My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (34 page)

"Too late?"

"Amelia was diagnosed with everything from
heart trouble to nervous disorders. No one could offer a cure. You
won't believe this, I wouldn't have believed it either had I not
caught Robert trying to kill her, but Elise suspected Robert of
poisoning Amelia."

Marcus went cold. "Bloody hell."

"I learned of her suspicions from the
journal. By then, Robert was gone." He gave Marcus a frank look.
"Despite how I felt about Robert, if I hadn't walked in when he was
strangling Elise that night, I would have attributed her suspicions
to… well…"

Marcus clenched his fist. "If the bastard
were alive, I would kill him myself."

Steven gave a cold laugh. "I would have done
it long ago."

"Aye," he said. "I wager you would have."

Steven laid the stick back on the ground
beside him. "Price being in Scotland and that bounty don't prove
Elise didn't die in the carriage accident."

Marcus held his gaze. "Three months ago,
Ardsley told the Landen Shipping board of directors that Elise was
here in America."

Steven went white.

"Are you all right, lad?"

"When Elise married, I gave her my shares in
Landen Shipping."

Marcus gave a slow nod. "The stakes are even
higher. Ardsley has begun negotiations for a large loan to Landen
Shipping. He wants to expand the shipping routes."

Steven started. "What?"

"He began negotiations six months ago."

"How can he hope to make the vote without
me?" Steven's lip curled up in a derisive twist. "Of course."

"Aye," Marcus said. "He would not need you if
he has Elise."

Chapter Nineteen

Marcus strode into the Single Penny tavern
with Steven behind him. Marcus glanced back at his young companion.
They'd spent seven days on the road and the boy looked none the
worse for wear. No one would suspect he wasn't a regular in the
establishment. The deception went beyond the rough clothes he wore.
The metamorphosis from upper-class gentleman to the rough, bawdy
character ready to yank his knife from its sheath and open the
gullet of any man who looked in his direction was complete. Steven
certainly wasn't the typical wealthy American.

The boy's gaze rested for an instant on a
table in the far corner of the room, then moved on. Marcus glanced
in the same direction and realized he had seen Justin sitting with
another man. Even in the shadows of the dimly lit room, Marcus
understood what had snagged Steven's attention. Despite the rough
clothes Justin wore, the way his manicured fingers curled around
the beer mug he drank from gave away the fact he wasn't a typical
river rat.

Steven looked at Marcus. Marcus gave a small
jerk of his head and Steven followed as he strode to the table.
Justin set the mug of ale on the table and looked up at their
approach. Marcus slid into the seat to his right. Steven circled
the table and took the seat to Justin's left.

"Marcus," Justin's cultured English accent
remained evident despite the hoarse quality he injected into his
voice.

"Justin," Marcus greeted in a thick, Scottish
brogue.

"Meet William Sheldon of the Boston police
department," Justin said.

"Shhh," Sheldon hissed, ducking his head
down.

"Mr Sheldon," Justin said, "tell my friend
what you told me."

Mr Sheldon looked about. He sat back suddenly
and Marcus would have urged him on, but a tavern maid approached
the table, two ales in hand.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said, setting
an ale before Marcus, then going around William to place the other
in front of Steven. She straightened, saying, "You have a choice of
jackrabbit stew or roast pig."

"Jackrabbit stew, my girl, all around,"
Steven spoke up.

Marcus hid his surprise at hearing the
guttural accent Steven employed and nodded to the girl in assent
when she looked at him. She started for the bar at the back of the
room and Marcus focused on William.

"Lad," he said in low tones, "proceed with
your tale, if ye please."

William cast a nervous glance about the room,
then leaned forward. "Your friend here," he nodded toward Justin,
"promised the remainder of the fee."

"Aye," Marcus said. "Whatever he agreed to,
you'll get."

"If you don't mind, sir," William said, "I'll
have my payment now."

Justin pulled forth a small pouch and set it
on the table. William reached for it, but Marcus laid a hand on his
when it covered the pouch. "The money stays where it is until I've
heard what you have to say."

