by Jill Barnett
“Blood?” His voice was lethal and he took a step.
Amy used two hands to raise the gun and aim it straight at him. “Don’t take another step.”
He froze, his now hardened gaze flicked from the gun to her face, then back to the gun, which was pointed at his chest.
“Your brother only has a small cut.”
“A cut? Where’d you get a knife?”
Amy frowned at him. “I didn’t have a knife.” She looked at Georgina. “Did I say I had a knife?”
Georgina shook her head.
Amy looked back at Eachann MacLachlan. “I didn’t say I had a knife. I think you’re trying to confuse me.”
Eachann spoke through gritted teeth. “You said he was bleeding from a cut.”
“Oh . . . that was from the whisky glass.”
“My brother cut his hand on a whisky glass?”
“No. His head.”
Eachann was the one who looked confused. “He cut his head on a whisky glass?”
“Just a small glass. It only made a little cut about, say . . . ” Amy held up her fingers to show how much and looked at Georgina. “How big would you say that is?”
“About a half of an inch,” Georgina answered, then added, “hardly deadly.”
“That’s true.” She looked at him and repeated, “Hardly deadly. He’ll be fine.” Amy paused, her expression thoughtful. “The knot on his forehead was a little bigger though. But don’t worry, he was coming to as I was tying him up. I’m certain his mind wasn’t befuddled or anything because he looked like he wanted to clean up all the broken glass.”
The oaf groaned and shook his head.
“Sit down, please.” Amy pointed the pistol at him and waved it around.
He held one hand up. “For crissake! Stop waving that gun around! It could go off!”
She waved it some more. “Well, if you don’t want me to wave the gun,” she said reasonably, “then you need to sit down.”
He moved toward the closest chair so quickly Georgina almost laughed. He was scowling the whole time.
The chair was a huge monstrosity filled with crumpled pieces of paper, wadded up shirts, some crusty dishes, and a huge pile of walnut shells. He bent slightly and with one huge arm, swiped everything off onto the floor.
He turned, eyeing them from a face that was not the least pleased. He sat down rather slowly, wincing at one point. He gave Georgina a look of retribution that could have cooked her.
“What’s wrong with him?” Amy whispered, keeping the pistol pointed at him.
“Nothing,” Georgina said brightly as she unrolled the braided cord. “He’s just been thinking too hard.”
He swore under his breath.
Georgina didn’t smile, but shifted so she stood beside him and wouldn’t block the aim of Amy’s gun, for safety’s sake. She could see from the sharp way he watched them that he was waiting for one of them to make a mistake. “Stick out your hands.”
He turned his head slowly and looked up at her. His look promised dire revenge.
But she ignored him and twisted the tie around his wrists. “Now your big feet, please.”
He didn’t move.
She squatted down and pulled the drapery tie downward with a firm jerk that made him inhale sharply, then looped it around his ankles a few times. Kneeling at his beat-up boots, she gave him another sugary smile, then tied the knots even tighter.
“You’ll regret that, George,” he murmured through gritted teeth.
“Oh, I think not.” She reached out and patted his cheek, then reached across him on purpose and grabbed another apple. She leaned back on her heels and held the apple up between their faces.
His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth to speak.
She stuck the apple right inside, then feigned surprise. “Oh dear, were you going to say something? Nothing of importance, I’m certain.”
His neck was slowly turning red, and redder.
She looked him square in his angry eyes and said, “Angry, Mr. MacLachlan? What a shame. Your mother should have taught you not to take things that aren’t yours.”
She stood, brushed her hands together, and looked up at Amy. “Ready?”
Amy nodded, then her gaze searched the room and stopped on the far wall. “Grab that other blanket. You might need it.”
Georgina crossed the room, stepping over squashed apples and clutter she had hardly noticed before. The room was a mess. She pulled another red woolen blanket off a wooden peg on the wall, wrapped it around her shoulders, and spun around.
“Let’s go,” Amy said, still waving the gun at him as she turned and went to the doorway.
Georgina crossed the room and gave the oaf one last look, a triumphant one that said she had won this time, before she closed the doors behind them.
Amy picked up a basket covered with a cloth. “Follow me.”
A few minutes later they were standing on the outside steps. Amy didn’t move, but looked around her, frowning. She chewed on her lower lip, then looked at Georgina. “Where do we go now?”
All Georgina could see was white mist. “The fog looks even thicker than before. These islands have treacherous cliffs. If we aren’t careful we could walk off one.”
“The lantern is still on the deck of the boat. Calum set it down before he carried me here.”
“Let’s go then.” Georgina pulled Amy down two steps.
Suddenly Amy stopped and her head shot up. “What was that noise?”
“What?” Georgina looked around but saw only fog and the dark shadow of the house behind them.
“I thought I heard something squeak, like a hinge.”
They both stared at the front door.
“It’s still closed.” Georgina turned back to her. “It was probably some animal, a squirrel or a bird. Sound carries in the fog, especially at night.” She grabbed Amy’s arm again. “Come this way.”
They went down two more steps.
