A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,100

her hair. “I’ve got you, love. We’ll sort it together.”

It felt so good to hold her again, even like this. For a long while she simply let him; Drew murmured mindlessly, assuring her that he wouldn’t leave her again, that they would survive this, that she didn’t have to carry the burden alone.

“What did you mean?” she whispered eventually. Her fingers had curled into his neckcloth, like a child, and his jacket beneath her cheek was damp. “You said I should not go alone into God knows what. What do you fear?”

He shifted her in his arms. “Never mind that.”

“Tell me,” she said, in the same numb voice. “If you want to go with me, be honest with me.”

He shifted her weight and tried to choose his words with more care than before. “I only meant that you don’t know whom or what you’ll encounter, and what they might do to you.”

“I only want to find Papa.” She sounded drowsy.

He rubbed her back, wishing she would sleep so he could, too. He’d snatched no more than an hour of sleep before his sisters beat down Duncan’s door. Now that he was with her, holding her, exhaustion was pulling hard at him. “Are you entirely certain he’ll want to be found?”

Ilsa jerked upright, her head cracking against his chin. “What? Of course! He is my father—!”

“And he left without telling you where he was going.” Drew froze, suddenly wary. Christ, why had he said that? “He didn’t, did he?”

She stiffened. “That’s twice you have suggested I know where he went and even helped him flee. What do you mean by that?”

“Where did you tell the driver to go?” he countered, his mouth once more running ahead of his tired brain.

She set her jaw. “Do you think my father is guilty?”

He didn’t give a damn about William Fletcher. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!” she cried.

“I’m not interested in him, guilty or innocent,” Drew growled stubbornly. “Only in you.”

“You said you wanted to catch the thieves.” She put her hands against his chest and pushed. “You proposed the King’s Pardon. The sheriff listens to you, the procurator-fiscal, the lord advocate . . .” Her gaze jumped to his, her eyes widening. “Did you follow me today to help them find Papa? Is that why you are here? You were determined to find the thieves . . .”

His muscles turned to stone, and he set her back on the opposite seat. “No.” The word was hard and bitter on his tongue.

Ilsa pressed a hand to her mouth as though she would be sick. She blinked rapidly and he tensed to fling open the door and help her out. His own eyelids felt gritty from lack of sleep, and the carriage was warm, rocking back and forth over the well-worn road. When Ilsa leaned back, pale but more composed, he exhaled a sigh of relief.

“I can’t make you trust me.” He opened the window next to him for some air. “But I’m not lying. I’m not here at the behest of the procurator or the sheriff.” He let down the shade on the other side to block the morning sun. “Agnes said the sheriff’s officers came to your house.”

“They searched it.” She leaned her head against the wall of the carriage, the energy visibly draining from her. The smudges under her eyes looked even darker when her eyelashes fluttered closed.

Drew sighed. “Try to rest,” he said gruffly. They could talk later. He had leapt into her carriage on faith and instinct, and that would have to be enough for now. Gently he spread the folded lap rug over her.

She blinked at him with unfocused eyes. “This is a nightmare,” she mumbled again.

He cupped her cheek and brushed away the track of her tear with his thumb. “It is,” he whispered. And there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

They stopped in Dunbar, near the coast. He could smell the brine in the air even before they climbed down from the travel chaise. Drew had deliberately not asked again where they were headed, and Ilsa had not volunteered the information. She slept for some time and woke quiet and subdued. From the glances she stole at him, he could tell she didn’t trust him.

The worst of it was, she was right not to. Once she fell asleep, he was paradoxically unable to close his eyes. He’d watched her for hours while dissecting and scrutinizing everything he knew. Drew had no intention of helping