Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere)

by Muir, L. L.

  She glanced at the larder and took a step back. “Ye have no reason to keep me,” she said. “Ye’ve got yer answers. All of them. Let me go.”

  His mind sought a valid reason to deny her. His vision caught on a bottle of cooking sherry standing lonely on a shelf, and his reason presented itself along with the first step in an inspired strategy.

  “If I allow you to leave, there will be nothing to keep your Reaper from poisoning us all. And I have no intention of leaving Scotland until my task is done here. I’ll have to keep you until the property is put to rights, and the tenants can prosper. Your lover will have to make do without you for a good while, I’m afraid.”

  Meaness swirled inside his soul. . .and it felt good.

  Tolly burst through the hallway door, then closed it and leaned back against the wood as if he were being chased.

  “Yer lairdship. Beg pardon,” he huffed. “The Constable is here. He’s brought a wee army, I’m afraid.”

  “An inconvenient time, Tolly. Send him away.” Ash had chess moves to plan.

  “Weel, when I say he’s here, I actually mean—”

  There was a bang on the door at the old man’s back.

  “. . .here.”

  “Lord Ashmoore!” The constable’s voice was muffled by the wood. “I demand an audience, sir.”

  The door began to slide open. Tolly pushed back and it snapped shut. Without releasing his prisoner’s arm, Ash moved quickly to add his own weight to the door. What could he do? No doubt the constable would complicate things if he were to catch even a glimpse of that beauty mark, let alone her wild tresses.

  And why was the constable so determined to see inside the kitchen, unless someone told the man Ash was hiding someone there? If he managed to lock her in the larder, the lawman would not rest until he looked inside.

  “What I need is Stanley,” he admitted aloud, but since his highly influential friend wasn’t about, he was simply going to have to let his precious captive free.

  “Well, what good is a friend who fails to appear the very moment you need him, I ask you?”

  Ash turned to find his white-haired friend dusting off his clothes just inside the kitchen’s yard door. It took Ash but a heartbeat to recover. He’d been so close to allowing Scotia to flee, it had sickened him.

  “Stan. Good to see you,” he whispered, although the constable was making far too loud a fuss to be able to hear much conversation through the door. “Pity you will not be home to receive my letter.”

  Stan raised a white square. “I have it here. Your man and I crossed paths after I was well inside Scotland. Excellent reading.”

  “Glad to amuse, my friend. I’m afraid I must patronize the constable for a moment. We cannot allow him to see her face.” He nodded at the woman. “Fetch her that cloak by the door, if you would not mind.” Ash gave the woman’s fingers a squeeze. “Scotia,” he said pointedly. “You no doubt recognize His Grace.”

  If Stan was surprised, he hid it well behind a charming smile as he wrapped the cloak around her and helped tuck her hair beneath the hood. Later, Ash would warn his friend from using that smile in her presence again.

  “If you play nicely,” Ash explained to her quietly, “the constable will never get a good look at you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  He turned to his butler. “Tolly, I need you to faint. Just where you are, if you please. Right up against the door.”

  “Gladly, sir.” The butler melted to the floor and Ash could not say for certain that the faint hadn’t been real.

  “Hold on to her,” he told Stanley. “Back by the door now. You’ve just arrived and she’s ill.”

  “Excellent,” Stan said, flashing her one last smile as they took their places. Then she dropped her head against him, damn her.

  Just then, the yard door burst open behind the pair, and four men pushed their way inside. They fanned out around the cavernous room, pistols at the ready.

  “Don’t just stand there,” Ash told the two nearest intruders. “Help me move my butler out of the way. The constable cannot get in.”

  The men tucked away their weapons and did as they were told.

  Ash pointed at one of the long tables. “Put him there.”

  A heartbeat after Tolly’s body was lifted away, the hallway door flew open and bounced against the wall. The constable stormed through the opening and half a dozen men followed. One of them was holding his leader’s ridiculous hat.

  “What are ye hiding, Laird Ashmoore, eh?” The constable held his hands like claws as if he was prepared to pounce on Ash and begin ripping him to pieces. His disturbing nose was curled up on one side.

