A Good Scot is Hard to Find (Something About a Highlander Book 2)

by Angeline Fortin

  He caught her hand and kissed it, giving her reason to hope.

  “I’ll return soon.”

  * * *

  Aila fought the urge to race after Finn when the door closed behind him. Stifling it, she picked up the discarded pieces of her disguise from where she’d cast them on the floor. Padding, mask and wig, stockings and shoes. She stacked them neatly and lastly folded the long coat. Metal pinged against wood and she bent over to pick up the key that had fallen out of the pocket.

  Holding it up, she showed it to Rab who woofed his approval at the find. “I’d almost forgotten. It really has been a day, aye? I should get changed.”

  Rab led the way back to her bedchamber where Aila expected to find Brontë and Tris waiting for her. Although a glance at her clock confirmed it was long past time for them to rendezvous, the room was empty. Thankfully, it was also warm. She shed her wet clothes in front of the fire with sincere thanks for whoever had come around to rekindle it for her. Her phone and the time machine fell out of the inner pocket of her leggings.

  That’s right, she’d carried her phone back with her. Shivering, she set the items aside and dried herself off then donned a plain blouse, a petticoat and wool skirt. She laced up an outer corset to keep everything in its proper place. While they weren’t the fanciest clothes she had, they were comfortable and warm following her run through the freezing rain. After a moment’s thought, Aila added a pocket and tucked the key into it.

  A few minutes ticked by. She combed her hair in front of the fire and braided it, resisting the urge to watch the clock. Sensing her restlessness, Rab paced the room. To the door and back, nails clicking on the wood floor then muffled by the rug. Aila picked up her phone, but unable to flip through any feeds to distract herself, she added it to her pocket. If nothing else, she could finally take a picture of Finn. There was that, at least.

  Rab sat down by the door with a garbled whine-slash-woof. She looked back at the clock. Her stomach was tied in anxious knots. It hadn’t even been ten minutes since Finn left. “We need to be patient. He’ll be back.”

  The dog lifted a dubious brow with a low, decidedly negative woof.

  “We’ve probably missed it already anyway.” He went to his spot by the fireplace and laid down with a huff, his nose inches away from where she’d set the time travel device. “Och, ye’re a bad influence on me, Rabbie lad.”

  Rab bounced up and his head swiveled expectantly between her and the door.

  “Ye’re right. We should go take a peek, aye?” Aila shoved her feet into her shoes and she found her plaid shawl, swinging it around her shoulders before she opened the door and stepped into the hall to close it behind them.

  “Stick close now for a sec.” Looping an arm around him, she turned the dial back to minutes after the time Finn had left and pressed the button. “Here we go.”

  As usual, the dog ran ahead as if he knew precisely where she intended to go, as if he were privy to her thought processes. He was kind enough to wait for her at the head of the stairs and provide a steady hand for her down the dimly lit steps.

  “If I do stay here, I’ll have to work on some lighting solutions.” He chuffed in response and Aila smiled. “We. If we stay, aye?”

  Turning to the left at the base, she glided on fleet feet from room to room. Aila arrived at the antechamber outside the solar to find the doors closed. Earlier, they had stood open. That didn’t stop her from peeking between the cracks to take a look. Shifting her position, she was able to get a glimpse of the few women around the room. Only one appeared overcome by shock. Her stomach sank. Shite, Finn’s wife was lovely. Blonde, delicate, petite. Aila could see Effie clearly in her perfect features.

  Finn stood not far from the door, his back to her and hands clasped behind him. The duke was speaking, his words too muffled to make out. When Finn answered…the fine hairs on the back of Aila’s neck stood on end with the vehemence in his voice. There was not a person in the room whom she could see who didn’t appear similarly affected. Etteridge was pale as a ghost while his wife looked as though she might faint.

  When Finn turned back toward the door, Aila leapt away. Guilt suffused her. Torn between staying to be there for him and knowing that if he’d wanted her presence there, he would have asked her to accompany him, she decided to err toward the former. She shouldn’t even be there to begin with. Reasoning that she’d been desperate to find out whether he still intended to challenge Etteridge wasn’t excuse enough. Nor was the torment of wondering how Finn intended to greet his wife. If there was anything he wanted to share with her, he would.

