Last Night's Scandal (35 page)

“One is supposed to discover it on one’s wedding night,” he said.

“A woman is supposed to, you mean,” she said. “Men might discover it whenever they like, and do it as much as they like. But we women—”

“We don’t,” he said. “Not whenever we like. If I could have discovered it whenever I liked, do you think I’d be in this predicament? But no, it had to be you—”

“You’re so romantic,” she said.

“It had to be
you
,” he said. “And you have to be the one who wants the sun and the moon and the stars and The Love of a Lifetime in capital letters. I should make a perfectly good husband, for your information.”

“To a mummy, perhaps.”

They were both cross. Lack of sleep and balked lust made an unpleasant combination.

“I stand to inherit a marquessate and acres and acres of property and several houses and pots and pots of money,” he said. “If, that is, my father and mother don’t squander the lot and drive away all the tenants and lose all our income.”

“You make it sound so tempting,” she said.

“Good. Sarcasm. Exactly what one wants at seven o’clock in the morning.”

“It’s nearly eight.”

“Who can tell? There’s no sun in this blasted place.”

“You have to stop wanting Scotland to be what it isn’t,” she said. “You need to accept what it is. In its own way, this is a beautiful place. But there’s no sand and no smelly camels and smellier mummies—”

“And nothing here ruins properly,” he said. “It can’t simply subside gracefully into the sand. Look at that church.” He waved his hand at the crumbling edifice to his left. “Moss and mildew and the stones turning black. A piece of wall here, and a few window arches there, and trees coming up between the paving stones. People are buried under that church, aren’t they? Buried and forgotten. Even the graveyard—”

He saw them then, and stopped the horse. “
Run,
” he said.

As he said it, two masked men burst through the graveyard gate.

S
he didn’t run but turned toward the graveyard as the men ran out of it and leapt into the road.

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The horse reared in fright, and the chest slid backward. It crashed through the back of the cart and fell into the road. One of the men went after it. Lisle grabbed him and flung him at the cart. The man bounced back and lunged at Lisle. Lisle grabbed him again, hit him, and threw him aside. This time the man went down and stayed down.

Olivia shrieked. Lisle turned that way. The other ruffian was grappling with her. He held her at arm’s length while she tried to tear off his mask with one hand and hit him with the other while kicking his shins.

With a roar, Lisle lunged for the brute.

Olivia screamed “Look out!”

Something hit the back of his head.

He was aware of pain but more aware of Olivia’s face, the blue eyes round and wide, her mouth shaping an
O
.

Then a black sea closed over him.

“N
ooooo! Noooooo!” Olivia was screaming, madly fighting to get away from her attacker, to get to Lisle.

“Leave ’er be!” A voice shouted. “Here! Give a hand! The thing weighs a ton.” The man let go. Olivia ran to Lisle and knelt beside him. He was sprawled on the ground, too still. A red stain marred his neckcloth.

“Don’t be dead,” she cried. “Don’t you dare be dead!” She pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling for the pulse. There. Yes. She let out a whoosh of air. “Lisle?”

She looked about her. The men had disappeared with the horse and cart. The road turned sharply here and dipped. Trees stood on either side. It was a perfect spot for an ambush, invisible from the castle and the surrounding fields. Not that there was anybody about to see. But the workmen would be along in a minute, she hoped.

What time was it? They’d seen men on the road, but only once. She didn’t remember seeing others coming. But she and Lisle had entered that sharp turn while they were arguing, and she hadn’t paid attention to anything else.

“Help!” she shouted. “Somebody help!”

She returned to Lisle. “Wake up,” she said, keeping her voice firm. “You must wake up.” Gently, gently she slid her hand behind his head, his poor head. It was sticky.

She’d seen the man get up behind him, the rock in his hand. She’d shouted, but the man was too fast, and Lisle, focused on her, was too slow to heed her.

Then everything slowed. One endless moment: the upraised hand with the rock . . . she, screaming the warning . . . Lisle folding up and dropping to the ground.

