Adventures of a Scottish Heiress (3 page)

Reluctantly, he brought his attention back to Ian after his wife had shut the door firmly behind her. “Find Lyssa, Campion, and see that whoever helped her pays.”

“I’m no murderer,” Ian said quietly.

Harrell’s gaze hardened with undisguised irritation. He looked to Parker who kept his expression carefully neutral. A muscle worked in Harrell’s jaw, and then he said to Ian, “I don’t want a murder. Retribution, yes. But I’ve no desire to see a hangman’s noose. Right, Parker?”

“As you say, sir.”

“We’ve heard you are the man for such a job,” Harrell said. “And I believe you are. You are no one’s fool, and you handle yourself well. Lyssa’s maid will travel with you. Proprieties must be observed.”

Now Ian understood why Harrell clung to the notion his daughter had been taken against her will. He was a socially ambitious man, not only for himself but his children. Society could be harsh on runaway young women, especially heiresses with common backgrounds. Still a maid was an encumbrance. “A maid will slow down my hunt. And I have no idea where I will be forced to go to learn your daughter’s whereabouts.”

“Her reputation must be protected at all costs,” Harrell answered. “She is to be a viscountess. I’m certain viscount Grossett will wish her reputation to be unsullied.”

Ian was equally certain the viscount would have taken Harrell’s daughter in marriage if she’d been a one-eyed hag with no teeth—but thought it best not to say such to her father.

His opinion was confirmed when Harrell added, “At Viscount Grossett’s suggestion, we’ve put out the word that Lyssa is visiting my wife’s uncle who is the ambassador to Rome. That buys us some time but not much. Bring her home quickly. I wish to see her married before her brother is born.”

Looking down at the miniature in his hand, Ian decided finding one missing lass should not be difficult. Especially with hair like hers. He could see a hint of her father’s tenacity in the determined set of her chin and the sparkle of intelligence in her eyes.

He prayed she was safe and had not been harmed.

This was one job he would like doing. “My price is two hundred pounds.” The amount sounded astronomical to Ian. He was surprised he could dare to ask it.

Harrell didn’t blink. “Done.”

Immediately, Ian wished he’d asked for more—but the lawyer in him knew it was too late. “I need funds in advance.”

“Fifty pounds and the balance on your return.”

“One hundred.”

“Seventy-five.”

Ian thought it odd a father so anxious for the return of his daughter, a man who had all the money he could need would barter…but then, that seemed to be the way of the very rich.

Mentally figuring the expenses he would need to move his family temporarily out of the Holy Land’s squalor, he agreed, “Seventy-five and two horses.”

“What? And that is to include no murder?” Harrell said, and then quickly waved his hand. “I’m jesting. Seventy-five and cattle it is. Parker, pay him and make the arrangements for the
horses and the maid. Start your search immediately, Campion. Too much time has passed already.”

“If she has not met foul play, sir,” Ian reminded him gently.

Her father shook his head, his expression fierce. “I am like my wife. I believe she is alive and well. If not, I would know it.”

Ian prayed he was right. “I shall find her.”

“I know you will,” Harrell agreed bluntly. “Because you are a man who wants money.”

He was right.

Not only that, but this would be easy money. After all, how hard could it be to track down one romantic-minded heiress lugging a load of books?

Not hard at all.

Six days later

R
UNNING
away was the best, most adventuresome idea Lyssa Harrell had ever had, and she was enjoying herself immensely.

For the first time in her life she was free. Here, no patronizing lords or snobbish debutantes laughed that her hems smelled of Trade when they thought she wasn’t listening or gave her the “cut” because they enjoyed feeling superior. Nor did anyone compare her to an elegant, beautiful stepmother who had completely supplanted Lyssa in her father’s life.

However, most of all, she was happy there was no insufferable Robert, Viscount Grossett, to let her know what a favor he was performing to offer her marriage. And she was more than tickled at the prospect of never setting eyes on his gambling-crazed, high-and-mighty mother again.

