Romancing The Rake (Brotherhood 0f The Black Tartan Book 2)

by Nichole Van

  “Those are the questions, aren’t they? Or, possibly more damning, does my father own Beadle’s townhouse on Drummond Street here in Edinburgh?”

  Sophie sat back, eyes wide. “When did Beadle retire?”

  “About three years ago.”

  “Didn’t Dr. Hartley say Dr. Ross left London to move to Edinburgh about three years ago?”

  “That could just be a coincidence.”

  “Possibly, but it’s an interesting coincidence. The woman at the door said that the good professor had left Beadle’s house to live with his sister a year past.”

  “Meaning there were two years when Dr. Ross presumably lived in that same house in Edinburgh.”

  “Exactly.” Sophie nodded. “Of course, as you said, it could simply all be happenstance and unrelated in any way. Dr. Ross and Beadle, both elderly men, simply retired at about the same time. Beadle lived elsewhere, and Dr. Ross came here to this house in Edinburgh. Then Dr. Ross left Edinburgh a year ago to live with his sister, and Beadle took over the lease and moved into the Drummond Street townhouse. But . . .” Her voice drifted off, brows drawn down in thought.

  “But?” he prompted.

  “The woman at the door, Margaret, spoke like she knew Dr. Ross. More than that, she was hesitant to disclose that he had lived there. Why would she care, if he had simply been a previous tenant? Instead, she acted as if it were secret somehow.”

  “Or she merely saw two well-dressed people on her doorstep as an opportunity to earn a quick coin?”

  “That is possible, but as I review the conversation in my mind, my impression was one of hesitant secrecy, not greed. Not to mention that Bruiser fellow, showing up behind us and looming threateningly. Those were all the actions of people with secrets to hide.”

  Rafe pondered that, remembering how Margaret had looked behind her as if watching for Beadle, not wanting him to hear her speak of Dr. Ross.

  Which, truthfully, made no sense at all. What business did Dr. Ross have with Rafe’s father? What could possibly require such secrecy?

  “So ye are proposing, lass, an alternative story.” He sat more upright. “One where Beadle left London at about the same time as Dr. Ross and, for some unknown reason, lived with him here in Edinburgh. Perhaps even butlered for him.” A longer pause. “In a house owned and provided by my father.”

  A pause and then Sophie’s reply: “Yes.”

  “Why?” Rafe could hear the confusion in his voice, the bewildering thought of it. “Why would my father bring Ross to Edinburgh and place him in a household with a trusted, pensioned servant?”

  “There are only two reasons I can conceive.” Sophie offered. “Perhaps your father has something to hide, and Dr. Ross knows the secret. Beadle was set as a sort of guard over Dr. Ross, with people like Margaret and Bruiser to help. Or your father valued Ross in some way—perhaps Ross performed some noble deed?—and Kendall wished to reward him.”

  Rafe snorted. “My sire is not in the habit of rewarding people for anything other than astonishing acts of service. What must Ross have done to deserve such a reward?”

  “Or, given what you have told me about your father . . . what did Ross do to merit such a punishment? Being placed into a household and watched over every moment by another man . . . a sort of house arrest?”

  Rafe nodded. How he adored her clever mind.

  “But if Ross was a prisoner,” he said, “why send him off to the Highlands? Drathes Castle near Aboyne?”

  “That . . . I cannot say.”

  He nearly groaned in frustration. “Blast it all! We don’t have time to spend asking questions and getting to the bottom of my father’s involvement with Ross. In the end, such answers will not help my mother.”

  “Yes. Dr. Ross seems to be the key to all this.”

  “Aye. All that is left is to regroup and formulate a plan.” Rafe clenched his jaw, rapidly thinking through ramifications and timelines. “We’ve come this far, and Dr. Ross is still my best source of any help for my mother. And, as you said, the good doctor seems to be central to all this.”

  “I agree.”

  Rafe thought further. “Even if Beadle sends the letter today, it will likely be at least a week before it reaches my father. He will wait to punish my mother until I return. He needs witnesses. Brutality is useless when performed in a vacuum.”

