But now he had some excellent memories here. Most of them including Rose. He glanced back at the dog who was contented with nestling on the padded seats of the closed carriage.
“Come on, mutt.”
The dog lifted an ear, opened one eye then the other, and gave a long, luxurious stretch. Hamish envied him. The hound looked utterly rested. Ambling out of the carriage, he bounded up the stairs toward the open door. The butler awaited him, his expression just a little less sour than usual. Perhaps the man had missed him. Hamish smirked at the idea.
“A good journey, my laird.”
“Bloody horrible.”
“We did not expect you home so soon.”
“Aye, I completed my business sooner than expected.” Rupert bounded past him and began to roll all over the ancient rug occupying the entrance hall. Hamish grinned. “We are both glad to be home, it seems.”
“Would you like to take tea in your bedroom, my laird?”
“Och, I’d rather have a whiskey, but I must see to this paperwork.” He patted the case he held. “Bring it into the study, will ye? And some food, if ye can.”
“Certainly, my laird.”
Hamish clasped the papers tight. There would be the key to ridding himself of Marianne, then he could speak with Aunt May. He had also discussed the idea of marriage with his lawyers. It seemed all were keen on the laird finally being married, regardless of Rose’s lack of wealth or connections. Chances were they realized a rough highlander like himself would struggle to attract either of those, and as stubborn as he was, he would marry her regardless of what anyone thought.
The bell rang before he could head toward the study. He pulled it open to find Rose’s aunt and the two other women—the housekeeper and cook—on his doorstep. His gut tightened instantly.
“What’s wrong?”
Mrs. Merriweather dabbed a handkerchief to her lips. “Is Rose here?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Oh dear.”
He pushed the door open farther and ushered the three ladies in. They huddled into their cloaks like three plotting witches, but the concern on their faces took away any amusement he might have had.
“What’s happened?”
Miss Taylor pushed down the hood of her cloak. “She came here yesterday to see you—well, to see Miss Marianne. She never returned.”
That tightness in his gut turned into something worse—a gnawing sensation as though some wild beast was clawing at his insides.
“She’s been missing all night?”
“Yes. The gardener went out and could not find her. He is searching the woods as we speak, but there is no sign of her. We thought to trace her steps here in case something happened, but we did not come upon her.”
Hamish drew in a long breath. “Will ye excuse me for just a moment?”
The ladies shared a worried glance, but he did not wait for their response. He strode upstairs to Marianne’s chambers and shoved open the door.
Marianne lay on her bed, twirling her hair with one finger while she stared up at the canopy above her bed. She wore nothing more than a light shift that was so transparent he could see the outline of her nipples. Even if he had cared for her figure, he would not have paid them any heed. Not now.
She bolted upright. “Hamish?”
“Where is she?”
Marianne stood, slinking toward him with a playful smile on her lips. “You were not due home yet. Did ye miss me?” Her hand came to his chest and toyed with a golden button on his jacket.
He snatched her hand and held her wrist tight. Her eyes widened.
“Where. Is. She?”
“Who?”
“Ye know who.”
She squeaked as he squeezed her wrist tighter. “Yer hurting me.”
“Where is she?”
“I-I dinnae know!”
He released her wrist. As furious as he was, he had never hurt a woman and he would not start now. However, every instinct inside him told him Marianne had something to do with this.
“If ye dinnae tell me, there shall be consequences for this.”
“She never arrived! I assumed she hadnae accepted my invitation.”
“Marianne…” he warned, his voice a growl.
“I dinnae know where she is, Hamish.” She straightened. “I know what ye think of me, but I am no’ a liar.”
He searched her gaze, distrust burning his gut.
“If you have lied to me, so help me God…”
She lifted her chin. “If the girl is missing, it is not my fault. She shouldnae have walked alone.”
He spun away. He had no time to waste. If Rose had been missing since yesterday she could have been outside all night. Who knows what had happened? Bandits perhaps? Thieves? Murderers? The crushing weight in his gut moved up to his chest.