William nodded, and Marcus withdrew his hand.
William released the pouch and placed his elbows on the table.
"There's a place up north, a hundred and fifty miles or so,
Bainbridge Hospital. A month ago, a man incarcerated his wife there
because she believes she was Cleopatra in a past life."

"And what makes ye think this woman is the
one we are looking for?" Marcus asked.

"The description your friend here gave. The
woman is dark haired, late twenties and slim of build. The man is
much older and seems to fit your description. He's rich, sure
enough."

William sat back and Marcus saw the tavern
maid approach again, tray in hand with four bowls of stew on
it.

She set a bowl before each of them and looked
at the men. "Anything else?"

"That'll be all," Steven said, and hunched
over his bowl. He began clinking the spoon loudly against the side
of the bowl.

The woman turned as he took a hearty
mouthful. William gulped a spoonful of stew. He chewed, his gaze
following her until she was out of hearing range. He took one more
bite of food as two men passed, headed for a nearby table.

William pushed the bowl forward. "As I was
saying, the man is rich. He's left strict orders that no one is to
visit his wife and she is to be kept under heavy sedation."

Marcus's hand balled into a fist and, before
realizing it, he started to push to his feet.

Justin grasped his shoulder and shoved him
back into his seat. "Easy there, my fellow," he said, his voice all
amusement. "You would think it was your own wife there instead
of—well"—Justin flashed a grin—"you know how it is, Mr Sheldon,
when a woman cuckolds a man."

William nodded. "Indeed, I do."

"Seems the lady was burning both ends of the
candle," Justin said. "It's my guess her husband is teaching the
wench a lesson far beyond that you could serve up, my boy." He gave
Marcus a hearty clap on the shoulder.

Marcus slumped back into his chair. "She
didna' cuckold me," he muttered in a sullen a voice, and looked at
William. "'Tis no' enough to be sure she's the one."

"She is the most likely one."

Marcus exchanged a glance with Justin. "What
do you mean 'the most likely one?'"

"There's another woman, but she doesn't seem
a good fit. A raving lunatic. Has nightmares about a child who was
poisoned—"

Marcus started. Justin straightened and
Steven dropped his spoon into his nearly empty bowl. William looked
from one man to the other.

"Where is this woman?" Marcus demanded.

"Twenty miles outside of Boston in Danvers
Sanitarium."

"Danvers?" Steven repeated in a loud
voice.

Marcus shot him a warning look.

Steven lowered his voice. "That's an asylum
for the criminally insane."

Marcus felt the blood rush to his head.

"What are her circumstances?" Justin cut
in.

"Her father brought her," William replied.
"She suffers from delusions that her child has returned from the
dead." William shivered. "Most of the men working there fear her.
There's nothing like the fear of the devil to put the fear of God
into a man."

Or the fear of a courageous woman
,
Marcus silently added.

Marcus stepped from the tavern onto the dimly
lit street between Justin and Steven.

Once out of sight of the tavern, Marcus
looked at Justin. "I am the spurned lover?"

Justin grinned. "You weren't anything until I
thought you would do poor William in."

"Who is this William?"

Justin gave a deprecating laugh. "A Boston
law-enforcement officer."

Marcus addressed Steven, "What do you know of
Boston law enforcement?"

"I don't know William, but many Boston police
officers are in a position to know information like what he told
us."

Marcus nodded. "Where does Landen Shipping
hold its board meetings?"

"The Brill Building, downtown Boston," Steven
answered.

Justin said, "Ardsley will have to transport
her from the sanitarium to the meeting,"

"Aye." Marcus replied. "Only, we will meet
him long before he reaches Boston."

The sun peeked over the horizon. Not a single
traveler had appeared on the road leading to Danvers Sanitarium
while they lay hidden under the cover of darkness. Marcus tapped
Justin on the shoulder and signaled that he would return
momentarily. He slipped from the trees overlooking the road east of
them, crept through tall grass, brambles, and bush up a hill. The
wildly growing foliage ended abruptly. Across a vast manicured
lawn, the view of the sprawling, ivy-covered, brick building—his
first in the light of day—chilled him to the bone.

