Chapter Eighteen

T he Barclays would have received a letter after Angus’s execution. Along with a visit from an officer or two, as well.

An investigation would have been conducted to ensure Angus acted alone and the elder Barclays had absolutely no part in his treachery. Since they’d kept their status and estates, naught had come from the inquest, but surely they were aware of what their son had done.

He wrestled with what to tell Lizzie. It was clear that her parents had not informed her of the true account of her brother’s death. More than likely to save her impression of the brother she dearly loved.

Malcolm could understand that, but it made his position worse than it was before.

“Did officers visit Tolton Hall after your brother’s death?” he asked.

Lizzie sighed. “Of course. I wasna privy to the conversations that were held, obviously. But afterward my parents took me aside and explained what had happened and that Angus wouldna be coming home.” She dabbed at the tears that filled her eyes. “I am sorry. I still miss him so.”

He nodded. “I understand. I’ve no siblings myself, but I can only imagine the special bond ye must have shared.”

She sniffled and bobbed her head. “’Twas. I am still at a loss as to what his death has to do with whate’er ’tis that’s happening.”

He blew out a breath. He was at a crossroads. Did he tell Lizzie the truth and lose her forever? Or did he make up some farce of a story, break their courtship, along with her heart, and lose her forever?

Both options ended with him alone and Lizzie’s heart broken.

He grabbed the bottle of whisky and took a long pull. He made a mental note to ensure he left payment for the bottle he’d consumed.

No matter what, there was no getting out of this situation with his heart intact.

Lizzie straightened her shoulders and pierced him with a serious gaze. “When I was in my room, thinking about the conversation we’d shared in the kitchen, I was kicking myself for ruining e’erything.”

“Nay—”

She held her hand up, stopping him from saying aught else.

“I had thought my forwardness, which Mama always said would get me into trouble, finally did just that. My idea to come in and apologize, to let ye ken that I would rein in my urges to speak afore I think.”

“Lass, I would ne’er want ye to change.” He approached her and put his hands on her shoulders. “Ye are strong. Ye’re fierce. Dinna e’er change that. For anyone.”

She laughed and stepped from his touch.

“That was my original thought. That ’twas me. Something I had done. But all of this talk of my brother has led me to believe that ’tis something else.” She sat in the chair set by the small fireplace and met his eyes. “There’s obviously something about my brother’s death that I am unaware of. And apparently ye do. So, tell me what I am missing. Now.”

Her strong countenance was commendable. But he was still torn on what he should do. It really should be her parents to tell her. He didn’t want to see the look of disdain when she learned that he was the reason for her brother’s death.

How could she ever love him after finding such a thing out? It didn’t matter that Angus was a traitor. That he was working against the crown. That wasn’t the brother she kenned. The brother she remembered was kind and loving. Someone she had grown up with. An innocent boy.

But he wasn’t. Far from it. But he still couldn’t tell her.

“’Tis no’ for me to say, Lass. I believe that is a conversation to be had betwixt ye and your parents. Ye need to return to your room. The hour is late, and your father would have my head if he found ye in here with me—in your nightclothes, no less.”

“Ye arena going to tell me?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her hip jutted out to the right.

If the situation were different, he would find her stance most attractive. But right now, it just broke his heart. He needed her to leave his room. To return to her own.

He just shook his head. Not trusting his voice to say anything.

For a few long moments, she stood there, glaring at him, searching his face for answers that he wouldn’t give her.

He just hung his head in defeat.

Finally, she took a deep breath and jutted her chin out defiantly. “I bid ye a good night, Malcolm.”

And with that, she spun around and left the room.

When she was gone, the space felt lonely. Her presence was so big that she sucked the life out of the room when she left.

Exhaling in exasperation, he picked up the whisky bottle and finished it in one long swallow, hissing at the burn as it wound his way down his throat and settled warmly into his chest.