Ah, yes, freedom was a fine and wonderful thing.

Lyssa wrapped her blue-and-green plaid, the
tartan of the Davidsons, around her and smiled into the campfire’s flames. Traveling by Gypsy wagon was a wonderfully romantic way to reach her destination. All was exactly as she liked it. She had new friends in Abrams and his wife, Duci, a motherly mentor in the guise of Abrams’ mother, Madame Linka, and a pleasant colorful mode of transportation where no one knew her or cared to ask questions, because Gypsies were rarely welcome anywhere. She rather liked playing the role of an outcast, since she’d been one in Society for years.

Better still, anyone her father sent to hunt her down would not think to look for her here.

Oh, yes, she had engineered her running away as carefully as her father plotted shipping schedules. In another day or two, they would arrive at Amleth Hall, the seat of her mother’s clan, the Davidsons, in the Highlands. Her mother’s people would take her in, and fortune-hunting Robert could kiss her money good-bye.

Of course, she did have a pang of conscience over her poor papa worrying about her…but she also had a healthy respect for his ire. The smartest course she could take was to place plenty of England between herself and him…or would he even notice her missing?

He was so besotted with his “duchess,” especially now that she carried his “son,” it seemed he had little care for Lyssa anymore. Yes, she was three and twenty, and the Duchess was right, she
should think about marriage—but Lyssa wanted to pick her own husband. And she missed how close she and her father used to be.

His new wife had stepped in between them. She’d pushed Lyssa’s father to force her out for a Season when Lyssa felt too old and too awkward. She’d orchestrated the courtship with Robert and had campaigned for Lyssa’s father to accept the marriage offer over Lyssa’s protests.

And all the while, she had expected Lyssa to befriend her. She’d even wanted Lyssa to call her Frances. Lyssa would never do that. To do so would be admitting that the Duchess had taken her mother’s place—and Lyssa would not let her.

Now, as Lyssa listened to the night chirping of frogs and crickets, she felt she had finally had the last say—
no marriage
. At least, not to Viscount Grossett…or anyone else of her stepmother’s choosing.

“It is time for sleep,” Abrams announced, returning to the ring of light around the campfire. He’d gone off in the woods for a moment alone. He would sleep in front of the fire while the women climbed into the cramped quarters of the red and purple painted wagon.

Duci and Lyssa rose dutifully; Madame Linka, however, did not move. Instead, puffing her pipe, she said, “I need my cards.”

Duci looked at Madame Linka in surprise. “Now?”

“Yes. I must read Viveka’s future. The time is at
hand.” “Viveka” was Madame’s name for Lyssa. Duci had told her it meant “little woman.” The name pleased Lyssa, and since she didn’t want anyone to know her identity until she was safe in the arms of the Davidson clan, she continued to use it. Even Abrams and Duci called her by this name.

“It is late, Madame,” Abrams protested wearily. “We have a long day ahead of us on the morrow. Certainly this can wait?”

“No. Now.”

The tone in her voice brooked no argument. The hairs tingled at the back of Lyssa’s neck and she knew she wasn’t alone. Duci’s eyes widened and even Abrams appeared surprised. From the beginning of the trip, Lyssa had been begging Madame Linka for a reading. She’d even offered to pay a goodly sum—and been refused.

So why did Madame wish to do one now?

Abrams did not question his mother a second time. “I will fetch your tray and your cards.”

While her husband climbed into the wagon, Duci asked, “Do you wish a drink of gin, madame?”

Madame Linka shook her head. “Sit here, Viveka. I need you to watch my hands move over the cards.”

Lyssa sat on the log stool across from Madame’s chair. They were as close to the fire as they could be for the light. Abrams set up a folding table and then reverently handed Madame her tarot. He was very proud of this ability of hers. He’d told
Lyssa that Madame had predicted his meeting Duci and everything else of importance in his life. He said she’d once given a reading for the king of Spain, who’d been so taken with what her cards had revealed, he’d gifted her with the gold ring that hung on a chain around her neck.

