Highland Salvation

by Lori Ann Bailey

  Finlay tried to think what was on this side of the house—his study, the dining room, the parlor.

  “I yelled out ‘hey’. Calm as you please, he walked up to me and asked if I’d see the lady or lord of the house this evening. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Tall man, stiff, too, like a wooden soldier. I told him it was not proper calling hours, that he should leave and come back tomorrow when it was… And the next thing I remember, I was on the ground, your man pulling me from the building.” He pointed to Malcolm.

  “What did he look like?”

  “It was already dark. I couldn’t see well.”

  He’d banished thoughts of the attempts on his life when he’d become convinced his wife was innocent—he had brushed them off as unlucky coincidences. But the disregard of Abe’s well-being and that of the horses brought back the fears there was something sinister behind the rock in his saddle and the arrow in the marketplace. Hell, if someone had followed him from Scotland to prevent him from speaking to the king, the man surely knew he was too late. His message was already delivered, so that made no sense, and this didn’t appear to be an attack on him like the others had.

  Tristan rushed in, out of breath and holding his side. “I’ve found something in the woods ye must see.”

  …

  Finlay was gone when Blair woke. She dressed quickly but carefully in the new pale lavender gown the seamstress had fitted perfectly to her curves. Not waiting on her new lady’s maid to arrive, she pulled her hair into what she hoped passed as fashionable and finished it off with two matching ribbons.

  Rushing into the breakfast room, she found it empty, but food had been piled high on the side table and remained untouched as if she were the first one up. She stopped in the study, but Finlay wasn’t in there, either. He must have been through here, because the account books appeared to have been put away. Surely her husband would eat something before starting his day, so she headed for the kitchens.

  “Have ye seen Finlay?” she asked the cook.

  “Yes, my lady. He left about a quarter of an hour ago.” He pointed out the back door toward the gardens.

  Tramping on the still wet ground, she hurried to the entrance of the garden. She’d not been out on the grounds without one of the Cameron men accompanying her until now, so she reveled in the peace of the birds singing and the beauty of the rising sun. Shrubbery blocked the view in several directions, and she smiled as she envisioned the plans Tristan and the new gardener had designed to make a maze. She could just see herself chasing their children down the paths or even better, Finlay looking for her to carry her off to what would be a private bench in the center.

  There was no sign of her husband, but when she slogged into the heart of the overgrown mess, movement caught her eye. Maybe there were deer living in the tangled brush. As she got closer, an echo of a twig breaking reached her ears, and she hesitated. Something didn’t feel right, like she was being stalked by some wild animal.

  A scream from the direction of the house rent the thick morning air. Jenny.

  While pivoting, her hair got stuck in a bush, and when she moved, it yanked at the tresses. She rubbed her head as she ran back toward the kitchens.

  The housekeeper was standing just outside on the steps, barking orders at someone in the kitchen, while her youngest son sat crying and holding his hand. Blood was everywhere, and dizziness assailed her. Fighting the wave, she determined she would not faint this time.

  “What happened?” Blair asked.

  “He cut his finger.”

  Kneeling down, she inspected the gash, a spot in between the child’s thumb and pointer finger.

  The cook showed up with a clean cloth to wrap it. “We need to get him to the village healer.”

  “I’ll go with ye,” Blair said. “Ye may need some help.”

  Jenny nodded, and moments later, they were in the stables, mounting horses for the short journey to the village. On a nice day, you could walk the distance, but time was important.

  One of the new men was alone in the stables. He had a gash on his temple.

  “Abe. Did ye hit yer head last night?”

  “Yes, my lady,” the man answered as he wobbled on his feet. Maybe the damage from the fire was worse than she’d expected.

  “Ye should go get some rest until it heals. I release ye from yer duties for the day.”

  Abe helped hand the boy up to his mother. “Yes, my lady. I am not at my best. The master was here, and he just told me the same.”

