Cowboys and Highlanders (77 page)

Phoebe refolded the note, crossed to the door and quietly bolted the door, then retrieved the map from the armoire and sat back down at the desk. The map had no index She began searching for the Dornoth Firth, the port John Stafford had referenced in his journal, the port Alistair preferred when he left Scotland for France.

She moved her gaze along the southeastern coast and reached for a biscuit. “Firth of Clyde,” she repeated. Loch after loch passed beneath her gaze, and she grew frustrated as her eye traveled up the full length of the east coast and along the north. Then she found it. “Dornoth Firth!” she exclaimed. And there was Tain, south of the channel.

Phoebe searched far to the south. She groped for the tea cup and, finding it, lifted it to her lips. She followed the clan names down the map; Menzies, Campbell, Macnab,
MacGregor
. She took another sip of tea and calculated the ride to be two days. Longer than she'd hoped, which gave her concern over traveling the mountainous terrain alone. She would have to hire an escort for at least part of the way, and a quick look told her Perth was a large enough city to procure a reputable escort. If she left her escort in Inverness, the trip from there to Tain was only a few hours.

She glanced at the clock on the desk. Eleven thirty. Late in the day to begin such a journey, but should she wait, her new relatives would likely descend upon her. She lifted the lid that covered the plate on her tray. Cold chicken, just as she’d requested. Perfect for a long trip and, as expected, enough for three meals. Phoebe couldn’t help a smile. Winnie was a good soul.

Within twenty minutes, Phoebe had retrieved the tower percussion pistol she'd hidden in her trunk, and had bundled the remaining food, then hid each in the pockets of her dress. After another quick study of the map, she completed her ensemble with a voluminous cloak. Phoebe took a deep breath and opened the door. Through the winding corridors of Brahan Seer, she headed for the seldom traveled front entrance. There, she slipped out and strolled across the courtyard, praying none of her new relatives would appear.

As she had done the last time she’d been at Brahan Seer, Phoebe walked down the hill, but skirted the fringes of the village. Winnie said the duke was in the village, and Phoebe held her breath until she reached the stables and found them unattended. She located blanket, saddle and tack, and within fifteen minutes, had saddled a gelding. Phoebe stopped even as she lifted a booted foot into the stirrup. Her husband was gone, he wouldn't miss her, but the duke and duchess were sure to sound the alarm upon discovering her absence.

Phoebe looked down the length of the stables. Opposite the stalls was a door, slightly ajar. She hurried to the tack room and slowly pushed the door open. As hoped, the stable master’s office. Inside she found a quill. Notes, bills and miscellaneous papers were stacked in two neat piles on the left side of the desk. Phoebe rifled through the papers until she found one that was blank on the bottom half. She creased the paper, placed the crease on the edge of the desk, and neatly tore the empty half from the rest of the sheet.

She sat at the desk’s chair and scribbled a note.

Elise,

Forgive my leaving like this, but I know you and the duke will not agree to let me go. I believe you will understand that I can't let Adam’s killer go unpunished. I am returning to London to deal with the matter myself. I believe that the longer I wait, the harder it will be to catch the murderer.

My marriage to Lord Ashlund will give me immunity against any allegations, so please rest easy in my safety. I will send word as soon as I arrive to Shyerton Hall.

Yours,

Phoebe

She folded the note and wrote the duchess’ name on the outside then leaned it against the ink well and quit the modest office.

That special sense that John Stafford wrote of, that sense that
every investigator must have to survive
, had roared to life in Phoebe, and she knew that the trail to her father—to her husband—were somehow connected. Thanks to John Stafford, she also knew that trail began with Lord Alistair Redgrave in Tain, Scotland.

“How does your future husband feel about your quest
?” Adam had asked the night he was murdered.

Phoebe planned to find the answer to that question.

*****

Phoebe caught sight of the tiny Achilty Inn up ahead. A shopkeeper in Orrin had recommended the inn as the last one until Tain. She had left behind in Inverness the two men she'd hired on the recommendation of the minister at St. Paul's church in Perth. This, she had reasoned, was a safer course of action than taking a recommendation from the local magistrate, who was far more likely to be just the person the duke would contact if he was on her trail. Tain was but three or four hours away. An easy ride, but her horse was fagged and it was nearly ten at night.

