Wicked Highland Lords: Over 1100 pages of Scottish Regency Romance

by Tarah Scott

  “What?” Marcus's head spun. “I instructed her to wait until I came for her.” He broke from the cold hand of fear and strode to Sophie. She looked up at him, panic on her face. He grasped her shoulders. “Why did Justin allow her to leave?”

  “He wasn't here. Elise was concerned about you.”

  “And you let her go?” Marcus shook her hard enough to loosen several hairpins. Two curls struck her shoulder.

  “It was still light,” Sophie said, her voice so shaky Marcus realized she was close to tears. “I travel between Whycham House and Ashlund often. Marcus!” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “You know it is true. I have never feared traveling on that road, even at night.”

  Marcus released her, his hands working and reworking into fists.

  “She took three of our men,” Sophie went on. “I told her to keep them as long as needed at Ashlund. It was early. I had no reason to—”

  “No reason to think!” he roared, and stepped closer. She didn't retreat. “She is not to travel alone,” he shouted. “There have been threats—”

  “Threats?” Sophie's gaze hardened. “Threats you say? I ask you, then, why we weren't told? Should Justin not have been informed? Should not some provisions have been made? My God, Marcus, why have you kept silent?”

  He struggled to answer, but the words—his mind—nothing worked.

  “What are these threats?” Sophie asked in a voice so reasonable, so firm, Marcus snapped from his indecision.

  “There's no time for explanations.” Sophie opened her mouth to speak, but he said, “First, we find her.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Marcus followed Elise's carriage tracks from Whycham House onto the road leading to Ashlund. Where a heavier-trafficked crossroad joined the Ashlund road, a myriad of tracks, all muddied by the night's rain, obscured hers. Marcus ordered Justin to return to Whycham House and check all farms and cottages near the road, while he continued onward and did the same. Two hours passed before he heard the pounding of hooves over the sound of his own mount's gallop. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Justin approaching. Sophie rode alongside and Kiernan followed with a dozen more men behind. Marcus slowed his stallion as they neared. He observed the haggard look on Sophie's face when they came alongside.

  They had discovered no news.

  “There are four farms between the point you left us and Whycham House,” Justin said. “I did not wish to diverge too far off the road until we could better ascertain where she might have gotten lost.”

  Marcus's head jerked to the side and he glared at Justin. “Lost?”

  “You have found nothing?” Justin went on.

  Marcus looked forward again. “Nae.”

  “We are but midway between Ashlund and Whycham House,” Justin said. “There is much territory yet to cover.”

  Two farmhouses down, they encountered a peasant who remembered Elise's entourage.

  “When?” Marcus demanded.

  “Yesterday,” the man replied. “I was returning from MacLellan's down the road. Later afternoon, four-thirty or five, I would say.”

  “All was well with her?”

  “As far as I could see.”

  “How many were in the party?” Marcus asked.

  “I didn't see inside the carriage. Let me see, there was the driver, wheeler,” he paused, then added, “there were three or four men riding alongside. Can't say for sure.”

  “Sounds as if the men are accounted for,” Justin said.

  “Come,” Marcus directed the man, “you will show us exactly where you saw my wife.”

  They rode a mile south on the road, when the farmer stopped them. “Here.”

  Marcus dismounted and examined the tracks. “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “It looks as though all of Edinburgh has traversed this road.” He tried following his line of sight along one set of carriage tracks, only to lose them in the tangled web of another in the moist ground.

  “Lord Phillip passed this way,” the man said.

  Marcus cut his gaze to the man. “Lord Phillip. When?”

  “I passed him about two miles north of his estate,” the man replied.

  “Then you saw Lady Ashlund here?”

  “Aye.”

  Marcus looked at Justin. “Phillip's estate borders mine.”

  Justin nodded. “Perhaps they passed one another.”

  An hour later, Marcus departed Lord Phillip's estate knowing nothing more than that the earl had set out to visit a friend to the north before heading south for Edinburgh. Marcus cursed the earl's timing, his absence, and his person.

