Clandestine (House of Oak Book 3)

by Nichole Van

  Go figure. It worked just the same. She and Daniel had been fascinated by that door as children. Such a clever way to provide entrance without needing a key.

  She turned back to Marc with a smile, beckoning him to follow her inside.

  “Allow me to welcome you to what will become Whitmoor House.”

  Confidently, she led Marc up a few narrow stone stairs and through another door into the large central medieval hall. She could see the faint outlines of banners hanging from the walls and the enormous ancient fireplace gaping before them. Furniture dotted the room, lumpy shapes covered in heavy cloth.

  Kit tugged off her bonnet and gloves, placing them on what seemed to be a table. She felt several strands of hair pop free of their pins. She probably looked ghastly, but the gloom hid that, right? Marc dropped hat and gloves onto the table, too.

  “I don’t suppose you have a flashlight or some matches?” Marc asked, his voice echoing quietly. “Or maybe you know how to light a candle in 1814?”

  Drat. That was a problem.

  Kit rotated, studying the large hall. The general layout of the house hadn’t changed much, but it was going to be a long night without any light whatsoever.

  Suddenly, a noise came from the left of the keep, coming from the portion of the house that would belong to her family in the twenty-first century. Something that sounded a lot like a chair scraping across wood.

  Kit jumped and grabbed Marc’s arm.

  “I thought you said this place was empty,” he hissed in her ear. “That no one lived here.”

  “It should be.” Kit took a couple tentative steps toward the family wing.

  “Kit . . .” Marc said warningly behind her. “It could be anyone up there. Robbers, thieves, French spies—”

  “Or it could be Daniel—”

  “Aren’t they the same thing?”

  “Be nice.”

  But Kit kept going. Through the west drawing room, up the stone stairs she knew so well.

  A strong suspicion lodged in her thumping heart.

  Marc followed her, his quiet strength lending her courage. Or maybe it was just his huge muscles. She couldn’t be sure.

  She rounded the corner and saw a light flickering from one of the bedrooms.

  The bedroom that had been (wait—would be?) her father’s.

  She crept down the hallway and cautiously peered around the door. A lean figure bent over a desk in a pool of candlelight.

  Just as she had thought. It could only be one person, in the end.

  Daniel.

  And now they had found him, she would finally get some answers, and they could all go home.

  Together.

  Marc watched a glorious smile illuminate Kit’s face. The kind of unfettered, joyous look that knocked all thought out of a man’s head.

  Not that it was aimed at him.

  Kit pushed the door open further, spilling faint candlelight into the hall.

  “Daniel,” she cried, launching herself into the room.

  Marc entered on her heels just in time to see a tallish, dark-haired man stand up from a desk in front of a boarded up window and catch Kit in his arms, giving her a tight hug. Knocking free more of her hair from its pins.

  He was younger than Marc had expected, probably only in his early twenties, six or seven years younger than Kit.

  “Kit! What on earth!” Daniel pulled his sister back, looking her up and down. “Why are you here? I told you I would come back for you.”

  And then Daniel lifted his head, seeing Marc for the first time.

  Marc had never seen someone’s jaw literally drop, but there was no other way to describe what happened.

  “You!” Daniel pointed a finger at Marc and then immediately shoved Kit behind him, as if to protect her, obviously recognizing Marc from their scuffle in Duir Cottage.

  Did he consider Marc some kind of threat?

  The bloody nerve.

  “Do you know who this man is, Kit?” Daniel held Kit back with his arm, but she pushed it out of the way and moved to the front of her brother, placing herself between him and Marc.

  “Marc Wilde.” She gestured toward him. “My brother, Daniel Ashton.”

  Daniel’s eyes were still wide.

  “Daniel.” Marc inclined his head. “So glad to finally catch up with you. Kit has told me quite a bit about you.”

