For a moment she forgot to breathe at the tenderness in his eyes, then the look vanished. He glanced away and kicked the horse into a faster pace. David matched his speed. They galloped across the countryside, each step bringing them closer to their goal.
The summer sky had begun to soften, blurring at the edges in dusky shades of red and gold as they arrived on the outskirts of Edinburgh. “We are here.” Claire breathed a sigh of relief.
Jules reined his horse to a stop, waiting for David and Penelope to come alongside them. Penelope had remained quiet during the journey, but at their arrival her features brightened.
“Where do we start looking for the girls?” David asked.
“A wise man once told me the best place to start is at the beginning.” Jules turned to Penelope. “Where were you when you were taken?”
“At Claire’s—I mean, Lady Kildare’s studio,” the young woman corrected herself.
Jules turned to Claire. “Where is your studio located?”
“On Leith Road, close to the coaching inn at Shrubhill.”
Jules nodded and kicked his horse forward. “Then let us proceed there before it grows dark.”
They rode through the busy street in silence. Until they came upon Gallow Lee. Claire could not help the shudder that moved through her.
“What is it?” Jules asked.
Claire’s gaze stayed fixed on the spot of land where several executions had taken place over the years—from witches, to murderers, to, more recently, Covenanters—who were either strangled then burned or decapitated then buried at the base of the gallows. “This place has a gruesome history, and I cannot help but feel the pain and misery of those executed here each time I pass by.”
Jules pulled her closer and reached up to smooth the hair at her temple. “The ghosts of the past cannot hurt you.” His voice was gentle, as it had once been after they had lain in each other’s arms. He must have sensed the direction of her thoughts, because he pulled his hand away and kicked the horse into a faster pace until they passed the gallows.
The sun had started its descent in the evening sky by the time they reached her studio. David took the horses across the street to the coaching inn, while Jules, Penelope, and Claire entered the building. Inside the small space, the scents of turpentine, linseed oil, and paint lingered. The smell of home.
Claire lit the sconces, and golden light illuminated the paint-spattered floor and the half-finished canvases that lined one wall and the completed ones on the other. The walls of the studio were painted with stone pillars covered in ivy and flowers that coiled together, reaching toward the sky. From behind a mass of clouds populated with cherubim and seraphim, the sun struggled to break free.
So many images, so many colors . . . they warmed the small chamber and made it appear much larger than it was. Smiling, Claire turned to Jules. “Welcome to my home,” she said.
Her smile died a moment later at the odd look on Jules’s face. “You live here?”
“Upstairs. There are two bedchambers and a small kitchen. We can stay here for the night. Penelope and I will share one room. You and David can have the other.”
Jules nodded and took the saddlebags up the small stairway at the back of the room while Claire led Penelope to a chair. “Dearest, I know this will be difficult for you,” she said when both David and Jules had rejoined them. “You need to tell us exactly what happened the day you were taken. I was upstairs gathering supplies . . .” Claire started the conversation, hoping it might help Penelope remember the rest.
Penelope nodded. “We were setting up our easels.” Her gaze moved to the back of the room where three easels still remained. “The door opened, and we thought for some reason it was you. Only it wasn’t.” She shivered at the memory. “Instead, three men entered the room. They came at us fast. Anna screamed. I remember that frightened sound even now.” She closed her eyes and continued. “Eloise didn’t make things easy for them. She bit the man who grabbed her on the hand. He yowled and grasped her by the hair. She kicked him and he slapped her across the face, hard, sending her to the floor. I thought he had killed her. Until I heard her crying.” Penelope’s voice shook with anguish.
Claire pressed her hand to her mouth to hold back a gasp of horror. She felt heavy inside, so weighed down with tears that she tried not to shed. Then Jules’s hand tightened on hers. Claire brought her gaze to his. In his eyes she saw sympathy, but not the look of connection they had had back at Kildare Manor. He would give her support, but not himself, she realized. A sob died in her throat as she forced her own hurt aside.
Penelope opened her eyes. “They tied us up and forced us to drink something bitter.” She shuddered again. “That is when the world went dark.”
David moved to kneel in front of the chair. He took Penelope’s small hands in his own. “Do you remember anything about where they took you?”
She shook her head. “I woke up in a small room. It was dark and musty.”
“That’s good,” David said. “Tell us about the scent.”
Penelope’s brows drew together in concentration. “During the day it smelled like sulfur and rotting flesh. At night it was cold and I could feel . . . this will sound as though I am mad . . . but I felt surrounded by a tragic sea of souls.”
“What about when your captors took you out of there to transport you to Argyll?” David asked.
Penelope paled. “It was night, but I thought I saw dark stone—headstones perhaps?”
David turned to Jules, his eyes wide. “Could it be they are hidden in a kirkyard somewhere?”
“Perhaps,” Jules replied with a scowl. “But which one? There are many.”
“St. Giles’, Greyfriars, Canongate, St. Cuthbert’s . . . it could take us a week to explore them all.” Claire pulled away from the warmth of Jules’s hands and knelt beside Penelope. “Do you remember anything else? Noises, smells, anything at all that might help us narrow our search?”