“Rupert,” he commanded, striding downstairs to the cluster of ladies. The dog faithfully followed at his heels. Apparently even he understood the urgency of the situation.
“I’ll begin a search. My stable hands and footmen can help,” he told Mrs. Merriweather. “Rupert might be able to sniff her out. Ye say the gardener is searching the woods?”
Mrs. Merriweather nodded.
“Ye stay here. Have some coffee and stay warm. I’ll find her for ye.”
“I should like to help.”
Mrs. Shaw grasped her mistress’ arm. “You’ve been up all night, ma’am. You should get some rest. It’ll do Rose no good if you get ill.”
“Mrs. Shaw is right.” He signaled to the butler to lead them into the drawing room. “Muster up the men. Have them search to the east and west. Miss Rose Merriweather is missing. And see that the ladies are looked after. I will not be long,” he vowed.
Hamish had little idea if he could live up to that promise, but he prayed he could. As he stepped out of the castle, a blast of wind struck him. He pulled his jacket about him and considered how Rose would fare in her likely delicate dress and pelisse.
“I’ll find ye,” he muttered to the wind as if it might carry his words to her.
Rupert dashed ahead, sniffing along the paths he preferred. They trekked all around the hills surrounding the castle until the light of day began to wane. Along with his hope. Of course, there was a chance the gardener or some of his men had found her, but someone would have sent word to him, surely?
While the skies grew darker, he refused to give in. He’d search all damned night and the rest of the week if he had to. He followed the path that led to the next village and paused. Would she really have gone this way? And if she had, why? Surely they would have found her on the path between her house and his castle if something had happened to her? In his gut he knew something was gravely wrong.
Before he could make the decision to turn back, Rupert let up a yowl. Hamish’s heart gave a leap. The dog ran and Hamish followed until his lungs burned, but still the dog did not slow. If the mutt was chasing a rabbit or some such, he was going to be severely annoyed.
He paused to drag in a breath, grimacing at the renewed aches in his body. Damned war had left him far more aged than he should be. Straightening once more, he called to the dog and began his pursuit again.
The animal paused when they came to the bushes lining the edge of an old dirt track. He sniffed carefully, going one way then back on himself. He finally caught the scent again and followed it to a worn-down shepherd’s croft. The roof remained intact with the door in place but a few grey stones were missing, and it appeared it was no longer occupied. Rupert stopped outside the door, and Hamish had to take a breath. She might not be in there, he cautioned himself.
He pressed open the door, which gave way with a squeak. The dark shadows inside combined with the lack of light outside meant he had to pause for a moment to let his eyes adjust. There, in the corner, was a huddled bundle of clothing.
He rushed over. “Rose?”
He rolled her and his heart simultaneously leapt and collapsed. Skin ashen, eyes shut, her flesh
felt cold. He pressed a finger to her neck and felt the faintest pulse. She was alive. Just.
Scooping her into his arms, he praised Rupert and called him to heel. The dog clearly understood his master’s distress and followed carefully behind.
Hamish moved with haste, falling into a clumsy run with Rose strewn across his arms. She was limp and burdensome. His joints ached anew, each scar seeming to burn a fiery path across his body as if reminding him of each brush with death he’d had.
None of those moments, however, felt anything like this. He could very well lose her if he did not get her to safety. And even then, there was no guarantee of her survival. If she had been out in the cold all night, there was a chance she could die.
He continued his clumsy pace. His muscles begged him to stop but he ignored them, forging on until the tops of the castle turrets were visible. He held Rose close and muttered some pleas for her to awaken. She failed to respond.
What the devil was she doing out there? How had she even got there? He knew one thing for certain. Marianne had lied to him, and she would pay for it.
He took the steps up to the castle and barged the door open. Several feminine cries greeted him and they clustered around him, asking him questions.
“Where did you find her?”