  Donell had been right when he’d said that with enough curiosity and a daring disposition, she could solve a centuries-old mystery. What he’d failed to take into consideration was an impulsive streak that tended to get her in way over her head. It had driven her to follow Finn when she ought not, leave him when she definitely shouldn’t, fling him forward in time without warning, and accept Donell’s offer to come here in the first place. And that was only within a month’s time! A twenty-five percent success ratio was no justification. Moving forward, she’d have to work on denying her impulses.

  Aila hurried away with Rab on her heels. Once they were out of sight, she slowed and thought about what she’d heard him say to his wife. “That was pure dead brilliant, what he said back there,” she told Rab as they made their way back toward the west tower. “Compelling with a dash of antipathy yet with enough emotional appeal to assure he was the wronged party. And bloody brutal.”

  The dog barked his agreement.

  “Honestly, a dagger to the chest couldnae have been more effective.”

  They reached the base of the stairs. Before Aila could set foot on the bottommost step, Rab veered away and turned down the passage toward the servants’ hall. “Rabbie, come back here! Och, do ye need to go out or something? Need something to eat?”

  Unless Rab wanted to gnaw on Sir Clinksalot’s shinbone or piss on his shoe, he’d reached his desired destination at the statue. He snuffled around the base as he had earlier and clawed at the pedestal. The key!

  “Ah, ye ken something, do ye no’? Ye’re my canny lad, ye are, Rabbie. Let’s see.”

  Further down the passage, the servants’ hall was a buzz with activity, probably in light of the many guests who would soon be expecting their meal. There were so many additional people in the castle at the moment. Heralds, soldiers, noblemen…long lost wives. She’d be lucky if the passage remained empty for long. Whipping out her phone, Aila activated the flashlight function and examined the statue. The shield carved into his tunic was definitely the same as the one on Mr. Boyce’s necklace.

  Her thoughts stalled in a moment of mourning for the poor man, but he’d wanted her to expose the truth. Whatever it may be. And she meant to do just that.

  Much to her chagrin, there were no keyholes in the statue that she could find and a quick jiggle of the sword hilt on the carved shield proved it was solid stone. There was, however, a narrow slit in the chest of the figure of the rampant lion, just as on the necklace. Too narrow for the key….

  “I’m missing something,” she muttered under her breath as she tweaked the little sword again.

  Stepping back, she studied the sculpture from top to bottom. A knight similar to those of the Knights Templar. Or those of Monty Python’s Holy Grail depending on one’s frame of mind. A helmeted knight with a tunic covering most of his body. Armor clad feet and arms, hands clasped before him. “Holding a bloody sword.” Aila smacked a hand to her temple. “I’m such a numpty.”

  The hilt wasn’t sculpted in relief to the body. It stood independent of it. Aila wrapped her hand around it and tugged.

  Nothing.

  “Nay, this has to be it.” As Rab pawed at the base of the statue with a series of gurgling huffs, she was sure of it.

  Trying again, she gave the hilt a twist. Stone ground against stone and triumph surged. With one more hard tweak, she pulled it free. The effort sent her s
tumbling back against the opposite wall, and she held the sword aloft with a victorious grin. All six inches of it.

  “Sometimes six inches is all ye need, or so I’ve heard.”

  Aila steadied the tip at the opening of the slot and jabbed it in. Whatever she hit within gave way without a sound and Sir Clinksalot did a sidestep to the right. “What the…?” She pointed the light from her phone at the floor to find that the statue had shifted far enough to reveal an opening beneath the base. With a good shove, she was able to see that it was big enough for a person.

  And intended for such if the ladder were any indication.

  Dropping to her hands and knees, she stuck her head through the opening and used her phone to look around. A pitch-black tunnel of indeterminable length extended back toward the western tower. That was it. Lifting her head, she found herself nose-to-nose with Rab. “I dinnae suppose ye can climb a ladder?”

