Treasured (44 page)

“Andrew went riding, Hamish said,” Isobel replied. “When I see him, I shall tell him you wish to talk to him.” She stood up. “If you will excuse me, I must go speak to . . . to Coll.”

Jack looked at her curiously, but Isobel avoided his gaze as she slipped out the door. She did not go to find Coll as she had claimed, but strode down to the office and opened the strongbox, taking out a small purse of coins. Tucking them in her pocket, she made her way to the stables and, taking a seat on a bench, waited until her brother trotted into the yard.

“Hallo, Isobel,” he said, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “What are you doing out here?”

“I came to see you.”

Andrew dismounted, handing the reins to a groom, and they walked out into the yard. “What is it? Why do you look as if you have been rolling about in the dirt?”

“Mayhap it is because I fell into the cellars at the castle.”

“What!” Andrew gaped at her. Isobel grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to a tree, away from the stables and the house.

“Yes. Well you might stare.
I
got caught in your trap, as well. Did you not think of that or is it that you simply don’t care? How could you do such a thing? I have known
you since you were a babe, but you are suddenly a stranger to me.”

“What are you talking about?” Andrew shifted uneasily, and whatever doubt Isobel might have had evaporated. “Do what thing?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You wrote that note to Jack. Lured him to the ruins.”

“I did not.”

“Don’t lie to me, Andrew. Your face gives you away. I always thought it meant you were too honest, too good to lie convincingly, but now I realize I must have been fooling myself all these years.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say!”

“It was a terrible thing to do,” Isobel shot back. “Did you think I would not know? Who else but you could copy my hand that well?”

“It was just a lark. A jest.”

“A lark! To set a trap for a man! What about the other times? Were they just larks, too? Was it a jest when you sent the boulder down upon him? Or shot him?”

“What! You’ve gone mad. I never did any of that.” He faced her indignantly.

“
I’ve
gone mad! This isn’t a joke. It isn’t a lark. And you are not a child any longer. Don’t you realize that Jack could have been killed!”

“That is all you care about!” Andrew’s face reddened. “He strips me of my inheritance and I come home and find that he has taken my sister from me as well! He has bewitched you. I understand that you had to marry him; I don’t blame you for that.”

“Well, thank you.” Isobel’s voice dripped sarcasm.

“But why did you slave away at his bedside when he was wounded? Why did you work so hard to nurse him back to health? Don’t you understand? Everything could return to normal if he was dead.”

Isobel lashed out, her hand landing against his cheek with an audible crack. “Get out!”

Andrew stared at her, openmouthed, the mark of her hand red against his skin.

“I want you to leave this house! Now.”

“My house?” he asked incredulously. “You are tossing me out of my own house?”

“It is not yours. You have never loved Baillannan. You have not lived here since you were at university; the only reason you even visit is because you have spent all your money. You did not
lose
Baillannan. It was not
taken
from you. You threw it away with both hands because you were too foolish and irresponsible to be entrusted with it. Now go!”

“Where will I go?” he asked blankly.

“I don’t know. Go to Edinburgh. Go to London. It does not matter to me. But I want you to leave today. Now. You have an income from the Funds if you do not squander it away.”

“But that is not enough to live on.”

“It is enough to live, just not in the style you prefer. Do you not understand that Jack is bound to realize you are the one who tried to kill him? That the note must have been written by someone close enough to me to know my hand? Someone who could sneak my shawl out of the house and plant it there?”

“I didn’t—”

“Stop! Just . . . stop.” She held up her hand. “I do not
know what Jack would do to you, and I don’t want to find out. You are my brother, and God help me, I cannot see you wind up in gaol or transported. Here.” She thrust the coin purse into his hand. “This is all the gold I have in the strongbox. It will get you back to the city. Now go. I cannot bear to see you. Just go.”

Isobel turned and fled back to the house, tears streaming down her face.

If Jack found Andrew’s sudden disappearance from the house odd, he said nothing about it. For her part, Isobel avoided the topic assiduously. Even Aunt Elizabeth barely fretted about it, for she was much more interested in the discovery they had made in the ruins of the castle. Given her certainty that the bones they had found were those of her father, Jack had them brought up with all the dignity they could manage, and Malcolm was buried beside the kirk in the family plot.

Jack and Coll spent most of the next few days deep in the task of shoring up the subcellar ruins to ensure safety when they started their search for the tunnel. Apparently the prospect of finding the ancient secret was enough to make them forget their disapproval of one another, and they spent most afternoons at the castle, digging in the dirt, as Isobel termed it.

The matter of Andrew and his attempts on Jack’s life sat between him and Isobel. Though neither was eager to talk about it, their silence on the subject weighed upon them, bringing an unaccustomed constraint to their relationship. The night brought an end to all such awkwardness, and they came together
in a passion so fervent it tasted of desperation. But come the morning, the lack of ease made its appearance again.

Fretful and restless, Isobel tried to set herself once again to the task of going through the old papers, but she could not keep her mind on the task. Guilt pricked at her; if she had only acted on her worries earlier, Jack would not have been lured to the ruins. She should have told him what she suspected; she wanted to ask him if he blamed her for not revealing her suspicions; it ate at her that she could not summon the courage to talk to him about any of it. If she told him, if she brought the subject out in the open, she feared what might happen.

