by Lauren Royal
Still, she couldn't count on it. She walked to the window and looked out. Four stories down. Her first thought had been to open the window and jump. But even when Geoffrey left and she had only to deal with thickheaded Wat, it would still be four stories down.
She wouldn't be jumping.
Pressing her forehead to the cold pane, she strained to see the wall below. Vines. Old, gnarled vines, the stalks as thick as her forearm. She could climb down the vines.
But only if she incapacitated Wat somehow.
Her gaze darted around the room and into the next one. There must be something here that could help her. Whatever it took, she had to get to the wedding. It was her best—maybe her only—chance to find Adam.
And if she could save Jason from risking his life as well, so much the better.
Somehow Jason managed to dress for the wedding, though he didn't know how it happened. His heart pounded so hard his fingers shook. He was torn in three directions at once.
One, find Cait—absolutely his first priority, but the least likely to be successful. London was the biggest city in England, a veritable rabbit warren of streets and buildings. She could be anywhere. Anywhere.
Two, get to Scarborough's house and warn him.
Three, go to Lord Darnley's wedding, where he might capture Gothard once and for all.
Since Scarborough was expected at the wedding, he had a strong hunch Gothard would be there, too. For the bride and groom and wedding guests, he hoped he was wrong, but at least it would be done.
Scarborough and Gothard. Those last two he could handle. He hoped.
He frowned at himself as he tied his cravat in the mirror, messing the knot for the fourth time. He couldn't think about past failures. He had to pull himself together and do what needed to be done.
Save Scarborough and apprehend Gothard.
Or go after Cait—
A knock came at the door. Giving the cravat a final yank, he went to open it.
"A letter, my lord." Goodwin proffered a neatly folded square.
The note was obviously scribbled in haste. Eleven words that made up his mind. Your woman can be found at the Bull Inn on Bishopsgate.
A clue. A direction. Relief coursed through him, though he knew it was premature.
He nodded at Goodwin. "Have the carriage brought round immediately."
He hoped Scarborough had received his warning letter; if not, the man would have to fend for himself. Or—
"Ford!" Grabbing his velvet surcoat—black, to match his mood—he bolted from the room and down the stairs.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Wat sat slumped in a chair in the back room, his shifty brown eyes watching Caithren pace back and forth while she did her best to ignore him.
She was envisioning Lord Darnley's wedding. There they were, walking down the aisle, Lord Darnley and his bride. Her mind conjured up a bonnie image of a man in a dove-gray velvet suit and a woman in a lovely pink gown. Very English. The kirk, of course, was enormous, this being London. Dressed in every color of the rainbow, guests filled row after row of pews. On one end sat a man wearing bright blue satin bedecked with gaudy ribbons.
Adam.
She had to get to Adam. She'd come all this way, and it was her one and only chance—
"Sit down, wench. You're making me barmy."
She sat. Geoffrey had given Wat a pistol.
Congealed food sat on a pewter plate before her, making her stomach roil. There was a spoon, but no knife. No weapons at her disposal.
When she closed her eyes, a vision of Jason's smile seemed to hover behind her lids. What was it about him that made her miss him so fiercely all this day, the first day she'd spent without him since he'd kept her off the coach? Certainly not his blanket judgments, his innate stubbornness, his overdeveloped sense of responsibility. But whatever it was, he had changed her life. Changed an essential part of Caithren Leslie.
She could no longer imagine living all her life without a man. In truth, without Jason in particular.
But somehow she would have to.
Now she knew what her answer to his proposal would have been. But he wouldn't be asking. Once he captured Geoffrey Gothard, he'd be leaving for his home in the country. She'd been telling him to leave her all along, after all.
It was painful, knowing he cared but not enough. If she could even believe he'd been telling the truth when he said he loved her. Wishing the three words had never passed his lips, she reached to touch her amulet and splayed her hand across the bareness there instead.
So much ill luck had befallen her lately.
