Scandal in Scotland (19 page)

A letter from Mary Hurst to her brother William, upon his missing yet another Michaelmas celebration
.

It was madness to combine our family celebration with that of the MacLeans. What with Caitlyn and her brood, Triona and Hugh and his three daughters, plus the other three MacLean brothers and a sister and their families, there were so many children and governesses and tutors, I’m queasy just thinking about it.

Yet in the middle of the mayhem, it didn’t feel right without having you there. Next year, please make an attempt to come. Family is the only anchor that will hold in a choppy sea.

         
C
HAPTER 16

A
rapid knock woke William abruptly. He lifted up on his elbow, seeing Marcail’s dark, tousled head on the pillow beside his, her thick lashes resting on her cheeks. Despite the urgent knock on the door, he grinned as he left the bed and yanked on his breeches.

He opened the door, making certain he blocked the view into the room.

Poston stood in the hallway, his expression eager, his hat covered with morning dew. “I’m sorry to wake ye, Cap’n, but this couldn’t wait. It stopped raining late last night. I sent the men to each of the local inns to look fer word of the woman.”

“You found her in one of those?”

“Nay, Cap’n. I had the coach readied as well, and was checking the traces here in the inn yard when I saw the track. Right there in the mud, in front of this very inn!”

“You found tracks
here
?”

“Aye! She was here, Cap’n. I’m sure of it. The mark on that horse’s hoof is distinctive.”

“But we questioned everyone; no one saw her.” William rubbed his chin. “Perhaps she kept herself hidden. Has anyone left this morning?”

“Several people, but no women.”

“Then have the men encircle the inn. Place them on every corner, by every window. Place them by the road, too, in case we miss something.”

“Yes, Cap’n.”

“I’ll dress and be downstairs in a moment. We’ll search this place from aft to stern, and find that woman if it’s the last thing we do.”

Poston nodded and disappeared.

William turned to find Marcail sitting up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “You found her?”

“She may be here in the inn somewhere. We’re going to search.” He crossed the room and added wood to the fire, then stirred it so the air would warm before Marcail rose. “The rain stopped last night and Poston caught sight of the track he was looking for right here in this inn yard.”

She slipped out of bed and he was rewarded with the sight of her long, slender legs as she reached for her robe. “We could recover the onyx box today.” Her voice was husky from sleep, but already eager at the thought.

“Yes, we could.” He poured water into the basin from the pitcher and quickly washed before gathering his clothing. “We will recover that damned box and discover who has been blackmailing you, too.” He pulled on his shirt. “We won’t stop until we have defanged that villain. You have my word on it.”

Marcail smiled as she pulled a gown from her trunk. “You are very gallant.”

“I’m practical. We’ve chased this woman from Southend into Scotland. I’ll be damned if we leave here without having every one of our problems solved.”

“That would be heavenly.” She tugged on a fresh chemise, aware of a pleasant ache in her nether regions. The feeling made her smile again. Last night had been one of unalloyed passion and her entire body still tingled.

The wind suddenly banged the shutters against the outer wall, making her jump. “Just what we need; more bad weather.” She slipped her gown over her head and tugged it into place. “I wish I could send those clouds away and bring us a few hours of sunshine. It would be lovely to be able to control the weather.”

“No, it wouldn’t.” His lips twitched as he tugged on his coat and knotted his cravat, carelessly tucking it into his shirt. “I know some people who are rumored to have that ability, and it’s not as pleasant as you might think.”

She eyed him uncertainly. He seemed serious, but she could never tell with him. He hid his emotions as carefully as a magician guarded their tricks. “Who are these people?”

“My brothers-in-law, Hugh and Alexander MacLean.”

“Ah yes! The supposed MacLean Curse.” She pulled clean stockings from her trunk and rolled one up her leg. “There is a play about their family.”

“Really? I haven’t seen it.”

“Neither have I. It’s an old one; some say ’twas written by Shakespeare. It’s not as well known as his other works because the play has parts for various animals. It’s very difficult to find one trained animal, much less three.”

“Three?”

“A dog, a horse, and a rabbit.”

He flashed a smile as he yanked on his boots. “That must be some play.”