“You
must
wake up,” she said. She knew something about blows to the head. The longer one was unconscious, the more dangerous the injury. “Wake up!” She patted his cheek. She patted harder.

He moved his head from side to side. His eyes opened. “What the devil?” he said.

“Oh, L-Lisle.” She threw herself onto his chest.

His arms went around her. “Yes,” he said. “Well.”

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“You must never, ever die!” she sobbed. “I can’t live without you!”

“It’s about bloody time you realized,” he said.

Gorewood Castle great hall

“How did they know?” Lisle said. He sat in a chair near the fire. Nichols, having cleaned the wound, applied a sticking plaster while Olivia and the ladies looked on.

Olivia could have patched him up, but she knew better than to get between a man and his valet. She’d sat at Lisle’s right, though, to watch, and to make sure the wound wasn’t worse than the men claimed it was. It had looked dreadful at first, when the workmen finally arrived and loaded him onto a cart. Lisle had loudly protested being carried, but his workmen wouldn’t hear of his walking. They’d acted insulted at his suggesting it. She’d followed, her heart in her mouth, all the way back to the castle.

Though he seemed his usual obstinate self, she kept seeing in her mind the few minutes when the man had struck him with the rock, and she thought he’d been killed.

Now the wound was cleaned, she could see why the men had made light of it.

Lisle had been wearing a hat, and his hair was thick. The rock had scraped the skin, and he had bled, but a little blood made a great mess.

Still, she was shaken.

“I know word travels quickly,” he went on, “but this is ridiculous. We made our plans so late last night. Who knew, apart from Nichols, Bailey, and Herrick, that we’d be on that road at that hour?”

“The question isn’t who knew but how our attackers came to know,” Olivia said.

Herrick entered. “Your lordship, the men have returned from their search. I greatly regret to report that they’ve brought neither the villains nor the chest.”

“I didn’t think they’d catch them,” Lisle said. “If it hadn’t been for that man lying in the road

—”

“Glaud Millar, your lordship. The village cobbler. Usually drunk at night but at his bench sober every morning.”

Olivia looked up at the butler. “You think someone helped him to be lying dead drunk in the road this morning?” she said.

“I find the coincidence suspicious, certainly, miss.”

“I do, too,” Lisle said. “It delayed our workmen, and gave our attackers time to get away.

They’ll be in Edinburgh by now.”

“I’m not at all sure of that, your lordship,” Herrick said.

“They took our chest
and
our cart
and
our horse,” Lisle said. “Why wouldn’t they go to Edinburgh?”

“Your lordship, we’ve sorry criminals hereabouts. Not the cleverest fellows. Yet even they, I believe, wouldn’t risk taking to the road and heading where everyone expects them to go.

Moreover, everyone would notice if a pair of neighbors abruptly disappeared. If I may, I would suggest we look closer to home.”

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M
eanwhile, in a stand of trees a few yards from the ruined church, Jock gazed dolefully at the stolen horse.

“The chest’s safe enough,” Roy said. “All we got to do is wait until the to-do dies down.”

“But we could’ve drove to Edinburgh,” Jock said, “one of us on the horse and one on the cart with the chest.”

“The same day the laird’s son gets a rock in the head and his horse and cart and chest robbed? With men looking for that same cart and horse and chest on all the roads? And who in Edinburgh you think’ll want goods stole today and all the world looking for them?”

“If Mary tells, they’ll know it was us.”

“There’s another reason,” said Roy. “If we go to Edinburgh, she’ll feel safe, and free to talk. But when she sees us in the Crooked Crook tonight, sitting next to Glaud like usual, she

’ll hold her tongue.”

“What if she talks between now and then? That bastard Herrick—”

“Blood’s thicker than water,” Roy said. “You know how she is about that brother of hers.