  Marcus glanced at the sky as he mounted his horse. The day had turned to dusk. He had ridden since morning and his mount flagged. He rode to Ashlund and exchanged his horse for a fresh one. He reached the outskirts of Ashlund property and encountered the search party.

  “Exchange your horses for fresh ones at Ashlund,” Marcus instructed. “I'll speak to the tenants of the two farms to the south.”

  “Father,” Kiernan said in unison with Justin's, “Marcus.”

  “I left instructions for horses to be readied for you,” Marcus said. “You will overtake me soon enough.”

  * * *

  Dusk gave way to night as they extended the search into the countryside to the west. To the east, a high cliff butted the shoreline of an inlet from the bay. Now, they rode fifteen miles south of Ashlund, stopping at every village and home on the road to Edinburgh. The next village lay five miles farther south. Marcus urged his horse into a harder trot and the company following did the same. Sophie rode between Marcus and Justin with Kiernan behind them.

  “Marcus,” Sophie called above the clatter of hooves.

  He looked at her. An overcast sky hid the moon, but four of the twelve men who accompanied them carried torches and he easily made out her strained expression.

  Sophie shook her head. “Why didn't Elise—” She broke off with a stifled choke.

  Marcus looked straight ahead. “I alone bear the blame. Don't cause yourself any further grief over the matter.”

  “No further grief?”

  Her words hit him like barbs and Marcus snapped his attention onto her.

  Her eyes blazed. “You can be an arrogant bastard, Cousin. Whether or not I share blame, I will grieve as I please.”

  She yanked her horse's reins and Marcus pulled to the right in order to avoid her horse. She circled to the rear of the company and brought her stallion alongside Justin's.

  A moment of silence passed before Justin said, “Seven men traveled in the company, all trained men of war. Not easy prey.”

  “Yet they are gone,” Marcus said.

  “True,” Justin agreed, “but there will be news of them somewhere. A company of brigands large enough to take such a large party could not go unnoticed.”

  “Then let us find that news,” Marcus said, and spurred his mount into a full gallop.

  The morning sun had only begun to spread across the grey sky when Marcus brought his horse to a halt in front of Ashlund. Justin, Kiernan, and the messenger, carrying news of a priest who said he had knowledge of Elise's entourage, followed Marcus as he jumped to the ground and ran for the porch, then took the stairs two at a time. Pushing past the oak door, they strode down the corridor to the drawing room. Marcus threw open the door to find Sophie sitting on the couch. Beside her sat the priest, Father Fynn.

  The priest stood and Marcus hurried forward. “Father,” he said, “what news do you have?”

  The priest hesitated.

  “Tell me,” Marcus demanded. “You have news of my wife.”

  “Forgive me, Lord Ashlund,” Father Fynn began, “Yesterday, we found a woman's body washed ashore near Braemer.”

  Marcus's head reeled. He looked at Sophie, who had yet to rise. He turned back to the priest. “You can't be sure. We found no sign of foul play.”

  “Lord Ashlund, I wasn't aware you had married, and this woman was a stranger to us. Therefore, we began a search of our ow
n. We traveled upstream and—” he broke off.

  “What? What did you find that could possibly confirm your suspicions?”

  “A carriage.”

  Marcus stared. “A carriage means nothing.”

  “I know the crest. All living in this area know it.” Father Fynn pointed at the two-sworded crest hanging over the hearth. “The carriage bore your crest. It lies on the shore near Glenurcom.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Marcus stood with Justin and Kiernan at the edge of a wooded cliff overlooking Glenurcom. He looked down at a carriage, the front half of which was submerged in water. The horses' bodies were tangled in the mass of leather and iron, which had once been harness and axle. Marcus watched small waves lap at the bloated mass of flesh. He stared again at the broken carriage, then closed his eyes. Even from a hundred-foot distance, there was no mistaking the Ashlund crest.

  He turned away.

  Justin followed. “You say you found another woman's body in the carriage?” he addressed the priest, who had remained astride his mount.