She had to get to Adam. Everything had gone wrong, but this one thing—this one thing—must go right. With her emerald or without.
"What does Scarborough look like?" Kendra whispered as she and Ford quietly entered the church.
"How the hell should I know?" Scarborough had already left his house when they'd arrived there to alert him of his brothers' plans. "We'll have to ask around after the service. Surely there will be time to warn him."
The ceremony hadn't started yet, but everyone was seated. At the far end, a harpsichordist played a gentle tune. Ford drew Kendra along one wall, so they could view the assemblage. "Jason thinks Gothard won't show up until the reception—"
"Look! There's Cait's brother, Adam!"
"Silence!" a matron warned, turning in her seat to give them a cold gray glare.
Kendra ignored her, reaching into her drawstring bag for the miniature that Caithren had left in her hands in the park, when she'd run off to find her hat. She thrust the little painting at Ford. "He looks taller than I expected, but of course you can't tell height from a portrait. It's him, is it not?"
He frowned at the picture. "This fellow looks oddly familiar."
"Because he's Cait's brother and looks like Cait."
"Makes sense." Ford looked back and forth between the man and the small oval portrait. Though his clothing was less flamboyant, the gentleman in question did indeed share the same wheaten hair and hazel eyes as the man in the painting. "Could be," he mused. The features weren't exactly the same, but close. Perhaps the artist wasn't very talented.
"Go back outside," Kendra said. "I'll bring him."
"We can't. It's about to begin—"
The music had changed to a sedate march, and the groom was taking his place, but Ford's protest was futile. Kendra was already down the aisle and tapping the man on the shoulder.
When he looked over, startled, she leaned close to whisper. "May I speak with you a moment?"
Looking confused, he nodded and rose to follow the twins outdoors.
They'd barely reached the steps when Kendra turned to him and began babbling. "I realize you don't know who we are, but your sister is—"
"I don't have a sister," the man interrupted.
Kendra and Ford looked at each other. Ford handed him the miniature. "Are you not Adam Leslie?"
"Nay." The man stared at it, then looked up. "Where did you get this? Adam is dead."
Kendra gasped. "Adam is dead?"
"I'm his cousin, Cameron Leslie." Cameron stuck out a hand. "And you are…?"
Ford grasped and shook it. "Ford and Kendra Chase. We got the portrait from Adam's sister, Caithren. Our brother has gone after her. She meant to come here to find Adam, but she was—"
"—delayed," Kendra finished for him. No sense alarming the man right off.
"I received word of Adam's death and came to fetch my cousin back home." Cameron's hazel eyes filled with concern. "Wore out four horses getting here, because she said he would be at this wedding today, and it's the only place in England I knew for certain I could find her."
"If she doesn't make it here for the ceremony, she'll be at the reception." Kendra reached to touch him on the arm. "My brother will make sure of it."
Caithren rose again and walked slowly around the chamber, pacing off her nervous energy.
How could she get to Adam?
"Sit down, wench," W
at growled from the front room.
She sat back at the table.
Jason hadn't arrived. Maybe he'd never gone home to get the note Gothard sent—assuming Gothard had told her the truth about that. Or maybe she'd been wrong about Jason altogether.
He'd ridden halfway across the country chasing after Gothard, and he was determined to find him. Saving Scarborough's life also figured into the equation. Maybe those goals were more important to him than she was. She wouldn't have thought so, but she didn't know what to think anymore.
Well, if he didn't show up, at least he couldn't be detained—or worse, shot—by Wat. And if he did show up, he could probably defend himself. Especially against Wat. Geoffrey's attitude toward his brother might be exaggerated, but it had base in fact. Wat was definitely missing something upstairs.
That weakness of Wat's should be a boon to her as well. He was still in the other room and didn't seem to be watching. Slowly she stood, sliding the pewter plate off the table as quietly as possible.