She stared off and to the right, as though searching her memory. “A wall. I believe we passed through Flodden Wall.” She released a long sigh. “I would know the place if I saw it.”
“Greyfriars. Flodden Wall is closest to that kirkyard.”
“Let us go,” Claire said, standing.
Jules glanced at her face, and through the muted light met her gaze. “The cemetery at night can be a dangerous place.”
David frowned. “I am not afraid of ghosts.”
“It is not the ghosts that concern me,” he replied, as a tick came to his jaw. “Whomever planned this whole charade is clever. We need to progress slowly, make certain we are not walking into a trap.”
“Usually, I would agree with you.” David’s brow furrowed. “But I think we need to strike now, before they know we are here.”
“You could be right,” Jules agreed.
Claire could see the indecision on his face, felt his tension as though it were a palpable thing. He turned to her. The look on his face chilled her. “Is there any way I could get you and Penelope to remain here while David and I scout the area?”
“No,” she said, despite the fact that she had an ominous feeling about what would happen that night.
He nodded. “Then gather cloaks and as many lanterns as you have. David and I will need a little time to prepare.”
Claire did as he asked. With Penelope’s help she found four cloaks and three lanterns. They returned to the studio in time to watch Jules secure his scabbard and sword at his side and drop a dagger into each of his boots. A shiver went down her spine at the blatant reminder of the dangers the night could hold.
“Ready?” Jules asked.
With her heart hammering in her chest, Claire nodded. She lit the lanterns, handing one to David, then one to Jules. On a fortifying breath, she took Penelope’s cool hand in her own, and together they stepped into the night.
In the shadows near the coaching inn, the woman drew her hood closer to her face, shielding her identity from the four little lambs who
walked right past her. They paid her no heed. And while that was the goal, rage coiled her fingers around the fabric she held.
Patience.
At the reminder, she eased her grip. Soon she would have her revenge on Jules MacIntyre for always failing to see what was right in front of him, for refusing to take what she had offered.
Paradise denied would soon bring only desperation and pain. Her hand crept down to her side, to the belt that carried the means to her revenge—a whip, a dagger, and a third weapon that just passed her by.
Penelope.
She was the oldest of the three girls she had kidnapped, and the one who would eventually remember all that she had wanted her to. The girl would lead them into her trap, into the darkness, from which there would be no return.
Flickering lantern light curled golden fingers around the headstones as Jules led the way through Greyfriars kirkyard. The heat from the day had cooled, but because of the rain a few nights ago, mist hovered just above the ground, giving the cemetery an even more surrealistic feel. They should have waited until daylight. Yet if anything happened to those girls because they had waited . . . They were doing the right thing, exploring the graveyard at night.
“Do you recognize anything?” Jules held his lantern toward Penelope, casting both the young woman and Claire in a circle of yellow-gold light.
Penelope’s face was pale and taut. “Not yet.”
They continued on, winding their way toward the gated area that had been vacated only eight months before by the Covenanters who had been captured and held as prisoners after the Battle at Bothwell Bridge. David had been part of that battle, as had Jane’s brother and father. Neither of Jane’s relatives had returned.
At the gates, they paused, and Jules felt David’s tension shred the silence. “Do you want to go inside?” Jules asked, softly.
David nodded and pushed the gates open with a whining creak of sound. Noiselessly, they followed him inside. The large grassy area was lined with stones on either side, most likely monuments dedicated to those who had passed over to the other side of life years before, or the entrances to mausoleums that housed the generations of families from Edinburgh. But there was something else that lingered in the open space as well, something that had no form or substance. It was a feeling of pain and suffering, of violence and brutality.
Something horrific had happened here to the men who had once been prisoners of the Scottish government. Jules could feel his heart hammer in his chest in response to that anguish. Did the others feel it as well?
David’s face was pale as he walked through the area, his lantern lighting the dark stone, illuminating the carved figures of heavenly angels and grotesque skulls and skeletons, along with the faces of those who were buried within the graves.
David knelt beside a particularly gruesome representation of a skeleton with long hair and a crown upon its head. Beneath it was a long line of hash marks etched into the stone, as though one of the prisoners was keeping a tally of how many days they had been detained behind the bars.
Jules stood beside his friend. He counted one hundred and fifty-three marks. He closed his eyes against the agony that clenched his heart. He knew what that kind of confinement could do to a person. He fisted his hands at his side, trying to control the rage and the fear.
An unexpected touch made him jump. Claire stood beside him. She worked her fingers into his grip until he relaxed, and she enveloped his hand with her own.
“So much pain,” she whispered.
Whether she referred to the pain of the souls who had suffered here, or his own suffering, he wasn’t certain.
Push her away, his pride demanded. But he could not. Instead, he gripped her hand in return and stared at her, ached all the way to his bones for the comfort she was giving to him, the darkness she helped keep at bay.
“Dear God,” David’s voice cut through the moment.
“What is it?” Jules asked without taking his gaze from Claire.