“Is she well?”
“What happened?”
“Is she harmed?”
“Was she taken?”
Hamish eased past them and moved to the stairs. “She is alive,” he said. “She needs warmth and rest. I shall put her in my chamber.” He looked to Mrs. Shaw. “Will ye find the housekeeper for me and have her stoke the fire and bring up warm water and food? I dinnae know if she’ll awaken but if she does, we need to get her fed.”
Mrs. Shaw nodded and scurried away. The other two women followed him to his bedchamber and helped him settle her under the blankets.
Mrs. Merriweather took up a position beside Rose, stroking her hair from her face. Tears lingered in the old woman’s eyes, and a knot gathered in his throat. He was responsible for this. He should have thrown Marianne out on her arse. Christ, had he known she would stoop so low…
Chapter Twelve
The low rumbling baritone that echoed through her head drew Rose’s attention first. Then hushed tones of a softer voice.
Aunt May.
She tried to focus on the masculine voice. Her heart stretched and she tried to drag her eyes open to view him. Her lids felt as though they had sealed shut. It had to be Hamish, but why was he in her bedroom? She tried again. Her eyes cracked open and she was confronted with a blur of shapes. She attempted to lift a hand and reach out to them but to no avail. Her limbs were as weighted as before.
Before. Goodness, what had happened? All she could recall was collapsing in the drawing room. Was she still at the castle? Had Hamish returned?
“Should we get a message to her grandparents?” someone asked. Mrs. Shaw. Rose searched her muddled mind. Grandparents? She did not have any. Were they referring to her?
“They cannot help and they would only worry,” Aunt May said. “Let us pray Rose recovers and they shall be none the wiser.”
Any attempts to speak failed. Her throat was as raw as if she’d swallowed broken glass. In fact, every part of her hurt from her limbs to her head. After one final attempt to draw the attention of those around her, she gave up and closed her eyes again.
When she awoke again, she could only hear female voices. Her aunt and Mrs. Shaw by the sounds of it. Miss Taylor too. She cracked open one eye and found herself able to roll a little. Forcing open her other eye, she blinked to clear the fog in front of her vision and was confronted by Aunt May’s smiling face.
“Rose, dear?”
Rose squeaked out a sound that had intended to be yes but came out nothing like a real word.
“Rest, dear. You have had quite an ordeal.”
She blinked again and took in the surroundings. Above her was a large red velvet canopy, and the bed on which she lay had large, dark, carved pillars. The bedding matched the red décor, and the room was decorated with golden wallpaper. She was still at the castle.
“Hamish?” she managed to squeak out.
The three ladies surrounding her shared a look. “Why do you not let him know she is awake, Mrs. Shaw?” Aunt May suggested.
Rose rolled onto her back and tried to force herself up. Her limbs were still next to useless. Aunt May shuffled forward and helped prop her up against the pillow.
“What happened?” Rose asked.
Aunt May offered her a sip of what had to be cold tea, and the liquid eased the dryness in her throat. “Do you remember anything?”
Rose shook her head. Her attention immediately snapped to Hamish as he ducked into the bedroom. He offered her a quirked smile that immediately had her feeling more alert. Her lips cracked as she smiled back. What a mess she must look, and yet she could not bring herself to care. All she cared for was seeing Hamish.
“She does not remember anything,” Aunt May told him.
“I fell…or something. I am not sure.” Rose pressed a hand to her pounding head. “I was sick, perhaps. I fainted.”
Hamish stepped closer to the end of her bed, his arms folded. “Ye werenae sick. Ye were poisoned.”
Rose scowled. “Poisoned.”
“My fault, I fear. I placed ye in a vulnerable position.”
Aunt May shook her head. “You could not have thought—”
He held up a hand. “I knew she was a manipulative woman.”
“Who?” Rose demanded.
