“Now, there must be some water here somewhere,” Mary said, as she glanced around the room. “There it is.” She hurried across the room to the dresser.
Elise seated herself in the chair and bent to unlace her boots. “Freshen yourself first,” she said. “I'll rest a few minutes then see to myself.”
“I canna' do that,” Mary exclaimed. She poured water from the pitcher into the bowl it sat in. “The laird would be displeased.”
“The laird isn't here to care,” Elise replied. She wondered if Marcus had reached Ashlund yet. The estate lay another hour and a half away by carriage. A fast horse could have gotten him there in half the time.
“Aye,” the girl replied with a deep sigh. “It must be difficult for you considering the danger.” Mary took a step back and surveyed the dresser drawers. She opened the top right drawer. “Oh, fine,” she said, and pulled out a washcloth.
“By the time they arrive to Ashlund, the fire may be out,” Elise said.
“Mayhap,” Mary said. She dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out. “Just pray the main house doesna' catch fire in the process.”
Elise straightened from her boot. “What do you mean?”
“I'm going to Ashlund,” Elise announced an hour later as she entered the drawing room.
Sophie looked up from the tea she was pouring. “Marcus said you were to stay here.” She set the teapot down.
“He did not.” Elise stopped in front of her. “Kiernan simply escorted us here so he could hurry to Ashlund.”
“You know he intended for you to remain here.”
“He probably thought I would be more comfortable here and that I might not want to arrive at Ashlund under such circumstances. Had we discussed the matter, I would have explained none of those things mattered.”
Had Marcus told her the grove that separated the stables from the house had burned once before, nearly taking the house with it, he wouldn't have been able to keep her away. Winnie's story of how her uncle had burned while asleep in his house came back to Elise with the same horrifying realism it had when Mary described how the grove burned thirty years ago.
“Why the concern?” Elise said when the furrows in Sophie's forehead deepened. “Daylight will last another two hours. I can reach Ashlund long before dark. I will take the driver, along with the men Marcus assigned to accompany us.” Sophie still looked doubtful and Elise added, “Along with two of your men, they can help with the fire.”
“Three of our men,” she said. “Keep them as long as Marcus needs them. Perhaps I should send more? Oh dear, I should have thought of that earlier. I wish Justin were here. He would deal with this far better than I.” She looked at Elise, adding in a hopeful voice, “He should be returning any moment.”
“We have all the time in the world to get to know one another,” Elise said. “Now, let's have the carriage readied.”
* * *
Marcus slowed his stallion as he neared the stables at Whycham House. The boy Samuel emerged from the stables and Marcus came to a halt beside him. Marcus dismounted and tossed the reins to him.
“See to him, Samuel,” he said, and started for the house.
He hurried along the footpath. Despite exhaustion last night, he had missed Elise. He entered without knocking and went directly to the drawing room where, as expected, Sophie sat on the couch facing the window overlooking the gardens. Elise, however, wasn't present.
Sophie looked up. Her brow furrowed. “What is amiss?”
“The only thing amiss,” he replied, “is that my wife isn't here. Is she still abed? It is nearly—”
Sophie's eyes widened and she gave a soft gasp.
Marcus felt an instant of confusion, then his heart leapt into a furious rhythm. “What is it? Where is she?”
Sophie stood, the needlework in her lap falling to the floor. “She left yesterday, a short time after we arrived.”
“What?” Marcus's head spun. “I instructed her to wait until I came for her.” He broke from the cold hand of fear and strode to Sophie. She looked up at him, panic on her face. He grasped her shoulders. “Why did Justin allow her to leave?”
“He wasn't here. Elise was concerned about you.”
“And you let her go?” Marcus shook her hard enough to loosen several hairpins. Two curls struck her shoulder.
“It was still light,” Sophie said, her voice so shaky Marcus realized she was close to tears. “I travel between Whycham House and Ashlund often. Marcus!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You know it is true. I have never feared traveling on that road, even at night.”