  “So you will continue northward then? To Drathes Castle?”

  “Yes. I’ve come this far. I want to see it all through. “Will you accompany me?”

  She hesitated, those enormous green eyes meeting his. “I would like to, but time seems to be of the essence at this point, at least for you. I would never forgive myself if I hampered the speed of your travel.”

  “Nonsense. We began this journey together that day in the doctor’s surgery in London. I say we finish it together.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye. We can travel faster on horseback. The road into Aboyne in the Cairngorms will likely not be passable for a carriage, which means we will have to leave your carriage and your servants with Alex.” He paused. “Even Martha.”

  Sophie managed a wry smile. “I do not think Martha will mind being left with James.”

  “So ye feel ye could manage a long trip on horseback?”

  She shot him a decidedly are-ye-daft look. “Regardless of my true paternity, I was raised by the Earl of Mainfeld. My father is a fanatical sportsman. I think I was in a saddle before I could walk. You should hope to keep up with me, not the other way around.”

  Rafe barely suppressed a smile at her outrage. Vividly he remembered seeing her riding along Rotten Row in Hyde Park. The woman had a magnificent seat.

  “That’s settled then. Would ye be willing to leave at first light tomorrow morning?”

  “Of course.” She met his gaze, clear-eyed and confident. Utterly committed to his cause.

  Rafe was quite sure he would never love another woman as much as he loved Lady Sophronia in that moment.

  How was he ever going to part with her once their journey was over?

  20

  Any doubts Rafe may have had as to the exact ownership of the townhouse on Drummond Street were laid to rest the following morning.

  After an anxious night’s sleep, he was up at first light to visit his father’s Edinburgh residence in Charlotte Square. Rafe had several horses stabled in the mews behind the house, animals that he and Sophie would need for their trip to Aboyne.

  The butler of the residence was entirely unsurprised to find Rafe upon the doorstep. Someone had told the man Rafe was in Edinburgh, and it didn’t take any guess work to know who that was. Rafe did not, thankfully, encounter that Bruiser fellow as he saw to his own horses.

  Kendall would know everything in fewer than five or six days. Rafe hoped to visit Dr. Ross near Aboyne and then catch a boat from Aberdeen back to London, as he was acquainted with one of the captains of the London packet boat. With any luck, Rafe would arrive only a day or two behind whatever letters Beadle sent and, from there, brazen his way through his father’s censure.

  But Rafe was no fool. Any hope he had of avoiding a marriage to Lord Sykes’ daughter had utterly vanished. His father now owned Rafe’s future. At best, Rafe might leverage the marriage as a means of keeping his mother out of an asylum for the time being. If Dr. Ross had helpful information, that space of time might be enough to turn around her melancholy, to at least give them all hope for a better future.

  But Rafe had to find the man first.

  And as for Sophie and himself . . . Rafe would just have to learn to breathe through the painful ache currently banding his chest.

  Sophie pulled her earasaid tighter around her shoulders while clutching the horse reins in her fist. She buried further into the heavy, warm wool, hunching in her saddle. Her poor gelding had his head bowed, both of them doing all they could to shut out the bitter wind blowing down the mountain valley.

  The Scottish weather had been true to its reputation over the
past two and half days since leaving Edinburgh. Rain and wind had forced them to stop in Perth for a night. The second day, they had only made it to Brechin before being forced indoors.

  Today, they set out on the final leg—and the most treacherous stretch—of the journey to Aboyne. The village was buried in the Cairngorms, a mountain range that stretched west from Aberdeen nearly to Inverness. Rafe had said they had just over thirty miles of ground to cover today, but it felt like more, as the terrain was mountainous and inhospitable.

  The roads had been worse and worse the farther north they traveled, and now the way had degenerated into more of a track than an actual road. The innkeep in Brechin had promised that there would be a small drovers inn in Aboyne that could put them up for the night . . . provided they reached Aboyne before the weather turned.

  Or rather, became worse, Sophie mused.

