Farewell, England

T he morning of Ash's departure, Willow and Niven walked with him to the carriage that was to take him to the London docks. "Godspeed," Willow said as she hugged him, clearly struggling not to cry.

"Aye. Safe journey," Niven added, shaking his hand. "Pass my regards on to my family. Tell them I miss them. I hope ye'll give the highlands a chance."

Ash could make no reply. Resentment clogged his throat as he boarded the vehicle. He was being sent into exile far from everything and everyone he knew. He bristled when Rowan and Daisy boarded after him. "Coming to make sure I get on the ship?" he asked sarcastically.

Rowan shook his head and rolled his eyes in that annoying way he had. "Actually, dear brother, Daisy's mother and stepfather are taking the same ship to Dundee. She wants to see them off."

Huddled into a corner of the conveyance, Ash resolved never to forgive Rowan for this travesty. Not only was he being shipped off to the back of beyond, Daisy's elderly mother and her Scottish husband were to be his watchdogs. Maureen Graham might be the Dowager Duchess of Ramsay, but Ash was the son of a duke and he'd make sure she never forgot it.

The Ramsay carriage was waiting for them at the docks. He vaguely remembered meeting Daisy's parents at her wedding to his brother, but he'd been so miffed about Rowan's choice of Niven as his best men, he'd barely paid attention to anything that was going on. A man should appoint his brother as his best man, not his brother-in-law. Rowan claimed he and Niven had forged a special bond during the war—as if Ash and Thorne hadn't endured the horrors of Quatre Bras and Waterloo.

"Halstead," a booming voice declared as Ash stepped down from the carriage. "I hear we are to be travelin' companions."

Fearing Jock Graham's meaty handshake might break his fingers, Ash withdrew his hand. "Sir," he said for want of something better to say.

"And he'll be livin' wi' us at Lockie House," his wife declared, enveloping Ash in a hug. "I'm so lookin' forward to havin' ye as our guest."

Afraid her copious bosom might suffocate him, Ash raised his head. "Your Grace," he stammered.

"Ye'll hafta forgive my wife," Jock Graham said. "The closer she gets to Scotland, the more she talks like a Scot."

"'Tisna true," she retorted, linking her arm with Ash's. "Will ye escort me aboard?"

"Gladly, Your Grace," he heard himself say as he proffered his arm, perplexed to realize he'd already taken a liking to the old biddy.

Daisy had never enjoyed a very close relationship with her mother—until the campaign to win over Rowan began. "I'll miss you," she told her mother as they hugged. "But I understand why you want to return to Scotland."

"Aye, I must confess the place o' my birth draws me."

There was a time when Daisy wouldn't have understood such a sentiment. Having eventually spent time in the Scottish highlands, she had gradually come to appreciate the country and its people. She might have imparted as much to Ash had it not been for his determination to sulk throughout the half hour they'd all spent together saying their goodbyes. His resentment of her and Rowan was understandable. She could only hope he'd eventually realize he was better off getting away from London's temptations.

Jock and her mother accompanied Daisy and Rowan out onto the deck for a final farewell. "Dinna worry about Ash," Jock told Rowan as they shook hands.

"Aye," her mother agreed. "We'll keep an eye on him, although I expect Tavish and Payton will soon have him on the straight and narrow."

"Thank you both," Rowan replied. "I just wish he hadn't refused to shake my hand. We used to be close, you know."

Daisy and her mother exchanged a knowing glance. They'd both realized Rowan's amputated leg wasn't the only wound he'd suffered.

"I'll do what I can to mend things," her mother whispered.

As the Knotty Pine pulled away from the dock, Ash clenched his jaw. It hadn't escaped his notice that this was the same schooner that had taken him, his brothers and a captive Niven to Flanders. Little had they known then what life had in store.

He, Thorne and Rowan had left England as comrades in arms. Now, Thorne was missing and Ash couldn't even bring himself to shake Rowan's hand when they parted. Waterloo had cost Rowan his leg, sent Thorne fleeing to the far reaches of the world, and sickened Ash to the point he'd lost interest in everything except spirits and bedsport. Watching his family fall apart had no doubt contributed to his father's failing health.

Jock joined Ash at the railing. "Dinna fret. 'Tis just for a wee while," he said, putting a beefy arm around Ash's shoulders.

"The wind," Ash lied, wiping away welling tears.

"Och, this is a wee breeze. Wait till ye experience the icy winds that sweep down from the Cairngorms."

"Can't wait," he replied, his heart laden with dread.