She won’t chance any hurt coming to him. Long as we’re here, she’ll hold her tongue. Then we let it all quiet down, and by and by we find ourselves a good horse and wagon and pack up our trunks—and there’s the chest in one of them—and off we go to Edinburgh. Or maybe Glasgow.” He considered. “I know some fellows there. They mayn’t know what’s happened here.” He patted his brother on the shoulder. “There’s the answer, Jock. Glasgow. That’s where we’ll go.”

“Now?” Jock said hopefully.

Roy glanced over at the horse, quietly grazing.

“Too risky,” he said. “But soon. Soon as we get us another horse and a wagon. Let this one wander home when she feels like it.”

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Chapter 19

That night

T
he door to the Crooked Crook opened and three people came in.

Jock froze, tankard halfway to his mouth.

“Roy,” Jock said in a low voice.

“I see,” Roy said.

The laird’s son, the redhead who’d kneed Jock in the bollocks, the skinny manservant Nichols, and that smug bastard Herrick.

“What they want here?” said Jock.

“What you think?”

“We better go.”

“They come in, we run out? How will that look?”

“Dunno,” said Jock.

“It’ll look guilty, is what,” Roy said. “Stay where you are and act like you always do.”

“What if Mary told on us?” Jock said.

Roy glanced over at Mary’s brother Glaud, who was slumped over his table, his head in his arms.

“What’s she got to tell?” Roy said. “All we did was ask her what news from the castle.

Same as anybody would ask.”

The laird’s son and the redhead went up to the bar and said something to Mullcraik. He filled two tankards.

Herrick didn’t go with them. He stood in front of the door, his arms folded. Tam MacEvoy stood up and started for the door. Herrick held up his hand. Tam MacEvoy stayed where he was.

The laird’s son turned away from the bar and held up his tankard. “And a round for everyone here, Mr. Mullcraik,” he said.

That set off a buzz. Tam went back and sat down. Someone called, “Thank you, your lordship.” Others joined in.

The laird and the redhead only smiled.

“There, you see?” Roy said. “They come to ask everybody what they know. Nobody knows nothing. We don’t know nothing, either. And his lordship buys us a drink, same as everyone else.”

After everyone had been served, someone proposed a toast to his lordship. When they’d
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got over that toadying, his lordship said, not loud, but clear enough so everyone heard it,

“You know me, I believe, most of you. And you know I wouldn’t be here, plying you with drink, if I didn’t want something.”

Several people laughed.

He went on, “This morning, as I’m sure you are all aware, Miss Carsington and I were attacked and robbed of a horse, a cart, an old woolen blanket with holes in it, and an even older iron chest. Late in the day, the horse returned, bringing the cart with her. The blanket has not come back. Neither has the chest. We’re particularly interested in the chest, but news of the blanket would be helpful as well. We have come here, you see—” He turned and looked at the redhead. “We’ve come in search of
clues
.”
An hour later

“It’s them,” Olivia said. “The pair in the corner.”

“The Rankins,” Herrick said without looking that way.

The brothers were among Herrick’s short list of suspects.

“Very friendly with Glaud and Mary Millar suddenly,” said Lisle.

“And Mary is one of our housemaids,” Herrick said. “She stayed quite late last night.” His brow creased. “I spoke to her earlier but she only said she went straight home. Most unfortunate, sir. A good girl. But Glaud is all she has, and he appears to be their hostage.”

“The devil of it is, we’ve no evidence,” Lisle said. “It’s all hearsay and speculation. They’re suspected of a great many things, but—” He shook his head. His father had so much to answer for. Petty criminals running amok in his village. Villagers whose efforts were constantly being undermined. The pastor to whom Lord Atherton had given the living resided in Edinburgh, and wouldn’t inconvenience himself by traveling ten miles to tend to his flock.

“We’ve no proof and they know it,” Olivia said. “All they have to do is hold their tongues.” Lisle looked at her. “I might be able to beat it out of them—”

“So crass,” she said. “So inartistic.”

He’d heard a great deal to depress him this night, but she made him laugh. “Very well, then,” he said. “You first.”