Rose In Scotland (27 page)

“I do not know,” Hugh said, his mouth hardening as he considered what this might portend. He was fairly sure the earl was here to make mischief, and the fact that Caroline was apparently missing was troubling indeed. If something had happened to her, it was almost a certainty the earl was part of it.

Also troubling was that Westhall had aligned himself with Dunhelm. He’d not forgotten his aunt’s warning about the laird of Ben Denham, nor the fact he’d tried to purchase Loch Haven after the seizure. Mayhap that was why he was helping Westhall now, he brooded. Mayhap Caroline’s uncle had promised him MacColme land in exchange for whatever assistance he might render. If such was the case, the greedy laird was about to learn he had made a grievous error.

“Begin packing,” he ordered. “We shall leave for Loch Haven when I return.”

“Leave?” Mairi gaped at Hugh as if she feared he’d lost his wits. “Why should we do that? What matter if Caroline’s uncle is here or nae? So long as you are legally wed, what harm can he do?” She broke off, gazing at him in horror. “You
are
legally wed?” she demanded, her hand going to her throat. “Caroline is your wife, and not some other man’s?”

Hugh paused in his planning long enough to cast his sister an indignant scowl. “Of course she is my wife!” he said, appalled she could accuse him of such a thing. “What sort of man do you think I am? And what sort of woman do you take Caroline to be?”

“I dinna know what to think!” Mairi shot back, hands on her hips as she glared at him. “Did I smell the whiskey on you I would take Gregors’s word that you are as drunk as a piper! What is going on? I insist that you tell me!”

Hugh rounded the desk, pausing long enough to deposit a kiss on his sister’s cheek. “Later,
mo piuthar,”
he told her, his mind on other matters. “Just do as I ask. I go to see Dunhelm. If Caroline has met with danger, then her uncle and that bastard Dunhelm are behind it. We shall leave upon my return with Caroline. Tell Aunt she is welcome to come if she wishes it. Now I must be away.” With that he turned and walked from the room, ignoring his sister’s frustrated cries that he return.

After pausing long enough to buckle on the sword he had Gregors fetch him from the small armory, Hugh tucked a pistol and a dirk in his
waistband and set out for Dunhelm’s house near the assembly rooms. On the brief journey there he formulated his strategy, and by the time he was shown into the elegant drawing room he was ready to engage the enemy.

“MacColme! Such a surprise to see you.” Dunhelm was on his feet, the false smile of welcome pasted to his thin lips not quite disguising his fear. “What may I do for you?”

In answer Hugh walked up to him, pulled the sword from his scabbard, and lay the sharp blade against the other man’s throat.

Dunhelm’s face went blank with shock. “What the devil …?”

“Deasaich do chlaidheamh,”
Hugh said, calmly issuing the ancient challenge. “Draw your sword, laird of Ben Denham, and prepare to die.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Dunhelm wailed, his eyes bulging in terror.

“I am challenging you to fight me,” Hugh responded with the unshakable calm he knew to be more terrifying than the loudest of shouts. “Now you must answer, or be known the length of the Highlands as a coward,
laird.”
He spat out the other man’s title with open contempt.

Dunhelm licked his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he nervously swallowed. “Why should I fight you, MacColme?” he asked, clearly determined to brazen out the confrontation. “I don’t even know you, nor have I done aught to give offense!”

“You offer shelter to my enemies. That offends me,” Hugh continued, his voice as pleasant as if he was but taking tea with the other man. “You
scheme to take Loch Haven from me. That offends me as well. But worst of all, most foolishly of all, you have dared to lay your hand upon my wife. For that, you will die.”

“I didn’t touch the wench!” Dunhelm denied, the muscles of his neck straining as he tried to move away from the razor-sharp blade without cutting himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about …!”

Hugh ignored the sputtering protests, applying just enough pressure on the blade to have the other man paling in horror. “Do you know,” he began conversationally, “ ’Tis possible to slit a man’s throat inch by inch? It kills him, aye, but he takes a long, painful time in the dying. I’ve never done it myself, mind, but I’ve seen it done. I’ve seen the look in the poor sot’s eyes as he feels his life and his blood draining slowly away, and I’ve heard the sounds he makes as he dies …”

“But I have nothing to do with Westhall!” Dunhelm sobbed, dropping any pretense of bravery. “Let me go, MacColme! You cannot kill an unarmed man!”