  Marc walked farther into the room. Even in the dim light of a single candelabra, he could see the layer of dust which settled over everything. A large bed with floor to ceiling hangings dominated the right of the room. A dark fireplace yawned open on the other wall, flanked by two chairs. The desk that had occupied Daniel sat in between, the candelabra resting atop it. The flickering light cast ghostly shadows onto the wood-paneled walls.

  Marc pulled his coat tighter and strode to one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. He wanted some explanations, and he intended to listen to them in comfort. He disregarded the small puff of dust as he sat down.

  “I suppose a fire is out of the question?” Marc gestured toward the empty grate.

  Daniel blinked and then shook his head. “I wouldn’t chance it. Who knows if the chimney will draw correctly. Besides, the smoke would be a clear beacon of our presence here.”

  Marc nodded and then leaned back, crossing a booted foot over his knee. “So, Daniel. It seems that I owe my presence here to you. Would you care to offer an explanation?”

  Daniel stiffened and regarded Marc with cautious eyes.

  He said nothing.

  “Allow me to rephrase that question, Mr. Ashton. In the last two weeks, I have been drugged and dragged through a time portal, befriended your sister, protected her person, been shot at, fought a viscount, been mistaken as a spy and rode all day in a decidedly uncomfortable gig, all while using a pretentious accent and wearing these ridiculous clothes. Not to mention forgoing modern plumbing and ESPN. All because you”—here Marc lingered on the word— “decided to blackmail me and broke into Duir Cottage. So based on this, the least you could do is provide some small justification for your actions.”

  Daniel’s shoulders slumped, and he sank down in the chair opposite Marc, resting his forearms on his knees, causing another billow of dust.

  Predictably, Kit and Marc sneezed. Kit swung the desk chair around and positioned it next to Daniel, taking her brother’s hand in hers, pulling it off his knee. Long tendrils of hair escaped to frame her face. What would the mass look like down? Marc shook the thought clear. So not the time to be dwelling on things like that.

  Daniel looked down at Kit’s hand and then sat back, keeping her hand in his.

  “Just tell us what happened, Daniel.” Her voice gentle and soothing.

  The kind of voice which invited confidences.

  Or caused younger brothers to bristle at being told what to do.

  Daniel shifted, uncertain as to how he felt about it. Then he sighed, lifting his eyes to Marc. “For the record, I never meant for you to come through with me. I just . . . didn’t think.”

  “Why don’t you start at the beginning,” Marc said.

  “The story is actually quite simple. After our dad died last year, I found myself sorting through all his old papers. I came across a history written by a man named Garvis, who had been a servant to another man he referred to simply as W. At one point—I think it was in the late 1820s, about fifteen years from now—this W was severely injured and became delirious with fever. Garvis recorded W’s ramblings which included mention of a portal in the cellar of a place called Duir Cottage.”

  A chill shot down Marc’s spine. So someone else did know. Or had known. But who? And how?

  “As you can imagine, I was incredibly intrigued by the account. Garvis mentioned things that only someone from our century would know. References to antibiotics and vaccines. It seemed like this W really was from the future or had at least spent time there. I have always loved history, so if there actually was a portal through time, I wanted to try it for myse
lf.”

  “But why send a blackmail letter? Were you that desperate for money? And why me?”

  “Garvis recorded that this W claimed to go by the name Marcus Wilde on occasion.”

  The tingle along Marc’s spine grew, spreading along his arms and legs, constricting his breathing.

  No! Impossible! He refused to spend the rest of his life here.

  Something of his panic must have shown on his face.

  Daniel shifted in his chair, as if he hated being the bearer of bad news. “The past . . . this era . . . it isn’t too bad of a place, really.”

  Marc and Kit stared at him, causing Daniel to squirm a bit more. “I’m just saying I kinda like it. It’s a little bit awesome to be a gentleman. To live in a time when people care more about honor and a code of conduct than the latest gadget and what’s playing on the telly.”

  “Well, I have no intention of staying, regardless of the stories this Garvis wrote.” Not going to happen. Nope. Never. Marc tapped a hand against the arm of his chair. “So, why the blackmail?”