  She thought she’d caught a glimpse of a group of men walking into the woods, but there was no time to find Finlay now. Hopefully the cook would let him know she’d gone to help Jenny.

  In no time, they were in the village stables and she was helping the boy into Jenny’s arms. They hurried down the street to the house of the village physician. The healer was able to see to the lad straight away, and it wasn’t long before both boy and mom had calmed.

  “We’ll be all right now, my lady, if you wish to go back.” Jenny held her son’s hand as he lay on a bed, his eyes slowly shutting. The housekeeper settled into the nearby seat as if she were suddenly exhausted.

  “Aye, if yer certain. I’m sure yer other boys and Andrew will want to ken how he’s doing. I’ll go reassure them.”

  Stepping out into the day and shutting the door behind her, she glanced up to see a dirty, disheveled man with crazed, angry eyes descending on her. Bruce Graham. Her breath caught. Pure menace stared back at her. It was the same kind of anger she’d seen in Henry as he beat her. Her belly knotted, and fear invaded her chest.

  Turning the knob, she tried to push back into the healer’s house, but Bruce grabbed her wrist and twisted back. He held on with a grip so tight she wanted to cry out in pain. His other hand pushed at her opposite shoulder, backing her to the door frame and pinning her.

  “Ye have made me very angry, Blair. It’s been impossible to get to ye with all those Cameron men about. They didnae leave ye alone for a minute.”

  “Let go,” she screamed. She tried to pull free, but he used the whole of his weight to restrain her.

  “Ye will be coming back to Scotland with me.”

  “Ye have nae claim on me. I’m married.”

  “No’ for long. And I dinnae care. I cannae go home without ye.”

  “What do ye mean?”

  “What I didnae tell ye before is that the Grahams have exiled me. The only way I can go back is with a way to help their cause. Ye are the key to me getting my life back.”

  Fear snaked its way into her heart, so deep she felt it crash into the pit of her stomach. Was he desperate enough to kill Finlay?

  The door swung in, and she stumbled back. It was Jenny with a large, club-like object in her hand. As the housekeeper came down on Bruce’s head with it, his grasp on her wavered, and she was able to escape his hold. He staggered then stretched for her, but she’d just made it out of his reach.

  “Run, my lady. Get help,” Jenny ordered as she jumped in between Bruce and her, holding the staff up, ready to strike. “Go,” she yelled.

  Dashing back to the stables, Blair didn’t look behind her until she was guiding her horse out. Bruce was headed straight for her on foot. He probably had a horse around here as well, so she dug in her heels and urged the mare to move at a fast gallop from the village back to Catriona House.

  Almost there, she looked over her shoulder to see the toad had found his horse and was giving chase. She picked up the pace to a sprint. When she arrived at the estate, she was so petrified, she didn’t even go to the stables, just stopped the mare in front of the house, dismounted, and ran inside.

  There was no one about.

  She bolted through, checking the parlor, the breakfast room, the study. Even the kitchen was empty. Grabbing a knife, she ran up to her bedchamber to see if Finlay was inside and heard a door slam downstairs. She couldn’t be sure it wasn’t Bruce following her into the house, so she locked the door and sat at the back o
f the bed, knife ready, just in case.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Finlay followed Malcolm and Tristan as they took him on a twisting path from the stables, into the woods, and then toward the back of the house where the lavender fields began.

  “Someone’s been living back here,” Tristan said. “I cannae believe I didnae find it earlier with all the work I’ve done on the grounds, but ’tis hidden well.”

  “What’s hidden?”

  “A makeshift camp. Someone’s been watching yer house. More specifically, yer wife.” Tristan swallowed. “There is a journal of sorts.”

  Tingles erupted under his skin. Who would be watching his wife, and why? Hell, he’d left her alone with some blackguard camped right outside his house.

  When they reached the spot, he was astounded by the bravado of the unknown person. A plaid was draped across sticks that had been cut and formed into a makeshift tent. When he pulled back the fabric, he saw scraps of food that had been carefully wrapped in bundles, along with a spyglass and some sort of sketchbook. It took a moment to make the letters come into focus. The name Bruce Graham was inscribed on the front.

