The Devil’s Due by Boucher, Rita (short books for teens .txt) 📕
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Once more, Duncan pulled her close, keeping his own anger at bay in the face of Kate’s need.
“I do not know how many times it had happened,” she whispered. “How many times my daughter saw him taking her away, leaving Anne alone and frightened in the dark. That was why when I heard her yell today-”
“There is no need to explain,” he told her, cupping her chin in his hands. “I understand.”
“How can you?” Kate asked sadly. “How can you bear the sight of me, knowing that I did nothing to help that poor girl? Left my child to bear the consequences of my neglect? I know that he must have threatened Anne into silence!”
“It is not your fault, Kate,” Duncan said, smoothing away a tear that was drifting down her cheek. “It is only reprobates like me who suspect evil in all they see.”
“But I stood by and allowed him to go free,” she protested.
“And what could you have done?” he asked. “Confronted him that night? Think upon the results of that? He had obviously planned his campaign thoroughly. He was certain that you would be out of the way, that no one would discover his dirty secret.”
“I should have stayed and fought him. I could have laid evidence against him,” Kate said.
“And what proof would you have had?” Duncan asked. “Your word? The silence of an intimidated little girl? The nursery maid was a servant, Kate. He would have claimed that the girl had attempted to seduce him and that was what you had seen. Or he might have branded you a liar and the event a fiction. It would appear that your brother-in-law was doing his damndest to undermine your reputation and your claim to sanity in his campaign to force himself upon you. If you had tried to accuse him, where would that have left the lassie, I ask you?”
Kate was silent for a moment as she considered the consequences of an outright accusation. John would have used all of the power at his disposal to crush her without a qualm. “Like as not, he would have turned it upon me. Accused me of jealousy and attempting to seduce him. He implied as much to me once, when I threatened to tell my sister-in-law of what was occurring. Anne and her birthright would have been left at his mercy,” she said, at last.
“Aye,” Duncan agreed, “with none to protect her. You did the best thing you could have, the only thing. As for her birthright, Kate, I swear that I will help you regain what is rightfully hers. I shall seek justice for you both, Kate, if you will but give me his name.”
She looked at him, this man who had just vowed to become her champion, and knew that this was no idle assertion. There was determination in the chiseled set of his jaw; his defiant stance was as hard and uncompromising as the mountains that stood at his back. All that was needed was a broadsword and shield to cover the broad, bronzed expanse of his chest and he would easily be one of those Highland warriors of old, ready to right wrongs and slay dragons. Duncan was an avenging demon, a soldier who had placed the full measure of his power at her command. It was a gift beyond comparison, beyond price, but even as she pictured John kneeling at sword’s point, begging for mercy, Kate knew that she could not make Duncan her weapon.
“Duncan, were it pistols or swords or even bare fists, I would want for no better ally,” she said with a fragile smile. “But he would never meet you to duel on Primrose Hill before breakfast, my friend. The inns of court are more to his style than the fields of honor. He would use writs as his choice of weapon and have a bevy of barristers to second him. The man would strangle you with suits, bury you with briefs and failing that, I would not put a knife in the back in a dark alley past him. No, Duncan, but I thank you.” She brought her hands up to rest on his shoulders. “He is a very powerful man, with a great deal of wealth and influence. I appreciate your offer, but I could not let you put yourself at risk.”
She was attempting to protect him. However, it was difficult for Duncan to decide whether he felt flattered or insulted. Nonetheless, as present matters stood, Kate was correct, he did not have the ability to confront a man such as the one she was describing. There had been no word from Dewey, and more oddly, not so much as a line from Marcus. With neither evidence nor funds, he could not fight his own battles, much less hers. Silently, he resolved to send Fred to Edinburgh to determine if any progress had been made on reclaiming his legacy.
In the meantime, there was Kate and the gentle touch of her hands on his shoulder. “My friend,” she had called him. Females had given the “Mad MacLean” numerous titles: lover, protector, a hundred meaningless endearments moaned in passion’s heat, and often as not, lying bastard, but no woman had ever before named him
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