My Highland Love: Highland Lords Series (36 page)

The woman laughed. "She's not likely to come
out of that stupor ever."

"How is the bleeding?" Ramsey asked.

Elise tensed inwardly, calling forth every
ounce of strength not to react openly to what she knew was
forthcoming. She felt her skirts lifted, then cool air washed her
legs as the woman drew back the fabric. Elise bit back tears when
her legs were spread, though only slightly this time.

Soon
, she told herself,
soon
.
If I can convince them for just one more day that I don't need
the laudanum, I will find a way out of this madhouse.

There came a prod to the rags between her
legs, and the woman said, "Not so bad."

"Let the night shift deal with it," Ramsey
muttered. "The things they ask us to do."

The skirts were yanked back over her legs and
she lay motionless, counting the ten steps her jailers took to the
door, then the creak of the door as it opened and the echo of the
clank being pulled shut. She waited a long moment.

Was he still there?

How many times had the Irishman stared in at
her through the small, barred window on the door? Twenty—thirty
times? She had lost count. There came the soft but distinct scrape
she had come to know. She willed her body not to tremble. Ramsey
had, again, waited for the woman to go, then opened the shutter on
the window to stare at her from the other side.

Minutes passed—more, she thought, than he had
taken before. It wouldn't matter if she screamed. In this place,
everyone screamed. The opening swished closed. Elise began to
tremble so badly she feared her teeth would chatter. Most rooms
were built to keep the sound in, but her room seemed to amplify
sound. She imagined her persecutors listening for the slightest
sound so they might pounce upon her, pronounce her stupor a lie,
and administer more laudanum.

Tears rolled from the corners of her eyes.
She had lost her child—Marcus's child—less than two months in the
womb. Even in her laudanum-induced state, she had known the moment
the blood began to flow. How many days ago that had been, she
couldn't say. There had been no pain, the laudanum had ensured
that, but she had known. The degradation that followed paled in
comparison to the despair.

Laudanum had been the instrument that had
taken the child's life, but Price was the babe's murderer as
certainly as if he had squeezed the life from the infant with his
own hands. Robert had taken her child and her brother. Now Price
had taken her second child. Between them, they had stripped her of
all she held dear. Not all, her mind reminded her. There was still
Marcus. More tears flowed.

Dear God, let him accept my death. Do not
bring him to America.

* * * *

Marcus locked gazes with Price Ardsley. "My
wife and I are leaving." He started toward the door.

The men, transfixed by the strange
happenings, parted as he brushed past them. All but one—standing
closest to the door—who stepped in front of him.

"Pardon me, sir," he said in a low, firm
voice, "if you would explain."

"Brentley," Steven said, and stepped up
beside Marcus. "Please clear the doorway."

"Steven," Price said. "Explain yourself."

Steven opened his mouth, but Marcus spoke. "I
am Marcus MacGregor, the Marquess of Ashlund, and this"—he nodded
to the woman in his arms—"is my wife, the Marchioness of
Ashlund."

An instant of stunned silence passed, then
the man standing closest said, "I assume you have proof of this
claim?"

"My brother-in-law has the wedding
certificate." Marcus motioned with a nod of his head in Steven's
direction.

Steven retrieved the certificate from the
front pocket of his great coat and handed it to Brentley. The older
man took the paper while reaching into his pocket and pulling out a
pair of spectacles. He wrapped the wires of the spectacles around
his ears, then read the certificate.

"The ceremony was officiated by a Father
Whyte of Badachro, Scotland," he said.

"I know nothing of that person or place," one
of the other men said.

Brentley looked at Marcus. "Forgive me, sir,
but you will understand this"—he indicated the wedding certificate
with a small shake—"isn't enough."

"Steven," Marcus said, "take the ring from my
breast pocket."

Steven pulled back Marcus's coat and reached
inside the pocket. He retrieved the ring Robert had given Elise and
handed it to Brentley. "The inscription," Steven said. "Read
it.

Brentley took a step closer to the door,
holding the ring out so that the light from the hallway glinted off
it. He squinted, reading aloud, "For all eternity." He looked
questioningly at Steven.