Marcus released her, his hands working and reworking into fists.
“She took three of our men,” Sophie went on. “I told her to keep them as long as needed at Ashlund. It was early. I had no reason to—”
“No reason to think!” he roared, and stepped closer. She didn't retreat. “She is not to travel alone,” he shouted. “There have been threats—”
“Threats?” Sophie's gaze hardened. “Threats you say? I ask you, then, why we weren't told? Should Justin not have been informed? Should not some provisions have been made? My God, Marcus, why have you kept silent?”
He struggled to answer, but the words—his mind—nothing worked.
“What are these threats?” Sophie asked in a voice so reasonable, so firm, Marcus snapped from his indecision.
“There's no time for explanations.” Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but he said, “First, we find her.”
Chapter Seventeen
Marcus followed Elise's carriage tracks from Whycham House onto the road leading to Ashlund. Where a heavier-trafficked crossroad joined the Ashlund road, a myriad of tracks, all muddied by the night's rain, obscured hers. Marcus ordered Justin to return to Whycham House and check all farms and cottages near the road, while he continued onward and did the same. Two hours passed before he heard the pounding of hooves over the sound of his own mount's gallop. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Justin approaching. Sophie rode alongside and Kiernan followed with a dozen more men behind. Marcus slowed his stallion as they neared. He observed the haggard look on Sophie's face when they came alongside.
They had discovered no news.
“There are four farms between the point you left us and Whycham House,” Justin said. “I did not wish to diverge too far off the road until we could better ascertain where she might have gotten lost.”
Marcus's head jerked to the side and he glared at Justin. “Lost?”
“You have found nothing?” Justin went on.
Marcus looked forward again. “Nae.”
“We are but midway between Ashlund and Whycham House,” Justin said. “There is much territory yet to cover.”
Two farmhouses down, they encountered a peasant who remembered Elise's entourage.
“When?” Marcus demanded.
“Yesterday,” the man replied. “I was returning from MacLellan's down the road. Later afternoon, four-thirty or five, I would say.”
“All was well with her?”
“As far as I could see.”
“How many were in the party?” Marcus asked.
“I didn't see inside the carriage. Let me see, there was the driver, wheeler,” he paused, then added, “there were three or four men riding alongside. Can't say for sure.”
“Sounds as if the men are accounted for,” Justin said.
“Come,” Marcus directed the man, “you will show us exactly where you saw my wife.”
They rode a mile south on the road, when the farmer stopped them. “Here.”
Marcus dismounted and examined the tracks. “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “It looks as though all of Edinburgh has traversed this road.” He tried following his line of sight along one set of carriage tracks, only to lose them in the tangled web of another in the moist ground.
“Lord Phillip passed this way,” the man said.
Marcus cut his gaze to the man. “Lord Phillip. When?”
“I passed h
im about two miles north of his estate,” the man replied.
“Then you saw Lady Ashlund here?”
“Aye.”
Marcus looked at Justin. “Phillip's estate borders mine.”
Justin nodded. “Perhaps they passed one another.”
An hour later, Marcus departed Lord Phillip's estate knowing nothing more than that the earl had set out to visit a friend to the north before heading south for Edinburgh. Marcus cursed the earl's timing, his absence, and his person.
Marcus glanced at the sky as he mounted his horse. The day had turned to dusk. He had ridden since morning and his mount flagged. He rode to Ashlund and exchanged his horse for a fresh one. He reached the outskirts of Ashlund property and encountered the search party.
“Exchange your horses for fresh ones at Ashlund,” Marcus instructed. “I'll speak to the tenants of the two farms to the south.”
“Father,” Kiernan said in unison with Justin's, “Marcus.”
“I left instructions for horses to be readied for you,” Marcus said. “You will overtake me soon enough.”
