Page 103 of To Wed an Heiress
Her father sat like a king in his throne-like chair, his eyes flat. If he felt any affection for her at all it wasn’t evident in his expression.
She’d failed. She’d tried to make him understand, but he didn’t.
“Your behavior has not reflected well on your mother and me,” he said. “Your Scottish relatives are not happy with you. Being here, for example, is scandalous. The only saving grace is it’s Scotland. Hopefully, not a word of this will reach New York.”
“And if it does?” she asked, unexpectedly weary. “Will it matter so much?”
“I will not have your mother hurt.”
She left her chair, went to her father, and sank to her knees. Reaching up, she grabbed his hand and held it between hers.
“I don’t want to hurt her, either. But I think I probably will, one way or another, simply by wanting to live my own life, away and apart from my parents. I love you both, but I can’t bear to continue living the way I was.”
“Gregory is a good match,” he said. “He’s a hero.”
“He’s a hero, Father, but he’s not my hero. I didn’t worry about him the whole time he was gone. The only emotion I felt was relief that he survived. Isn’t that terrible? Elizabeth still grieves for the man she loved and all I felt was relief about Gregory.”
“And Caitheart? How would you feel if something happened to him?”
Her life would be over. The thought came to her so fast that she was almost felled by it.
“Did Gregory tell you that he tried to kill Lennox?” she asked, sitting back.
“Or, more importantly, that he struck Mercy?”
They both turned their heads to find Lennox standing there. There was a look on his face that she had never before seen, and it was directed at her father.
James Rutherford wasn’t a fool. He knew antipathy when he saw it. He stood and faced Lennox.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Mercy’s father. Beyond that I don’t care. That man you think is such a good match struck your daughter more than once. Only a coward hits a woman.”
The two men faced each other, implacable foes.
Mercy stayed where she was, wondering what she could say or do to ease the situation.
Her father reached into his vest and pulled out his pocket watch.
“It’s now noon, Mercy. I will give you until four to gather up your belongings and say your goodbyes. At four I will be here to collect you. We’ll stay the night at Macrory House and in the morning leave for the ship.”
He didn’t wait for her to speak, merely headed for the door, leaving her and Lennox to look at each other.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“What will you do?” Lennox asked.
He walked to where Mercy knelt and extended his hand. She stood, her gaze on the floor rather than him.
“What can I do?” she asked, her voice a monotone.
Without another word, she left him, crossing the Clan Hall and entering the corridor that led to the staircase.
He’d come to find her and had accidentally eavesdropped on her conversation with her father. He’d disliked Rutherford when he’d waxed eloquent about the Hamilton bastard. No doubt, coming from Macrory House, he’d been given an expurgated version of events. But any man who took Hamilton’s side over his own daughter’s was not a man he could respect.
With each step it felt as if she was moving farther and farther away from him. Not merely to another part of the castle, but halfway around the world.
Having her here had been both heaven and hell. He would turn and she’d be there, within arm’s reach. Yet propriety dictated that he never touch her. Sometimes, she would smile at him across the room and he’d be frozen in that moment, seeing her and wanting to go to her, hold her, and tell her . . . what? That his life was better with her in it? That he couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t be here? That it had been only days since she’d arrived and yet he couldn’t remember living at Duddingston without her? At night, knowing that she was sleeping under his roof kept him awake and made him long for her even more.