A loud crash came from behind them, scaring Amy so badly she dropped the pistol and grabbed Georgia’s arm with both hands.
Georgina gasped, then spun around, half expecting the oaf to somehow be standing there.
“What was that?” Amy whispered, releasing her grip a little.
Georgina pried Amy’s fingers from her arm and walked up one step. Her evening slipper crunched on something that cracked under her weight. She bent down where a china washbowl lay in shattered pieces on the stone landing.
Georgina looked at the upper story, but she couldn’t see anything, only fog and the dark shadow of the outline of the house looming high above them.
Amy had picked up the gun and now was peering over her shoulder at the steps. “How did that get there?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see up there, but let’s get out of here. Quickly.” They turned and took off down the steps just as the matching pitcher fell from the foggy sky and cracked apart right where they had been standing.
Georgina half dragged a gasping Amy along with her.
“Did you see that?” Amy whispered in a terrified voice.
“Forget about it! We need to get that lantern. Now!”
They took off running and disappeared into the dense fog. The only sounds with them were the gravel crunching loudly under their fleeing feet, their static breaths, and the faint rumble of the sea against some distant rocky shore, so they never heard the upstairs window squeak closed.
Chapter 15
Always acknowledge a fault frankly. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you a chance to commit more.
—Mark Twain
Calum pulled his wrists upward with a hard yank and the drapery ties fell away. He untied his feet and stood up, then searched the floor for his glasses. They were lying near the shattered whisky glass. He hooked the spectacles over his ears and shoved them up the bridge of his nose, then ran through the doors. He made for the east wing, blotting the small stream of blood on his forehead with a neatly folded handkerch
ief as he ran.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of movement and stopped. He looked up the stairs.
Near the stair landing, Kirsty’s small and curly blond head poked out from behind a thick newel post.
“What are you doing up?”
“Someone stole the MacLachlan plaids, Uncle Calum. I saw them.” Her voice lowered to an excited whisper. “Are they thieves?”
“Get yourself back in bed, lassie.”
“Why aren’t we sleeping in our beds?”
“The rooms aren’t ready. Now get yourself in bed.”
“Where’s Father?”
“He’s busy. Go to bed.”
“Why?”
“This is not your worry.”
She planted her hands on her small hips, raised her small chin, and frowned down at him. “I’m a MacLachlan too.”
Aye, he thought. Pure, stubborn Scot. “And are you forgetting who’s your laird, my MacLachlan lassie? Surely you wouldn’t be so foolish as to disobey an order from the laird of your clan?”
She seemed to think about that, then eyed him for a moment, appearing to weigh the consequences of her decision. She slowly turned and brought herself back up the stairs like someone dragging a boulder. Halfway up she paused, then looked down at him with almost a too-serious look for a child. “You’re right, Uncle Calum. I should be in bed.” She raised her chin, took a deep breath that puffed her small chest out and held enough drama for the stage, and she marched up the stairs, then disappeared around the corner.
He heard the upstairs door click shut and ran down to his brother’s rooms. He threw open the door.
Eachann sat in a huge chair surrounded by a few months’ worth of his usual clutter. He was hunched over, his hands bound to his feet, and there was an apple stuck in his mouth.
Calum didn’t say the first thing that came to him when he realized his brother had an apple in his mouth while trussed up and sitting in his pigsty of a room. Although, as he crossed the room, he thought it was enough to make him believe that God had a keen wit about Him.
Calum pried the apple out of his brother’s mouth. Eachann grunted, then worked the numbness out of his jaw while Calum bent down and untied his hands and feet,
“Are you hurt?” Calum pulled free one of what looked to him like thirty or more tight knots.
“No.” Eachann stared at Calum’s forehead. “Are you?”
“It’s nothing.” Calum untied another knot, then stared at the rest of them. He held them up and asked, “She wanted to make certain you didn’t get away, didn’t she?” There looked to be twenty odd knots left.
“How’d you get free?”
“The blond lass only tied one knot.” Calum pulled the ties loose. “And a bow.” He looked at Eachann and shook his head.
Eachann stood quickly, rubbing his wrists and scowling at the door. “Did you hear that?”
Calum turned around. “What?”
“I thought I heard something.”
Calum froze and listened. “I don’t hear anything.”
Eachann held up a hand. “Quiet.”
They both stood there, but there was no sound.
“I guess it was nothing.” Then Eachann frowned and added, “I thought I heard the front doors close just a moment ago.”
“I doubt those two women would be foolish enough to come back.”
Eachann crossed the room and pulled a gun from a rack on the wall. He tossed it to Calum. “Here. Take this and I’ll get some lanterns.”
“A gun?” Calum stared at it, then looked up at Eachann. “Are you daft? I’ll not be shooting any poor scared women, even if one of them did crack me over the head with a whisky glass.”
Eachann was fumbling though a closet and he stopped and looked at him. “We can’t go out there unarmed. Your bride took a pistol with her.” He turned back and began to jerk things from inside.
“She won’t shoot us. And she’s not my bride. I have no plans to marry anyone, which you and I will settle between us later.”
