Taken by the Laird (21 page)

She extinguished the lamps and went up the stairs to the bedchamber she thought of as her own, the nursery where she’d first seen the Glenloch Ghost. There was no hazy form in the room, no sense of the phantom anywhere nearby, so Brianna wrapped herself in the plaid she’d shared with Hugh in the kelper’s croft, and lay down on the bed, quickly drifting into an uneasy sleep.

Wearily, Hugh climbed the stairs to his bedchamber. They’d gotten the brandy diluted and loaded onto carts, then he and the men had shoveled the residual snow over the tracks outside the grille, and all the way to the road. They’d wanted to leave no trace of their night’s activities, in case a customs agent or even the magistrate cared to make a visit to Glenloch.

He went inside his room and stood stock-still at the cold, dark emptiness that greeted him. There was no fire in the grate, and the bed was empty, undisturbed.

Brianna was gone and Hugh was stunned by the way her absence hit him, square in the solar plexus.

He sat down heavily and drew in a deep breath before summoning the energy to go after her. She’d wanted to go to Killiedown…

No, she wouldn’t have left. She was somewhere in
the castle, and Hugh had a good idea where he would find her. He stood and headed down the long gallery toward the old nursery.

It was late, and she was sure to be asleep. He eased the door open and saw her in the firelight, lying on her side, wrapped in the old plaid. Hugh’s relief was palpable, but so was his fatigue. He built up the fire and then removed his shoes and eased onto the bed beside Brianna, pulling a heavy woolen blanket over them.

Curling his body around hers, Hugh put one arm around her and breathed in her scent as he fell into an exhausted sleep.

Brianna awoke sometime later, when the fire had burned low and she felt the heat of her husband’s body behind her. The pink light of dawn streamed in through the windows, but Brianna had no desire to get up and look through them. The last time she’d done so, she’d seen a nightmare—Kincaid’s body floating in the water.

She must have been sleeping quite soundly for Hugh to have climbed into the bed without waking her. They were both dressed, but he’d pulled a blanket over them. Brianna felt each of his breaths, deep and even in her ear, and knew that he was still sound asleep. She closed her eyes again and allowed herself these few moments of quiet peace in his arms, glad that he had not left with Mr. MacTavish to take his brandy out across the Mearns for distribution. He could take her to Killiedown instead, since he was going in that direction, anyway.

She tried not to think of their leave-taking once she
was home, but could not put it from her mind. Their farewell would be painful, but Brianna knew she had to make her break now, before their separation had the power to shred her heart.

She got up and untangled herself from the blankets and his arms. The russet shawl was on the chair, and she wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Morning already?” His voice sounded particularly deep and husky.

She moistened her lips and started for the door. “Just dawn. You must have worked late.”

“Miss me?” He sat up and swung his legs out of bed.

“Hardly.”

He came to her just as she took hold of the latch. Standing behind her, he spoke quietly in her ear. “I missed
you,
wife. I had intended to spend most of our night inside you.”

His words wrenched the air from Brianna’s lungs. But they were only words, and he’d mastered the ones that made her breathless and melted her bones. He knew exactly what he was doing. “I’ll be ready to leave for Stonehaven as soon as you are.”

He pushed the door closed before she could go through it, trapping her between his body and the heavy wooden door.

“What are you talking about?” His voice sounded even deeper, and a great deal more dangerous than she’d ever heard it before.

“Stonehaven is on a direct path to Killiedown Manor,” she said, turning to face him. “There’s no reason for you to go all the way to Stonehaven with Mr. Kincaid’s
body, and then have to come all the way back here, only to collect me and make the trip all over again.”

A muscle in his jaw clenched, but Brianna stood her ground. “ ’Tis entirely reasonable,” she said.

“What if I’m not ready to take you?”

Brianna slipped out of his reach. “You don’t want a wife any more than I want a husband. We were both trapped into this situation—this marriage. You were obliged by custom to marry me, and I had no other choice. But that doesn’t mean we must stay together and make each other miserable.”

The scar on Hugh’s cheek turned white as it seemed to do when he was annoyed. He opened the door and stepped out of the nursery before her. “No,” he said, turning to look at her. “I don’t want you with me when we go to the magistrate.”

