The Captain's Caress (52 page)

“But the suffering you’ve endured …”

“In my possession, these documents would once have been my death warrant; I could never have kept them secret from Gowan. But now I’m free to claim my heritage, and I can face my husband and children with pride.” Her eyes filled as she remembered how agonizing it had been to think that she was illegitimate. “If my mother had lived it would have been best to have sent them to her, but as things turned out it’s better that you’ve kept them until now.”

Mrs. Slampton-Sands didn’t agree and probably would have attempted to convince Summer of her guilt, but Brent entered the salon and cut off her protests. Summer jumped up, ran to him, and placed the miraculous documents in his hands.

“Now you can stop worrying about being a proper wife for me,” he said fondly. “Did you know that she once almost refused to marry me because she didn’t have a dowry or a family?” he informed Mrs. Slampton-Sands. “Now she can claim an older name than mine and
two
estates. The next thing you know everybody will be accusing me of marrying her for her position.”

“Not when you’ve got two estates of your own,” Summer countered, “and one of them is a whole island.”

“But Glenstal is worth more than Windswept, and that doesn’t take into consideration Gowan’s business.”

“Biscay is worth twenty times what you could get for my little farm, without even considering Windswept.”

“I’m delighted you two have nothing more important to do than argue over who owns the most valuable property,” Mrs. Slampton-Sands observed, rising to her feet, “but since Carleton’s illness I have to see to everything myself or our modest estate will grind to a halt.”

“Please don’t leave yet,” Summer begged. “I want you to see Robert Frederick. He will be christened soon and I want you to be one of his godmothers.”

“If you don’t mind sharing the distinction with Madelena and Fiona,” Brent added.

“I shall be honored,” said Mrs. Slampton-Sands, the merest suggestion of tears in her eyes, “but I must go. I’m sorry to see you leave Glenstal. It’s such a nice place and much closer to me. With so many houses to choose from, I doubt you will ever return, but I shall look forward to the day my godson brings his wife here.”

“Not for many years, I hope,” Summer cried. “I haven’t had him long enough to be willing to give him up to another woman just yet.”

“What you need is more children to take up your time. Then you wouldn’t be so preoccupied with this one,” Mrs. Slampton-Sands declared.

“I’m willing, but Brent hasn’t quite worked up the courage for that yet.” Summer grinned devilishly.

“You’ll pay for that bit of sarcasm, wife. I’ll see that you have twins.”

“Only if you agree to feed one of them,” Summer retorted, and Mrs. Slampton-Sands wondered if even Constance and her adored Frederick had been as completely happy as these two young people. She left unobtrusively, certain they were scarcely aware of her departure.

Gowan had traveled the seventy-five miles that separated him from Glenstal in one night, and now in the still hours just before dawn he crept toward the castle through the woods, far away from the stables and the cottages of the servants. The half-moon was periodically hidden by swift-passing clouds, and during these brief moments of near darkness he moved through the grounds, finally crossing the piece of open lawn that stretched before the south front. Gowan didn’t fear the dogs, they knew him well, but he couldn’t afford to alert anyone to his presence. Even a suspicion of it would send Brent’s family hastening to Windswept and destroy all his plans.

Reaching the great house without being detected, Gowan could hardly keep from breaking into a cackle of pleasure as he slipped inside the cellars. No one would be moving about in these dank bowels for at least another hour, and he would have plenty of time to make his way to the upper floors. The castle had been rebuilt about fifty years earlier to make it more comfortable and easier to heat. To do this, it had been necessary to reduce the sizes of the rooms and to lower the ceilings. Consequently rooms had been placed within rooms, and there were double walls in much of the castle, walls that would protect Gowan as he searched out the whereabouts of his victims, walls that would hide him while he waited for the right moment to carry out his revenge. He would have to exercise great care because these secret spaces were not all connected, but Gowan was certain that within a few days he would find the perfect opportunity to strike.

Chapter 49

Summer readjusted her pillow and turned onto her other side, but she still couldn’t fall asleep. She had allowed Brent to talk her into letting the baby stay in the nursery for the first time, and she couldn’t stop worrying. Her son had a perfectly good nurse and she had no doubt that he was sleeping soundly, but it was the first night he had been away from her and she couldn’t settle down.

Next to her, Brent slept soundly, breathing steadily and softly, and she didn’t have the heart to wake him. He had worked hard to see that everything at Windswept was in readiness for their move on the morrow; she felt very guilty knowing that all she had to do was step into the carriage, ride five miles, and step out again.

Besides, how could Brent understand what a mother feels when she’s separated from her child for the first time? Not that Brent didn’t love the baby—indeed, he seemed foolishly fond of his young son—but he didn’t have the same attachment to him, the feeling of being connected to the infant twenty-four hours a day and of being aware of everything that was happening to him. Brent would undoubtedly say she was foolish and would probably order her to get back into bed, but she just had to check on her son one more time.

She hoped Bridgit didn’t wake up because that tyrant would never let her forget this visit to the nursery. Summer felt surrounded by maddeningly practical, thoroughly prosaic Scots. It seemed to her that the dour, solemn Smith—she used to think he had no emotions—was the only one of them who had the least bit of romantic spirit. The rest of them were just as disgustingly stolid as the everlasting sheep that overran the countryside.

Summer eased out of bed, slipped into her robe, and tiptoed to the door, but just as she opened it far enough to slip through, Brent rolled over.

“Give the little fella a kiss for me,” he mumbled, and she could just imagine the cheeky grin on his face. Summer smiled to herself as she quietly slipped out, happy in the knowledge that no matter how oblivious Brent might be to anybody else, he was never unaware of even the most trivial thing she did.

