Recognizing her rescuer, Aila relaxed with a tight laugh. “Thank God, ye found me! I thought I’d be down here forever.”
“No, only long enough for me to fetch something to distract your dog. Be so good as to back up, if you please.”
“What? What are ye talking about?” Aila glanced at the pistol laying on the ground on the fringes of the meager light the single candle cast. Beyond the circle, she could hear Rab wolfing down whatever it was that had been brought to distract him. Looking up again at the way out, she could see that, while it had moved nearly all the way back to a closed position, there was still a small gap. It did not close automatically. “Ye locked me down here? Why?”
Derisive laughter. “For reasons similar to Derne’s, I imagine. Where is he? Dead? I confess, I was pulling for you.”
“So ye could have the pleasure of killing me yerself?”
The blunderbuss pointed at her shouldn’t have been more daunting than the multi-round, modern handgun Derne used earlier. This yawning muzzle brought to mind a cannon. No doubt at this distance, the iron musket ball within could rip her apart like one.
“I don’t want to kill you, Mistress Marshall, that’s why I also brought those.” The set of iron shackles explained the sound she’d heard. “Pick them up. Go on now, that’s a good girl. And back away.”
“I’ve been called a good girl and a stupid girl tonight,” she bit out as she complied. “I dinnae care for either one any more than I like having a gun pointed at me. Derne was one thing. He was old and crusty. I had rather liked ye, Mr. Elliott.”
Elliot’s eyelid twitched. “And I liked you. It’s nothing personal. To be fair, I did try to direct you to take rooms at the inn rather than the castle. If you had, we may have avoided this unpleasantness. On the other hand, we would not be here at all if it weren’t for you. Your questions about Boyce? The stories about treasure? I’ll admit, when asked, you were evasive enough to rouse my suspicions.”
She hadn’t been evasive. Her mind had been clouded by lust. There was a big difference. Perhaps it had prevented her from seeing the truth earlier.
“If I were to be honest, I’d admit I thought you’d found me out when you filled Niall’s head with stories of treasure and sent him to me. To bait me into revealing my hand.”
“Who’s to say I wisnae? That was only a few days ago and this is the first move ye’ve made.” Honestly, Aila didn’t have a clue what he meant or what sort of nonsense she was spouting. She only knew she needed him to keep talking until she came up with a plan.
Or Rab finished eating. She cocked her head and listened. “What did ye do to my dog, ye son of a bitch?”
“Calm down.” The blunderbuss bobbed up and down. “I laced the meat with laudanum. I told you, I needed to distract him. Once I have what I came for, he’ll awake and his barking will draw someone’s attention to save you. Now, to the treasure, if you please. I know you found it.”
She hesitated and the barrel of the gun wavered before her face.
“I have no intention of hurting you unless you force me to, Mistress Marshall.”
“If ye’re after what Derne wanted, ye’ll no’ find it.”
She almost pointed to the device she’d retrieved from the trunk and ergo to the pistol on the ground beside it. Gah, she didn’t need him to be better armed than he already was. What she needed was a chance to disarm him. Aila flexed her arm under the weight of the shackles. She didn’t like her chances of diving by him to retrieve a pistol she had only theoretical knowledge how to use and trust her aim of her first shot ever to take him down.
She turned her back on the weapon and took slow steps down the tunnel with a horrible sense of déjà vu. There was little hope this time would turn out better than the last. Where Derne was old and wiry, Elliot was young and robust. She had little hope of defeating him alone. Not while Rab was scarfing down his dinner. Poor thing had to have been starving. Her stomach, on the other hand, had been in knots for hours.
“Are ye from the future then, too?”
“What sort of nonsense are you talking?” he asked. “Have you been down here so long you’re delirious?”
That was a no then. After all she’d gone through with Derne, was she to be taken down by a mere opportunist?
She glanced back over her shoulder. “If ye came for the treasure, ye’re going to need some help.”
“I’ve seen the inventory. I cannot wait to see it in reality.” His eyes rounded with anticipation, reflecting the light of his candle.