  Father Fynn nodded. “Young. By her dress, I assumed a servant.”

  “Mary,” Marcus mumbled.

  “And you found the bodies of how many men?” Justin asked.

  “Four.”

  “How many men had you left with her, Marcus?”

  He laughed bitterly. “Not enough.”

  “How many?” Justin repeated.

  Marcus looked up, startled from his stupor by the earl's sharp tone. “Four. The driver, two wheelers and one guard. Kiernan rode with them. They were but twenty minutes from Whycham House—” He ceased speaking when Kiernan's mouth tightened. “'Tis not your fault, Kiernan. You saw them to Whycham House as I instructed.”

  “Three men are missing,” Justin went on in a business-like manner. “Where are they?”

  Marcus looked at him. He heard the words, but the meaning escaped him. “What?”

  “Three men remain unaccounted for.”

  “You know full well where they are,” Marcus said in a savage voice. “They ran from my wrath. And well they should. But they can't hide from me forever. When I catch them—”

  “Don't be a fool,” Justin cut in, his voice still calm. “There isn't a man in your personal entourage who would run rather than die. As for the three men from my household, I've trusted them with Sophie's life many times.”

  Justin began looking about the rocky terrain of the forest. He strode ten feet, then came to a halt. He studied the ground for a moment before saying, “The carriage came through here.” With a sweep of his hands, he indicated a wide area between the trees. “I see only this bit of carriage tracks here,” he squatted and ran a finger over two inches of ground, “and,” he scuttled forward, “this here.” He ran his fingers over another four inches of ground.

  Marcus looked at the ground, but the imagined picture of Elise's terror-stricken face as the carriage careened through the forest toward the cliff's edge blurred his vision. He watched numbly as Justin rose, walked another twenty feet in the direction of the road, then stopped again.

  He dropped to a squat and examined the ground. “Here is a hoof print.” He lightly touched a mossy spot between embedded stones. “This stony ground challenges my limited skills as tracker.”

  Father Fynn dismounted and joined Justin in studying the ground. He glanced toward the road, then rose, strode several paces, and studied the ground. “Two rode here.” The priest pointed to the ground a foot away.

  Justin rose and walked another ten feet past the priest. He surveyed the ground, then the cliff. He looked at Marcus. “Why didn't the women jump?”

  Marcus's stomach lurched.

  Justin frowned. “The guards would have instructed them to jump long before they reached the cliff. The men wouldn't have willingly gone over with the carriage.” Justin turned and walked toward the road until he disappeared among the trees. A moment later, his faint call sounded from beyond the trees.

  Marcus didn't move.

  “Father,” Kiernan said.

  Marcus looked at him and Keirnan gave him an inquiring look. Marcus started toward Justin's voice. He broke from the trees to find Justin examining the road. Father Fynn followed, his horse's reins in hand. Kiernan trailed with the remaining horses.

  Justin didn't look up at their approach, only said, “Marcus, you are a far better tracker than I. Have a look.”

  Marcus moved forward as though in a dream and squatted next to Justin.

  “This road is nearly as rocky as the shore,” Justin said. “However, there is no mistaking these tracks.”

  Marcus looked at the inch long depression crushing the moss which grew between the rocks.

  “And,” Justin went on, “these.” He pointed to another small rut to his right.

  Marcus looked at the track. He frowned and looked up at Justin. “A second carriage”

  The earl nodded. “Have you any idea if this could be Elise's carriage?”

  Marcus looked from one carriage track to the other, then back at Justin. “Nae.”

  “They are two separate tracks, then?”

  “Aye. They are spaced too far apart to be the same carriage.” He surveyed the ground. “This road isn't used a great deal.” The road branched off the main road to Edinburgh. He looked at Father Fynn. “This is the road you took from Braemer?”

  “Aye,” the priest answered.

  “We found no sign of the carriage leaving the main road,” Marcus said.

  “True,” Justin agreed. “But the rain the night before obliterated most tracks.”