"That is the ring Robert gave Elise on their
wedding day."

From the corner of his eye, Marcus saw
Price's mouth thin.

Another of the board members cleared his
throat. "What sort of proof is that?"

Brentley looked from his companion back to
Steven. "You are sure?"

"Absolutely," Steven replied.

Brentley whipped his glasses off and faced
Price. "What do you make of this, Price?"

Price stepped up to them and extended his
hand. "May I see the ring?"

Brentley placed it on Price's open palm.
Ardsley stepped into the doorway and examined the ring. An instant
later, he turned his gaze onto Marcus. "It looks very much like the
ring Robert gave Elise." He handed the ring to Steven.

"It could be a forgery," Brentley said.

"Possibly," Price agreed, then said to
Marcus, "Have you other proof of your claims?"

"The night Elise was washed overboard, her
husband tried to strangle her. She was forced—"

"That is common knowledge," Price
interrupted.

Satisfaction surged through Marcus. So this
was to be the line Price would not have him cross. "True," he
agreed, "but there are details which wouldn't have been common
knowledge."

Price inclined his head. "Gentlemen," he
looked around the room, "in the interest of privacy, perhaps it
would be best if we reconvened in my study."

The men gave a general nod of agreement.
Price grasped the servant's bell hanging near the door and tugged.
A moment later, Simons appeared in the doorway.

"Simons, show my guests to the study."

"Indeed, sir," Simons replied. "If you would,
gentlemen." He bowed.

"I cannot leave Elise," Marcus said.

The men hesitated, and Price said,
"Gentlemen, if you will allow me, I will reassure Lord Ashlund that
Elise will be well tended in his absence. Go with Simons. We'll be
along directly."

The men filed out of the room until only
Steven, Marcus, and Price remained.

Price closed the door, then faced Marcus.
"What do you want?"

"My wife," Marcus said, and turned to carry
the woman impersonating Elise back to the bed. He gently lay her on
the mattress, straightened the covers about her neck, then faced
Price.

"And the stocks?" Price asked.

"Yours, once you deliver her to me."

"They are mine now."

"All assets will be frozen for a minimum of
three months," Steven interjected. "That is the time it will take
to confirm the Marquess's claim. And"—he added with a slight
smile—"that could easily turn into six months. The board will wish
to be extremely thorough in this matter. In the end, they will be
mine."

"It's a shame Robert's aim wasn't better,"
Price commented.

"Be that as it may," Steven replied
evenly.

"You have until tomorrow evening to deliver
Elise to the
Josephine
," Marcus said. "The ship is docked in
Boston Harbor and awaits our arrival before departing for
England."

"I have a signed affidavit giving me Elise's
stocks," Price said.

"I care nothing for your money," Marcus said.
"Return her to me, and I will not contest the documents."

Price looked at Steven.

"My sister's life is worth the shares I gave
her."

Price returned his attention to Marcus. "You
will dine with me tomorrow evening."

"An early supper. I have a friend aboard the
Josephine
. He knows Elise and will send me word once she
arrives."

"And what about this puppy?" Price motioned
to Steven.

Marcus looked at Steven.

"I, too, will be waiting at the
Josephine
." His expression hardened. "I wish to see my
sister before she returns to Scotland."

Price looked at Marcus. "You will sail on the
Josephine
?"

"Aye."

"And you"—he turned again to Steven—"will
remain here to deal with me." Steven didn't reply, and Price said,
"Let us adjourn to the library and explain how poor Elise was so
out of her head she forgot her husband in Scotland. You can assure
them you have no interest in her fortune."

"This woman leaves with us tonight," Marcus
said.

For the second time that evening, Price
showed a flicker of emotion. "A woman in her condition shouldn't to
be moved."

Marcus shook his head. "I will not arrive
tomorrow evening to find my sick wife dead."

"It's unlikely she will die. The only real
thing wrong with her is malnutrition. That and the laudanum."

"Is malnutrition the only thing wrong with
Elise?"