Hiding it behind her skirts, she drifted to the window, reached out and turned the latch, pushed it partway open—
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" In a flash of fury, Wat came up behind her. She whirled and raised the heavy pewter plate, smashing him atop the head with all the strength she could dredge from her body. The spoon went flying, along with putrid bits of dried meat and gravy that rained down on them both.
Wat yowled, but he didn't go down. Evidently he was stupid and hard-headed.
Red with rage, he came after her. She scooped the spoon from the floor and aimed its handle for his face, hoping to get him in the eye. She missed, grazing his sunburned cheek. Bright blood beaded up in a ragged line.
With a growl, he wrested the pistol from his waistband.
Dim-witted or not, he could kill her. She was already braced to bring up her knee when she heard the click of the flintlock being cocked. Icy fear gripped her heart. She shifted, thrusting both hands to force Wat's arm toward the ceiling.
As she tried to wrestle the gun from him and bring it butt-down on top of his hard skull, a blast tore through the air. Her ears ringing, she felt his body go limp and slump to the floor.
Panic rose in her throat as she stood there, the pistol in her hands, watching blood well from a neat round hole in Walter Gothard's head.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
"They've got to be here," Ford said. "Hell, there are just too damn many people."
The wedding celebration was in full swing. Lord Darnley's house was lit with hundreds of candles. Wine and other spirits flowed freely, and the resulting raucous laughter rang through the halls, the ballroom, and into his garden beyond.
"They?" Cameron asked. "I thought we came here to find Cait."
"We also need to find the Earl of Scarborough." Kendra's gaze scanned the glittering room before she turned back to Cameron and frowned. "But we don't know what he looks like."
"And two other men," Ford added, his words directed into the milling throng. "My brother accidentally killed someone, and we don't know who he was. These two men were witnesses. I've seen them and think I remember what they look like, but I've yet to spot them here. A serving maid in a tavern told me one of them might be named Balmforth."
"Balmforth?" The blood drained from Cameron's face.
"Yes." Ford craned his neck, still looking.
Kendra's gaze was riveted to Caithren's cousin. "Whatever is wrong?" she asked.
"Balmforth—"
"There they are!" Ford took off, threading his way through the crowd of revelers.
"Are you all right?" Kendra stared at Cameron. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Nay. It's only—" His mouth opened, but no more words came out.
She gestured toward the silk-upholstered chairs lined up against the tapestried wall. "Would you like to sit down?"
"Nay." He shook his head as though to clear it. "Lady Kendra, I don't know how to…" He blew out a breath. "Here they come."
Ford walked up with the two men, his face as white as Cameron's. Whiter, even. Kendra clutched his arm. "What is it?"
Her whispered words failed to carry through the din that surrounded them, but it didn't matter. Ford knew what she was asking. "The man Jason killed…" he started, then just looked helplessly at the other men.
"He was Adam Leslie," Cameron said. "Cait's brother."
Caithren heard the door latch rattle in the other room. Geoffrey was back. Somehow he realized his brother was dead.
While she waited for him to burst in and murder her, she knelt for the tenth time in as many minutes to feel Wat's neck for a pulse. Nothing.
The rattling stopped, but she felt little relief. Tears flooded her eyes. Trembling, she sat back on the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. For long minutes she stayed that way, rocking herself, a human ball of misery.
Her head jerked up when the window moved, a disembodied hand shoving it open the rest of the way. Through a blur of tears, she watched a second hand clench the ledge. A head and shoulders appeared—wide shoulders and unruly red hair beneath a man's hat. A woman hoisted herself up and through the window, landing on the floor with the grace of a cat.
Her heart pounding in fear and confusion, Caithren rose. The woman topped her by a good foot—she was taller than Jason or any man Cait knew. A sword hung from her belt, and a pistol peeked from the top of one boot. She was dressed like a man, but no one would have taken her for one. Ever.