  The rain at the moment fell sideways more than down, the wind whipping and pelting her face. The track zig-zagged up the barren moor, a slash of civilization in the stark landscape. Before leaving London, Sophie had not thought that such a forlorn place could exist on the isle of Great Britain.

  They weren’t the only people on the road, thank goodness. There was a rider or two behind them—Sophie caught glimpses of them on the path below from time to time—probably eager, like them, to clear the mountains before nightfall.

  Rafe rode ahead, leading the way with two other horses between them.

  He turned in his saddle to look back at her. “Are ye holding up, lass?”

  His brogue had become more consistent the longer he remained in Scotland. Though he had lost the thick accent of Lennon Gordon, his tone retained a Scottish lilt.

  In short, it melted her knees every time he spoke.

  “Cold but otherwise in decent spirits,” she replied.

  He grunted his approval before turning back around.

  Her words were truth. Despite everything—their continued journey, the atrocious weather, the threat of Kendall looming—she was desperately grateful to be in his company. To still have Lord Rafe Gilbert close.

  The wind whipped around them, the biting air and ominous clouds hinting at more violent weather to come.

  On the morning of their departure from Edinburgh, he had arrived at Dr. Whitaker’s townhouse with four horses, two for riding and two as pack animals and spare mounts. The few inns they did encounter were humble affairs and hardly the sort to have horses for hire, so they had to spare their own animals as best they could.

  If Sophie had found Rafe attractive as a London rake and a roguish Highlander, nothing prepared her for the spine-weakening sight of Lord Rafe in his most true element—competent, virile man.

  Two days of staring at him riding before her had solidified this opinion. He had swapped out his Highland kilt for more traditional buckskin breeches and riding boots. But that hadn’t stopped him from wrapping a length of Jamie’s black-and-red tartan across his body underneath an enormous caped greatcoat.

  After watching her shiver on the ferry crossing at Queensferry, Rafe had pulled out a second length of plaid—also in Jamie’s tartan—showing Sophie how to fold and wrap it to create a sort of cloak, a second warm layer of wool between her dress and her traditional English cloak. An earasaid, he called it—the female version of a kilt.

  Right now, Sophie was simply grateful for its warmth. The heavy wool kept out the wind and damp, helping her body retain its heat.

  The road snaked through hills, each one taller than the last, climbing higher and higher. A battered sign at the crossroads in the village of Fettercairn far below had called this route Cairn O’Mount. The barren moor provided no shelter from the rain and did nothing to break the wind whistling through the heather and gorse. The land was desolate with only the occasional abandoned steading, likely some of the many casualties of the Highland Clearances.

  Rafe’s large bay trudged up the road, head down. The wind blew Rafe’s greatcoat, revealing a pair of pistols tucked into his belt. A rifle gleamed across his saddle. Sophie had a pistol of her own tucked into the belt of her earasaid. There had been no reports of bandits in this area, but neither of them wanted to take any chances, not after their brush with the highwaymen in England.

  Sophie’s horse stumbled, causing her to list in the saddle. She easily righted herself, but not before Rafe turned around, eyebrows drawn down, a hand reaching back, instinctively moving to help her, even though he was too far away to do anything.

  The path widened for a moment, and he used the extra space to pull up on his horse, motioning her to come alongside him, positioning his body between her and the wind.

  Sophie clenched her teeth to stop their chattering.

  Why did the dratted man have to be so caring? She kept telling her wayward heart that nothing would come of their friendship.

  Nothing! You hear that, Heart!

  Even if Rafe wished for more between them, she knew that their fathers’ bitter hatred stood as a barrier. And if they ignored Kendall’s wishes, Rafe’s mother would pay the price. The woman’s safety was infinitely more important than Sophie’s sentimental wishes.

  But oh how she wished—

  “Is Scotland always this dratted cold?” she asked through clacking teeth.

  He chuckled. “Truthfully? Aye. But it is a wee bit cooler than a typical autumn day at the moment. The rain is already turning to sleet. I fear there may be snow before long.”

  “Snow?!”

  “Aye. It’s not unheard of in the Cairngorms in late October. But provided the weather doesn’t become worse, we should be able to reach Aboyne before supper.”