  Ash ignored the man and pointed to an armed bloke standing next to Stanley. “Fetch the Frenchwoman from her gardens. She’s as good as any doctor.”

  The man hesitated, then reached for the door.

  “Here now,” barked the constable. “What are ye about? Ye’ll take no orders from him. I’m in charge, here.”

  Stanley cleared his throat behind his hand, no doubt to mask a laugh. The constable failed to notice. Ash would have been offended if the man weren’t so ignorant of his own ignorance.

  The armed man looked uncertainly at Ash, who nodded. “Go.”

  The man spun on his heel and fled.

  Seven armed men left. The odds were more favorable. Especially since one of the constable’s men was Everhardt. But no one’s blood would be shed unless necessary.

  “I apologize, Constable,” Ash offered without a hint of regret. “My butler suffers a bad heart. I’m afraid your visit is ill-timed. Again.”

  “I doona believe it in the least.” The man wandered over to Tolly and poked him in the belly with a pointed finger.

  To the butler’s credit, he didn’t flinch so much as an eyebrow.

  Ash took off his coat and folded it, then tucked it under Tolly’s head. Sarah appeared in the doorway and he sent her to fetch Tolly a blanket.

  “And who is this?” The Constable tilted his head at Stanley who gave the man a haughty glare.

  “Forgive me,” Ash said to his friend. “This is the constable. Constable Wotherspoon, this is His Grace, Viscount Forsgreen, the future Duke of Rochester.”

  Stan ignored the man and addressed Ash. “Not so far in the future, I’m afraid.”

  “That bad?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Ash sincerely hoped Stan was exaggerating for the constable’s benefit. “As soon as Fantine has a look at Tolly, I’ll have her see you to your rooms. If you’d like to take the lady to the drawing room, she can at least rest comfortably while she waits.”

  Stan nodded and headed for the hallway door through which the constable had entered. The latter stepped in front of him.

  Stanley stopped and glared. “Ashmoore? Your constable seems confused.”

  Ash laughed. “I’m afraid it is not the first time, my friend. Here, Constable,” he said to the ill-mannered oaf in a patronizing tone. “Why do you not make yourself useful and take your men outside in the rare sunshine. I will join you as soon as we have finished turning my home into a hospital.”

  The man turned a rather satisfying shade of purple.

  “I doona believe it in the least,” he spat at Stanley this time. “If ye’re who ye say ye are, why would you sneak into the kitchens instead of using the front door, eh?”

  Stanley sighed, as if resigning himself to the odious fact that he would need to actually speak to a commoner. It was rather frightening to see how easily the attitude came to him.

  “Constable,” he said, his mouth framing the word awkwardly. “I would have preferred the front door, but my lady was rather in a hurry to exit the carriage, and your horses blocked the drive. Your men blocked the doorway. And damned if we were going to stand about in the mud while you ran about playing law man.”

  The smaller man snorted. “I suppose ye can produce this carriage, milord?”

  Stan smiled. “You needn’t look
far. Constable. It’s just outside there.” He stepped aside and pointed to the yard door, all the while supporting Miss Balliol. “It will be the one with the ducal crest. I’m certain Ashmoore’s servants will be happy to help if you fail to locate it.”

  Stan’s tone was no help to the man’s color.

  “Are you feeling well, Constable?” Ash looked around the room. “I can have my Frenchwoman look you over if you like, but you’ll have to wait your turn.” Then he dropped all pretenses and narrowed his eyes at the bastard. “Or you can state your business and remove yourself from my property once and for all.”

  Constable smiled. “I’ve three cells waiting in town. Someone will be sleeping behind those bars tonight, I warrant. I’ve only to decide which of ye it will be.”

  Ash exchanged a smirk with Stan.

  The constable harrumphed. “It seems ye’re holding a prisoner—”

  “Not this nonsense again,” Ash said dramatically for the sake of a room full of witnesses. “The boy is no longer here. And he was never a prisoner.”