Cait dashed her tears away and blinked. She heard another rattle of the door latch, but she was too stunned to react. "You…you're…"
"Emerald MacCallum." The woman stared pointedly at Wat. "I take it he's dead?"
"I-I reckon so."
Emerald reached to touch Cait's hand. "Don't fash yourself, dear. I don't normally hold with killing my quarry, but these brothers…well, the world is better off without them."
"B-but I've never killed a man! And I didn't mean to, even though he was such a bad one. I swear on"—she reached for her missing amulet, then let out a sob—"on my mam's grave." She searched Emerald's golden eyes, tears falling from her own. "Will I ever get over it?"
"Nay." The single word was blunt, yet kind. Emerald patted her on the back. "But others will thank you for it, and some day, you'll realize it wasn't really wrong. You'll never get over it completely, but you will learn to live with it." She backed away toward the window. "It will, however, change you, maybe even for the better."
Her hand on the sill, Emerald stilled. "A wee keek back keeps you on the right path."
For a moment, Caithren could only stare. One of Mam's sayings. Let life's experiences guide you forward.
"You came for the reward," she said softly, remembering Jason accusing her of the same.
The other woman nodded, then shrugged and turned to duck out. Their gazes both flew to the ledge when another hand appeared beside hers, larger and squarer, with a light sprinkling of black hair across the back. Caithren gasped. A second hand settled next to it, then a face rose into the frame.
Jason's face, though so colorless Cait feared for his life.
Emerald reached down a hand and pulled him up and into the room.
He stood there, visibly shaking, looking back and forth between Caithren and the woman he'd once thought her to be. Before he could say anything, Emerald climbed out the window and was gone.
He looked back to Cait, his face still pale, his eyes wide. "Was that Emerald MacCallum?"
"Aye."
He shook his head, then pierced her with an intense green gaze. "Are you all right?"
Tears threatening, she bit her lip and nodded.
"Caithren." Her name was a harsh whisper in the air. He held out his arms, and Cait rushed into them, fresh tears flowing at the feel of him crushed against her. She drew deep of his familiar, comforting scent, underlaid with a trace of the sharp smell of fear. He was warm and solid in her arms, his body still shuddering with residual tremors.
Wit
h a long sniff, she pulled back. "I…I cannot believe you climbed up the wall. Four stories, with your fear of heights."
"What do you take me for?" For a split second he looked angry or hurt, she wasn't sure which. Then his eyes softened. "I love you, Cait. I would move heaven and earth to see to your safety. Climbing that wall was nothing." At her look of disbelief, he released a shaky laugh. "Well, not nothing, but I would do it again. For you. But give me a few days first, will you? I need some time to recover."
She laughed through her tears, reaching forward to clutch his hands in hers. "Geoffrey went to the wedding to find Scarborough. You were right, Jase—he was wearing the fat man disguise, with the beard—"
She broke off at his gasp. His gaze was riveted over her shoulder.
"It's Wat." Her lids slid closed, but the tears leaked through them anyway. "I didn't mean to kill him, I swear it." She opened her eyes, willing Jason to believe she hadn't done such a terrible thing deliberately. "I hit him over the head, but he didn't fall, and then he pulled a pistol, and it went off, but it was pointing up in the air. I don't know what happened!"
Jason looked up at the ceiling. "It ricocheted, Cait."
She followed his gaze and saw the molded Elizabethan pattern was damaged. "I only meant to knock him out so I could go find Adam—"
At her brother's name, she froze. With a mighty effort, she pulled herself together. She had no time to feel this wrenching regret; not right now. She'd allow herself that luxury later.
"Adam. I have to find Adam. I must get to the wedding. It's sorry I am to leave you now, but I've come all this way, and—well, you'll be wanting to go, too, will you not? Gothard is there."
"Cait. There's something I need to tell you. I meant to this morning, but Gothard—"
"I know. There are reasons you don't want to stay with me. We'll talk of it on the way."