However much he had let her see inside him the past few weeks, he did not like to reveal his pain. He was not one to invite discord into his life or to engage in drama. What if what she had done—or, rather, failed to do—turned him away from her? What if he decided the nights with her were not worth the turmoil?

Jack might decide that he had had enough of this life, that his bargain did not require staying at Baillannan, that London would be a far more peaceful—and safer—place to live. Isobel did not know what she would do if that happened. Despite her best intentions, she had done what she had been determined not to—she had fallen in love with her husband. Now she was not sure she could face the price she would have to pay for that mistake.

“There.” Coll drove the last nail into the brace and stepped back to survey his work. “That’s the last.”

“You think it will hold?” Jack, who had had his shoulder to the crossbeam, holding it steady as Coll hammered, moved away, wiping the sheen of sweat from his brow.

“Oh, aye, it will hold well enough. Whether that brace is enough to keep the roof from caving in is another matter.” At Jack’s sharp glance, Coll laughed and shrugged. “’Tis the best we can do, and I think it is sturdy enough. But I am a Scot, so I expect the worst.”

Jack rolled his eyes. He found, strangely, that he was beginning to like Munro. The longer he was around him, the more he realized the truth of Isobel’s words: the two of them were like kin. Nor could he suspect him of murder now that Coll had come to his rescue twice.

His would-be assassin was Isobel’s brother, obviously. Andrew had come to mind immediately as the one most likely to be able to imitate his sister’s handwriting, and Andrew’s fleeing the house had confirmed Jack’s suspicion.

At first he had been furious and considered hunting the man down to have it out with him. But an evening of reflection convinced him that the ticklish situation was better left this way. The man was Isobel’s brother; he could do nothing to him without bringing hurt to her.

Isobel knew. She had an air of sorrow about her that Jack did not know how to breach, except at night in the warmth of their bed. She had not questioned her brother’s departure—or, indeed, talked about Andrew at all—proof enough that she understood the implications of Andrew’s precipitous departure. But knowing Andrew’s guilt and wishing her brother to suffer for it were entirely different things; it would cause her pain for Andrew to be brought to justice. He was out of their lives, and for Isobel’s sake, Jack could live with that.

“Will you be looking for the door now?” Coll asked, pulling Jack back from his thoughts. Jack turned to see the other man casting a speculative look around the walls of the room. “Do you really think there’s an opening here?”

“I am almost certain of it. Somewhere in here, there is a little hole and a fine line through the mortar between the stones.”

Coll wandered closer to the wall. “We might cast our eyes about a wee bit before we leave.”

Jack chuckled. “It’s tempting, but Isobel will have my head if I sneak a glance into the tunnel without her here.”

“You are right about that.” Coll sighed.

“However, there’s nothing to say I could not go to the house and ask her to join us.” Jack rolled down his sleeves and grabbed his jacket. “There is time before tea, after all.”

Coll grinned. “True. There is a place or two above I can work on while you’re gone.” He bent and picked up his tools, following Jack out of the room.

Jack left him shifting the debris and climbed the rope ladder to the surface. Dusting himself off as best he could, he shrugged into his jacket and turned toward the house. To his surprise, Robert Rose was sitting on the remains of one of the stone walls. As Jack walked toward him, the man stood up, giving him a stiff nod.

“Mr. Rose.”

“Mr. Kensington.” Robert cleared his throat. “I have come about a . . . a matter of some delicacy. A family matter, actually.”

“Very well.” Jack’s curiosity rose.

“I am not one to go against my own, but in this case, I believe it is my duty to do so.”

“Yes?” Jack said when the other man did not go on.

“The fact is—I am aware of my cousin’s whereabouts. I am here to take you to him.”

“Andrew?” Jack asked, surprised. “He is still here?”

“Yes. That is what I am saying. He came to me for help, you see, when Isobel tossed him out.”

“Isobel tossed him out?”

“Yes.” Robert frowned at him. “You do realize what he did, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. I just did not realize . . .” Jack pushed aside the warm feeling the thought engendered in him; that was something he would consider later, at his leisure. “That’s not important now. Why have you come to me?”

The older man blinked. “Why? Well, I— Don’t you want to find him? He tried to kill you.”

“Much as I would enjoy the thought of thrashing Andrew, I cannot see that it would serve any purpose. I cannot think of anything to do with him that would not grieve Isobel. Tell him to go; I won’t pursue him. I won’t go to the authorities. I will not even spread it about London that he is a would-be murderer. I just want him gone from my life and Isobel’s.” Jack swung on his heel and started toward the house, leaving Robert staring after him.

“Wait!”

Jack turned around. Robert was hurrying after him down the path, his face filled with alarm.

“You don’t understand.” Robert came to a halt in front of Jack, pulling out his handkerchief and dabbing at the sweat on his upper lip. “He will not go. That is what I am trying to tell you. I advised him to leave the country, to go to America or India and make a new life for himself, but he refused. I
even offered to give him the money to do so. He will not go. He—” Robert drew a deep breath. “He is determined to kill you.”

“What?” Jack stared. “When everyone will know he is the one who did it?”