Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

Chapter Fourteen


Yellow Dog melted into the shadows. Watching. Waiting. Patient, the way only a predator could be. Unfeeling as stone.

Yet he wasn’t unfeeling. There was a cursed pain behind his ribs like the ache of a festering sore. A wound that would never heal. It was the recollection of the way she had looked at him. Her. Rowena. Of the devastation in her expression. The realisation of betrayal.


Betrayal hurt.

Yellow Dog snarled at the fates that had made him cause that look on her face. Made him say the lie about caring only for the money, for her sake. So afterwards she could live with herself. And forget him. But he would never forget her. Not if he lived to be a hundred. Which he wouldn’t. He would be lucky if he lasted the night.

He didn’t care. He had nothing left. Except his revenge.

A pedestrian strolled along the street, sauntering with no idea death lurked in the shadows of New Town.

Yellow Dog became one with the darkness as the Indians had shown him.

No. Not Yellow Dog. Damn it. Where the hell had that come from after all these months? He was Drew Gilvry. And he was standing opposite his brother Niall’s house for a just purpose. He was waiting for Ian. He was waiting with his loaded pistol and the knife in his boot, because they would not let him in the house with his pistol.

She would have told Niall his intentions.

He had no reservations or doubts on that score. Once the hurt had worn off, anger would have set in. And she would have betrayed him, just as he had betrayed her. And he could not but feel glad of it. For her sake. Tonight, they would both have their justice. And he would love her for it.

Love. Hell. He had never believed in love. Not for him. Not for the way he was. And yet he’d found the one woman who did not revile his disgusting needs and habits. She almost made them seem...acceptable. Despite that his first woman had told him that his proclivities were unnatural. Perverted. Only when need drove him hard had he let them get the better of him.

Until Rowena.

With Rowena, it was like being transported to a different world. He’d felt clean. And he had thought he never would again, after what she had forced him to do.

They would all know the truth of it now. Know what he’d been called. And how he’d been used. The slavery. The obedience. It was all in MacDonald’s journal. Not quite all. The worst of it, even MacDonald hadn’t known. But enough that they would guess.

And so tonight Ian would finally have his way. Drew would die. But so would Ian. And they’d both go to hell.

It didn’t matter to him. He’d been in a living hell for the past two years. Death would be a welcome relief.

If it wasn’t for Rowena.

Perhaps she wouldn’t be there.

He’d seen Logan arrive. So tall. And broad shouldered. He knew him by his yellow hair, which had caught in the lamplight as he removed his hat to enter the house. His wife had been bundled in fur and he’d seen nothing of her but her height. She was tall for a woman. For a moment, he’d thought it might be Rowena, but he’d known it was not.

The north wind tugged at his cloak, but he didn’t feel its bite. He was dressed warmer than he ever had been with the Indians. He’d been lucky they’d given him anything to wear at all.

A carriage rolled down the street.

He let his breath go and remained perfectly still. Not a puff of misty air through the muffling scarf would betray his presence to his prey, because instinct told him this was Ian.

A large man stepped down swiftly and waved off the footman who, instead of letting down the steps, hurried up to the front door to knock. A carriage and a footman. It appeared Ian’s fortunes had improved considerably. Anger rose in his throat. He unclenched his fists. Time enough for anger when he faced the man with his crime.

Ian bent to let down the steps. Drew could see him, a moving shadow on the other side of the coach, which was lit by a street lamp. Not one, but two others alighted. Two ladies.

His heart lurched. One was short and the other tall. Rowena. Without doubt. How the hell? This he had not expected.

Niall must have somehow got word to Ian earlier in the day. After his meeting with Rowena, when she would have revealed all. It didn’t matter. He’d expected her to be there. To be at Niall’s house, awaiting his arrival. He’d assumed Niall would smuggle her in through a back door from the mews behind the house. Ian was taking the threat pretty calmly, then, if he was strolling in through the front door.

Drew eyed the distance between him and his target. And then saw through Ian’s plan. If Drew tried to kill him on the doorstep, he might miss and hurt one of the women. He put his hand on the pistol in his pocket. He could make the shot. Rowena was ahead of Ian, her head rising above him as she mounted the steps. In the lamplight, he easily recognised her bonnet. But as he knew only too well, even a clear shot could go awry. He touched his cheek, reminding himself why he was here. Why he could not make any mistake. A man didn’t take kindly to being shot at. A near miss would only prolong matters.

The door was already open when Rowena reached the top step. She stepped inside. The others followed.

Drew couldn’t help but feel a spark of admiration for his older brother. Not once did he look around him. Nowhere in his bearing did he show any worry. Yet he must know Drew was out here. Watching. Waiting.