Madame removed the deck from their velvet box. “Here, Viveka, shuffle the cards.”

“For how long?”

“You will know,” was the enigmatic reply.

Lyssa’s fingers trembled in anticipation. The tarot were more than ordinary cards. Abrams had told her this set had been handed down from one fortune-teller to another amongst his tribe. No one knew how old the cards were, but they could only be given to one who had the “gift.” The medieval characters on the faces were hand painted, and the gilded edges and bright colors of the cards, with their legends in French and Arabic, had been dulled by the passage of time.

The large size of the cards made shuffling difficult. Lyssa shuffled once, then started to shuffle again but stopped. A whisper of a voice in the recesses of her mind said
This is enough.

Lyssa set the stack of cards facedown on the table.

Madame Linka smiled. “Good.”

Duci and Abrams had pulled up a log for seats for themselves. Now, they held their breath just as Lyssa did as Madame lifted the top card from the deck and place it and two other cards face down.

“This is the Past,” Madame said. “Here is the Present.” She laid a row of three cards beneath the first. Then, she took the next card off the deck and pressed it into Lyssa’s hands. “This is your Future. Hold it tightly and do not look until I am ready.”

Lyssa nodded, conscious of the power of the card in her hand.

“Why do you not give her three cards for her Future like you have for the Past and Present, Mama?” Duci asked. “I have not seen you do this before.”

“I do as the cards bid,” Madame replied dismissively and turned over the first card in the row signifying Lyssa’s past. Her eyebrows came up and she made a soft sound of acknowledgement. “The Seven of Cups.” Her dark gaze met Lyssa’s. “The Lord of Debauch.”

Lyssa stared at the drawing of seven cups spilling their contents into what appeared to be a river of wine. “What does it mean?”

“That you have been surrounded by a multitude of many pleasures in your past. Pleasures that perhaps you don’t trust and may even fear.”

“This is true,” Lyssa whispered under her breath. She did fear the
ton
, their many excesses, their different codes of conduct and double standards. In spite of her father’s wealth and the grand home and beautiful clothes, she preferred a simpler life. Her books were her most valued possessions. Nor did she like the idea of being married to a husband who thought about nothing but
spending money. She wanted a man like her father had been, one who had cherished the memory of his wife, until he became besotted of that woman.

Madame turned over the second card. Her smile turned grim as if she were not surprised. Ten silver staffs crisscrossed yellow-orange flames. “The Lord of Oppression. You have felt frustrated, angry. You want to be free.”

“I want to find my roots,” Lyssa acknowledged. “I want to meet my mother’s clan.” She leaned forward. “Will I?”

“We still have a card in your past,” Madame replied and flipped over the last in the row with the tip of her nail. A huge wheel covered the face of the card. Tapping the card, Madame said, “The wheel of fortune turns and we poor mortals struggle.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why. There is abundance enough for all in the world. This card holds the secret of turning events to your advantage. And that is what you have done in leaving your past.”

Reverend Billows might claim fortune-telling was nonsense and even heresy but Lyssa felt immense relief that the cards seemed to be saying she’d made the right decision when she ran away.

Smiling now, Madame flipped over the first card of Lyssa’s Present and then frowned.

Duci gasped and said, “Death.” Abrams crossed himself.

Lyssa did not like the picture of a grinning
skeleton that appeared to be dancing on a grave. “What does it mean?”

“Nothing like what you fear it does,” Madame hurried to assure her. “When Death appears, it means there will be a change in your life, the kind of change that will alter you forever.”

“Well, that’s what I have right now,” Lyssa responded, relieved.

Madame shook her head. “No. Death would be in your Past if that were its meaning. Here, it is telling us something completely different. The change is now. This moment…and something beyond our simple camp.”

Lyssa glanced around at the darkness beyond the ring of firelight. Was it her imagination or did the shadow of the fir trees seem closer and more looming than before? She looked back to Madame. “My father—?”