“You know what’s in there?”
“It’s been my life’s work to find out,” he told her.
“Life’s work? Ye cannae be more than twenty-five.” Plus he was so awkward and shy she never would have guessed this madness lie beneath.
“I’ve many years of knowledge about this place,” Elliot ground out. “Of course, Derne never knew there was a complete listing of the duke’s depository among the first Argyll’s letters. He wouldn’t have, since I was the one who found them. I allowed him to see one regarding the elder Boyce’s commendation for his help in uncovering ‘the ugly truth’ — whatever that was — after a fire that destroyed his mill. Then a small portion of another letter I forged to reveal that there was a map on the necklace. Derne had been here forever and knew everyone. I knew he would figure it out even if he could only guess what was down here.”
His low chuckle showed how proud he was of himself, yet obviously Elliot had never figured out that Derne’s motivation had nothing to do with money.
“What I don’t understand is why Argyll gave over the location of his fortune to a mere miller rather than his own successor in the first place,” he went on. “The duke was old, ill. He knew he didn’t have long to live. Old Boyce could have filled his pockets if he hadn’t died soon after. Instead the only thing he left his son and his family was a necklace.”
The deceased Mr. Boyce, Aila corrected silently. Prior to his death, the miller had managed to reveal a few more details about his role in keeping the truth safe. The truth, she now realized was keeping Derne’s presence a secret and preventing his escape back to his own time. Boyce’s father had been the one to discover who Derne was and prevent him from killing the first duke. His mill had been burned to the ground during the fight that ensued, while Derne had been accused of witchcraft and sentenced to death.
Pity he’d escaped before he was burned at the stake.
As the only other person who’d been aware of Derne’s “witchcraft” — his time travel device — the elder Boyce had been entrusted with its hiding place. Argyll had also rewarded his service with the few trinkets Mr. Boyce had told her about. He hadn’t lied about that. The presence of the physical treasure had been coincidental, something about the first duke not removing it prior to his unexpected death as he’d planned.
“Locked Derne in, did you?” he asked when they reached the door to find the key in the lock. “Can I expect him to charge me the moment the door is opened?”
Aila turned the key as instructed wishing that were the case.
“Boyce didn’t care what might lie beyond this door,” Elliot said with a derisive sneer. “He cared about nothing beyond some nonsense about protecting the truth.” His tone hardened, the words coming in a rush.
Wasn’t it interesting, Aila thought, that in all the years he’d had the key, Boyce had never used it. He’d never inspected the room’s contents, saying the secret he protected was more valuable than any potential wealth.
Elliot continued his rant. “Derne was taking too bloody long trying to coerce him into telling him where it was. If it had been me, I would have tortured him for the truth, or—”
“Poisoned him?” Aila pounced on the revelation. It hadn’t been Derne? “Ye were the one who poisoned the millstone?”
“Once he was dead, I would be free to search his house and the mill for the necklace. Then I would have had the map for myself,” he seethed. “Instead he gave it to you!”
“He was a kind man. A gentle man who never hurt anyone.”
“My father was a fool!” he spat out, his crisp British accent slipping to reveal a Scots brogue. “He had riches beyond belief at his fingertips. He could have lived like a king. We could have all lived like kings!”
Aila stared at him, stunned by the venom in his voice. Boyce’s son?
“He loved ye! Spoke of ye with such affection.”
“If he’d loved me, he would have given me the necklace when I asked. I hated him for it. And he wondered why I left? Well, I showed him.”
Dazed by his confession, she could only shake her head. Had Boyce known the monster his son had turned out to be? “Did he ken ye were here?”
“Ha! If he could hide things, so could I,” he spat. “Now get in there and let me finally see my reward.”
“Och, I dinnae think so!”
* * *
“Aila!” Finn’s heart stopped when at the end of the long tunnel in a circle of light he saw her with the barrel of a blunderbuss inches from her face. It spiraled into a chaotic rhythm when her arm came around and caught the black silhouette between them on the side of the head with a handful of iron chain.