* * *
Dusk gave way to night as they extended the search into the countryside to the west. To the east, a high cliff butted the shoreline of an inlet from the bay. Now, they rode fifteen miles south of Ashlund, stopping at every village and home on the road to Edinburgh. The next village lay five miles farther south. Marcus urged his horse into a harder trot and the company following did the same. Sophie rode between Marcus and Justin with Kiernan behind them.
“Marcus,” Sophie called above the clatter of hooves.
He looked at her. An overcast sky hid the moon, but four of the twelve men who accompanied them carried torches and he easily made out her strained expression.
Sophie shook her head. “Why didn't Elise—” She broke off with a stifled choke.
Marcus looked straight ahead. “I alone bear the blame. Don't cause yourself any further grief over the matter.”
“No further grief?”
Her words hit him like barbs and Marcus snapped his attention onto her.
Her eyes blazed. “You can be an arrogant bastard, Cousin. Whether or not I share blame, I will grieve as I please.”
She yanked her horse's reins and Marcus pulled to the right in order to avoid her horse. She circled to the rear of the company and brought her stallion alongside Justin's.
A moment of silence passed before Justin said, “Seven men traveled in the company, all trained men of war. Not easy prey.”
“Yet they are gone,” Marcus said.
“True,” Justin agreed, “but there will be news of them somewhere. A company of brigands large enough to take such a large party could not go unnoticed.”
“Then let us find that news,” Marcus said, and spurred his mount into a full gallop.
The morning sun had only begun to spread across the grey sky when Marcus brought his horse to a halt in front of Ashlund. Justin, Kiernan, and the messenger, carrying news of a priest who said he had knowledge of Elise's entourage, followed Marcus as he jumped to the ground and ran for the porch, then took the stairs two at a time. Pushing past the oak door, they strode down the corridor to the drawing room. Marcus threw open the door to find Sophie sitting on the couch. Beside her sat the priest, Father Fynn.
The priest stood and Marcus hurried forward. “Father,” he said, “what news do you have?”
The priest hesitated.
“Tell me,” Marcus demanded. “You have news of my wife.”
“Forgive me, Lord Ashlund,” Father Fynn began, “Yesterday, we found a woman's body washed ashore near Braemer.”
Marcus's head reeled. He looked at Sophie, who had yet to rise. He turned back to the priest. “You can't be sure. We found no sign of foul play.”
“Lord Ashlund, I wasn't aware you had married, and this woman was a stranger to us. Therefore, we began a search of our own. We traveled upstream and—” he broke off.
“What? What did you find that could possibly confirm your suspicions?”
“A carriage.”
Marcus stared. “A carriage means nothing.”
“I know the crest. All living in this area know it.” Father Fynn pointed at the two-sworded crest hanging over the hearth. “The carriage bore your crest. It lies on the shore near Glenurcom.”
Forty-five minutes later, Marcus stood with Justin and Kiernan at the edge of a wooded cliff overlooking Glenurcom. He looked down at a carriage, the front half of which was submerged in water. The horses' bodies were tangled in the mass of leather and iron, which had once been harness and axle. Marcus watched small waves lap at the bloated mass of flesh. He stared again at the broken carriage, then closed his eyes. Even from a hundred-foot distance, there was no mistaking the Ashlund crest.
He turned away.
Justin followed. “You say you found another woman's body in the carriage?” he addressed the priest, who had remained astride his mount.
Father Fynn nodded. “Young. By her dress, I assumed a servant.”
“Mary,” Marcus mumbled.
“And you found the bodies of how many men?” Justin asked.
“Four.”
“How many men had you left with her, Marcus?”
He laughed bitterly. “Not enough.”
“How many?” Justin repeated.
Marcus looked up, startled from his stupor by the earl's sharp tone. “Four. The driver, two wheelers and one guard. Kiernan rode with them. They were but twenty minutes from Whycham House—” He ceased speaking when Kiernan's mouth tightened. “'Tis not your fault, Kiernan. You saw them to Whycham House as I instructed.”
