The Border Hostage (29 page)

“Were any papers missing from his desk?”

The trusted servant looked startled. “I wouldn't know, my lord. I'm no' privy tae the contents of his desk. The house is filled with valuable paintings and art objects, but none are missin'.”

“Has Archibald been here since his father died? The town house is his now.”

“No, my lord, but ye were the only one Angus trusted wi' a key.”

“Archibald doesn't have a key?”

“No, my lord, there are only two keys—yours and the earl's, which I now have in my possession.”

Ram knew that whoever had broken in had come for Angus's copy of the will. He went straight to the library and searched the desk, but as he fully expected, he found no will. Ram and his lieutenant ate in the kitchen, then the majordomo gave Jock a chamber next to his own. Ram took his saddlebags up to the master bedchamber and began to pace. If
Archie destroyed the will, and
if
he conspired with Goldman tae murder Moses Irvine, the amount of gold involved must be considerable.
He stopped pacing and looked about. The paintings and art treasures in this mansion-of-a-town house were worth a fortune. Why hadn't Archie come to claim it?

Ram glanced at the walls covered with pale green watered silk, and at the great bed with its padded silk headboard, and knew he needed to bathe before he could sleep there. Fortunately, the house had a bathing room with piped-in water. Ram made short work of the bath, then, wrapped in a towel, returned to the master chamber and lay upon the bed with his hands behind his head.

The ceiling above depicted Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love, rising from the sea, with one hand cupped beneath a delicate breast. Her red-gold hair reminded Ram of his beautiful wife and of the passionate nights they had spent in this bed. He chuckled as he recalled the very first night they had spent here, when Tina had locked the door to keep him out. He had used the statue at the top of the stairs to batter down the door and in so doing had damaged the figure almost irreparably. Ram realized he had just passed the statue on his way from the bathing room and, curious to see how it had been mended, arose from the bed.

Ram ran his hand over the hairline fracture in the marble that ran on a diagonal slant across the figure's ankles. From the front it was almost indiscernible, but the back had sustained greater damage, and Ram's fingers could feel
the clumsy repair. He lifted the figure from its pedestal so that he could see it better, and almost dropped the statue when he saw the document nestling in the hollowed-out surface of the plaster pedestal.

Ram snatched up the paper, carefully replaced the marble statue, then picked up the towel that had fallen from his hips. Naked, he hurried back to the master bedchamber, lighted all the candles, and spread the document out on the bed. Scribbled across the top was a notation that read:
I shall take the precaution of concealing a second copy of my will, in addition to the one in my desk.

Ram pored over the thick, bold writing of the document before him.

Ramsay Douglas could read no further; he sat stunned, trying to take in the magnitude of the inheritance Angus
had entrusted to him. Ram lowered his eyes to the paper and read it again. Angus had left his son only property in the Highlands. Everything in the Lowlands and the Borders had been left to him. Ramsay examined the seals and signatures; all looked in order and, ironically, Goldman, the junior partner, had signed as one of the witnesses! Ramsay read further. It charged him to pay all of Angus's just debts and to generously reward all those in his service. Ram's eyes dropped to the two codicils.

Once again Ramsay was stunned. Angus had given no reason for these generous gifts. The first was easy to explain, of course. Angus had loved and admired Valentina. The second gift was far more amazing, for land was precious and seldom passed out of the clan. The bequest went a long way to confirming the rumor that Angus had fathered Heath's mother.

Ram paced again, thinking best on his feet.
No bloody wonder Archie wanted me dead!
In light of what he now knew, it had been a tactical mistake to visit Goldman and reveal that he was in Glasgow. Like a canny Scot, Angus had not named the goldsmiths who held his gold and sterling, but Ram would bet a penny to a pinch of shit that he would be followed. Come morning, he had to let Sam Erskine see the will, then without delay it must be filed with the Court of Scotland. He slipped on his leathers and went downstairs to warn Jock of the impending danger.

At an early hour, before full daylight came to Glasgow,
Jock, dressed in Lord Ramsay Douglas's best clothes, set out from Garrowhill on foot. Within two minutes, Ram Douglas saw that his lieutenant was being followed. He smiled grimly, knowing Jock could be trusted to lead the spy on a merry chase, while he set out for the goldsmith's.

Ram showed the will to Samuel Erskine and asked him to make two copies of the document: one for himself and one for Ram. As he waited, he warned Erskine of the danger. Sam, as he had been instructed by the Earl of Angus, then gave Lord Ramsay Douglas the names of the other goldsmiths who had Angus's gold and sterling on deposit. One was in Edinburgh; the other surprisingly was in Carlisle, England. Erskine, as did all goldsmiths, had guards of his own. Two of them accompanied Ram to the courthouse on Strathclyde. He presented the will and waited until it was registered as being received, then he tucked the receipt into his doublet, dismissed Erskine's guards, and returned to Garrowhill, where Jock awaited him.

“I dinna think we'll be followed again, my lord.”

W
hen Christopher Dacre received Heron's message that he and his sister were returning home, he went straight to his father and told him he had made up his mind about marrying Raven Carleton.

Lord Dacre nodded with resignation. “I'll see Lance Carleton at the Border Wardens' Court next week and suggest a betrothal.”