  His fingers clenched into a fist. The arse who had abandoned his kin in a time of need and tried to force Blair into marriage. Bruce had been the one to follow them, which would have been easy for the man to do with his tracking skills. And that day they’d walked the estate to check for threats, this camp hadn’t been here. Finlay was certain of it.

  After stooping down to retrieve the book, he thumbed to the first page and froze—a charcoal drawing of his wife in front of a tapestry he’d seen at the Macnab castle. Flipping the page, he gagged when he saw an image of Blair clad only in her shift. Chill bumps gave way to anger.

  In the image, Blair had been standing on the balcony, her hair blowing in the wind as she appeared to stare out at the fields of lavender.

  His hands fisted on the pad, and he flipped to the next page. Another image of Blair, this time as if she were standing right here in front of him, watching him with those soulful eyes. His hands started to shake.

  One more flick of a page and fury clenched like a vise in his chest—Blair nude, lying on a bed, staring up at the artist in invitation as if it had really happened, like the other pictures were rooted in fact.

  Tristan held a small bundle up for his view. The man unwound a string holding the corners together, and stones fell from the fabric. They were identical in size and shape to the one that had been placed under his saddle on the journey here. Tristan turned over the material and held it out for Finlay’s inspection. It took him a moment to recognize the scrap of cloth through the red haze in his vision.

  It was a kerchief depicting the coronation of King Charles—he’d never seen it, but the name embroidered into the bottom right corner stilled his breath…Blair Macnab. Until recently, a lady would have given it to her knight as a favor during a jousting tournament. Why did Bruce Graham possess something so personal that clearly belonged to his wife? Had Blair given it to him? He’d seen her with it in Edinburgh.

  His heart closed in on itself. Bile rose in his throat. Tossing the book aside, he glanced at his men. “I’ve seen enough. I need to find my wife.”

  Stepping back out into the air, he turned to Tristan and said, “Put a guard on this place. We need to catch him.”

  A commotion toward the road drew their attention. A carriage veered into the long drive toward the house—his father’s. He wasn’t up for visitors right now. He needed to find his wife to squash the doubt the discovery on his grounds had sparked. Blair was innocent—he was certain—but damn if it didn’t look like she had intimate knowledge of Bruce Graham.

  He marched toward the front, and Malcolm followed. A whizz sounded just before pain exploded on his arm. Crimson liquid dripped from just below his shoulder, his white shirt soaking up what didn’t ooze to the ground.

  “I’ve been shot. Duck.”

  Malcolm did, but Brodie took off running in the direction of the threat. He’d only suffered a minor wound, so Finlay gave chase, following the Cameron man’s lead. When they got to the front of the house where the shot had come from, the only animal there was Blair’s horse. Shaking his head, Brodie glanced over at him. “Is that one yer wife’s?”

  Had she tried to kill him? He’d become complacent, spending all his energy on getting his message to the king and ignoring the threats to himself. Still, he had been convinced she wouldn’t harm him.

  His father’s carriage pulled to a stop in front of them. After jumping out, his father ran toward him and yelled, “What happened?”

  Brodie called, “Finlay’s been shot.”

  “Best we get inside. We dinnae ken where it came from.”

  Both of his brothers and Prudence alighted from the carriage, and he wanted to groan at how this day had gone from perfect to absolute hell.

  Everyone filed into the house in front of him as he slammed the door.

  …

  After what felt like an hour of no movement or noise from the hall, Blair decided it was time to find her husband. She set her knife down on the bed as she switched into a gown without Jenny’s young son’s blood on the sleeve. It had only been a small amount, but the sight of it unnerved her.

  Once finished, she inched toward the door and listened. As she cracked it open, silence met her, but the house’s walls were thick and sounds rarely carried into the halls. Still, she had to find Finlay to let him know Bruce had come looking for her and that he might be in danger. She knew for certain this time—the toad’s presence was real, and so was the threat he posed.