“It’s quite funny.” She eyed William curiously. “It surprises me that you would believe in a curse.”

“I don’t believe in much, but I do believe in that. I’ve seen it work, and so have my sisters.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure I’d believe it even if I saw it.”

He sent her a curious glance. “So cynical, Marcail?”

She slipped her feet into half boots of soft kid leather. “I live in a world where illusions are rewarded with good, hard coins and no one is who they say they are. That would make anyone cynical.”

“Perhaps. I never thought of the effect of your career on your soul.”

“It’s not my soul that’s been in danger, but my belief in my fellow man. When you knew me before, I hadn’t yet learned the cost of success.”

“And what was that cost?”

“Everyone wants to be a part of your life. But not the life of the
real
you, the one that’s cranky in the morning and occasionally catches a cold. They want to be a part of the ‘you’ they see on stage, the one with the glittering costumes and the life that’s filled with imaginary adventures. The one who doesn’t exist.”

She shrugged. “None of those people know me, nor did they ever want to know me.”

He crossed the room to sweep her up in his arms. “I know you, Marcail. The real you, not some imaginary stage version. And I—”

Outside, a cry was raised.

William cursed, then set her back on her feet and ran to the window.

She hurried to his side. “That’s Poston, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I must go.” William turned and kissed her hard. “Stay here.” And with that he was out the door, his boots loud as he ran down the stairs.

She sniffed. “Stay here? As if I could.” She went to collect her cloak, her foot brushing against her gown from the day before. There was a
thunk
as a small vial attached to a gold chain spilled from the pocket.

She picked it up and started to place it on the dresser, but after a second’s thought, she slipped the potion into her pocket, grabbed her cloak, and hurried after William.

As she reached the downstairs, she saw the landlord and his wife speaking with William.

“Och, we canno’ allow ye to search all of our guests,” Mr. MacClannahan protested. The plump man’s face was red, his mouth folded with displeasure.

Bleak faced, Mrs. MacClannahan stood at her husband’s side, shaking her head no over and over, as if to emphasize his words.

William stood before the two, his arms crossed over his chest, his feet planted as if he were on the deck of a ship in a gale.

“William?” Marcail asked softly.

“Poston found the horse with the marked hoof in the stables.”

“Then she’s here!”

He nodded. “If these dolts would let me finish searching the guests, I might be able to discover where that woman—”

“What woman?” Mrs. MacClannahan asked.

“A red-haired woman stole an object that belonged to my brother. We’ve been searching for it and we now know that it might well be on these premises. All we need to do is search—”

“No! Ye canno’ do that,” the innkeeper said in a staunch voice.

William’s jaw firmed. “I wish to recover something that is mine. If your guests are innocent, they’ll have no objection to showing me their belongings.”

“But they will object,” Mrs. MacClannahan said, looking harassed. “Both the nice gentleman from Portsmouth and that Frenchman are already angry that you searched them.”

“The ‘nice gentleman from Portsmouth’ had two of your candlesticks in his bag.”

“Aye, and I thanked ye fer returnin’ them,” Mr. MacClannahan said, blustering and mad. “But I’ll no’ have ye searching every guest on the premises. The Pelican has a reputation fer bein’ a welcomin’ place, and I’ll no’ have it said that we’re not.”

Marcail noticed that the two old ladies from the night before were peering out of the common room, agog with interest.

Emma wiggled her fingers at Marcail and winked.

“And now, because o’ ye,” Mrs. MacClannahan said, “we’ve two gentlemen—”

“One is a thief.”

“One gentleman, then,” she amended with obvious reluctance, “who is leaving us fer another establishment.”

“Aye,” Mr. MacClannahan said. “We’re losin’ two payin’ customers because o’ yer search.”

“And the Frenchman had planned on staying another week or more,” Mrs. MacClannahan added, her stance more militant. “When he heard ye wished to search everyone, he yelled something about his rights and stormed out, calling for his horse, vowing not to stay another minute.”

As if on cue, from outside came the sound of a very angry Frenchman, his reedy voice pinched with disapproval, though his words were indistinguishable from this distance. Following the outburst was the sound of Poston’s soothing reply.