The door closed.

Now to enter the house.

* * *

The tension in the drawing room was palpable. Rowena had been introduced to the Gilvry men and their wives, the vivacious little Lady Aleyne sitting beside the hearth, the tall, beautiful and coolly sophisticated Mrs Logan Gilvry on the couch beside Lady Selina, who was as tiny as she was fair. Gorgeous women.

And her. In her shabby governess clothes.

Even dressed as fine as five pence she would have been nowhere near as elegant or lovely as these women. They must wonder at Drew. What he’d seen in her. But of course they didn’t. They knew he’d seen money. Nothing else.

The pain of it stabbed her heart anew.

‘Are you sure your men will see him if he should arrive?’ the Laird of Dunross said, his stern face set in harsh lines as he addressed the golden youngest brother, Logan.

He was what Drew would have been without the scar. Stunningly handsome. His wife had an aura of hardness about her, until she looked at her husband as she did now, with a smile. ‘You don’t have to worry about Logan’s men doing their duty,’ she said.

English. Like Lady Selina.

‘I have them on all the roofs,’ Logan added. ‘Not even a wee mouse can creep by without them seeing.’

Ian Gilvry grunted. ‘I don’t want him hurt, ye ken. Just immobilised and brought in.’

Some of the tension went out of Rowena at the knowledge they wouldn’t hurt him. Some. But not enough to make her neck stop aching. ‘He’s very skilled,’ she said and, aware of all the eyes in the room swivelling her way, lifted her chin, giving them her best governess stare. ‘He learned from the Indians.’

‘One Highlander is better than ten savages, I can assure you, Mrs MacDonald,’ Logan asserted with his charming grin. He walked to the window and made as if to part the curtains to look out.

‘Logan. Keep back,’ the laird ordered.

‘If he’s out there, he’ll ken I’m not you by the hair,’ Logan replied, but he let his hand fall.

‘Why take the chance?’ Niall said. ‘If he’s been waiting all these years, he’ll be ruthless. And desperate to bring it to a close.’

‘Then it is a good thing we took your mother and the children to stay with the Carstairs,’ Jenna said, her voice a little wobbly.

‘He would never harm Ma or the children,’ Ian said. ‘Not Drew.’

‘He’s changed,’ Niall said. ‘I—’

The door swung back slowly. A man in a black greatcoat, head swathed in a scarf, slipped silently into the room and stood with his back against the wall, a pistol in each hand, both cocked, one pointed at Ian’s heart.


Someone, perhaps Lady Selina, gave a little scream.

‘Your men should be watching the basement windows,’ Drew said.

Logan cursed and stepped forward.

‘Stay out of it,’ Drew said, lining the other pistol up on him. ‘I’ve nae quarrel with you, lad. This is between me and Ian.’ He moved the pistol slightly, so it was pointed at Lady Jenna.

Logan halted, looking at Ian, whose face was grim. ‘This is nonsense, Drew.’

‘Nonsense, is it? That’s why you have your men lying in wait for me. No doubt with orders to kill on sight. They failed last time. And they have failed again.’

Ian let out an exasperated sigh. ‘They are there to prevent you from doing anything stupid.’

‘Why not just admit the truth, Ian?’ Drew said, his voice cold and hard. ‘Tell them what you did.’

‘I did nothing but send you away,’ Ian said. He took a step towards Drew, who straightened, his eyes narrowing a fraction.

She couldn’t bear it. He was just so damned angry. He wasn’t going to listen to reason. Not from his brother. But would he listen to reason from her?

She rose from her chair and stepped between Ian and Drew. ‘Don’t do this. Please, Drew.’

‘Damn you, Rowena. Stay out of this. You have everything you want.’

‘Everything except you.’

He flinched. Then shook his head. ‘You don’t want me. Not now.’

The journal. Her heart ached. Feeling helpless against the barrier he had thrown up, she pressed on. ‘Drew, I won’t let you do this. It isn’t right. He’s your brother.’

‘A brother who wanted me dead. Well, he’ll have his way after tonight. But he’ll no’ be around to know it.’

Trembling deep inside, she took a step closer. She knew he wouldn’t shoot her. But he could so easily sweep her aside. ‘He says it isn’t true.’

‘And you’ll take his word over mine.’ The hurt in his voice shattered her heart.

‘Please, Drew.’ She held out a hand. ‘I love you.’

His gaze flew to her face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re with them.’

The denial pierced her soul. Hot tears welled at the back of her nose. She reached for the pistol. ‘Drew—’

‘Rowena,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘Don’t make me choose. You know I need this.’