  Sneaking down the back steps and avoiding the front of the house, she crept quietly through the back hall. She stuck to the shadows as she made her way to the chapel, because it was likely the last place Bruce would dare step foot, and perhaps the Cameron men or the king’s guards were in.

  Skirting in through the door, she realized she’d left her knife, her only protection, on the bed.

  She found no one in the chapel and nothing she could use as a weapon. She glanced out the window to see Robbie talking and laughing with the nun who had come back from Oxford. Although flanked by guards, the pair strolled down a path on the secluded side of the house. It was odd to see them so at ease with each other, almost like they had known each other before. If they’d been nearer, she would have called out for help, but they were too far away.

  She sneaked back out and went in search of Finlay.

  …

  Andrew had patched Finlay’s shoulder, but no one had seen his wife or the housekeeper. The cook said something about the woman’s son cutting his hand and the pair of them rushing to take the lad to the village healer. But if Blair was still in town, why was her horse here? His stomach was tied in knots, and he didn’t know whether to be worried for her or if she was the cause of his current condition.

  After setting up a round of guards to watch the house for her return, he tried their room. When he flung open the door, it crashed into the wall. Bits of plaster splintered and gave off a clunk as they hit the floor.

  No sign of her. He hurried through the dressing area, the other room, then the nursery, but all were empty. Fear started to take root. According to Brodie, while Finlay was in Oxford, Blair barely left the house, preferring to stay in his study and analyze his books. Perhaps she wasn’t in league with Bruce.

  He rushed back into their chamber and caught sight of the bed. He’d believed there was hope for a bright future with a wife who wanted to be with him. He’d even dared to think she might care for him.

  Och, he wanted to go back to that moment, forget everything he had learned today. He wished to cling to her and run away, relive the happiest moment of his life over and over again.

  But could it have been a lie?

  The sun darted from behind a cloud and flooded the room with light. Something on the bed, almost under Blair’s pillow, caught his eye. Inching forward, he leaned down to inspect the object. A knife. Hi
s whole body went numb.

  Had she planned to kill him in his sleep? If she was planning on killing him, he was lucky she’d not done it sooner. Had she conspired with Bruce Graham, the man who drew intimate pictures of her? Despite the evidence, he was having a hard time believing her capable of the betrayal.

  As he stared at the dagger, he staggered into his study, anger and fear taking hold as his arm pulsed with pain. He pushed the door closed without waiting for the click.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Blair heard raised voices coming from the study. She recognized Finlay’s and was about to fling open the door and run into his arms, when she heard, “Bruce Graham,” barked through the air. Her heart skittered, and she froze. Then came the words, “I have to ken if my wife is plotting against me.”

  What?

  Pressing herself to the wall, she prayed she’d misunderstood. Why would he suspect such a thing? She’d told him everything.

  She listened to Finlay’s raised voice. “The kerchief had Blair’s name on it. I saw her with it in Edinburgh.”

  The world around her dimmed as if she were under the placid waters of a loch frozen in time. Her ears hummed. Her heart ached, and her breath stopped. She tried to think back to the last time she’d seen her kerchief. It had been the morning Bruce had presented her with his ultimatum. He must have taken it. Tears, hot and wet, raced down her cheeks, but she was too shocked to wipe at them. Her shoulders trembled as fear took hold.

  “Perhaps there is another explanation.” A voice barely penetrated the haze. Was it Brodie?

  “Could she have been in league with the arse the whole time?”

  Nae. She shook her head. Nae, that wasn’t true. But how could she prove her innocence, because she’d admitted to Bruce’s attempted blackmail.

  “She is a traitor. When I came to visit, I caught her rifling through your desk.” Och. Was that Prudence?

  Her world crashed around her. Instead of the jeers of her father’s men, she heard the mumbled voices of Finlay’s companions.