He wasn’t about to wait and see if the blow were sufficient to free her from danger. Sprinting forward he drove his shoulder into the man’s back the moment the tunnel was thrown into darkness when the candle hit the floor. Through the door which slammed back under their weight and not stopping until he’d pushed the blackguard to the ground. Finn heard a groan, then a growl as canine paws scaled his back as though he were Ben Nevis.
Rab.
Snarling, snapping. Pained human howls met Finn’s ears. Satisfying. Not satisfying enough. Light grew behind him as Finn flipped the villainous wretch over, barely registering his identity before he pounded a fist into the man’s face. Again and again, with the fury and worry of the past few hours behind every blow. Blood flew, the arms flailing in defense and the groans of protest subsided. Even Rab gave up his attack to lick his chops with satisfaction and punctuate it with a bored yawn.
“I think ye got him, my friend.” Ian clapped him on the back.
“Finn?”
Another hand, this one soft and tender, entreated him, and he obeyed the sweet snare of Aila’s voice. He climbed to his feet and drew her into his arms, reveling in the warm press of her body down the length of his. His lass was brave and strong, no matter what she thought to the contrary. “Losh, lass, I thought he was going to kill ye.”
“He dinnae.”
“Who is that?”
They both turned without parting to look where Tris pointed. Derne. Eyes wide, face slack. Drenched in blood from the neck down.
“Derne, the duke’s steward,” Ian told the others.
“If he was behind it all along, who is this guy?” Brontë asked.
“This is Mr. Boyce’s son. He’s the one who poisoned the millstone. Derne was little more than a dog-killing bastard,” Aila told them, turning to her friend. “By the way, I’m supposed to tell ye, ye’re right. Dodging bullets is nae fun. Especially when dodging disnae work.”
Brontë’s hands flew to her cheeks. “Oh my God, what happened?”
“I’ll tell ye later.” Aila slipped out of Finn’s embrace and dropped down to gather Rab in her arms and lavish her love upon him. Smoothing her hands over his head and ears, she looked into his eyes and praised him. “Ye’re such a good lad, Rabbie. Ye saved me, dinnae ye? Aye, ye did.”
Finn refused to consider that it was jealousy that gripped him. He had no reason to be jealous of a dog when she’d confessed her love. To him.
That didn’t stop him. “Ye give all the credit to the beastie?”
She grinned up at him. “Och, ye’re a good lad, too, Finn.”
Never let it be said he couldn’t laugh at himself. Lightness filled his heart….
And as quickly froze to ice.
Battered and bleeding, but with the power of rage still burning in his eyes, Elliot raised the blunderbuss off the floor, the angle of the barrel wavered at Aila’s back—
“Nay!”
Finn dove forward between the two as a blast echoed through the small room. Fire cleaved his side like a bayonet propelled by a Redcoat. What a memory. Undimmed by time. Pain was the least of his concerns. Rolling on his side, he reached for Aila. “Lass? Are ye unhurt?”
“Are ye mad!” she screamed at him, losing every last drop of the tantalizing composure her sweet brogue normally carried. “What were ye thinking?”
“I was thinking there was nae chance in hell I was going to lose the woman I love.”
Chapter 39
The woman I love.
“Are ye certain ye dinnae want me to take ye to see a doctor?” she pressed for the third — or was it the twelfth? — time. The musket ball had entered through the fleshy muscle above Finn’s hipbone. Had it passed all the way through it might have hit her still. Ian had found it — Finn refusing the duke’s surgeon, as well — partially exposed on the opposite side. Even Aila, quaking from head to toe with worry, would have been able to retrieve it.
“I’ll have nae quack prodding at me.”
“They’re nae quacks where I’m from. They’re highly educated professionals.” He shot her a dark, pained glare and she ceased arguing with him. “Fine, but if there’s even the slightest infection, I’m no’ giving ye a say in the matter.”
