The Scot and I (33 page)

He steepled his fingers. “The commander,” he said, “will try to correct the blunders Foster has made, but until he has enough evidence to clear us, Gavin, you and I are still under suspicion for Dickens’s murder.”

As he went on, he chose his words slowly and thoughtfully, not wishing to alarm the ladies, and omitting any reference to Mungo’s death or the badge that weighed so heavily in his pocket. Finally, he said, “The truce ends at midnight. After that, we’re fair game for the hunters.”

“What does that mean?” asked Mahri sharply.

He gave her a long, narrow-eyed look. “It means that if Gavin and I have not surrendered by midnight tonight, we’ll be shot on sight.”

Gavin made a scoffing sound. “And I thought Durward was your friend!”

“He’s my superior!’ Alex said. “And he has a superior to whom he must report as well.” He was becoming restless under Mahri’s stare. In her own way, she was a soldier, too. She should know that he wasn’t free to make his own choices. She did know it, because the same rules applied to her.

“I don’t imagine,” said Mahri in a voice that breathed out arctic air, “that your commander is sitting in front of a warm fire, nursing a glass of whiskey, waiting for your truce to end. From what I’ve observed of the secret service, he’ll soon be camped outside, waiting for us to show our faces, if he’s not there already.”

“Act as though he is already watching us,” said Alex, “and you won’t go far wrong.”

He saw the flare of understanding in her eyes and her darting glance in Juliet’s direction.

“We can’t stay here.” Gavin touched Alex lightly on the wrist, drawing his attention away from Mahri. “Now that your people know we have come back into the area, this will be the first place they will look.”

“I’m aware of that.”

Juliet cut in, “We could go to my house. No one will look for you there. And I’m not suspected of anything. There’s no reason for anyone to break down my door.”

“I think,” said Mahri, “that Alex has already decided what we should do and is choosing the right moment to tell us.”

“Thank you,” Alex responded. “We have less than an hour to get ready before our time runs out. This is what I propose.”

Dugald and the ladies were to leave the lodge by the secret passage, while Alex and Gavin stayed behind and gave them a head start. “Don’t wait for us,” Alex said. “It’s best if we travel in two groups. If you’re found with Gavin and me, you’ll be incarcerated, too. There will be horses waiting for you at the cairn. Danny is taking care of that right now.” He looked at Mahri. “In the event of something unforeseen happening, Dugald will decide what to do.”

Juliet said quietly, “Alex, what are you expecting to happen?”

He gave a careless shrug. “I’m being cautious, Juliet, nothing less, nothing more.”

“You will catch up with us?” said Mahri.

He loved the worried look that had come into her eyes. “Yes,” he said, “but it will be daybreak by the time we reach Juliet’s house. We’ll rest up there, but when night falls, Gavin and I will set out for Balmoral.”

“Balmoral?” Mahri said faintly. “Why Balmoral?”

“Unfinished business with Colonel Foster,” Alex replied. And more than that, he would not say.

 

 

He was in the garden, going over things in his mind while he waited for the others to get ready to leave. This was where Calley found him.

“There are only two men out there,” said Calley, “but they’re not soldiers. I’d say that they are scouts. They’ve taken up a position in the ruined castle.”

“Could they be the riders you saw earlier?”

“Indeed they could, not that I recognized them, but one of the horses is a palfrey. I recognized the horse.”

Not soldiers but scouts. Who was giving the orders? Durward? They’d taken up their positions before he and Dugald had returned from Aboyne. Durward had been one step ahead of them.

“Thank you, Calley,” he said. “You know what to do?”

“Aye. Make it look as though the house is bursting with people.”

“Then go to it. But no heroics! If the house comes under attack, you and Danny are to hide in the tunnel.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Calley replied and turned and left him.

Alex’s hand brushed against his jacket, and he felt the pull of Mungo’s good luck charm. It was guilt that made him delay taking it into his hand. He was afraid of what he might see or hear. How many good people had he recruited into the service, only to see their lives snuffed out?

He fingered the badge through the fabric of his jacket and still he hesitated.
Bloody coward!
he thought viciously and, thrusting his hand into his pocket, he withdrew Mungo’s badge still wrapped in its white linen shroud.