“The one who carved these notches—he signed his name below.” David’s voice was strained, uncertain. “It can’t be . . .”
“Who?” Jules asked, pulling his gaze from Claire.
“Jacob Lennox.” The words pierced the silence. “Jane’s brother. He was here.”
“At least for a hundred and fifty-three days,” Jules said dully. “Come. We can do nothing for Jacob at present, but we can still help the girls.” He released Claire’s hand, snapping himself back to the present. “We must continue our search.”
Jules turned back to the open field. “Where’s Penelope?” Tension brought a tick to his jaw as he searched the shadows for some sign of the young woman. That was when he saw the lantern she had been holding in the distance, turned on its side and sputtering to stay lit. Outside the ring of light lay a dark figure.
Claire gasped beside him, and he knew she had seen Penelope’s body as well.
They bolted across the open field. “Penelope.” Claire knelt, cradling the girl’s still body, rocking her back and forth in an agony of sympathy.
Penelope shuddered. Her eyes fluttered open.
“Is it your hand?” Claire smoothed Penelope’s hair back from her face.
Penelope shook her head, then groaned.
“You are safe now. I’m here,” Claire soothed.
“What happened?” David asked, kneeling down beside the two women.
“Looks like she fainted,” Jules replied.
The young woman looked about her as though trying to remember where she was. She raised a trembling finger and pointed to the mausoleum in front of her. “This is the one,” she whispered. “This is where they brought me out before we headed to Kildare Manor.”
Jules studied the square edifice with two pillars that flanked the doorway and the arch that connected the two, forming an opening. The place looked like no one had disturbed it in the last hundred years, until he held his lantern over the gravel that covered the front entrance to reveal an impression left behind from the gate. It had been recently opened. A thousand emotions tore through Jules—fear, anger, but most of all, relief that they had found where the girls were being held.
He bent down beside Claire. “I beg you to stay here with Penelope while David and I go inside.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed his finger against it.
A frisson of sensation tingled along his finger at the intimate touch. “Just this once, do as I ask?”
Her eyes went wide as though she’d felt it too—that odd sensation. She nodded.
Jules stood, then reached inside his boot and set a dagger on the ground next to her. “Just in case,” he said, then he and David disappeared through the gate of the mausoleum.
Claire moved Penelope into a sitting position, then palmed the dagger and stood. She offered her other hand to the young woman. “Can you stand?”
“I think so.” Penelope struggled to her feet.
“What happened?” Claire asked, looking around them in the hazy light. She swallowed. Why had she never noticed before that moss growing on the sides of stone looked like rivulets of blood in the darkness?
Penelope reached for her head and rubbed the back of it gingerly. “I think something hit me.” She pulled her fingers away to reveal a smear of blood.
“You are certain your hand is okay?” Claire asked.
Penelope looked down at her bandaged finger. The pristine white linen fairly glowed beneath the silver moonlight. “Not my hand. Something else.”
“Something or someone?” Either way, they were not alone. Whoever hit Penelope could very well be waiting for David and Jules inside that tomb.
She knew Jules would not be happy with her if she followed them inside, but she couldn’t simply wait outside either if she could do something to alert them to the danger ahead. “Come on, Penelope, we are going after them.” She didn’t wait for an answer but pulled Penelope along with her into the gated opening. “We have to hurry,” she said breathlessly.
“I don’t like this place,” Penelope whispered.
“I know. We will be out of here soon, and you can put the memories behind you,” Claire said in her most reassuring voice.
Penelope nodded as they stepped into a broad hall-like antechamber. Claire held up the lantern. There were three openings in the chamber, tunnels, apparently, that led in different directions.
“Do you remember which one of these you came through?” Claire asked as she studied the tunnels uncertainly. Which way had the men gone?
“I don’t remember.” Penelope’s gaze shifted from one tunnel to the next.
“That’s all right,” Claire reassured her. “We will follow each one until it takes us to the men or the girls. With any luck, both.” She moved toward the opening on the far left. She came to steps and proceeded down them, following the tunnel as it veered to the right. Except for the light from the lantern, they were in total darkness. They went on, inching their way forward as the walls grew narrower and the roof lower.
“Do you remember any of this?” Claire asked.
“I think I do,” Penelope said, in a stronger voice.
Encouraged by the information, Claire pushed forward, probing the darkness with the light from the lantern. She came to a step, then another, and put her hand against the wall to help guide her way. How deep into the earth did this tunnel go? Perhaps she had chosen the wrong opening to explore. Common sense told her to turn around and go back.
Then she heard a noise. It was low, rumbling, like the sound of voices. She signaled Penelope to be silent and set the lantern down. It would not do for the light to give them away. Scarcely daring to breathe, she crept forward. In one hand she gripped Penelope’s injured hand. In the other she clutched the dagger.
“Are you afraid?” Penelope whispered.
Claire swallowed. “Of course, but fear cannot stop us. We must press on and find the girls.” And Jules. She sent up a silent prayer that nothing would happen to Jules or to David.
Highland Bachelor 02 - This Laird of Mine Page 17