Obtaining lodgings proved easy. Highlanders, Phoebe reflected, were a friendly lot. She recalled the night Kiernan had been shot, and the English innkeeper’s wife when they sought lodging. Phoebe received no such shabby treatment from the Scottish innkeeper's wife, who now bustled her up to a room.

“Ye look fair starved,” the woman said, glancing over her shoulder at Phoebe as she opened the door to a room.

Phoebe followed her into the modest room.

“Och,” the woman said. “That John. He made the fire, but didn't have sense enough to close the window.” She went to the open window and tugged it closed. She turned her attention to the bed. “What brings you all the way out here?” she asked as she drew back the blankets.

“Forgive me, madam,” Phoebe replied, “I know it’s highly irregular for a woman to travel alone.”

The woman looked at Phoebe, not a trace of apprehension or recrimination on her face, and smiled.

Phoebe managed a blush. “You see,” she stammered and looked down at the floor, “I am newly married—”

“Well, now,” the woman interjected as she lifted a pillow and began fluffing it.

Phoebe looked up at her. “And, well, you see, my husband went away on business. He had not expected to be gone long, but it’s been a month now, and…well, I miss him terribly.”

“Aye,” the woman clucked, “and rightly so.”

“So, I decided, if Muhammad won’t come to the mountain, I’d bring the mountain to Muhammad.”

The woman paused in fluffing the pillow, a confused look on her face.

“If he can’t come to me,” Phoebe offered gently, “I’ll go to him.”

The woman’s face brightened. “A fine wife,” she said, then frowned. “But do you no’ think it’s a bit dangerous traveling on your own like this?”

“Oh, well, I didn’t start out on my own,” Phoebe said, stripping off her gloves. “I had a servant with me. You’ll laugh.” She tossed her gloves on the chair that sat before the crackling fire. “The foolishness of men.”

The woman’s eyes brightened.

Phoebe giggled. “You see, he fell from his horse and broke his leg.”

“No!” the woman exclaimed, her eyes widening.

Phoebe nodded vigorously. “And my husband is forever worrying I’ll hurt myself.” She laughed again. “Can you imagine? It was I who had to save him.”

The woman laughed. “Aye, lass, that’s often the way it is. They think it’s them who saves us, but who is it that saves them from themselves?” She snorted, adding, “The weaker sex,” and both women laughed.

“Well,” Phoebe went on, “it was no more dangerous for me to continue on, then it was to turn back.”

The woman’s expression turned more serious. “Surely, you could have gotten another escort, though?”

Phoebe affected a look of abashment. “Do you think I should have? Oh dear.” She sat on the chair, crushing her gloves. “Jared is sure to be angry with me.”

“Now, now,” the woman said, and waddled to Phoebe’s side. “You did what ye thought was best. And, you’re all right, aren’t you?”

“Oh, indeed, I am. Quite well.”

The woman patted Phoebe’s arm. “No harm done, then. But,” she said with a serious look, “you never know who you might meet traveling in these parts.” She gave a succinct nod. “We’ll find you someone to go the rest of the way with you.”

“Can you spare someone?”

“Well, perhaps we can send John.” She looked thoughtful. “I’ll ask my husband.”

“Your husband owns the inn?” Phoebe asked, as if in awe.

The woman smiled. “He does.”

“Oh, but I didn’t know. Pray, forgive me.”

A pleased look passed over the woman’s face. “Och. There’s nothing to forgive.”

“What is your name, madam?” Phoebe asked.

“Mrs. MacKenzie. Now,” she said, “you get—"

There was a knock at the door. Phoebe and the innkeeper’s wife both looked toward the door, which stood ajar.

“Sally,” Mrs. MacKenzie cried, when a young woman carrying a tray pushed open the door.

“Over here.” Mrs. MacKenzie pointed to the small table beside Phoebe's chair.

The girl brought the tray to the table.

“You're too kind.” Phoebe stood.