  “A woman, this time. And ye’ve got her locked up—”

  “In the larder, I suppose?” Ash laughed.

  The man stomped around the kitchen and found the door to the larder standing open. He lifted the padlock and pointed at it.

  “Ye always keep so serious a lock on your pantry?”

  Ash smirked. “And you do not?”

  The bastard threw the lock across the room where it thumped ineffectually against a broom.

  “Where is she?” he snarled. “I’m told she’s The Reaper’s whore.”

  Stan gasped loudly. Ash suspected he’d done it to cover the same reaction from the woman in his arms.

  The constable pressed on, far too emotional now to watch his tongue. Perhaps they’d have the truth from the man after all.

  “And if ye’re not holding her hostage as you did the boy, then she’d be here for another reason, would she no’? A man like The Reaper would hardly take kindly to sharing, so it stands to reason—”

  “If you tarry just a moment, Your Grace,” Ash winked at Stanley, “he is about to reveal his theory that I am The Highland Reaper—a Robin Hood-type character who has been absconding with cattle and people alike for the past two years. Since we returned from France, in fact. Apparently I have had an imposter standing in my stead in the House of Lords all this while.”

  Stanley laughed along.

  “It would explain why ye’ve been keeping the woman here.” Constable turned to the cloaked form. “Remove yer hood,” he ordered.

  Stanley urged Scotia, or rather, Blair Balliol to lean against the wall, then stepped between her and the little man. Ash closed in on his other side, ignoring the tension that rippled through the armed men at their backs.

  “I am afraid that is slander, Constable,” Ash growled. “And we have a room full of witnesses.”

  Stanley leaned in. “And if you touch so much as the hem on my lady’s mantle, I’ll personally drag you from here to Newgate and hand-pick your cellmates. Do I make myself clear?”

  Constable laughed in their faces, his breath a putrid cloud of old mutton and strong spirits.

  “Anything the English lord wants, the English lord gets,” he snarled. “And now we ken why.” He turned away and looked around the room at his men. “Uppity friends to bend and wash the blood from ‘is hands, sweep away the entrails of any man who crosses ‘im.” He swung back to face Ash and lowered his voice. “If yer not the bloody Reaper, yer as good as. Ye belong in my jail, and on to the gibbet. And I’ll escort ye to both, see if I don’t. . .on me way to Newgate, of course.”

  He backed away and spit at Stanley’s feet.

  “Keep the whore close, milords. If I she takes a step beyond Brigadunn, she’s mine.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Blair shook beneath her cloak as she waited for the sound of the constable’s men to fade. Whether it was fear of the man or fear for her brother that caused her to quiver, she knew not.

  Ash’s calm voice broke the silence when he told Sarah to send for Martin.

  “Send for him,” he clarified. “Do not go fetch the man yourself.”

  He sent Fantine to shut the heavy curtains in the drawing room, then addressed his butler who was still laid out on the table. The poor man had slept through most of the ordeal.

  “Tolly!” Ash barked.

  The man jumped and his legs fell off the table. He caught himself before he could hit the floor and break into a dozen pieces.

  “Yer lairdship?” Tolly blinked rapidly.

  “Fine job, Tolly. When Martin arrives, send him to the drawing room, if you please.”

  Stanley pulled her hand to his forearm and turned to escort her from the room.

  “Just a moment,” Ash said. “I will take her from here.”

  Stan’s brows shot up. “It is like that is it?”

  Ash frowned and shook his head. “No. It is not like that. Fleeing is the woman’s forte, and I have no intention of allowing it at the moment.”

  Blair blushed as if her forte were something to be ashamed of. Then, to punish the man for making her feel that shame, she turned to the handsome friend, still holding his arm. “Yer Grace, it is a pleasure to see ye again.”

  Stan looked at Ash, then back at her. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Scotia.”

  “I’m afraid I do not miss those days in France, but I am glad I could help ye find yer friend, Northwick. Do you remember?”

  The man stepped back, breaking her hold on him, but offering a deep bow. “Indeed I do. I am forever in your debt.”