“Marianne poisoned ye,” he said quietly. “I had gone to Edinburgh to negotiate a settlement to ensure she left the castle and never looked back. She had hopes of becoming the next lady of Baleith, something I had been aware of for a while. Clearly, she thought ye were in the way.”
“But…poison…?”
“I’ve conducted a thorough investigation. It appears she must have slipped some hemlock into yer food. I spoke with the serving girls, and they checked the food she gave ye. Thankfully she only put a small amount in, but it was enough to render ye senseless.”
“So she did not wish me dead?”
Och, she wished ye dead, I think.” He made a sound of disgust. “She dragged ye out on the cart and abandoned ye in one of the old crofts, likely hoping ye’d never awaken. I found the cart not far from the croft.” He turned his attention to Aunt May. “I’ve still no trace of her but I will find her,” he promised. “She will be made to pay for her crimes.”
“Made to pay?” Rose asked quietly.
“She fled when she realized we had found ye.” He flicked a look over his shoulder. “We have Rupert to thank for that.” He grinned. “Come on, boy.”
The dog bounded in, his ears flapping and his tongue hanging out. Now he had been given permission, he jumped onto her bed and licked her face. Rose laughed and accepted the wet kisses. Once satisfied, he did a few turns on the bed and settled near her feet.
“I think he wants to stand guard over ye,” Hamish said.
“He is welcome to stay.” Her voice still gritty, she coughed to try to clear it. Aunt May offered her more tea, but she waved it away.
“May I speak with Hamish alone?”
Her aunt shared a look with Miss Taylor and Mrs. Shaw before nodding. The three women retreated but not before giving her several kisses and hugs. She smiled as she watched the ladies shuffle out.
Hamish came to stand beside her bed. “They were worried about ye.”
“They look tired.”
“Aye. I tried to persuade them to rest, but they were having none of it.”
“You look tired too.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been more tired.”
“I do not doubt it.” She twined the blanket between her fingers. “Why would Marianne do such a thing? Hamish, were you romantically involved?”
“Never, I swear.”
She nodded. “I did not think so.”
“I shall ens
ure she is punished, Rose. I swear it.”
Rose did not much care to think about vengeance at the moment. She was simply happy to be alive and in Hamish’s company. “I’m glad you are returned.”
“Me too, though I wish I had come back sooner. Then none of this would have happened.”
“Do not take the blame on yourself. I was too trusting, it seems.”
“And I dinnae doubt ye shall always be just as trusting. I wouldnae have ye any other way.” He gripped her hand and brought it to his lips. “Ye should get some more rest. Yer aunts are keen to have ye moved home and as much as I would like to keep ye here, I think they will rest better at home.”
She nodded. “You are probably right.” Though so much of her wanted to stay in what she believed to be Hamish’s bedchamber.
“And when ye are well, I shall speak with yer aunt.” He grinned.
“I cannot wait.”
***
Though she was recovering her health well, Rose still found herself tired. She had been asleep for two days after the poisoning she had discovered, and the apothecary said she had caught a touch of cold but it was nothing some good broth could not cure. It had left her foggy-headed, and her body ached, however.
Aunt May fussed over her, settling her into her own bed. As much as she had liked being in Hamish’s company, she would rest better at home, mostly because she knew that the three ladies would be able to sleep in their own beds.
“Go and rest, Aunt,” she ordered the woman. “I need some sleep.”
In truth, she was not sure she would sleep. So much had happened. To think someone had hated her enough to wish her dead. How desperate Marianne must have been to stoop to such measures. What a cold-hearted, callous woman she must be.
Her aunt pressed a kiss to her head. “Thank goodness you are out of danger. Thank goodness for Hamish. We might never have found you if it was not for him.”
“I take it you fully approve of him now.”
Aunt May’s lips curved. “Perhaps.”
“I am glad.” Her aunt went to leave but Rose called her back. A flicker of conversation rang through her mind, and it had been replaying on her since their return home. “Aunt, when I was not quite awake…I heard…I heard someone say something about grandparents.”
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