“There’s nothing to settle. Your bride—”
“She’s not my bride.”
“A woman who tied you up with a bow is carrying a loaded gun, which should be enough reason for us to be armed, but she’s also frightened and somewhere out there in the fog.”
Calum supposed he had a point.
“Here.” Eachann shoved a lantern into his chest. “Take this and let’s go.” He crossed the room with long determined strides. “We need to find them before they walk off a cliff and we have no wives.”
“I’ll not be marrying anyone. Eachann? Eachann!” But Calum was talking to an empty doorway.
The front door slammed shut with a loud thud.
Calum shook his head and moments later he crossed through the same doorway with heavy steps and a strong feeling of impending doom.
Chapter 16
Two old crows sat on a fence rail
Talking of effect and cause,
Of weeds and flowers,
And nature’s laws.
One of them muttered, one of them stuttered,
Each of them thought far more than he uttered.
—Vachel Lindsay
Do you think this place is safe?” Amy looked around the dark and dank cave while Georgina set the lantern on a nearby rock ledge.
“Safer than being locked in a room with the oaf and his brother.”
The more Amy looked around, the less safe she felt. However this dark wet cave was better than trying to find their way in the dense fog. “I suppose you’re right.”
She scanned the low rocky roof of the cave where the mist from outside hovered like smoke in the low dark crevices. Behind her was the constant dripping of water as it plopped into a small pool under the rocks.
Out of the corner of her eye, Amy caught a small flash of shadow. Her breath caught in her chest, made it feel tight. She whipped her head around. The shadows were nothing too ominous; they were only the black sea crabs scurrying to hide in between the wet rocks. She exhaled, but for a few lingering seconds her heart still felt as if it had a butterfly trapped inside of it.
In the distance she could hear the surf; it sounded angry. But inside the sea just lapped quietly into the shallow cave, the way the ocean drifted on the shoreline on a lazy summer afternoon. The mist outside was so thick and white that it blocked any view. It was almost as if the black and empty world ended right there, at the very entrance to this cave.
She looked at Georgina. She looked so calm. Her appearance was the only thing that was unruffled about her. Her dress was a mess, like Amy’s, and her long black hair had fallen from its intricate evening knot and was a tangled mass of snarled and heavy curls that fell clear to her waist.
She remembered the first time she’d seen Georgina Bayard, standing in a circle of people who seemed to fade into their surroundings once you noticed her. She wasn’t tall; she didn’t stand out that way. But she had a look about her that drew your attention. It wasn’t just because she usually looked as if she knew some special secret no one else did. For some reason you realized she was unique the first moment you saw her.
When Georgina spoke, her voice was firm and frank. Most people listened intently to whatever she said because her tone, her expression, her stance, everything was so very self-assured.
But then she was a striking woman. She had the most perfect face and figure Amy had ever seen. Her hair was jet black and her skin was the same white glow cast by a full moon. She had high defined cheekbones and full rosy lips, the kind some women painted on with light pink rouge. And she had the widest pale crystal blue eyes you’d ever seen. Her eyes were so light a color that they were the first thing you noticed when you looked at her face. Amy often wondered if that was because Georgina had a direct way of looking right through you, as if she could pinpoint your most vulnerable secret with those clear eyes should she deign to do so.
But there was a frankness and honesty about her sharp blunt way of spe
aking and her penetrating looks that Amy had found curiously out of place in a social group that hid their real personas beneath false smiles, cool demeanor, and an air of snobbish indifference. You only had to look at Georgina for a minute or two and you could see her strength. No one who knew Georgina Bayard doubted that if she wanted something, she would find a way to get it. Period.
But now, here inside this cave, Georgina just watched the dark water until she must have felt Amy’s stare, because she looked up. After a moment she said, “I wonder what’s happening at home.”
“I expect by now they’ve gotten together a search party.”
Georgina laughed. “You’re joking.”
“No.”
“First they would have to notice we’re missing.”
“You don’t think they’d notice if their hostess was gone?” Amy knew no one would be looking for her. Certainly not William.
“Who knows.” Georgina shrugged. “Maybe if the food ran out. And if they did notice, would anyone care?” She gave a short laugh. “They certainly swilled enough champagne for no one to care about much of anything.” Her look was as droll as her words.
“But they’d have to notice that you weren’t there. They’ll contact someone.”
“Even if they did notice, which I doubt since there was plenty of champagne, how would they find us? There are hundreds of islands off the coast.” Georgina dropped a rock in the water where it made circles that faded as quickly as Amy’s hope of being rescued.
She realized then that she was fooling herself again, pretending those people would care. Georgina was right.
“We’re stuck here until we can find a way to escape.” Georgina was quiet for a moment, her face creased with thoughts only she knew. She turned and glowered at the cave entrance. “I can’t believe the fog picked tonight of all nights to roll in. It’s not even September yet.”
Amy stared at the dark cave entrance. Her father always told her that everything happened for a reason. She wondered what reason there was for this predicament. But the longer she sat there, the more she felt it—that same chess-pawn feeling she had when she did something that wasn’t her own idea.