“Dispatch a letter today and invite the Carleton ladies to stay at Carlisle Castle during the session. I've wasted enough time.”

When the letter arrived at Rockcliffe Manor, Sir Lancelot handed it to his wife with satisfaction. “There, I told you to stop pushing and allow matters to proceed more slowly. It looks like Christopher has been able to bring Lord Dacre around.”

Kate Carleton was pleased beyond belief. “I can't believe it! I was on the verge of writing to Rosalind, hinting that we would like to accompany you to Carlisle during the Border Wardens' Court, and like magic, Thomas
Dacre himself pens us an invitation and suggests we start making plans for a betrothal!”

Kate summoned her daughters and gave them the wonderful news. Lark seemed far more excited than Raven and immediately asked for a new dress. Raven appeared to be more subdued and didn't react at all the way her mother thought she should.

“Don't tell me you're coming down with something!” Kate felt Raven's forehead, found it cool, and pronounced her diagnosis. “You have a case of the jitters. You have wished for this betrothal for so long that now it is within your reach, you are suddenly unsure of yourself.”

Raven couldn't have agreed more. She was unsure of herself and unsure of Christopher Dacre, yet she saw that her parents had no reservations whatever. Before she had been forced to go to Scotland, she had been completely sure of herself and knew exactly what she wanted for the future. Now her assurance had vanished, her thoughts were in disarray, and her peace of mind destroyed.
Damn you, Heath Kennedy! Damn you!

Whenever she could, during the days that followed, Raven escaped from the endless discussions about which day dresses, evening gowns, and shoes must be packed for Carlisle. She spent many hours on Rockcliffe Marsh, flying the young merlins and reflecting upon her future. Raven found her thoughts chasing in circles, for each time she tried to think of the future, she found herself dwelling on the past.

Two days after Lord Thomas Dacre's letter arrived from Bewcastle, Raven received one from Christopher at Carlisle Castle. Her mother's face looked radiant, and her father's well pleased, when he handed it to Raven, and she saw the knowing glance they exchanged when she excused herself to open it and read it in private.

Raven read the letter again. She concluded that it was a nice letter and could find no real fault with it. Christopher had both apologized and taken the blame upon himself for what had happened. Raven had seen little of his concern for her safety or his hesitancy in leaving her behind on the night of his thwarted escape, but to give him the benefit of the doubt, she could not possibly know his thoughts or the extent of his fears that night. She read it one more time, then burned it, because she knew that Lark's curiosity would not allow her to leave the letter unread.

That evening, Raven knocked on her father's study door. She found him behind a desk piled high with paperwork and reports concerning some of the cases that were coming up at the Border Wardens' Court. Standing before her hardworking, dedicated father, she felt ashamed about deceiving him and guilty over her reckless behavior. “Father, I came to speak with you in private.”

“Come in, my dear. I hope you will always want to share your thoughts with me.”

Raven, for the first time, noticed that his fair hair was mostly gray and his face was lined with care. “It … it's nothing really.” She had been going to tell him that she was uncertain about the betrothal, but now changed her words. “I don't mind being betrothed to Chris Dacre, providing we don't marry right away. I simply don't want to be rushed.”

“I understand completely, my dear. You want to be sure.”

Her heart went out to him. “Yes, I'm in no hurry to marry.”

The night before the Carletons were to travel to Carlisle, Raven was suffering with a headache. She brewed herself some chamomile tea and went to bed early. She hadn't slept well since she had returned home, but the mild sedative effect of the chamomile soon made her drowsy, and the next thing she knew, she was dreaming.

Heath Kennedy was standing in a lush green meadow, by a river. She could hear his voice distinctly. “I won her in a knife-throwing contest.” Then suddenly, Raven remembered: She was in a Gypsy camp, dancing around a fire, without a care in the world, when all at once she became aware of undercurrents. Two males who had been admiring her began to circle each other like dogs with raised hackles. One was Heath Kennedy, the swarthy Gypsy, whose white teeth flashed when he smiled. The other was Christopher Dacre, the classically handsome, fair-haired Englishman.

“Keep your eyes from her, you bastard, she is betrothed to me!”

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law; she is my property!”

“All Gypsies are thieves, liars, or worse—you stole her!”

“I'll buy her from you!” The white teeth flashed. “How much?”

“Three hundred pounds.”

“Three hundred it is, if you throw in your horse.”

“Damn you both! I know a cockfight when I see one, and I have no stomach for them,” Raven cried.

“I challenge you to a knife-throwing contest—the winner takes the girl.” Heath Kennedy unsheathed his dagger.

“I have no knife; I'll destroy you with fire and sword!”

“No, no! Take my herb knife, Christopher.” She pressed her small dagger into his waiting palm.

A target was quickly set up, and the two males took turns throwing their knives. It was no real contest, for the Gypsy hit the bull's-eye every time. White teeth flashed as the Gypsy swaggered over to claim his prize and carried her to his bed.

Raven stubbornly refused to yield to the Gypsy.

“You wanted me to win. You knew he would lose when you gave him your knife. You have drawn your own blood with that knife, and know that it will respond to no hand but yours.”

She melted into his arms, lifted her mouth for his ravishing, and yielded herself up to him. “Love me, Heath!”