“Never mind,” Mrs. MacKenzie said. “You must eat. Now, Sally, fetch a little warm water for—” she looked to Phoebe.

“Mrs. MacGregor,” Phoebe replied.

As hoped, Mrs. MacKenzie beamed. “Mrs. MacGregor.” Sally hurried from the room and Mrs. MacKenzie looked at Phoebe. “If you need anything, my room is at the end of the hall.”

“Again,” Phoebe took Mrs. MacKenzie’s hand in hers, “you're too kind.”

The housekeeper blushed and patted Phoebe’s hand. “Get some rest, lass. We’ll have a nice breakfast in the morning and get you settled on your way.”

A shame, Phoebe thought, to have to miss such an enjoyable meal.

Five hours rest had revived Phoebe and her horse. She buckled the billets on the animal's saddle when a prickling sense of familiarity caused her to pause in the dim light of the stall. She grasped the stirrup and laid it quietly against the horse's belly, then crept to the stall door. She peeked out into the darkness, searching one side of the stable, then the other. She discerned no movement and ducked back into the stall, pausing to listen. All remained quiet.

Skulking about in the night made one suspicious. Unfortunately, she had learned long ago that she was the suspicious sort. She turned back to the horse. The fact that the inn stood within sight of the stables didn’t help. A guilty conscious, she thought, remembering the kind Mrs. MacKenzie. Again, she wondered if leaving in the middle of the night wouldn’t be more memorable, than allowing the good housekeeper to send an escort from whom she would be forced to escape. Phoebe started toward the lamp that hung on the inside wall of the stable, but whirled abruptly. That had definitely been a sound. She placed a hand on the gelding’s nose and edged past him to the door. She looked out but, again, not so much as a piece of straw stirred. She stepped out and groped along the stalls to the stable doors.

The door was still ajar as she's left it when she entered and Phoebe leaned forward to peer around the edge. She froze. Outside in the pre-dawn shadows, at the very end of the stables, stood a man. His profile faced her, and he was deep in quiet conversation with someone who remained out of view on the other side of the stables.

The sense of familiarity she had experienced earlier returned. The man's features were indiscernible and his build wasn't out of the ordinary. He lifted his arm and placed a palm against the edge of the barn, leaning into the building. Phoebe's pulse jumped. It couldn’t be. Her mind flashed back to the day when Alan Hay had arrived at the Green Lady Inn, and that night when Robbie held her at gunpoint in the barn. This time, the outline of a short hanger hunting sword protruding from his waistband was unmistakable.

The Highland map she had consulted before leaving Brahan Seer came to mind. By heavens, she had paid the districts no mind when she consulted the map, caring only for the location of Tain. Her brain hadn’t registered the fact that the Sutherland district lay just above Tain.

Robbie’s hand dropped away from the building. He stepped forward and she lost sight of him behind the stable. She waited to the count of three, then pushed the door open another few inches and stole from the stable. She crept to the edge of the building. There came the soft nicker of a horse.  She halted at discerning the faint murmur of voices, then hurried to the far end the building. Phoebe peeked around the corner. Robbie stood, hand on the saddle pummel, ready to mount his horse. The other man, while talking in a whisper she couldn’t distinguish, was obviously agitated.

Robbie shook his head and mounted. The man grabbed Robbie’s arm. Robbie pulled back on the reins and the horse whirled, forcing the man back. Robbie didn’t look back, but continued alongside the stables. The man took a step in Robbie’s direction. Phoebe drew back and hurried back toward the stable door. She slipped inside and watched. The man appeared from around the stable an instant later and quickly passed from view. Phoebe peeked around the corner of the door and saw he was headed toward the inn.

“You never know who you might meet traveling in these parts
,” Mrs. MacKenzie had said.

What better person to see criminals on their way than a kindly old innkeeper’s wife? Phoebe wondered. She hurried to her horse. She had been convinced she would find some connection between her father and Kiernan MacGregor, but hadn't been able to figure out what that connection might be. Seeing Robbie Hay here was too fantastical to be coincidence. There was no doubt that he would lead her to her husband. Lord Ashlund was, indeed, aiding criminals.