  He panted merrily, tail swinging from side to side so hard his entire back end shifted with the effort. A garbled woo-woo-woo and Rab licked his chops before his tongue lolled out one side of his mouth.

  “Excited, are ye?” She scratched his ear with a grin. “I am, too.”

  Aila sat back on her heels and looked toward the stairs. Finn hadn’t returned yet. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t shortly. When he came back, she wanted to be there. Besides, it would be better to wait until she rendezvoused with Tris and Brontë and had Finn at her back before she went down there.

  “We’ll come back later when the others can come with us. Tris and Brontë will want to see this. Finn, too.” She patted Rab’s head and climbed to her feet. He looked up at her with what might have been construed as a frown. “Nay, it disnae have anything to do with how dark it is down there.”

  One more garbled howl and Aila swore under her breath. Rab might not be able to climb a ladder.

  But he could jump.

  Chapter 33

  Finn paused in the antechamber, out of sight from those within. Questioning a passing footman on the way to the solar, he’d been able to confirm that a Lady Etteridge accompanied Lord Etteridge to Inveraray. It gave him little satisfaction to have his suspicion proven correct.

  He could think of no way to explain it other than that Marta had indeed lied in the letter she’d left for him and staged her own death to run away with the earl. What he couldn’t understand was why. Perhaps theirs hadn’t been the happiest of marriages in those final years. In the beginning, Finn had considered it a love match. He’d been taken by Marta’s delicate beauty and desired her greatly…or at least as greatly as he was aware a man could desire a woman at the time.

  Her family and dowry were both pleasing, so he’d done what any noble gentleman did when he wanted a young reputable lady. He’d courted her long and hard, offered for her, and married her after an extended betrothal. Marta had teased his desire but put him off until after their vows had been said. She’d been as enthusiastic as he once they’d found their marriage bed. There was no way he’d mistaken that. Niall and Effie had been born in quick succession, less than two years into their union and only ten months apart.

  True, his focus had turned away from being solely hers in the years after. Becoming a father had brought Finn the greatest joy of his life.

  Marta had not felt the same.

  Ian had been right about her. Finn’s memory glossed over the myriad disagreements they’d had over the intervening years. His wife had been like Effie in the aftermath of her illness — implacable, testy — without an ailment to blame. She didn’t like to share his attention. Finn did his best to make her happy. Or at least content. As for himself, he’d thought the state of their marriage adequate, if lacking the bliss of those first years.

  When he’d gone off to support Prince Charlie first in Edinburgh then at Culloden, he knew she’d been glad to see him go.

  It had never occurred to him that Marta had been so despondent that she would take a lover. Had she talked to him, he might have tried harder.

  Och, Aila might have a point about talking over one’s feelings. There was much about that would make sense to him today if he’d taken the time to understand Marta’s problems.

  There was little she could say now that would appease him. No motivation that would suffice. Staging her death had been a heartless thing to do. To him. Especially to Niall and Effie. What kind of woman lurked beneath the one he’d thought he’d known so well that she could have done something so brutal to her children?

  Nay, he wasn’t here to hear her side of things. There was nothing that could excuse her actions. Not rape or abduction if that were even the case. Not when she sat there now of her own free will, alive and well, with no message ever having reached him with the news. She’d allowed him and their children to wallow in grief, allowed him to plot revenge and spend a year of his life toward its execution. Her actions had cast him adrift, lost to darkness, and prevented him from embracing the future…and Aila…with a free heart.

  Her selfishness had nearly cost him everything.

  And would still if he hadn’t been here today.

  There would be repercussions for her actions. For Etteridge’s part in it, as well. The sort he’d spent more than a year contemplating would suffice. In part, at least.

  Hands clasped behind his back to prevent him from pummeling the man, Finn stepped into the solar. “Ye wanted to see me, yer grace.”

  A gasp sounded across the room, echoed by a low, male curse. Finn kept his gaze affixed to the duke though he couldn’t stop his teeth from clenching.