Hugh’s smile was the stuff of nightmares. “Can I not?” he asked softly. “And how do you know it’s Westhall I’m after? I never mentioned the
crochaire’s
name.” He drew the sword gently across Dunhelm’s throat, slicing the skin and bringing a welling of blood to the surface.

“No!” Tears filled the other man’s eyes at the feel of his own blood dribbling down his neck. “He will kill me if I tell you!”

“And I will kill you if you do not,” Hugh returned,
slicing through another layer of skin for emphasis. “Tell me now, Dunhelm, or die.”

“He has taken her to St. John Street! Number seventeen on the upper floor!”

St. John was less than ten minutes away; with luck he could be there in five. Hugh leaned forward until he was nose to nose with his terrified captive. “How many men has he with him?” he demanded.

Dunhelm raised a trembling hand to wipe his nose. “Just some fat fool of a doctor, and his assistant,” he said. “I don’t think they are armed.”

But Westhall would be, Hugh was certain. He smiled, thinking of the pleasure he would get in sending the man to hell. Then he remembered what Mairi had said about a baronet.

“And what of Sir Gervase? Is he with the earl? I’m warning you, Dunhelm, if I find you’ve lied to me …”

“He is with Westhall! I—I had forgotten about him. But there is no one else, I give you my word!”

Hugh believed him; he was too intent on saving his own skin to lie. Still, he thought it advisable to take precautions.

“Very well,” he drawled, “I shall accept your word. But,” he added as the other man started babbling his thanks, “I’ll be taking something else as well, just to be certain.”

“W-what is that?” Dunhelm looked near to swooning.

“Why, you, laird.” Hugh gave him another terrifying smile. “You’re coming with me to rescue my wife. And if I find you’ve lied to me in any way, you will be the first one I kill. Now
wipe your nose, you sniveling coward. We’ve work to do.”

“Come, my dear, will you not try some of this delicious soup?” Lord Westhall queried, smirking at Caroline over the edge of his spoon. “It is really quite delicious.”

Caroline remained mutinously silent, refusing to let her uncle goad her into speech. In the hours since she had been taken captive, not a word had she spoken, holding both her temper and her tongue as she struggled to remain calm. She had to be calm. It was the only way she had any chance of surviving whatever horrors lay ahead.

When her uncle had first seized her, she had done everything within her power to get out of the carriage. It was only when the doctor’s grinning assistant dealt her a stinging blow across the face that she had ceased her struggles. But that didn’t mean she had abandoned all attempts at escape, she promised herself silently. No matter the danger, she refused to let herself be taken to an asylum.

“Still playing the statue,” her uncle said, shaking his head in disapproval. “Willful child. I see I shall have to inform Dr. Harrison to make certain he teaches you the art of obeying your elders.”

Caroline’s response was a cold look, her pride not allowing her terror to show. The doctor and his loutish helper were in the other room, along with Sir Gervase, who, as was his custom, was already dead to the world from drink. She breathed a silent prayer of relief for his intemperance;

she shuddered to think what would happen were he awake and sober.

“You know, Caroline, this noble silence of yours is really growing quite tiresome,” Uncle Charles said, frowning as he poured another glass of madeira. “In fact, if you do not answer me at once, I believe I shall call in Mr. Milkins and request that he coax you into cooperating.” He smiled at her in evil anticipation. “From all reports, ’Tis a skill at which he excels.”

The memory of the foul-smelling man and his brutal hands was enough to loosen Caroline’s tongue, and she raised her chin in an unconscious gesture of pride.

“You really cannot hope to get away with this, Uncle,” she informed him, affecting a bravado she was far from feeling. “Hugh will have discovered I am missing by now, and he will start looking for me. Heaven help you when he finds me.”

“Ah, yes, the noble sergeant.” Uncle Charles gave a soft chuckle. “I must say I was quite vexed when you married the fellow, and poor Gervase was simply devastated. I had hoped to convince him to marry you once I succeed in having this farcical marriage of yours overturned, but now he won’t hear of it.” He gave her a look that made her feel in dire need of a bath. “Damaged goods, you know, and he does have the succession to consider.”

