Page 132 of The Scottish Duke
Would the authorities be called? Would Mary be arrested? Or, because Mary’s father was an earl and her brother-in-law a duke, would she be spared any punishment for her acts?
She’d never hated another human being. Some people annoyed her. A few had hurt her or left her confused about what she’d done to incur their anger. But hate was a black blob with gray and silver thorns she’d tried to avoid. But now she allowed herself to hate Mary Taylor.
The storm mocked them, the thunder an angry beast jealous that something else claimed their attention.
How would she survive if something happened to Robbie?
She had to be hopeful. She had to have faith. Somehow, they would save Robbie. Together, the two of them would save their child.
Terror was an ugly, sickly green color. Her stomach was rolling and she tasted something sour on the back of her tongue. She thought she might be sick any moment now. Her forehead was clammy and her feet felt like blocks of ice. Her fingertips were tingling. Panic kept her breathing shallow.
The jostling, jarring ride went on endlessly as they shot ahead of the storm. The thunder followed them at a distance, the faint growling sound almost petulant. Without the lightning, the darkness was complete.
She didn’t know how much time had passed before the carriage suddenly veered to the left so sharply she worried they might overturn.
Please God, let them reach Robbie. Please let him be okay.
Out the window, she saw the watery glare of a carriage lantern. They drew abreast of the other vehicle as Jeremy slowed. To her surprise, Charles pulled in front of the other carriage at an angle.
“Stay here,” Alec said. Before she could question or protest, he was out of the carriage and running toward the other vehicle.
Lightning suddenly hit the ground nearby, startling the horses. The storm had found them again, plucking them out of the darkness and illuminating the scene.
Alex and Charles had rushed the carriage and opened the door. By the light of the lamp, she saw Mary huddled in the corner, holding Robbie. She was screaming at them, but Lorna couldn’t make out what she was saying.
Instead, she heard Robbie’s crying, even over the rain.
Her nails dug into the leather window frame. Alex might want her to remain here, but she couldn’t. Seconds later she was out of the carriage, running toward Alex and her son.
The storm emptied the clouds above them, drenching her before she reached the other carriage.
Alex was now inside. Robbie was screaming, his face red with the effort. Mary turned away, blocking Alex’s efforts to take his son. She kicked out with her feet, but he didn’t hesitate, reaching out and pulling Robbie from her arms.
At that moment Mary saw her standing at the door.
“Why her?” she shouted. “Why not me? Why a maid, Alex? A maid? My family’s the equal of yours, but you have to go and bed a maid. Why her?”
“Because I love her,” he said, turning and handing Robbie to Lorna.
She draped her shawl over Robbie so he’d be spared the worst of the rain as she slowly made her way back to their carriage.
If Alex spoke further to Mary, she didn’t hear what he said. At the door, she glanced back to see Alex standing with Charles and Jeremy. The other carriage door was closed and Mary inside.
Once she and Robbie were in their carriage, Lorna dried her son with a corner of her shawl, crooning to him as he calmed.
Tears streamed down her face, but anyone would have been hard-pressed to distinguish her weeping from the rain. Her hair was sodden and her garments dripped.
When Alex joined her, he was drenched as well. Sitting beside her, he gazed down at Robbie. He placed his hand over the baby’s small body, a benediction of touch.
“When we get home, you’re having one of my teas,” she said, taking in his appearance. “You will not get sick. I refuse to allow it.”
His gaze flew to hers. “Now who is godlike?”
Reaching out, he brushed away her tears with his fingers.
“Why are you crying?” he asked.
She shook her head, finding it impossible to answer that question. Relief? Joy that Robbie was safe? Gratitude?