  Marcus rose and stepped slowly toward the trees, all the while scanning the ground. When he saw the partial indentation of a hoof print, he looked up and stared at the trees through which Elise's carriage had raced.

  “Kiernan,” he called without looking back, “bring me my horse.”

  * * *

  “Wait here,” Marcus told Justin and Kiernan when they followed him down the chapel hallway. They had remained close—too close—on the ride to the church, and Marcus had no stomach for it when he faced what lie ahead.

  They obeyed, and he continued to the door that separated him from the body of the woman Father Fynn insisted was his wife. Marcus reached for the door, his hand shaking so badly he gripped the doorknob with force enough to turn his knuckles white. He pushed the door open, stepped through, then shoved it shut behind him.

  In the time it took to slide his gaze from the floor to her body, the memory of Elise turning to face him the day he'd happened upon her in the meadow flashed before him. Burned into his mind was the proud expression that revealed the indomitable spirit that would not be tamed.

  The memory shattered at sight of the body lying on the small bed in the corner of the room. He reeled. Father Fynn warned that her skull had been damaged beyond recognition, but nothing had prepared Marcus for this. His belly roiled. He fell to his knees, his stomach finally giving up what little he had been coerced into eating the past two days. He wretched until he thought his liver would follow, then slumped forward.

  A sudden pounding on the door jarred him. “Father!” Kiernan called from the other side of the door.

  Amidst the pounding came Justin's calmer, “Marcus.”

  “Stay out!” Marcus shouted.

  He leaned forward, his palms finding purchase on the floor amidst the vomit. The pounding ceased. Marcus slowed his ragged breathing, but no amount of effort controlled the shaking of his body. He forced his head up, steadying his gaze on Elise's skirts, torn and mud-caked. He recognized the light yellow damask. His gaze moved of its own volition to her hands, folded across her chest in an attitude of rest. Without thought, his gaze yanked farther up her body and he stared at the unrecognizable face.

  * * *

  Marcus jerked to consciousness as though roused from a slumber of years. Daylight had faded the sky to a purple haze. He rode between Justin and Kiernan. He searched his memory but found no recollection of how he had come to be ther
e. He looked left, past Kiernan, and studied the forested land. There was something—something he couldn't quite grasp. He looked ahead at the road, damp from the day's shower. The recollection hit him like a bolt of lightning. He couldn't mistake the place. Marcus yanked on his horse's reins, wheeling the beast past Kiernan.

  “Father!”

  Marcus ignored his son and galloped through the trees toward the spot where Elise's carriage had run off the cliff. Hoof beats followed, but he cared nothing for his companions. He broke from the trees into the clearing at the cliff's edge and brought his horse to a halt ten feet from the cliff. Marcus leapt from its back and strode to the very edge of the cliff.

  “Father!” Kiernan's shout preceded his burst into the clearing.

  Marcus whirled. “Her wedding band.”

  “What?” Kiernan said, breathless as he jumped from his horse and hurried to his side.

  Marcus looked past him to Justin, who was dismounting. “I didn't see her wedding ring. Did the priest give it to you?”

  “No,” Justin replied.

  Marcus tightened his jaw as he pushed past Kiernan. “What have they done with her wedding band?”

  Justin strode to his side. “The highwaymen would have taken everything.”

  Marcus shook his head. “Nae. The ring was a size too large. She feared losing it and packed it away for the trip.”

  The earl shook his head. “Surely the highwaymen would have searched the baggage.”

  “The emerald is three karats. It will not be easily hid. I can find it and Elise's murderers within the week.”

  For the second time that day, Marcus rode through the streets of Braemer. Elise's body was already on its way to Brahan Seer. Justin had made the arrangements. Marcus's gut twisted. He would retrieve her wedding band, find the guards who had deserted her, then return to Brahan Seer… and to her. He could offer no recompense for her death, but neither would he find peace for the remainder of his days. He stopped in front of the modest church.

  “Wait here,” he ordered Kiernan and Justin, then dismounted and went inside.