The pointed towers and peaked gables had lost
the haunting look their silhouettes projected in the twilight hours
and became, instead, the bared teeth of The Witches' Castle. A
shudder ran through him. What sort of twisted mind had built a
sanitarium on the spot where John Hathorne, the most fanatical
judge of the Salem witch trials, once lived?

Marcus's heart hardened at sight of the
iron-barred windows. He brought his gaze down to the stone steps of
the front entrance. Marked on both sides by wrought iron railing,
they lead up to a circular, covered porch. Columns supported the
porch roof on either side. He looked again at the windows, studying
one, then another, of what seemed an endless array of cells.

Which of those tiny rooms held Elise
prisoner? So close. Marcus envisioned forcing his way past the
attendants who fed off the brutality they inflicted upon the
helpless inmates. The image, however, was violently replaced by the
realization that those men would hold him until Price arrived. Then
any power embodied in the information he held would become
worthless—and Elise would be lost forever. He closed his eyes in an
effort to banish the thought but saw, instead, her frail form,
lying on a thin pallet, hands crossed over her breasts in readiness
for the coffin. He shook off the vision, then turned from the
menacing asylum. He crept down the slope and returned to Justin and
Steven.

Marcus scanned the empty road before
whispering, "What has gone wrong?"

"Mayhap Ardsley took her out before we
arrived?" Justin asked.

Steven shook his head. "No. You heard what
our scout said when we arrived yesterday evening. Price hasn't been
to the sanitarium."

Marcus started to speak, but Steven cut him
off. "The surrounding area is being watched. Had anyone ridden
cross-country, we would have been alerted."

"A single man could have slipped past your
men," Marcus said. "Does Ardsley ride?"

"Quite well," Steven replied. "But he
couldn't have approached the hospital without being spotted. As you
have seen, Danvers is surrounded by open country."

"He would need a carriage for Elise," Justin
said.

"Aye," Marcus agreed, "but if he didn't plan
on bringing her to the meeting today, he would have come by
horseback."

"If he doesn't need her at the meeting, he
may not have come at all," Justin added.

"He has no hope of swinging the vote without
her," Steven said. "He must bring her. Why keep her alive if he
isn't going to present her?"

That was a question Marcus couldn't
consider.

Another day of living with the knowledge that
Elise was locked in hell had worn Marcus beyond thin. The Single
Penny's tavern door swung open and he snapped his attention onto
the newcomer, his brother-in-law. His heart rate accelerated. The
grim expression on the lad's face didn't bode well. Steven assessed
the room in the same manner he had the day they'd met William
Shelby, then pressed through the cluster of men milling near the
door and shuffled across the room.

He slid into the seat opposite Marcus and
without preamble whispered, "I'm a complete fool."

"What has happened?" Marcus demanded.

"We were so occupied with Danvers—so sure
Elise was there—"

"Are you saying she is not?"

Steven shook his head. "No. Only that our
knowing she is there created a distraction." He gave a harsh laugh.
"If I didn't know any better, I would swear Price planned it." His
mouth dipped into a deep scowl. "It occurred to me last night that
I should question Price's servants."

"Wouldn't Ardsley stop you?" Marcus
asked.

"If he knew, yes. There is little love lost
between Price and his servants. The housekeeper, in particular,
despises him." Steven halted and looked past Marcus. He realized
the barmaid must be approaching with ale in hand. An instant later,
she appeared at his right and set an ale before Steven.

"Any of that jackrabbit stew left?" Steven
asked.

"Always got jackrabbit stew," she
replied.

"Two," Steven said, and she left. He drank
from his mug, then said, "Mrs Hartley is a jewel of a housekeeper
and Price knows it. Every day, after lunch, she goes to the market.
This afternoon, I met her there." Steven paused. "I've always
wondered why she stays with Price. A woman with her skills could
easily find another post. She doesn't live in terror of him as the
other servants do.

"This is the only concession I have ever
known him to make in his household. That, too, puzzled me. Price
isn't a man to tolerate being questioned. Today, I discovered why
she stays. Mrs Hartley has a son. He is now thirty years of age.
About fifteen years ago, he killed a man in a brothel brawl. The
dead man was a well-respected businessman. All these years, Price
has been holding this over her head."