  Argyll waved a glass in his direction. “Rossmore, so good of you to join us.”

  The pure pomposity in his voice grated on Finn’s nerves. Politics aside, here was a man who’d sided with the English King George against his own countrymen. Granted, he had not personally raised arms from his lofty perch overlooking the Drummossie Moor during the battle at Culloden. Nay, he’d sat by the side of the Hanoverian commander, the Duke of Cumberland, and watched while the Redcoats — with his men among them — squelched the Jacobite rebellion in less than an hour. The blood of thousands of Scots was on his hands. Taking employment with him, even as a means to find his revenge, had been the hardest thing Finn had ever done.

  All of that had been accomplished through correspondence. Standing before him now, it was all Finn could do not to rail against him.

  “My friends, may I introduce Lord Keeley of Rossmore,” Argyll went on. “With Robert and James Adam observing a mourning period for their father, my architect William Adam, Rossmore has been brought in to oversee construction of the castle I’ve brought you here to view.”

  Closing the door so that no servant passing by could eavesdrop, Finn executed a courtly bow and crossed the room to a table near the window. Spreading the plans flat, he used a candelabra and a porcelain shepherdess to hold down the corners. He also took the moment to curtail his temper. He’d be damned if he were the one who would walk out of this room looking a fool.

  “Thank ye for yer invitation, yer grace. I’ve brought the plans for the castle for ye to enjoy at yer leisure.” He turned back to the room and found Etteridge among them. Far from where he’d stood at the fireplace earlier, the earl was now sprawled in one of the many armchairs grouped in the center of the room. Finn strolled toward him, noting with pleasure the man’s pallor. There was guilt written there. And fear. “With regret, I cannae stay. When I heard my old friend Lord Etteridge was among yer guests, however, I had to stop a moment and make myself known.”

  “I was not aware you were acquainted with Lord Etteridge,” Argyll said with a frown. Not for Finn, but the earl.

  “Our association was brief,” Finn assured him as he circled around the earl and clapped him on the shoulder. He wasn’t sure if anyone else noticed how white his knuckles were, or the pained look on the earl’s face. He couldn’t imagine what Marta saw in the worthless peacock. Nor did he care. “A few years ago, Etteridge visited my castle in Elgin and made himself qui
te at home. Everything that was mine, was his, ye might say. Isnae that so, Etteridge?”

  The earl tried to squirm away, but Finn kept him pinned down.

  The duke appeared more confused than anything. “What are you getting at, Lord Keeley?”

  “My apologies, yer grace. I willnae disturb ye further.” Finn clapped Etteridge on the shoulder — hard enough to make the coxcomb wince — then withdrew a few steps. “Och, there is one thing. I’m submitting my notice to withdraw from yer employment. My children and I will depart on the morrow.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Etteridge flinch at the mention of Niall and Effie. Good.

  Argyll heaved himself out of his chair and stood. “For what reason? Who will oversee my castle?”

  “My business here is finished.” He didn’t give a damn who finished the castle.

  Finn bowed again and turned. It was only a few steps before he heard the sigh. The relief. Nay, Marta wasn’t going to get away so easily. Forcing away the antipathy that curled his lip to resume an expression of bland indifference, he pivoted back to the room. This time his eyes found Marta and waited for the hatred and anger that should be his by rights to boil to the surface. There was nothing but disgust for what she had done. No love. Not even an ounce of embittered affection.

  “Lady Etteridge.” She flinched when he said her name but refused to look at him. “I would be amiss if I dinnae congratulate ye on yer recent nuptials. If I might offer bit of advice? Before a lady marries…even a lord of such character as the Earl of Etteridge…she might want to take into consideration the fact that she is already wed in the eyes of God and man. Bigamy is a heinous crime, is it no’?”

  A charged inhale stilled the occupants of the room. This time when Finn turned, he allowed himself a small smile. “Farewell, my lady wife.”

  Silence was discharged by a commotion akin to that of a gaggle of geese. One squawking over the other. The duke demanded Finn return and explain himself. He ignored the command and yanked the doors open.