Rogue of the Borders (32 page)

Abigail would have laughed at the indignant expression on Fiona’s face, but she was too upset over the matters at hand. She’d hardly slept the night before and had taken a tray in her room, which she’d left mostly untouched.

“Has Jamie nae taught ye to use a dirk?” Fiona demanded, sparks still flying from her eyes.

Mari smiled and shook her head. “I suspect Jamie feels it might be more dangerous if I knew how. Besides, Newgate does not allow visitors to carry weapons inside the walls.” She turned back to Abigail. “Shane was ready to protect me from those jackanapes. I can only imagine how he would react if the guards even attempted to touch you. He might win a fight with them, but you can be assured he would be punished—and not lightly—for doing so. It really is better for you not to go.”

“But I feel so helpless. Shane is sitting in a horrible cell and I am doing nothing.”

Mari drummed her fingers on the wooden arm of her chair and looked thoughtful. “Actually, there might be something you—we—could do.”

“What?”

“Shane mentioned he had brought back a metal cylinder that contained an old document written in Latin. I thought it was a gift for you, but then he mentioned contacting Lord Frederick’s physician to retrieve it.”

Abigail frowned. “Why would he contact the Duke of Sussex’s doctor?”

“I do not know. Perhaps because no one was being allowed on the ship and a physician might have a better chance to inspect it for any signs of disease?”

“That does not make much sense. Shane came from France, not the Orient.”

Mari shrugged. “It must have worked though. Dr. Morrison told me he sent a message to Shane that the script was gone.”

“So what can we do?” Fiona asked.

“I am not sure, but the papers were probably taken to the Customs Office. Papa told me once that items confiscated were held there until the fate—er, the outcome—of the pris—er, the person—was decided.”

Abigail didn’t need for Mari to spell things out. Too often
items
just disappeared, as did some prisoners. Lud. She felt like she was sitting on a pincushion. “You think there is some way we can get to the document?” she asked cautiously.

“Well, there are methods of persuasion that have nothing to do with brute strength,” Mari said and then grinned. “After all, we are women.”

Chapter Twenty Seven

“’Tis glad I am ye are back,” Shane said to Jamie as they met in the visiting box. “What message did Ian send?”

“He can tell ye himself. He is on his way but planned to stop in Argyll to let Campbell know the lay of things.”

“Ye think I am in such trouble that Argyll needs to come back?”

“He is a friend. Any influence will help.” Jamie looked him over. “How did ye get the black eye?”

“’Twas a matter of the scullery boy being cuffed for nae reason by a guard.”

“And ye decided to step in?”

“Aye, well. The boy was bringing my dinner and the guard helped himself to the piece of meat. The boy tried to keep him from doing so.”

“And how did the guard fare?”

“Just a dislocated shoulder. Maybe a broken jaw.”

Jamie grinned. “And ye probably have a devoted lad who worships ye now?”

“I doona ken. I got sent back to my old cell.”

Jamie’s grin changed to a frown. “The damn gaol-keeper accepted enough money from Mari to nae let that happen.”

“Ye kenned Mari came to the prison?”

“Aye. Without permission of course.” Jamie ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “The lass truly does what she will.”

Shane laughed. “Aye. Wee Abigail does the same.”

“Ye doona have to tell me. I could nae persuade her to stay in Edinburgh.”

“What? Abigail is
here
?” Shane had hoped—futilely, he realized now—that she would somehow not learn of his imprisonment. At least not until he was absolved of all wrongdoing. What woman would want to stay married to a man who brought shame to her? The thought struck a chord within him. Maybe Abigail had decided to accompany Jamie so she could stay in London. Their three months was over and he hadn’t departed on exactly a cordial note. “Did she…did she give ye a message for me?”

“Nae. We just got here yesterday. She seemed eager to get home and speak to her father. He has nae come by?”

Shane shook his head, his belly feeling like several hot lumps of coal had landed there. Abigail had been upset with him when he left. They hadn’t spoken. Now she was eager to come home. Eager to speak to her father. And Sherrington had not put in an appearance at the gaol. That could mean only one thing. Abigail wanted the marriage to be over. After all this time when Shane had been determined to have the marriage annulled, it would be his wee wife that would do it. What a bitter pill to swallow.

“Are ye sure—”

Several pairs of boots drummed a beat across the floor as the head gaol-keeper approached the visiting box, flanked by Ian, the Duke of Argyll and the Duke of Sussex. He handed Shane a piece of paper signed by the magistrate. “I guess this says you are free to go.”

Shane looked at Ian and then to his two Masonic brothers. Both the dukes’ faces were grim and Ian looked none too pleased either. Shane read the paper and narrowed his eyes. “This says I have to leave England on the out-going tide and not return.”

“Aye,” Ian replied, his eyes darkening dangerously. “The smuggling charges have been dropped but ye are nae to put into the Port of London again.”

“We were able to let you take your ship,” Argyll said. “I suggest you do not argue the situation at this point. The tide turns in two hours.”

“But I have—” Shane stopped, not wanting to ask about the missing manuscript in front of guards or even Jamie and Ian. The fewer people who knew of its existence, the better.

“Dr. Morrison has informed me of your…condition,” Sussex added.

The implied message was clear. The Grand Master was aware of the situation and it was out of Shane’s hands now. He wished he had time to tell them what was in the document, but having sent the coded message to Dr. Morrison, they would know how important it was to keep searching.

Shane stood. The one thing he still needed to do was see Abigail before he left.

“She is not here,” the Earl of Sherrington said when Shane rang his bell an hour later. “But come into the library. There is something I wish to discuss.”