“You will not be with us much longer.” Madame did not wait but overturned the next card. What it revealed was even more alarming.

“The Hanged Man,” Abrams said. The card was of the figure of a man hanging upside down from a tree branch. His hands appeared tied behind his back.

Madame Linka nodded. “You are vulnerable, Viveka,” she said, her raspy voice menacing in the silence. “Whatever will be, you must accept. Your destiny is at hand and you must find strength within to meet it.”

Lyssa did not like this fortune…especially
when deep in her bones she sensed an element of truth, of warning.

Madame turned over the third card of the Present. A naked woman sat astride a giant creature that was half lion, half man. The woman’s head was tilted back as if in joy, one hand raised toward a shining star. The card made Lyssa uncomfortable, yet there was power in the strength of the girl’s legs hugging the creature.

The card upset Madame Linka.

She started muttering to herself in Romany and pushed the cards on the tray before her, attempting to create a new alignment. Duci and Abrams understood what she was saying. They exchanged glances and Duci touched the cross hanging from the leather tie at her throat.

“What is it?” Lyssa asked. “What do you see? Why are you upset?”

Madame raised dark, concerned eyes to her. “The cards do not speak sense,” she said, her voice full of foreboding.

Lyssa reached toward the card of the woman. “What is the meaning of this card?”

With a sharp gesture, Madame pushed Lyssa’s hand away. Then, reverently, she placed the card in a row, flanked by Death and the Hanged Man. She held her palms over the cards as if they radiated some hidden power only she could divine.

An owl hooted in the night. A sudden wind picked up energy and swept through the small camp, giving the fire’s flames new life. There was
the snap and cracking sound of green wood being burned.

Lyssa leaned toward Madame. “What does it mean?”

“It is Lust,” Madame answered.

The way the woman in the card sat on the manlion’s back took on a new significance. Lyssa’s mouth went dry.

Madame tapped Death. “Change is now. Here. Soon. What was will be no more.” Her pointed finger moved to the Hanged Man. “You are to meet your destiny. You must have courage, Viveka.”

“And Lust?” What was its meaning? Lyssa had to know.

“You must use your powers,” Madame said. “You must take hold of the moment and find strength. Joyously accept what is to come.”

Lyssa tightened her grasp on the card in her hand—her future. “What is to come?”

“Show me,” Madame said with a grave sincerity as if she accepted all possibilities.

She held out her hand but Lyssa did not want to surrender the card to her. Instead, she looked first. The picture was that of a galloping horse, its eyes wide. A runaway.

On its back rode a knight holding a sword high over his head as if ready to attack.

“What is it?” Madame demanded, her eyes angry.

Lyssa turned the card face around to show the others.

“The Knight of Swords,” Madame whispered and then repeated the words as if she did not quite believe what she said. “This does not bode good. He is a dangerous man, one who is intelligent and yet clever and subtle. You will not know his true intentions until he reveals them to you.”

“You are saying I will meet this man?” Lyssa questioned.

“Yes. The sword in his hand will enable him to cut to the heart of a thing and sometimes, Viveka, you will not be comfortable with what he reveals. Beware the darkest qualities of this card. This man can be ruthless. He is an angry man who, for his own reasons, searches for truth. Be careful…for he is a man who sees everything.”

“How do I protect myself, Madame?”

The seer’s gaze met hers. “You can’t.”

“Then what am I to do?”

“Accept.” Madame’s features softened in understanding. She lifted the card of the woman riding the man creature. “Lust will give you strength. You face danger. Do not shy away. Use the Knight, Viveka. Use your woman-power to make him your protector. But treat him with caution.”

For a moment, Lyssa couldn’t speak. There was a tightness in her chest, a sense of looming misfortune…and after she’d prided herself on everything going so smoothly. “Will I see Amleth Hall?”

“The cards do not say.”

Smoke rose from the green wood in the fire. The wind blew it in Lyssa’s direction. “I almost wish I had never asked for a reading,” she confessed.