“Hugh—”

“ ’Tis better this way. I’ll take you when I get back.”

He left the room, and Brianna stood motionless, gazing absently into the fireplace, disturbingly relieved by the delay in her departure.

Hugh felt much too distracted to deal with official business, but he had no choice. He had to get Angus Kincaid’s body up to Stonehaven this morning. He could not delay or there would be even more questions.

He went to his bedchamber to change clothes, and when he emerged a few minutes later, he noticed that Amelia’s bedroom door was ajar again. He pulled it closed and listened to hear it latch tight, then returned to the nursery where he’d spent the night with Brianna.

She was wonderfully rumpled and her hair was now a mass of loose curls around her face and shoulders. She had just washed her face, and before she had a chance to raise the towel and dry it, he crossed the room and took her into his arms.

Giving her no chance to protest, he took possession of her lips in an openmouthed kiss that left no doubt about his plans for her when he returned. She fisted her hands in the fabric of his coat, though whether she was pulling him close or trying to repel him, Hugh could not be certain. All he knew was that she shuddered and opened for him when he pulled her tight against his raging erection.

He wanted her now, but there wasn’t time. He wasn’t going to cheat them out of a spectacular bout of drawn-out lovemaking and pleasure.

He released her and left the room without a word.

The servants were just arriving when Hugh left the castle. He went into the stable, but found his horse gone. Taking a detour to the barn, he found Niall MacTavish inside, already hitching the gelding to the wagon. “I stopped at MacGowan’s place, but he wasna there,” MacTavish said.

“I’d be very interested in knowing what he’s been up to these past couple of days,” said Hugh, wondering if it was such an easy transition to go from stealing contraband brandy to committing murder.

“Aye,” MacTavish replied, his somber expression indicating that he was considering the same question. They climbed in and headed north.

They made the arduous trip across the snowy road,
and had to stop numerous times to use the shovels MacTavish had thought to bring, to dig themselves out of deep drifts of snow.

“I’m thinkin’ maybe Mr. Pennycook is involved.”

“How so?” Hugh asked.

“Weel, if MacGowan is smitten with his daughter, mayhap he’s been trying to cull the man’s favor. Make him more receptive to a proposal.”

“With bribery? Or by cutting Pennycook into his new arrangement with the Stonehaven batsmen and distributors?”

“Either, Laird. Or both.”

“You’re probably right.”

“And if Mr. Kincaid got wind of their collusion…”

“Which Kincaid might well have done, for he strikes me as a very thorough man.”

“Aye. He’d ha’ been a direct threat t’ MacGowan’s interests.”

“With both the brandy trade and Pennycook’s daughter.”

It seemed a likely theory, but that’s all it was. Conjecture.

“Let’s take Mr. Kincaid directly to the customs office,” Hugh said when they finally arrived in town. “I believe we should turn here.”

Hugh had been to Stonehaven only a few times, and though he knew the office was at the harbor, he needed to stop and ask for its exact direction. They soon arrived at a long, low building on the wharf, and Berk Armstrong came outside only moments after they drove up and jumped down from the wagon.

“Laird Glenloch! ’Tis a surprise to see ye here!”

Hugh saw Pennycook’s grim visage looking out at them through one of the windows, but could read neither guilt nor innocence in his expression. The man soon came out to stand beside Armstrong.

“We’ve some bad news,” Hugh said, approaching the two men at the front of the building.

The lackadaisical Mr. Armstrong seemed not to grasp the import of Hugh’s words, but Pennycook shoved past him and gestured toward the tarp-covered wagon bed. Hugh wondered if it was a guilty man’s ploy, to act the curious party when he knew full well what was in the wagon.

“What’ve ye got there?”

“We found Mr. Kincaid floating in the sea yesterday afternoon,” Hugh replied. “He was some distance north of Glenloch, but my wife happened to catch sight of him from one of our windows.”

“Mr. Kincaid!” Armstrong cried with genuine dismay, coming toward the wagon behind Pennycook. “Why, it canna be!”

“I assure you, Mr. Armstrong, ’tis most definitely your surveyor.”

Pennycook was more reserved in his reaction, turning his gaze from the cargo in the back of the wagon. “Yer wife, Laird?” he asked.