In the morn, when Lizzie woke, he would be gone. On his way back to Culzean. If her parents wanted to tell her the truth of her brother’s death, so be it. But ’twouldna be him.

He was being evasive. He kenned it. Instead of facing the woman he loved and the hurt that she would surely feel, he was running.

Like a cat with its tail tucked between its legs. A coward.

Something he had never been labeled afore.

But he was now. He was admitting to himself that that’s exactly what he was.

He threw his clothes into his travel bag. And after some time, when he was sure the house was quiet and no one would see him leave, he slipped out of his room and out the front door.

In the stables, he readied a horse and gave the stableboy a note to cover the cost of the horse and whisky, along with a missive that he was to deliver to Sir Barclay in the morning.

Then he was gone, riding through the gates of Tolton Hall, not daring to look back. He’d push the steed as far as he could until he had to stop and give them both a rest. But he wanted to make it back to Culzean as quickly as possible.

For once, he looked forward to the monotony of his well-run, issue-free home.

*

After tossing and turning all night, dawn couldn’t come soon enough. Lizzie was awake and sitting in the window seat of her bedroom when Mary knocked to wake her.

“Ah, Miss, ye’re already awake? Could ye no’ sleep last night?”

Lizzie shook her head. “E’en a mug of warm milk couldna help,” she admitted quietly.

“Are ye no’ feeling well? If ye’re ill I shall call for the doctor.” Mary turned to leave and Lizzie called her back.

“’Tis no’ that. I just had a worrisome night thinking of the earl.”

Mary waggled her eyebrows. “Worrisome or dreamlike?” She smiled, but when Lizzie didn’t laugh, her lips dipped into frown.

“Ye went to bed so happy. What has happened? I dinna believe the earl has left his room yet this morn. His door remains shut.”

Lizzie didn’t ken what to tell her friend. She didn’t even ken what to tell herself. This morn her mind was still confused. Playing their conversation over and over again. It just kept leading to her brother. But whatever it was, Malcolm wouldn’t say.

She’d decided that she would confront her parents about it when they all gathered to break their fast. Malcolm would be there as well and certainly he wouldn’t dare tell her not to broach the subject with her parents.

They didn’t oft talk about Angus. Once he’d passed, they’d stayed mum about discussing him. She had found that odd but decided that was how they grieved. Everyone did so in their own way. Whereas Lizzie would rather talk about the fun times they’d shared, her parents always had her cease the conversation when she started it.

Today she would find out why.

The truth this time.

When she arrived in the dining room to break her fast, the first thing Lizzie noticed was that Malcolm was not in the room. The next thing she noticed was the dour moods of her parents. She took her seat and waited for her tea to be poured and the room empty before asking her parents what was going on.

First Malcolm, and now them. Obviously, things were running afoul and she was the only one that wasn’t privy to the issues. It irritated her more than she wanted to admit. Usually, she didn’t concern herself with issues her parents faced. Selfish, she kenned. However, they had always purposely sheltered her from such things, so that now it was normal for her to just leave the room when such serious conversations began.

Today was different. It appeared that the issues going on, whatever they were, involved her. And she refused to ignore it.

“I would verra much like to wish you both a good morn, but the sour looks on your faces would indicate otherwise. Has something happened?”

“Lizzie.” It was her mother that addressed her. “Some things have come to light that we need to discuss.”

“Will Malcolm be joining us to break his fast?” she asked hopefully. Praying that last night was just a bad night. That mayhap he’d eaten something that didn’t settle well with him. But deep down, she kenned that wasn’t the case.

“He willna,” her father said quietly. There was a somber tone to his voice and it immediately filled her with worry.

“Does he fare well?” Mayhap he had an accident. He was definitely in his cups when she’d left his room last night.

“He is fine. At least, I think so.”

She raised a brow in question, utterly confused.

“Dearest.” It was her mother speaking to her again. “Your father and I have something to discuss with ye. Something we should have discussed long ago.”

