Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,51

leaving you soon?” Sarah repeated more forcefully.

“As soon as he’s able,” she replied, her fantasy acting as a most effective calming agent, so that Sarah’s attempts to upset her seemed like the pesky buzzing of a harmless insect. “He has to wait for Dr. Campbell’s permission.”

“How fortunate for you. He must be most fascinating company.”

“He’s a very interesting man,” Moira agreed, “but of course I want him to get well as quickly as possible.” She gave Sarah her most empty smile. “Don’t you?”

“Naturally,” Sarah snapped as a blush reddened her cheeks.

“You’re lucky you’ll get to keep him for a while longer,” Emmeline said, as if he were a pet, “since he’ll have to be well enough to travel to Edinburgh before he can leave.”

“He need only be well enough to go to McStuart House,” Moira corrected.

“Oh, dear, she doesn’t know,” Sarah said with a smug glance at her friends.

“She must not,” Emmeline agreed.

“We only learned about it ourselves,” Mabel noted, earning her a censorious glance from Sarah.

“Sir Robert’s not in Dunbrachie,” Sarah announced with a superior air, as if Moira must be stupid not to know his whereabouts. “He’s gone to Edinburgh. On business, I understand. Legal business.”

Moira waited for Sarah to make a snide remark about the lawsuit.

It didn’t come.

Instead, she said, “There’s a rumor going about that he wants to sell McStuart House. He must not want to stay where there are so many unpleasant memories.”

Relieved that Sarah was still ignorant about the action for breach of promise or she surely would have mentioned it by now, Moira had a few darts of her own to launch. “Perhaps he’s so ashamed of his behavior, he thinks he should sell his family’s home and never show his face here again. Obviously there’s nothing and no one here to tempt him to stay.”

Sarah’s lips curved up in a most unladylike and ugly scowl before she delivered a vicious slap of her reins on her pony’s rump. The poor beast gave a startled whinny and took off down the road. With a little shriek, Emmeline Swanson grabbed her bonnet and Mabel Hornby clung to the side of the cart for dear life, although she also managed to call out, “Give Mr. McHeath our best wishes!”

As the cart disappeared around a bend, Moira realized the men behind her were stifling guffaws. She smiled, too, for a moment. Then she sighed as she thought of Mr. McHeath going back to Edinburgh.

Where he belonged. And she did not.

There was nothing she could do about that. There was something she could do for the children of Dunbrachie, however, so she nudged her horse to a walk and continued toward the charred remains of the school, although that was not uppermost in her thoughts. Why was Robbie leaving Dunbrachie? How could he even think of selling his ancestral home…unless he had to. But why? The scandal of their broken engagement affected her far more than him.

Why else would a man sell his family home?

Because he no longer wanted it?

In Robbie’s case, that was unlikely. He’d been too proud of that house, and its history. He’d been so happy showing her all the portraits and explaining who was who in the family tree. Why else?

A house such as that took a lot of money to maintain. And Robbie spent a lot of money, on entertaining and clothing. Was it possible he no longer had the funds to maintain it?

And if he was lacking the money for that, how desperate might he be for funds? Desperate enough that he would want to marry a wealthy man’s daughter?

If so, wouldn’t that make the breaking of that engagement even more devastating for him? That would explain so much….

They were about fifty yards away from the ruins of the school when she saw something that made her rein in quickly and signal for her men to be quiet.

Somebody was already there.

Chapter Fourteen

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Moira shouted, her grip tightening on her reins.

His face and hands and clothes black with soot, Big Jack MacKracken came out from behind a half-fallen wall.

“Why are you here?” Moira demanded as her men rode up beside her and Jem reached for his riding crop.

Big Jack didn’t answer. He stood where he was and, to Moira’s even greater surprise, Lillibet came around the wall, her face and hands and clothing equally dirty. She smiled up at her father before saying, “We’re cleaning away the burned wood from inside, my lady.”

Moira wouldn’t