Caroline fought the urge to retort that Sir Gervase’s precious succession would be the least of his concerns when Hugh got his hands on him, guessing it was precisely what he expected her to say. She knew her uncle well, and knew the
best way to defeat him was to keep him off-balance. He was easily distracted when angry, and if she managed to get him angry enough and distracted enough, she could make a try for freedom.

“Grandfather will disinherit you,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and boldly meeting his stare. “In fact, he is already making plans to do so.”

“Caroline, Caroline.” He shook his head again. “Do I look that big a fool? Short of enacting a bill of Parliament, there is nothing he can do to keep the title from me, and the old fool knows it.” He smirked at her. “You’ll have to do better than that, my dear, if you wish to convince me to release you.”

Caroline remembered the list of names her grandfather had handed Hugh on the day they had left Bath, and smiled. “That is precisely what he is doing,” she said sweetly, and had the pleasure of seeing him scowl. “Grandfather has powerful friends, and they are very supportive of his cause. Your reputation precedes you, Uncle, and there are many unwilling to see you inherit Hawkeshill. Lord Gresham, for example.”

The mention of the priggish duke brought a furious oath to her uncle’s lips. “Gresham may rot in hell!” he snarled, but Caroline could see the unease in his eyes. “If he thinks to deprive me of what is mine, I’ll soon teach him better!”

“And will you teach a similar lesson to Lord Farringdale and Sir Covington?” she pressed. “Hugh has seen them all, at Grandfather’s behest, and they have sworn to lend whatever support may be necessary.”

“Be silent, you little bitch!” her uncle thundered, clearly rattled. He poured out more of the wine, spilling some of it as he raised the glass to his lips. “He won’t do it,” he said, sounding as if it was himself he was trying to convince and not her. “Father would never risk the scandal such a thing would cause.”

Caroline leaned forward. “Won’t he?” she taunted, wondering how far she could push him without courting serious danger. “He has already told me that if anything happens to me, anything at all, he will see you ruined. Is my inheritance so important that you are willing to risk everything you have, or ever
will
have, just to get your hands on it?”

He glanced away from her, and she knew she had shaken him badly. “Think, Uncle Charles, think very hard. It is only worth—what? Fifty, sixty thousand pounds? Is that really worth the hundreds of thousands of pounds you will lose should Grandfather bestow his title on Cousin James?”

“Enough!” her uncle roared, glaring at her with hate-filled eyes. “I need that money, damn you! You have no right to keep it from me!”

Caroline knew she would never get a better chance than she had now. Reaching down, she grabbed the decanter of wine and leapt to her feet, bringing the bottle smashing down on her uncle’s head. The heavy crystal shattered, and her uncle dropped to the floor with a low moan. She bent quickly over him, hands shaking as grabbed for the pistol she had seen tucked in his waistband. Her fingers had no sooner closed around the handle when the door to the outer
room was flung open, and Dr. Harrison and Milkins stood in the doorway, gaping at her with identical expressions of astonishment.

“Stand back, I am warning you,” she said, leveling the pistol at the plump doctor’s belly. “I’ll put a bullet in you if you take one more step!”

“Good heavens!” The doctor clapped a hand to his chest in horror. “Her uncle is right, the chit is as mad as a loon! Seize her, Milkins, before she kills us all!”

But Milkins wasn’t nearly so great a fool as that, Caroline noted, seeing the wariness in the man’s pig-like eyes. Evidently striking and pawing a helpless woman was a far different matter than trying to disarm one holding a loaded pistol in her hands. Taking him for the greater danger, she swung the pistol in his direction and pointed it at him.

“My grandfather is a general, and if you think I don’t know how to handle a pistol, you are sadly mistaken,” she said, taking a step forward and watching as they retreated. “You have to the count of three to get out of my way. One …” She drew back the intricately carved hammer. “Two …” she took better aim, bracing herself for the horror of putting a lead ball in living flesh. “Thr—”

“Here now, what’s this?” Sir Gervase demanded, reeling forward and bumping into Dr. Harrison. The doctor gave a yelp of surprise and scrambled to get out of the way, and Milkins, evidently determined to take advantage of the confusion, leaped toward Caroline, his intention all too clear.

She pulled the trigger.

At the same moment, the door to the hall exploded open and two men rushed inside, one with a pistol drawn. She recognized Hugh just as he fired his pistol. Sir Gervase grabbed his arm and collapsed, blood flowing from between his fat fingers.