She set down the piece of toast she’d just begun to slather with butter and frowned. “Ye both are acting so odd, ye have me worried.”

Her father spoke as her mother wrung her hands together.

“This is a difficult conversation to have with ye. Chances are ye will be upset with us when all is said and done. But we would both like to stress that everything we have done, all of our actions, we felt we did them for your benefit.”

“Well, now ye have me positively scared to hear what ye are going to say,” she confessed.

“We ne’er meant to hurt ye. Please believe that.”

She took a sip of tea, her hands shaking and causing the liquid to slosh over the rim and onto the saucer.

Clearing his throat, her father continued. “When your brother passed, we were devastated.”

Why were they bringing up her brother’s death? First Malcolm and now them.

“Rightly so. We all were. He was a good man. At least we could take solace in kenning he died a hero.”

At the head of the table, her father stiffened. Beside him, her mother visibly paled.

“About that. Your brother didna die a hero. He, he betrayed the crown. Became a traitor to the country.”

And that was how she learned that everything she had believed the past few years was all a lie. It explained why her parents never spoke about him. She remembered early conversations and whispers of how he was a lost soul, misinformed even.

But that couldn’t explain away all of the vile things he’d done. Sold secrets to the enemy. Under the excuse of setting up his family’s financial future. In doing so, not only did it cost him his life, but it put them all under great scrutiny.

Her parents investigated for possible collusion.

She had no idea how close they’d come to losing their coffers. Their home.

The only home she’d ever kenned.

All because of her brother’s selfish and misguided actions. Her dear, sweet brother that she only remembered as kind-hearted and loving. She had a most difficult time seeing him as anything but.

But then the worst news came. Malcolm, the man who held her heart, was the man who had caught Angus red-handed. He’d been assigned by Wellington to uncover the traitor. He’d been doing his job, and in turn, that led to the execution of her brother.

Sobs wracked from her body. Big chest-heaving sobs.

At the loss of her brother. The lies she’d been told. Malcolm’s betrayal.

Was it betrayal though? Nay. That’s why he acted so funny last night. Her brother’s portrait hung in the room he’d been given. He’d obviously recognized him. It wasn’t a surprise that he hadn’t put he and Lizzie together as siblings. Why would he? There were plenty of Barclays around. It was a very common surname.

“Where’s Malcolm now?” she asked, concern creasing her brow as her throat felt like it was closing up.

Her father shook his head. “I dinna ken. He left in the early hours of the morn. More than likely to return home to Culzean.”

Nay!

“Why? Why would he do that?”

Did he think she would hold contempt for him? Did she? As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t hold Malcolm at fault for doing his job.

Her brother had a job to do as well. And he didn’t do it. As much as she loved her brother, she could not condone his actions. They were wrong, and he paid the ultimate price. Just the same as anyone else had they been caught doing such things.

That didn’t make Malcolm a horrible person. It made him strong. Loyal.

“We must go to Culzean, then.”

“Lizzie,” her mother said. “We think it best that we stay here. Give ye time to ponder about all ye’ve learned.”

And that was when the anger hit her. It wasn’t anger at Malcolm. Nay, rather her ire was aimed at her parents.

“None of this would have happened if ye’d just told me the truth from the start. Why would ye keep such information from me?”

“’Twas for your benefit.” Papa stood and placed his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged them off.

“Nay,” she shook her head. “Ye dinna get to tell me what is best for me. Ye dinna get to make those decisions. I am a grown woman. I am no’ a wee lass who doesn’t understand the world in which we live. The cruelty of it.” She pushed back from the table, her appetite suddenly lost. “I will be in my room.”

She ran from the dining hall, swiping at the tears that fell like raindrops in a spring sky. How could her parents not have enough trust in her to think she wouldn’t be able to handle the truth?

That betrayal hurt almost as bad as finding out the truth about Angus.

But above everything, she wouldn’t, couldn’t, hold Malcolm accountable. Out of everyone at play in this whole charade, he was the least culpable.