William didn’t appear in the least sorry. “I will compensate you for any income you lose, but I cannot allow anyone to leave without searching their bags.”

Mrs. MacClannahan plopped her fists on her hips. “But we can’t have this and—”

“Perhaps I can assist.” Marcail sent William a smile. “Why don’t you help Poston while I sort this out? It sounds as if the French brigade might be called if you don’t.”

He hesitated, but at the growing discord from outside, said, “Thank you. I will honor whatever arrangements you make.” He bowed to the innkeepers and left.

Mrs. MacClannahan crossed her arms over her scrawny bosom. “As fer ye, miss, ye told me a falsehood last night. Ye said ye were looking fer yer cousin.”

“I didn’t wish to upset you that the thief might be among your guests.”

“Hmmph. I dinna believe ye.”

Marcail had opened her mouth to answer when Emma stepped into the hall. Her spectacles rested slightly askance, and she had apparently dressed in the dark, for she wore a purple gown with a horrible green shawl printed with large blue and red flowers. “Miss MacClannahan,” she said, her voice piercing, “my sister and I have been waiting on breakfast for an
hour
. Do we have to march into the kitchen and fetch it ourselves? We’re willing to do so, although Lady Loughton’s knee is quite sore from falling in
your
entryway.”

“Och!” Mrs. MacClannahan’s cheeks reddened. “I forgot to fetch yer breakfasts. I’ll do so right away, I will.”

“Thank you.” Emma waited until the innkeeper’s wife was gone before she sent a secret wink to Marcail.

“Mr. MacClannahan!” Jane called, wobbling out to the hallway leaning on a cane. Her neat gown was a contrast to Emma’s mismatched shawl and skirts. “Do come and add some wood to this fire. It’s so cold that I can see my own breath.”

“Ye canno’ see yer own breath,” he protested. “It’s no’ that cold outside, even.”

She lifted her eyebrows and said in a chilling tone, “My good sir, are you calling me a liar?”

“No, no, I jus—” He clamped his mouth together and then said, “I’ll be right there.” He looked at Marcail. “We’re no’ done wit’ this yet.”

“I shall await you right here while you do what you must.”

He went into the common room to fix the fire. She heard him grumbling about how the room was warm enough without the added wood, and Jane’s sharp retort that when he was her age, he’d understand what cold bones were, but until then she’d thank him to stop complaining and do his job.

Marcail had to bite her lip to keep from giggling aloud. As soon as the innkeeper finished adding the wood, Marcail heard Jane demand that he fetch her shawl from her room so she wouldn’t freeze while the newly stirred fire heated the “icy” room. “For you know as well as I that it will take
hours
for the room to warm.”

There was no gainsaying such a preemptory command, so Mr. MacClannahan lumbered through the entryway and then took the stairs, grumbling the entire way.

As soon as he was out of sight, Marcail whisked herself into the common room. “Thank you both for your assistance.”

Jane’s sharp blue gaze glinted. “It seemed as if you were in a bit of a fix.”

“Oh, I was.”

Emma adjusted her spectacles, leaving them more crooked than before. “I thought you said the red-haired woman was your cousin.”

“Yes, but she’s not. She’s a thief and she stole something.”

“Of yours?” Jane asked.

“No. It belonged to Captain Hurst.”

Emma clasped her hands together. “I should have
known
he was a captain!”

“As should I,” Jane agreed, both of them looking pleased.

“Why?”

“From the way he stood,” Jane said. “As if on a ship’s deck.”

“And he barks orders like a real man,” Emma added. “He’s very handsome, too.”

Jane nodded. “All ships’ captains are. We should know, for we’re descendants of a captain ourselves.”

“I owe you both my deepest gratitude,” Marcail said.

“Never fear,” Emma said, smiling brightly. “We’ll keep Mr. and Mrs. MacClannahan busy for a while longer.”

“Yes,” agreed Jane. “Mr. MacClannahan will be gone a good ten minutes fetching that shawl, for the one I described to him is here.” She lifted the small blanket she’d tossed over her lap and revealed a red-and-gold brocade shawl. She replaced the blanket, her eyes twinkling. “When he doesn’t find it in my room, he’ll think to appease me and just fetch a different one. But I won’t be appeased.”