The door swung open on silent hinges to reveal a dark hole beyond. For a moment nothing happened, then a head was thrust into the room, next an entire body. Finally a tall man in badly rumpled attire stood up and looked about him. Very little light penetrated the heavy curtains at the windows, but it was enough for Gowan to make out the crib where the baby slept and the open door that led to the small room off the nursery where his nurse snored softly.

Gowan crossed the room noiselessly. A smile of cruel satisfaction masked his face as he gazed on the sleeping infant. It seemed odd that this helpless child should represent the ruin of everything he had worked for, yet it had been so amazingly simple to reach his room undetected. It would be even easier to smother him without leaving a single sign that he’d been there; but Gowan
wanted
Brent and Summer to know what had happened to their child, he
wanted
them to live in fear of the moment he would come upon them unheard in the night. Death was not a sufficient punishment for those who had robbed and humiliated him, changed him in a few minutes from a powerful and feared aristocrat to a fugitive afraid to be recognized by even the meanest peasant.

He turned to look for something he might use to accomplish his black deed, and found that the room offered him a wide choice. He made his selection deliberately, deriving sadistic pleasure from imagining Summer’s reaction when she found her child lying dead. The babe was too young to struggle, too weak to offer any resistance; all he had to do was hold the folded blanket over its mouth until it breathed no more. Gowan bent over the crib and slowly lowered the deadly mask over the face of the sleeping infant; it was all so easy.

Summer opened the door slowly, taking great care not to wake the baby. She thrust her small oil lamp into the room before her, and the sight that met her eyes caused a bloodcurdling scream to erupt from her throat. The entire complement of the castle was on its feet in seconds.

Gowan, leaning over the crib, looked up just in time to see Summer fling the lamp at him and an instant later he felt the impact of her body as she threw herself at him in a desperate attempt to drive him away from her child. Gowan dropped the blanket and half turned to face her, but she was on him before he could do any more than raise his arms to fend her off. The force of Summer’s attack knocked him to the floor, and she tore into him with ferocious energy. Her teeth sank into the hand that tried to push her away, while her fingers clawed frantically at the face that would haunt her for the rest of her days. One of Gowan’s arms was momentarily caught in the voluminous folds of Summer’s robe and he was unable to throw her off or to effectively stem her assault.

Meanwhile, the lamp that had bounced harmlessly off Gowan had broken, splattering its warm oil all over the rush matting on the floor, and within seconds the nursery was engulfed in flame.

Suddenly becoming aware of the fire, Summer forgot Gowan and scrambled to her feet intent upon rescuing her child from the blaze. The nurse, awake now and running about screaming fit to wake the dead, reached the door just as Brent burst through it; she was knocked out cold. Smoke rapidly filled the room so that all Brent could see was Summer snatching her child from the flames.

“Get him out into the hall,” he shouted. Brent hustled Summer into the corridor, and leaving the footmen to drag the nurse to safety, he began to beat the flames with the blanket that Gowan had dropped. There had been only a small amount of oil in the lamp so, with the help of the servants who arrived quickly, the flames were soon out.

When it was all over, Brent found Summer still in the hall only a few steps away, clutching the crying infant to her bosom and shaking convulsively.

“There’s nothing to worry about now,” he said, taking her into his arms and holding her close. “It was only a small fire.”

“Gowan,” Summer managed to say despite chattering teeth.

“What?” exclaimed Brent.

“Gowan … in there … trying to smother the baby.”

“Merciful God,” exclaimed Bridgit who had thrown a blanket around the pair of them. “You don’t mean he started that fire to burn up the poor little tyke?”

“He was trying to suffocate him,” Summer managed to say at last. “The lamp broke when I threw it at him.”

“How did he get in here?” Brent demanded in a voice that captured the instant attention of everyone present.

“There is a door on the far side of the room that opens into an empty space,” Smith said, emerging from the smoke-filled room.

“But that’s just a closet in which we store things,” Bridgit said.

“Glenstal was rebuilt some time ago, and there are many such empty spaces throughout the castle,” Wigmore informed them.

“Then Gowan is still in the castle,” Brent surmised.

“He’s probably been here for some time, just waiting,” Smith added.

“Judas priest!” Bridgit sat down with a plop.

“I can’t stay in this awful place another minute,” Summer cried. She was terrified. “He could be any place.”

“I’ll find him,” Brent swore. The determined look Smith knew so well settled over his face.

“But you can’t go after him by yourself,” Summer protested. “He could be hiding anywhere, and you don’t know this house.”

“I will find him,” Brent insisted. “Smith will take you back to your room. Bridgit will stay with you, but arm yourself and be on the lookout. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”

“Would you like me to come with you?” Smith asked quietly.

“No. This is something I must do alone.”

Summer started to protest again, but she knew it was futile. “Please be careful,” was all she finally said. It didn’t seem to be the time or the place to utter the other thoughts whirling about in her brain.

Brent waited until everyone had left the nursery wing, and then he entered the smoldering bedroom and made his way over to the still-open door. He held a lamp high above him until he could see the space that ran along the north side of all the rooms in the wing, probably giving access to every one of them. Gowan could move in and out of these rooms at will, and no one would ever know. He retraced his steps, and stood for several minutes, thinking, before he left the nursery and started down the hall.

The castle was silent, and Brent’s footsteps echoed through the halls, but he didn’t hesitate and he didn’t take any notice of the shadows that leapt and dived as his lamp played upon the walls and furnishings, though they danced like a thousand ghouls as the boards creaked beneath his feet.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the point where the corridor joined the larger hall leading to the main part of the castle. He could have sworn he’d heard bare feet moving swiftly along polished boards, but when no further sounds reached his straining ears and no flash of movement caught his eye, Brent moved forward, more cautiously this time. Someone was in the hall with him, someone who didn’t want his presence detected. Brent was certain that the sounds had come from somewhere behind him, but he neither flinched nor looked back.