  “Oh, yes. That. Well . . . it actually wasn’t blackmail. Not really.”

  Marc cocked his head at Daniel. “Seriously? Because it felt a lot like blackmail. The whole threatening letter, pay-up-or-else thing—”

  “True. I did send the letter, but I never intended to follow through with any real blackmail. I just wanted to see if the portal actually existed before breaking into your house—”

  Marc let out a sharp crack of laughter. “You realize your sister had no such scruples—”

  “You broke into the house too?” Daniel turned scandalized eyes to Kit. “Kit! Everyone expects me to do such things. But you . . . we count on you to maintain the respectability of the family—”

  Kit gave her brother a withering look, the same expression Marc had seen countless times on his own sister’s face. He chuckled.

  Daniel grinned a maddening-little-brother grin and continued. “Anyway, the roses were a sort of test.”

  “Roses?” Kit looked between the two of them, the swift motion threatening to dislodge more of her hair.

  “Yes. Daniel insisted I place thirteen yellow roses in the front window of Duir Cottage to prove I had received his blackmail letter.”

  “Exactly! It was the perfect set-up.” Daniel looked quite proud of himself. “If there was no portal, you would have completely ignored my letter. But if you placed roses in the window, then I knew that you had something to hide.”

  “Stupid, sinister roses. Yellow roses represent treachery and death in a lot of cultures—”

  “Oh. I thought they symbolized friendship.” Daniel adjusted his legs. He really did seem to struggle to sit still. “I wanted to reassure you I meant no harm. Anyway, once I saw the roses, I knew there must be a portal. I mean, I had hoped it existed, so I had been preparing to go to the past. Reading up on this time period. Language, social customs, ways to earn my living. I outfitted a trunk with items I would want and had a costume expert make me some period clothing. I even found some vintage doctor’s supplies in things Dad had, including old-school chloroform—”

  “Honestly, Daniel, I can’t believe you wanted to be a time-travel tourist.” Kit shook her head.

  “And so you broke into Duir Cottage, determined to go through the portal when I surprised you.” Marc’s head reared back, a hiss of understanding escaping. “You never intended to influence the Napoleonic Wars or change history. You were just wanting to have a lark.”

  Daniel at least had the decency to flush and look embarrassed. “History has always been my passion. And yeah, I am really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you or drag you through the portal with me. I guess I just panicked when I saw you drive up and dumped some chloroform onto my handkerchief just in case. We sort of fell together and ended up going through. The portal wouldn’t let me back to get my things, so I was left with just the clothes I was wearing.”

  “Oh, Daniel.” Kit shook her head, setting more curls free. “How I wish I had known. I was already here. I bet the portal is just waiting for me to find you, so we can return together.”

  Daniel shifted again. Was this his normal restlessness or was he hiding something from his sister? “Honestly, Kit, I didn’t know you were here. How could I have known? It wasn’t until I saw you in town—and then followed you to the church graveyard—that I realized you had come back too. But once I knew you were here and having to serve Lady Ruby . . . well, I wanted to save you from that.”

  “You are such a sweet brother, sometimes.” Kit patted his hand. “Terribly misguided, mind you, but still sweet.”

  Daniel continued, “I asked around town after talking to you by the church and . . . wow. There’s a Jed. I. Knight and a Lord Vader at Haldon Manor? What are the chances?”

  Marc allowed himself a grim chuckle. “Well, the Lord Vader was all me—”

  “Wait. That’s you?” Daniel pointed at him.

  Marc nodded. “But Jedediah is his own man.”

  “Go figure,” Daniel smiled. “After leaving Kit that day, I asked around for work and was directed to a tavern in a nearby town. I met some cove who wanted a job done, no questions asked. He was dressed in a dark hat and cloak and had a kerchief across his face. He promised me a significant sum of money if I stole some papers from Lord Linwood at Kinningsley.”

  Kit sighed. “So of course you took him up on the offer.”

  Daniel spread his hands in front of his sister. “What else was I to do? I needed money, Kit. I did it for us.”