Shane followed him with leaden steps. He’d wasted precious time in ridding himself of the stench of Newgate, but he could hardly meet Abigail smelling like a sewer. And now she wasn’t here. Sherrington had obviously heard about his release since he wasn’t surprised to see Shane. Had Abigail heard too? Was she deliberately avoiding him? Shane had less than an hour to cast off or he would be arrested again.

“Where is Abigail? I must speak to her.”

The earl evaded his question, motioning him to a seat. He didn’t bother to offer him a drink. Instead, he took the chair across the desk from Shane. “Is my daughter still a virgin?” he asked bluntly.

Shane nearly recoiled, holding onto his fraying temper by a thread. Time was of the essence and he had to see Abigail. “I gave ye my word. I dinna break it.”

Sherrington relaxed slightly. “Good. That is one less problem then. A future husband will not feel he is being dealt spoiled goods.”

The world sizzled red in front of Shane’s eyes. Even if he had succumbed to lust—which he hadn’t, by God—Abigail would not be
soiled goods.
She would not be
soiled goods
even if she had come to him without a damned maidenhead. Why did accursed society put so much emphasis on whether a lass was intact or not?

Slowly, the meaning of what the earl had just said sunk in to his fevered mind.
A future husband.
Did that mean— “I need to speak to Abigail. Where is she?”

“She is out.” Sherrington opened a drawer and took out a parchment. “Perhaps it is just as well. I am sure you can understand, given the allegations of your smuggling opium, that—”

“Those charges have been dropped.”

“Only because the Prince Regent’s brother and Argyll both stepped in. As soon as
The Times
gets wind of it, all London will know you were simply bought off, not absolved from guilt. Surely you do not expect Abigail to live with that kind of dark cloud hanging over her head?”

Shane clenched his jaw. As much as he would love to knock the man out of his chair and onto his arse, this was his father-in-law. And, as much as Shane hated to admit it, there was a kernel of truth to what he said. The hypocritical
ton
would taunt Abigial with that knowledge. “I would still like to speak to Abigail before I leave.”

“I do not know when she will return,” Sherrington replied, “but even if you did talk to her, she knows her responsibilities.”

“Which are?”

“Abigail is the daughter of an earl. I have no sons. Which means
her
child—her son—will inherit the title. An
English
title. Given the circumstances of your exile to Scotland, King George could declare the title extinct. I will not allow that to happen.” Sherrington slid the paper toward Shane. “This is the annulment agreement.” He dipped a quill in ink and held it out. “Sign it.”

Shane stared at him. This was the crux of the matter. Ian had inherited the English title of Earl of Cantford because their great-grandfather fought with the first King George in the Jacobite uprising. Luckily, the English had no clue the secret order of Templars had supported Bonnie Prince Charlie—and still did support the Stuart return to Scotland’s throne—a throne that the current George thought was just a memory.

With Shane’s current precarious position, he could take no chances on either putting Ian in danger or jeopardizing Abigail’s standing. Abigail might not care for London society, but her father’s title deserved to be passed on. As the Scots had learned after the disaster at Culloden, stripping the clans of their lairds also included the taking of lands and livelihood. Shane could not do that to Abigail.

He grabbed the pen, scribbled his name to the document and stood. “I will see myself out.”

Sherrington took the paper. “I will tell Abigail you stopped by.”

Too furious to speak, Shane only nodded. Once outside and on the street, he decided he had just enough time to get over to Jamie and Mari’s townhouse. If the faeries were with him, Abigail would be there.

He’d swim after the damn ship if he had to.

“You are going to be in so much trouble if Jamie finds out about this,” Abigail said to Mari as they, along with Fiona, waited in the rented hack across the street from the Customs House.

“He just will not have to find out then,” Mari replied.

“Doona fash,” Fiona added. “Jamie is used to my escapades. He will just think this is another one of them.”

Mari giggled. “He is getting used to mine too.”

Abigail eyed both of them. “This is not going to be funny if we get caught.”

“Oh, pooh. We will not get caught,” Mari said. “The plan is good.”

The plan was near lunacy. Abigial bit her lip. Since she had not had a better idea, she had gone along with it. Now that they were here, waiting for the head Customs man to go to lunch, she was thinking it more harebrained by the moment. She was to play the broken-hearted wife, devastated by her husband’s arrest. That part was not hard, since it was true—but first they had to persuade the man in charge to let Abigail see the document. Then Mari and Fiona were to create a diversion—Abigail was quite sure Jamie would
not
approve of his wife’s intended flirtation—which would allow Abigail to switch the manuscript with the pieces of parchment that were hidden in her reticule.

Lordy, Abigail had never stolen so much as a crumpet from her father’s kitchen before. Fiona insisted they were entitled to the document, since Shane had meant it as a gift for Abigail—a slight fabrication Mari made from the original story. Given the Scottish history of reiving, Fiona no doubt felt they had every right to the papers, but Abigail was pretty sure the English government would see it differently.

“There he goes,” Mari said excitedly as a portly, grey-haired man left the building and headed toward a tavern off the quay. “Time to move. Are we ready?”

Abigail had never felt more unready. “We can still change our minds.”

Fiona and Mari both looked at her like she had lost hers. “I do not think Shane would have asked me to deliver the message to Dr. Morrison if those documents were not terribly important,” Mari said.

Abigail felt her face warm. Mari was right. The papers must hold important information. The sooner they could be retrieved, the better. She was just being a coward. “You are right. Let us go.”

“Good.” Mari adjusted her bodice, revealing more cleavage than Abigail realized Mari had. Jamie was
definitely
not going to be pleased. But that was another battle. She stepped out of the carriage behind Mari and Fiona and adjusted the cuffs on the modest brown wool gown she wore. At least her friends knew better than to ask her to dress provocatively. Abigail patted her hair in place and adjusted her spectacles. Her part was to look bereft.