“Three men are missing,” Justin went on in a business-like manner. “Where are they?”
Marcus looked at him. He heard the words, but the meaning escaped him. “What?”
“Three men remain unaccounted for.”
“You know full well where they are,” Marcus said in a savage voice. “They ran from my wrath. And well they should. But they can't hide from me forever. When I catch them—”
“Don't be a fool,” Justin cut in, his voice still calm. “There isn't a man in your personal entourage who would run rather than die. As for the three men from my household, I've trusted them with Sophie's life many times.”
Justin began looking about the rocky terrain of the forest. He strode ten feet, then came to a halt. He studied the ground for a moment before saying, “The carriage came through here.” With a sweep of his hands, he indicated a wide area between the trees. “I see only this bit of carriage tracks here,” he squatted and ran a finger over two inches of ground, “and,” he scuttled forward, “this here.” He ran his fingers over another four inches of ground.
Marcus looked at the ground, but the imagined picture of Elise's terror-stricken face as the carriage careened through the forest toward the cliff's edge blurred his vision. He watched numbly as Justin rose, walked another twenty feet in the direction of the road, then stopped again.
He dropped to a squat and examined the ground. “Here is a hoof print.” He lightly touched a mossy spot between embedded stones. “This stony ground challenges my limited skills as tracker.”
Father Fynn dismounted and joined Justin in studying the ground. He glanced toward the road, then rose, strode several paces, and studied the ground. “Two rode here.” The priest pointed to the ground a foot away.
Justin rose and walked another ten feet past the priest. He surveyed the ground, then the cliff. He looked at Marcus. “Why didn't the women jump?”
Marcus's stomach lurched.
Justin frowned. “The guards would have instructed them to jump long before they reached the cliff. The men wouldn't have willingly gone over with the carriage.” Justin turned and walked toward the road until he disappeared among the trees. A moment later, his faint call sounded from beyond the trees.
Marcus didn't move.
“Father,” Kiernan said.
Marcus looked at him and Keirnan gave him an
inquiring look. Marcus started toward Justin's voice. He broke from the trees to find Justin examining the road. Father Fynn followed, his horse's reins in hand. Kiernan trailed with the remaining horses.
Justin didn't look up at their approach, only said, “Marcus, you are a far better tracker than I. Have a look.”
Marcus moved forward as though in a dream and squatted next to Justin.
“This road is nearly as rocky as the shore,” Justin said. “However, there is no mistaking these tracks.”
Marcus looked at the inch long depression crushing the moss which grew between the rocks.
“And,” Justin went on, “these.” He pointed to another small rut to his right.
Marcus looked at the track. He frowned and looked up at Justin. “A second carriage”
The earl nodded. “Have you any idea if this could be Elise's carriage?”
Marcus looked from one carriage track to the other, then back at Justin. “Nae.”
“They are two separate tracks, then?”
“Aye. They are spaced too far apart to be the same carriage.” He surveyed the ground. “This road isn't used a great deal.” The road branched off the main road to Edinburgh. He looked at Father Fynn. “This is the road you took from Braemer?”
“Aye,” the priest answered.
“We found no sign of the carriage leaving the main road,” Marcus said.
“True,” Justin agreed. “But the rain the night before obliterated most tracks.”
Marcus rose and stepped slowly toward the trees, all the while scanning the ground. When he saw the partial indentation of a hoof print, he looked up and stared at the trees through which Elise's carriage had raced.
“Kiernan,” he called without looking back, “bring me my horse.”
* * *
“Wait here,” Marcus told Justin and Kiernan when they followed him down the chapel hallway. They had remained close—too close—on the ride to the church, and Marcus had no stomach for it when he faced what lie ahead.
They obeyed, and he continued to the door that separated him from the body of the woman Father Fynn insisted was his wife. Marcus reached for the door, his hand shaking so badly he gripped the doorknob with force enough to turn his knuckles white. He pushed the door open, stepped through, then shoved it shut behind him.
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