He nodded his consent and lay back against his pillows, content with the miraculous painkiller she’d already given him. Rab leapt up next to him and flopped down at his feet with a yawn. Her fur baby had yet to completely overcome the effects of the laudanum. Aila had no idea how long it would take either of them to be back to normal.
Rab could sleep his off. Finn, on the other hand….
No doctors. No coddling. It had been a rather long day, as they’d already said many a time. They’d made the excuse that the rest of it could be worked out in the morning now that Elliot was restrained and under supervision in Inveraray’s brand new jailhouse. He had significant head trauma and bite marks to his hands and arms that required stitches. There were fair odds he might not make it through the night. Aila couldn’t find it in herself to summon an ounce of pity for the man who’d killed his own father.
A woman’s weapon, all three men had labeled poison.
Whatever they thought, Aila would never stoop to such subterfuge. If she were angry, she’d make sure Finn knew it. If she were upset, she wouldn’t let the mistakes she’d made in the past follow her into the future. It might take her a while to set them completely aside. Nevertheless, she would. There was only a bright future for her now. One where love and trust went hand in hand. Honesty was all he would have from her.
Was it all she would have from him?
The woman I love.
Honesty or a declaration made in the heat of the moment?
“I’m fine here,” Finn said as he settled himself. Aila leaned over to kiss him but missed his mouth when he turned his head to the side. “Ye should get yerself a bath.”
Aila blinked. “Do I stink?”
He shook his head, his expression hard to read. “A meal then. Ye maun be starved.”
“Are ye…are ye trying to get rid of me?” She eased away. “If ye need some privacy, ye only need to say so. If it’s something else…?”
“Lass….” He hesitated and caught her hand. “Marta is in the castle now.”
Aila stiffened. Damn, she’d forgotten about that. Given his stone-cold threat in the solar before, she would have thought he was done with his wife. Had she been wrong?
“As are a number of noblewomen and busybodies who will, to the last, be hoping to sniff out more gossip,” he continued. “I wouldnae want to risk sullying yer reputation.”
Relief almost wilted her limbs. “If that’s what ye’re worried about, I’m prepared to be sullied if it means we stay together.”
“Och, my lass. There is nothing I want more. Nay, that�
�s a lie.” He tried to sit then winced and fell back once more. “I’d like to kiss ye. There is one thing I want even more. Those feelings ye’re always havering on about? I’d like to talk about them. Ye’ve brought something into my life I thought I’d never find. Hope. Optimism. Love.” He ran his hands through his hair with a sheepish look. “Blast, this is no’ how I’d thought to ask. I want ye to be my wife, mo chridhe. To stay with me and Niall and Effie.”
“Finn, I—”
“Nay, dinnae say anything.” Finn held up a hand to forestall any response or her attempts to throw herself at his mercy. “I ken it is too much to ask of ye. Until I can obtain a legal divor—”
Aila cut him off with the kiss he wanted. The one she needed. Even while it soothed the last of her jangled nerves, it aroused and excited.
“It could be years, lass,” he murmured against her lips. “Before we can legally be together.”
“I dinnae care.” And she didn’t. She didn’t need a piece of paper to validate her love. Later she would explain that modern philosophy. Right now, nothing mattered beyond him. “Finn, I…that is…I love ye. Come what may.”
Finn crushed her in his arms. Gasping for breath she looked up at him and caught the broad smile on his lips. “And I love ye, lass. I regret no’ saying so before.”
He loved her! Even in a state of sound mind. Aila was elated…and frankly, a little perplexed. “I cannae imagine why.”
With a low chuckle, he kissed her nose. “Because ye’re so bonny when ye ask silly questions? Och, lass, there’s no’ a thing I would change about ye. Ye’re perfect as ye are.”
“I’m no’ perfect.” God, she couldn’t accept such an attitude. The last thing she needed was a relationship with a man who saw her only through rose-colored glasses. “I’m flawed, Finn. Stubborn, moody.”
“Who told ye that?”
Aila shrugged. “Everyone.”
A Good Scot is Hard to Find (Something About a Highlander Book 2) Page 33
