Free The Laird of Lochandee by Gwen Kirkwood Page B

belongings into it, almost flinging it at her.
    â€˜Now get out of my house! Don’t ever come back!’ Gertrude’s words were a hiss of venom as she hustled the helpless girl down the stairs and out of the house. Rachel barely had time to cast a hopeful glance towards Cameron Maxwell’s chair, then the box bed beside the fire. He was not there. Where was Meg? Where was Ross? Surely he would save her. But Gertrude had raised the dreaded horsewhip again. Rachel hurried out into the chill October drizzle.
    â€˜Ross …?’ she faltered when she was several paces away from her persecutor.
    â€˜He’s gone,’ Gertrude gave a nasty laugh. ‘Just like your father. He’s let you down.’ Rachel turned then and stared at her.
    â€˜M-my father?’
    â€˜Your father was no saint, whatever your mother believed.’
    â€˜M-my father was a good man. Ross …’
    â€˜Ross won you over with his silver tongue. He’s just like your father. He’s had his way with you. Now he’s gone. Taken the pony and trap and gone off on the train. Away from here. A long way away.’
    â€˜I-I don’t believe you …’ Rachel gasped, feeling the blood drain from her face. Gertrude shrugged. ‘Please yourself. He will never be back in these parts again.’ She turned on her heel and closed the door firmly. Rachel stared at the unyielding dark brown wood.
    Then she turned and walked slowly out of the farmyard, down the road, away from Windlebrae. What could she to do? Surely Ross had not gone away? Where would he go? As she walked she listened, praying he would call her name, come running after her. Surely she would waken and discover this was a bad dream?
    The pangs of hunger were no dream, nor the faintness which accompanied them. She had no money, no food. She had nowhere to go. She did not even know which road to take to the nearest village or to the station. The whole world was a vast grey blanket of mist and rain. She shivered but she plodded on. She dare not go back.

Chapter Seven
    R ACHEL WALKED WEARILY, LOST and alone, on roads which appeared to have no ending, but which must surely take her away from Mistress Maxwell and her wild eyes and the dreaded whip.
    Meanwhile Ross was experiencing a jumble of emotions as he climbed aboard the train which would take him to Dumfries. He had never been further than Kilmarnock before. He could not control the fluttering in his stomach. Feelings of apprehension and foreboding mingled with excitement. The whole adventure was a surprise, and a shock. There had been no time to think, to ask questions, to consider. No time to talk to Rachel, or even to Meg.
    It had all been such a rush. Why hadn’t his mother told them yesterday? When had the telegram arrived? Could that be the reason for her trip with the pony and trap?
    Her help, her encouragement, astonished him. She had never shown any interest in his future before. Yet today she had organised everything, even thrusting a packet of sandwiches into his hand and wedging his suitcase between the milk churns.
    â€˜Your ticket is in your waistcoat pocket and there’s half-a-crown in the other and the key for the case. There’s a letter for Jim MacDonald. Er – there’s a package for you as well. Find them before you go to bed.’ Maybe she thought they would not feed him, he thought with a grin.
    It had all been such a bustle, loading the milk onto the platform, turning the trap and heading the pony for home with a slap on the rump. He had felt a pang of regret, a sinking in his stomach, as he watched the empty trap disappear. Sternly he reminded himself that he would be back at Windlebrae by tomorrow night.
    As the train gathered speed, with great huffs and puffs of black smoke, his anticipation mounted. He watched the fields flying by and wished Rachel could have come with him. He grinned wryly to himself. His mother would never allow that