"Elise is quite well."

"Alive and well?" Marcus pressed, maintaining
a firm grip on his fury.

"Very much alive."

"Then let us speak with your guests. Steven
will remain here."

"Of course," Price said, and opened the door
for Marcus.

At nine o'clock that night, Marcus settled
the woman impersonating his wife into the carriage, then assisted
the maid, who would tend to her on the short ride to the
Josephine
, into the carriage. He strode to his horse and
took the reins from Steven. They mounted, then urged their horses
after the carriage. They remained silent until long after leaving
the estate.

"He has no intention of allowing you to
return to the
Josephine
tomorrow evening," Steven said in a
low voice.

"Aye," Marcus replied, and lapsed back into
silence.

* * * *

Elise started awake, her eyesight finding and
fixing on the sliver of light that jabbed beneath her door into the
darkness of her cell. The stench of sweat, urine, and blood met her
nostrils. Hers, she realized with a clarity she hadn't experienced
in weeks. Memories washed over her in a tidal wave.

Scotland. The carriage careening down the
road. Shots fired. Price. Price was in Scotland! No—he had been in
Scotland—he—they—were now in America. He had brought her back to
Boston. He waylaid her coach. She squeezed her eyes shut. Six—seven
men murdered in cold blood. And Mary—the memory of the girl's pleas
for mercy as Price forced her into the carriage left Elise as cold
now as they had then. Mary was the informer Marcus sought.

Marcus. Elise sobbed. He believed her dead.
She ceased crying. She was dead. She had signed her death warrant
when she signed over her shares in Landen Shipping. But the death
of the unborn child he had used to coerce her now stirred something
within her.

The child is dead!
she mentally
screamed.
Price has no more hold over you.

He wanted her dead. Yet, his affirmation,
when she demanded to know if he knew Robert had been poisoning
Amelia, had shaken her in a way she hadn't thought possible. He had
looked out through those expressionless eyes and answered "Of
course" in that cool voice her mother had so loved.

The stirring flared into anger, and with
anger came the realization her mind was free. No one had come the
previous night to administer another dose of laudanum. She
hesitated. Was this the next day? Perhaps two, three, or five days
had passed. She couldn't know. But she could think, could find out.
Was she strong enough to leave this place? Her heart skipped a
beat. Was she strong enough to even rise from this putrid
pallet?

Elise took a deep breath, then pushed up to a
sitting position. Her pulse raced. The movement had been
effortless. Could she—she shoved to her feet. She tripped, one foot
having landed on the floor, the other on the pallet, and she
stumbled sideways, slamming into the wall. She slid to the floor,
head swimming.

"Too fast," she told herself between the
gasps for breath she prayed was fear and not lasting effects of the
laudanum.

Her pulse slowed and she, at last, rose. Her
head remained clear, despite the lurch of her stomach with the
first step. She halted, waited a moment, then, eyes fixed on the
light, she edged forward until her fingers touched the cold steel
of the door.

* * * *

Marcus closed the door to Miss Lisa Poteck's
cabin aboard the
Josephine
, then followed the narrow
corridor to the captain's quarters. With a perfunctory knock, he
entered. Captain Garret sat at a large table, studying navigation
maps that covered the large oak surface. He looked up as Marcus
approached.

"How is Miss Poteck?" he asked in a refined
English accent.

Marcus seated himself opposite him. "She will
be fit enough for the meeting. All is in readiness?"

"It is, Lord Ashlund."

A loud knock sounded at the door and Steven
entered.

Marcus came to his feet when he recognized
the man behind Steven as one of those hired to watch Danvers
Hospital.

"Ardsley has gone to Danvers," Steven
said.

"When?"

The man answered, "I rode the moment he
arrived. Less than two hours ago."

Adrenaline coursed through Marcus.

Steven was already consulting his pocket
watch. "It is twenty-five past one." He stuffed the watch back into
its pocket. "Price did just as you said he would."

"Aye, lad. He had no choice." Marcus turned
to the messenger. "Wait for me on deck."