  Sophie grimaced. The rain was indeed turning to a sleety snow-and-rain mix.

  Rafe glanced past her shoulder, eyes drawn to something behind them. Sophie swiveled to follow his gaze.

  She had to squint to see the two men on horseback on the path far below them.

  “They’ve been gaining on us,” she indicated the men with her chin, not wanting to release her cloak.

  “Aye.”

  Sophie stared at the men.

  “Does one of them have a red hat?” she asked.

  Rafe stilled, following her gaze, eyes squinting, both of them focusing on a large man bobbing with a flash of red atop his head. “I think ye might be right, lass. That does look like a red bonnet.”

  Sophie exchanged a look with Rafe.

  “Surely that’s merely coincidence,” she said. “Red bonnets are common among Scotsmen, even burly, bruiser ones, right?”

  Rafe continued to stare at the men, eyes narrowing as if to bring them into better focus.

  “Aye,” he said after a moment. “It’s not so uncommon as to not be coincidence. But this weather is frightful.” He pulled his own cloak tighter. “And we’ve had more than our share of coincidences as of late.” He turned his horse and met her gaze. “If the rain turns to snow in earnest, we may need to seek shelter.”

  Shelter? Where? Sophie shivered, scanning the empty moor. There was nothing over three feet tall for miles.

  They continued onward for another hour or so, crossing a high plateau and passing an ancient cairn before descending to a wooded forest. The fir trees provided some relief from the endless wind, but the rain had turned entirely to snow. Big fluffy flakes dusted the tree branches.

  “We need to find shelter,” Rafe said, looking back at her. “This snow is too much.”

  Sophie nodded, her teeth chattering.

  “There,” Rafe pointed.

  Through the snow, Sophie spotted a structure tucked against the hillside. A small stream and rudimentary bridge sat in front of it.

  Reaching the bridge, they clattered over it and instantly aimed for what appeared to be a small ruined cottage beyond, the roof removed in an attempt to keep its former occupants from returning.

  “Hah!” Rafe pointed to a small stable beside the cottage, this one with an intact roof. “Seems they left the stable to serve as a bothie.” He noted Sophie’s rai
sed eyebrows and then added, “A shelter for travelers.”

  He reached the old stable first, dismounted, and pulled open the door. Smelling hay and, eager to get out of the cold and sleet, the horses crowded in behind him, pushing into the structure.

  Sophie dismounted and followed. The interior was basic—four stone walls and a timber roof with slate tiles. But without windows, there was scarcely any light. She pulled the door nearly closed behind her, allowing only a small strip of daylight in so they could see.

  Together, they worked to situate the horses, drying the beasts as best they could and finding scraps of hay for them to eat.

  Finally, Rafe nodded his head and, pulling a rickety bench from the debris of the stable, angled it for her to sit upon. He positioned himself closer to the door, snagging his rifle and resting it against the door jamb, within quick reach should they need it. He laid his brace of pistols on the bench beside him.

  “Will we be stuck here for long, do you think?” she asked, tugging off her gloves and blowing on her cold hands.

  Rafe shrugged. “’Tis hard to gauge. The snow comes and goes this time of year. It’s unlikely tae last for the rest of the day. For now, we’ll wait a wee while and see if it doesn’t clear out a bit.”

  “Should we be concerned about the travelers we saw behind us? They will need shelter, too, won’t they?”

  “Perhaps. But they are likely friendly. And if not, we are prepared.” He patted the pistols beside his thigh. “They will not catch us unawares.”

  Sophie shivered, pulling her earasaid closer. Without the heat of movement, the damp seeped in. Rafe noticed her chattering chin with a frown.

  “Come closer.” He pulled her nearer to him, extending his greatcoat to cover her, as well. “The horses should help keep us warm, but we should all stay huddled together.”

  Shamelessly, Sophie tucked into Rafe’s side, seeking his warmth. He obviously needed no further encouragement, as he instantly wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into him until they were touching from thigh to shoulder. He was deliciously warm.