  Hands shaking, Kit threaded her fingers into her hair and held tight to her head. Pulling more tendrils of hair free. How much more hair could escape before it all tumbled down?

  “You realize those papers are probably going straight into the hands of French spies.”

  Daniel nodded. “Yes. I sorta figured that out once I realized what I had stolen. For the record, I am to turn over the papers to this agent the day after tomorrow—”

  “You have them here?”

  “Yes.” Daniel rose and went to the desk with Marc and Kit following closely behind. “Here they are.”

  He spread what looked to be schematics for some sort of canon across the desktop.

  “This is what Linwood was so determined to hide?” Marc frowned and picked up a page, studying it more closely in the candlelight. The detailed drawing resembled a Gatling gun with multiple barrels. “Aren’t repeating rifles and canons a little after this time period?” Marc turned a questioning look to Daniel.

  Daniel nodded. “It would seem Linwood is hiding a secret talent for mechanical engineering. These drawings are excellent and, if placed into the right hands, could enable the French to create weaponry decades ahead of its time.”

  “Which could influence the outcome of the Napoleonic Wars. Oh Daniel, how could you?” Kit whispered.

  “How was I to know what I was stealing and why?”

  Kit rolled her eyes. “Do you seriously want me to answer that?”

  “The man I was dealing with made it very clear that I was not to ask any questions. I just figured they were documents related to a local land dispute or a bill in the House of Lords . . . basically, none of my business.”

  Marc shuffled through a few more pages. There were seven in total. But there were other pages on the desk, papers Daniel had obviously been working on when they interrupted him.

  “So what is this then?” Marc gestured toward the papers Daniel had been writing.

  “Well, as Kit just pointed out, I cannot in good conscience turn something over to the French that could change the course of history. So I decided to copy Linwood’s drawings but change them enough so the schematics will be essentially useless. That way I can still turn something over to this agent tomorrow and get my money. But not betray my country.”

  Kit moaned and covered her face with her hands again, rocking back and forth. “There are so many, many ways that plan can go awry, Daniel. Please let me talk you out of it.”

>   Daniel grimaced. “Look, Kit, I know you think this isn’t one of my brightest ideas—”

  “Bad idea, Daniel. This is a bad idea. A horrid plan.”

  “But Kit, I have to meet this man tomorrow. He has people and I need to turn these papers over to him. Otherwise, I become a hunted man. Besides, I really need that money—”

  “Why? Why do you need money? Who cares if you become a hunted man? We” —Kit waved her hand back and forth to indicate the space between them— “are going home. These spies won’t follow us to the twenty-first century. Marc has enough money to see us back to Haldon Manor. I fail to see how any of this is even an issue.”

  Marc locked eyes with Daniel as Kit spoke, seeing the truth in her brother’s gaze. The simple fact that Kit had been missing throughout the entire conversation.

  Daniel had no intention of returning home. Ever.

  He wasn’t a time-traveling tourist. He was trying to build a life for himself in 1814, and these stolen papers were his golden ticket. However misguided and harebrained the idea, Marc had to give him credit for sheer bravado.

  Kit, however, would be devastated. She would never give up trying to get her brother back. Marc knew her well enough to clearly see that basic fact.

  Daniel’s eyes communicated his awareness of all of this to Marc, pleading for understanding, asking Marc to help Kit understand.

  Firmly trapping Marc in between them.

  Marc wanted to punch something. Hard.

  Instead, he gave a small shake of his head.

  No.

  He would not get in the middle of this. It was not his battle to fight. Daniel and Kit’s relationship was their own to sort through.

  With a narrowing of his eyes, Daniel turned back to the papers. A determined clench to his jaw.

  Marc tugged on Kit’s sleeve, eyes still on her brother. “C’mon, Kit. Let’s leave Daniel to work. You can show me around the castle . . . ehrrr . . . your house.”

  “But what about Daniel? The papers?” She gestured toward her brother. “None of it matters. We should just head back toward the portal and home.”