Jason sat back on his heels, feeling the unmanly sting of tears in his eyes.
A crowd was gathering again, people pouring through the doors and out into the garden. Scarborough turned and conducted a hasty, whispered conversation with Lord Darnley. Together they hustled the guests back inside. It took some minutes, and by the time Scarborough returned, Jason had composed himself.
The gray day had finally delivered on its promise, and a light drizzle fell from the sky. Silently Scarborough walked Jason down the garden path, away from the sight of the body.
Their brother.
Jason dropped onto a stone bench, his hands dangling limply between his spread knees, his eyes blindly perusing the wet gravel beneath his feet.
Scarborough sat beside him. “Your father had a dalliance with my mother before either of them married.” His voice was low, his words matter-of-fact. “When he fell in love with your mother, he left mine with child. Eventually she was offered to my father as a widow with a young son. She was beautiful, and her family had land that bordered his. Her dowry. He didn’t know the truth at the time, but when he learned it later, he forgave her. Their marriage wasn’t bad, all things considered.”
Jason’s father—the valiant war hero—had had an illicit affair. Had left a pregnant woman. Had left behind a child.
“Geoffrey was the oldest,” Scarborough continued, “but he would never inherit. He resented it. He made my life miserable.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason muttered, feeling somehow as though he were to blame.
“He never knew who his own father was until our parents died. While going through their things, we found—a letter. From your father to my mother. From that moment, Geoffrey…” Scarborough seemed at a loss for words. His fingers curled into fists. “He lost his mind. It’s the only way I can put it. It was as though he finally had somewhere to channel all that hatred. I’m sorry I threw him out, though. If I’d known he would come after you, I’d have coped with him somehow. I feel a substantial burden of responsibility here, and for that I apologize.”
“It’s not your fault.” Jason shoved the damp hair from his eyes. It was his father’s fault. His not-so-perfect father. A human man after all, selfish enough to act in his own interests, a man who had made mistakes.
Mistakes that Jason had paid for. And little Mary and her mother. And Adam and Caithren, and who knew how many others?
“I thank you for your candor.” Jason rose and held out a hand.
Scarborough stood and grasped it tightly. “I’m sorry.”
“And for jumping in to save me from Gothard’s pistol.”
“I was only evening the score. You saved me from his sword. I would never have recognized him in that disguise.”
Their eyes met, acknowledging each other. Two men who both did what needed to be done.
“I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” With a nod, Scarborough backed away, then turned and walked toward the house.
“Pardon me, but are you the Marquess of Cainewood?”
The voice was light and musical, and Jason swiveled to see Emerald MacCallum. Good heavens, she topped him in height. How had he ever insisted that Cait was Emerald?
Taken aback, he blinked. “Where is your emerald amulet?”
Her eyes looked puzzled. “My what?”
“Your…” He shook his head to clear it. “How did you get your name?”
She grinned. “My birth name is Flora. The first time I went tracking, I recovered a large cache of stolen emeralds. The news sheets called me ‘Emerald’ MacCallum, and the name stuck.”
Of course. It made perfect sense. Another misconception that had stubbornly lodged in his head.
“Lord Cainewood…” When she swept off her man’s hat, the drizzle beaded on her bright red curls. “I believe you had offered a reward…?”
He measured her, unblinking. He sensed she was a good woman, drawn to desperate measures. Something he understood now more than ever before.
And he remembered a man saying she was a mother.
“You have children?”
“Aye.” Her eyes saddened, and he knew what to do.
The pouch in his surcoat was heavy. He drew it out and handed it to her.
Frowning, she spilled the contents into her hand and slowly counted a hundred pounds, then put the rest back.
“Keep it,” Jason said. “All of it.”
“But…there’s more than two hundred pounds here! Maybe three. The reward was a hundred.” Her expression said she thought he’d lost his mind.
Perhaps he had. “Keep it,” he repeated. “I didn’t exactly want to see justice done this way, but perhaps it is for the best.” He shrugged. “As for the money…I would just as soon not picture you chasing dangerous men all over England. Go home to your children.”
She smiled, her face transforming. Her eyes brimmed with tears. And once he’d thought that a woman like her would never cry. Another thing he’d been wrong about.
“Take it and make a life for yourself,” he said. “And your family.”
“I will,” she breathed. “God bless you, Lord Cainewood.”
SEVENTY-TWO
CAITHREN COULD barely lift her feet to mount the steps to the town house.
Her father was gone, and now her brother. And, dear heavens, she’d killed a man. And Jason…
It was all too much to absorb.
Ford shoved open the house’s front door. “Why is it that anything the authorities are involved in seems to take forever?”
A sound of derision came from her throat. “I expect they’ve nothing better to do than be bothersome.”
“Hush, sweet Cait.” Cameron patted her arm. “The question was rhetorical. It’s been a long day and night, but you can rest now.” Stopping short on the threshold, he turned to Kendra and Ford. “Crivvens. You people actually live here?” Clearly aghast, he stared into the plush interior.
Kendra beckoned him inside. “Father bought it in the pre-war days, before our family’s fortune was depleted in defense of the king. Jason is cash poor, but he has…things.”
“Jason seems to have plenty of money,” Cait disagreed.
“It’s all relative.” With a shrug, Kendra started down the corridor. “Come, we’ll sit and talk.”
“I don’t
