die alone. And in that moment, David realised that he didn’t want it to be like that for him and Murdo. He wanted to be at Murdo’s side for the rest of their lives. He wanted to share it all, the good and the bad, the joy and the sorrow. He wanted to be able to lean on those broad, capable shoulders when he was weary, and to have Murdo lean on him.

“Love should not be denied.”

They would have to be careful, of course they would, but they could surround themselves with the broad, green stretches of the Laverock estate. They could deal with any difficulties that came their way together, side by side. If they wanted it enough, it could be managed. And, oh, how David wanted it! He was done with self-sacrifice and guilt and martyred isolation. Murdo had saved him from that. Murdo had shown him he was no sinner, whatever the world might say.

“If you’re worrying about me making plans to marry anyone behind your back, you needn’t,” Murdo added determinedly. “I’m done with that.”

“You did rather burn your bridges on that one in Culzeans the other night.”

“I knew exactly what I was doing.” Murdo spoke intently, his dark gaze very direct, as though he needed David to understand this. “I saw Kinnell across the room, all pleased with himself, and right then I saw that I had this one chance. Not just to save Elizabeth but to save
myself
. To rid myself of all the things that had been chaining me down—my engagement, my father, the expectations that attach to a man like me.” He gave an uncertain smile. “I burned all those bridges, David, and in that moment, I think I felt free for the first time in my life.” He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, touching David’s face with gentle fingers. “Come home with me.”

“I want to,” David said, returning Murdo’s earnest gaze. “But I have to be sure—have you really thought about what you’re giving up? You once told me you wanted everything the world had to offer, not just male lovers, but a wife and family of your own—”

“And I was wrong,” Murdo interrupted. “I was lost back then. Oh, I didn’t
think
I was lost. I thought I was going to have it all. Two lives, one that would be respectable and safe, and a secret one of pleasure and vice.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I thought you were naïve, till you made me see that the life I’d always wanted—the two lives I’d wanted—didn’t amount to anything at all. I wasn’t going to have it all. I was going to have nothing.” He paused. “You saved me from that.”

David opened his mouth to say,
And you saved me.
To tell Murdo all the ways in which he’d saved David. But the words died in his throat. For now, anyway, because Murdo was looking at him in a way that made speech impossible. Murdo Balfour, who’d spent his life hiding his true feelings behind an amused little smile and a single crooked brow, was looking at David with desperate, undisguised hope.

“So you’ll come back with me, then?” he whispered. “To Laverock?”

For a moment, his question hung in the air between them. Till David somehow managed to unlock his throat and make his mouth work again and gave Murdo his answer.

“I will.”

Epilogue

One year later

David had the coachman stop the carriage and let him out at the top of the hill. It was too beautiful a day to sit in the carriage for this last and best part of the journey. By getting out here, he could walk a couple of miles over the ridge before dropping down to the glen through a path in the woods that backed onto Laverock House.

David watched the carriage rumble on without him. It would arrive with no passenger, only an economically packed trunk of clothes, three boxes of books and papers he’d picked up from Murdo’s Edinburgh townhouse during his brief visit, and a clootie dumpling wrapped up in muslin cloth. This last, his favourite boyhood treat, came from his mother’s kitchen in Midlauder. She’d spent the last three days fussing over him and sent him home not only with the pudding but—despite his protests that his leg was quite better—with a pot of her homemade liniment which, she told him, he was to make sure to keep using every day.

It was a bit of a climb to the top of the next hill, but after that it would be level walking for a good while, and, anyway, it felt good to David to stretch his legs after all the hours he’d spent in the carriage. These days he relished the small discomforts that came with such exertions, the faint burn in his calves and the rasp of his breath as his lungs worked harder.

By the end of the climb up, David’s knee ached a bit, but only a bit. He sat down on a large, flat boulder to rest, giving his knee a brisk rub while he looked out at the place he’d come to call home—at the tumbling river with its black, rocky teeth, and at the hills, dominated by brownish bracken now, but soon to brighten with the advent of spring. Above his head, a skylark—a laverock—wheeled and plummeted, and David tracked its bold, sweeping dance for several minutes till it finally disappeared into a copse of trees.

Rising from his perch, he began to walk along the ridge, his eyes drinking in the familiar views as he walked. It was good to be back here, in the country. He loved the almost-lonely beauty of his new home. Edinburgh was elegant, but it teemed with people. Returning to the city for the first time in almost a year, he’d been struck by how busy it felt, how noisy and dirty and muddled it was. He’d finished up the business matters he’d needed to deal with as soon as he possibly could, eager to come home.

It would be another half year before he needed to leave Laverock again, though the occasional trip was unavoidable. He was, after all, Lord Murdo Balfour’s man of business now—and, increasingly, an investor in his own right. And it wasn’t as though Murdo could attend to these matters by himself anymore. The people round here didn’t know the details of the scandal that had driven their aristocratic neighbour back to Perthshire, banishing him from the polite drawing rooms of London forever, but they whispered about it. Most particularly about the married woman who had broken his heart. The woman he’d fought a duel over, no less. It was why Lord Murdo had engaged Mr. Lauriston as his permanent man of business, they said, since he could no longer show his face in London.
 

It was why, they whispered, he would never marry.
 

The story was scandalous, romantic, and most importantly, verifiable. And Murdo played his part of new gentleman farmer beautifully. Not that it required any effort—it was, after all, what he’d always wanted to do. He would happily spend the rest of his life exiled in Perthshire, managing his new estate.