  Ash snorted. Rather ungentlemanly, that. “Your debt is precisely what she is after, old boy,” he warned.

  Blair ignored him and pressed on. “Could ye take me for a short ride in yer carriage, sir? My young brother has run off, ye see, and he’s headed for danger. Even Lord Ashmoore canna deny it.”

  The viscount looked at Ash and waited.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Ash took her by the arm and dragged her away. Once they were all inside the drawing room with the doors closed, he released her. “Enjoy a little freedom while you have it, my lady.”

  She dropped her mouth open and pretended surprise. “What are you saying? The puppy is allowed to run amok through the entire room? Aren’t ye worried I’ll befoul the carpet?”

  Stanley laughed. Ash scowled. She couldn’t have been more pleased.

  “Are you going to introduce me properly?” asked Stanley after he’d caught his breath.

  “No,” Ash said and crossed his arms.

  “I see,” said his friend. “I’m not to touch her, smile at her, or know her name. Is that correct?”

  “Shut up, Stanley,” Ash growled.

  She tried not to react when Fantine came in and drew the curtains shut, leaving her dependent upon candlelight in spite of the bright morning. Of course she had no need to worry; Ash would never leave her alone, especially with lit candles. Though, at the moment, she felt desperate enough to burn his house down around his ears if it meant she’d be able to find Finn before he came to harm.

  After the Frenchwoman left, Ash dragged a chair in front of the doors, sat in it, and crossed his arms again. Blair removed her hood as she walked to the far end of the room and turned. She hung her tongue out her mouth and panted like a puppy.

  Stanley dropped his smile. Ashmoore dropped his frown. The pair of them were suddenly far too interested in her mouth.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said, then marched to a chair and dropped herself in it.

  They sat in silence for ten minutes. When Martin arrived, Ash allowed him inside the room, then resumed his seat. Her brother took one look at her, swallowed, then bowed to Ashmoore.

  “Ye sent for me, yer lairdship?”

  For a moment, Ash simply looked her brother over as if he were seeing him for the first time. Blair realized if her brother’s face hadn’t been so badly swollen in France, events might have played o
ut a bit different when Ashmoore arrived at Brigadunn. That night when she’d come for Finn, if Ash had known who she was. . .

  Blair shook her head to keep her thoughts from straying any farther. The worry was Finn and Finn only.

  Ash cleared his throat. “I suppose I need not introduce you to your sister.” He turned to his friend. “Stanley, you know this young man better than I, since you helped put him on a ship at Zeebrugge.”

  While Stan and Martin got reacquainted, Ash looked on, obviously a little shaken. Or perhaps it had been his pride that was shaken after standing so near the truth without seeing it. Martin was shocked to see Stanley once again, then even more shocked to learn Ashmoore had been in on his rescue.

  Blair blinked back the moisture in her eyes as her brother expressed his heartfelt gratitude to both men. Her tears dried of their own accord when Martin promptly forgave the lords for lying to him about his sister’s death—as if she weren’t right there in the room with them. Eventually, Martin looked around the room, then at her. “Where is Finn?”

  “Since you hardly look surprised to see your sister,” Ash said, “you must have known she was alive. Do you also know she—”

  “Yes. I know,” Martin interrupted.

  Blair rolled her eyes. They were obviously referring to her relationship to The Reaper, and she was in no mood to defend herself.

  Ash gave her a smug look. “You will be relieved to learn, Martin, she is the reason Finn did not wish to speak to you. He did not trust himself to keep her secret, I suspect.”

  “Where is he?” Martin pressed.

  “He’s gone to the Vale,” Blair said. She got to her feet, grateful they’d gotten past their posturing and were ready to speak of the matter at hand. “He doesn’t know the way, Martin. He’ll be lost on the mountain, or walk into a trap. We have to go after him.”

  Ash stood too. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  Martin gave him a hard look. “Baiting The Reaper canna be more important than finding Finn.”

  “I do not give a damn about the blasted Reaper!” Ash exclaimed, then turned aside with a frown as if he regretted the disclosure.

  Then why does he keep me?