‘No, Drew.’

The pistol wavered. Logan and Niall launched themselves at Drew and threw him to the floor. His hat fell off, his scarf came unravelled as he fought like a wild man to keep his pistols.

Ian stepped in and wrenched one away. Niall took the other and tossed it aside.

In sick horror, Rowena could only watch as he slowly came to the realisation he was outmatched. Niall and Logan heaved him to his feet.

Lady Selina gasped and turned away as she saw his face. Jenna took her hands and said something in a low voice. The other woman, Logan’s wife, narrowed her eyes, her mouth set in a straight line.

Logan pulled a rope from his pocket and began binding Drew’s hands behind his back. ‘So we can talk, aye?’

Drew struggled against the ropes, crashing Logan into the wall, almost breaking free of the two men.

‘Stop,’ Rowena said. ‘Don’t...don’t tie him. He’ll give you his parole.’

Drew lifted his head to look at her and the hurt of betrayal was in his face. ‘Will I, now?’ he said, his chest rising and falling from the effort. He already had the start of a bruise around his one eye and another on his chin.

‘You will,’ she said in a voice that had cowed more than one recalcitrant lad.

‘Give me your word you’ll do nothing until we get to the bottom of what happened,’ Ian said.

Drew sneered, ‘So you can pull the wool over everyone’s eyes, you mean.’ His gaze flicked to the Lady Selina. ‘You were always very good at that.’

Logan began binding his wrists.

‘Drew,’ Rowena said.

He glared at her. ‘All right. My parole. For now.’ He shrugged off the hands that were holding him.

She became aware of Ian staring at him, at the ruined flesh, and of the regret in his face. ‘Drew,’ he said. ‘I am so bloody sorry.’

Drew touched his cheek and turned his face side on, a gesture she hadn’t seen from him for a while. It struck a blow to her chest far harder than the mistrust in his eyes. ‘I don’t care about sorry,’ Drew said to his brother harshly. ‘I care about justice.’

‘Are we all done with the brawling you Highlanders seem to enjoy so much?’ a cynical cultured voice said from the doorway.

A tall man with fair hair, handsome in a refined sort of way, sauntered in with an expression of weary distaste.

‘Jaimie,’ Logan said. ‘Any luck?’

The dandy brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his sleeve. ‘It is not about luck, dear boy.’ He looked up and gave an especially sweet smile to the occupants of the room, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘It is about knowing where to look and having the means to do so.’ He turned back to the door. ‘Bring him in.’

A couple of burly rough-looking men dragged a woebegone figure through the door and pushed down on his shoulders until he sat slumped in a chair. He was conscious, barely.

‘Morris,’ Drew exclaimed.

‘Oh, have you two met already? Allow me to introduce him to the others.’

‘I know him,’ Logan said. ‘Tab Morris. One of McKenzie’s bully boys.’

One of the toughs holding him, a man who looked like a bruiser, touched his forelock. ‘Ye’ll not be having any trouble with him now, milord,’ he said in a gravelly voice. He glanced over at Logan’s wife and inclined his head. ‘Ma’am.’

She smiled at him. ‘Growler. Your sister is well?’

‘Yes, ma’am. In the pink.’

Both men left the room, leaving their victim behind clutching one of his arms.

Drew was glaring at the man they had called Jaimie. ‘Who the hell are you?’

‘Lord Sanford,’ Ian said. ‘Drew Gilvry. Another of my brothers. Mrs MacDonald you met earlier at the Whitehorse Inn.’

Sanford bowed with languid grace, but Drew wasn’t watching the lordling, he was looking at her, frowning, guessing that she’d been instrumental in his capture, no doubt.

‘He’s a friend of my wife’s friend, Alice Fulton, now Lady Hawkhurst.’ Ian’s face hardened to granite. ‘You remember Alice, Drew?’

Drew’s expression twisted as his gaze went back to his brother. ‘How could I forget?’

Lady Selina made a small sound of protest.

‘Well, now that the niceties are dealt with,’ Lord Sanford said, ‘shall we see what this disreputable chap has to say?’

* * *

She’d said she loved him. The force of those words were still battering against his brain even as he tried to make sense of what was going on.

She couldn’t have read the journal.

She didna’ know yet what he was. What he’d been. Or she had. And she’d decided he was better off out of the way. Because it didn’t matter what Ian said, or how many paroles he gave, he was not going to give up. Not as long as he lived.

He forced himself to focus on what the dandified English lordling was saying to Morris.

‘Who do you work for?’

‘McKenzie,’ that man said, wiping a bloody nose on his sleeve.

‘There’s nothing new in that,’ Drew said.