“Aye. I’ve recently wed,” he said, discounting Pennycook’s ignorance of his marriage. The only way the man would have known Hugh had married was if he’d spoken to MacGowan. And if Hugh’s theory was correct, Pennycook wouldn’t care to have that association
known. “My bride happened to look down from one of the upper rooms of the castle when she saw something floating in the water.”

“And ye’re absolutely sure ’tis Kincaid.”

Hugh was unimpressed by the man’s apparent doubt, nodding while MacTavish untied the tarp and pulled it back, to verify Kincaid’s identity for the two men. Pennycook remained in place, standing stiffly, a few steps from the wagon, with his arms crossed over his chest. Armstrong went directly to it and looked, flinching at the sight of the dead man and the jagged cut on his forehead.

Hugh had to admit it was a gruesome sight, for Kincaid’s skin was a pasty gray color, and the wound black. But his nose and fingers appeared to be intact, leading him to think the man had not been in the water very long.

“Has he any family?” Hugh asked.

“Nae,” said Armstrong. “His auld mother passed on a few years ago. Since then, he’s been alone.”

“The magistrate will have to be notified,” said MacTavish.

Armstrong seemed unable to take his gaze from the body, but Pennycook barely looked. Hugh watched the man’s reactions, but could not swear to any conclusion. Either the man was particularly squeamish, or this death had been no surprise to him. Hugh had been wagering upon the latter, but how the man fit into the picture, he was unsure as yet, and he still didn’t know what part MacGowan had played, if any.

“Perchance, would either of you know if Mr. Kincaid
was recently out in a ship patrolling the coastline?” he asked.

Armstrong shook his head. “We’ve had no customs ships out since the snow.”

“When did you see him last, then?”

“Yesterday morn,” Armstrong replied. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Pennycook? Mr. Kincaid spilled his tea on his trews and had to leave to go home for another pair.”

Hugh looked at Pennycook, who pursed his lips and gave a curt nod. “Aye.” Then he turned and went back inside the customs office.

“Perhaps you could send someone for the magistrate?” Hugh asked Armstrong.

“Oh, aye, Laird. Right away.”

As soon as Armstrong had gone back into the office, Hugh turned to MacTavish. “I had a feeling we might see MacGowan here at the office.”

“So did I, Laird. But if he’s courtin’ the Pennycook lass…”

“Did you sense anything wrong with Pennycook’s reaction to seeing Kincaid?”

“Aye, Laird. The man wasna at all surprised.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” said Hugh. “Do you know where Pennycook’s house is?”

“Only a general idea,” MacTavish replied.

“It’ll have to do,” said Hugh. “Take a walk in that direction and see if you can catch sight of him. So much the better if he doesn’t see you.”

“Aye.”

“We’ll meet at the Queens Hotel in an hour.”

MacTavish pulled his hat down low and started off,
away from the harbor as Hugh went inside the customs office to wait and see if MacGowan happened to be inside.

If not, he would just wait for the magistrate.

The day was long and ever so dull. Brianna had never spent so much idle time, and she wondered what she might have been doing had she been home at Killiedown. She’d have had numerous chores to perform, mostly out in the stable.

But there were Claire’s things—her clothes and shoes that should be given to the poor in Muchalls. Claire would have wanted that, and it was up to Brianna to take care of it. Yet here she was, a useless fixture in a house that was not her home, waiting for a husband who had not disagreed that staying together would make them both miserable.

Thoughts of past, temporary homes teased at the edges of Brianna’s memory, and she pushed them away, unwilling to think about them after all this time. She’d had six good years with Claire, and had never worried about being sent away. Her aunt had promised that Killiedown Manor would always be her home.

A loud crash sounded somewhere above her, causing her to rise abruptly from her chair in the library. She went to the staircase to see if she could discover what was amiss. Suddenly, Mrs. Ramsay and the two maids had joined Brianna at the bottom of the stairs, and were looking up the steps with frightened eyes.

“ ’Tis the ghost,” cried Fiona.

“Aye, lass,” said Mrs. Ramsay, wiping her hands on
her apron, turning to Brianna. “You’d best come back to the scullery with us.”

“Does anyone know what it wants?” Brianna asked.

“Who will ever know what it wants?” Mrs. Ramsay said. “ ’Tis a troubled soul, who must torment the living.”