Even before he’d begun to unwrap the badge, he sensed a malevolent power at work. Bracing himself for more horrors, he removed the handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. As his fingers closed around the Gordon crest, the garden quietly receded, and a gentle mist wrapped around him. He heard laughter, a man’s and a woman’s, and his lips softened in a smile. Gradually, the mist cleared, and the woman’s face emerged. She had dark eyes, dark hair, and a beautiful smile. He recognized her at once. He’d seen a photograph of her. She was Mungo’s wife, who had died tragically some years ago.

So this was who Mungo was thinking of just before he died.

He blinked hard.

A sudden movement behind him had him pivoting to ward off a blow. Mahri blocked the slash of his hand by throwing up her arm.

She cursed long and furiously in Gaelic. Finally, she got out, “You bleeding imbecile!” She was hopping from foot to foot, cradling her arm against her breasts. “Didn’t you hear me call your name?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

He was still in the throes of the vision that had filled his mind, still steeped in the guilt he felt over Mungo’s death. He wanted to touch her, hold her, make sure that she was all right. He reached for her, but she danced away.

His hands fell to his sides. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said. “You blocked my first blow, but if I’d been an enemy, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“I’m not alone,” she snapped. “Macduff is with me, and so are you.”

At the sound of his name, Macduff pushed his way between them and began to lick Alex’s hand.

Mahri said, “A fine guard dog you turned out to be!” She rubbed her sore arm.

Ignoring her, Macduff whined and offered Alex a paw.

Alex bent down to stroke Macduff’s head and smiled a little when the dog began to purr like a cat. Straightening, he said, “Time is wasting. So what did you want to say to me?”

He seemed sad, lifeless somehow. Even Macduff sensed the change in him, and that blunted the sharp edge of her words. “Why didn’t you tell me that the queen was in Windsor?”

“What difference would it have made?” When she was silent, he went on, “Oh, I see, you could have warned your friends in Demos, and they would have dispersed. But the flood put a stop to that, didn’t it?”

She preferred his temper to this cool disdain. “Is this another trap? Is there another decoy queen who will be arriving on Saturday? What’s going to happen, Alex?”

He gave a strained laugh. “I’m not in a position to know. Have you forgotten that Gavin and I are the prime suspects? Durward isn’t a fool. He’s not going to tell me anything. I’m as much in the dark as you are. Maybe it’s a test. Who can say?”

She studied his face, the harsh lines of weariness; the dark, turbulent eyes; and her throat ached. “What is it, Alex?” she asked softly. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing!” His reply was abrupt. A moment of silence went by, then he went on in a different tone, “Mungo is dead. Durward confirmed what I suspected.”

“Mungo?” She knew the name. Alex had told her that he feared for his friend.

“He set up our escape by train. We’d been friends since university days.” He broke off and shook his head. “I recruited him to the service, but he never would take the danger seriously. He wasn’t cut out to be an agent.” He inhaled a slow breath. “Do you know how many agents I’ve recruited who have met with untimely deaths?”

“It’s not your fault. They must have known the risks. Isn’t that what you told me about Bruce?”

His smile was so painful that it made her heart clench. She surprised them both by grasping his hand and bringing it to her cheek. She couldn’t find words to comfort him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” She was sorry that Demos had caused so much havoc. She was sorry that she’d ever played a part in its schemes. She was sorry that the world wasn’t a better place. But most of all, she was sorry that she and Alex were on different sides.

He cupped her chin in one hand and, smiling a little, as though he’d heard all her unspoken words, began to dab at her wet cheeks with a handkerchief he’d pulled from his pocket. Suddenly, his smile died. He stared at the handkerchief in his hand and swayed on his feet.

“What is it, Alex?” asked Mahri.

Juliet’s voice, strident, impatient, came to them from the kitchen door. “Mahri, what’s keeping you? It’s time to go.”

Alex held Mahri at arm’s length. “Don’t take any foolish risks,” he warned. “Stay close to Dugald, and you’ll be safe.”

She managed a laugh. “I’ll be waiting for you, Alex.”

She turned away before she could make a fool of herself.

Twenty-three

What in hell’s name was he doing here, when he’d promised himself that he would never again involve his brother in the game? It was just like when they were boys. Gavin could always talk him into taking him along with him. And when they were scolded by Granny for getting into mischief, he, Alex, always bore the brunt of it because, of course, he was the elder. So here they both were, crouched behind one of the broken-down ramparts of Birse Castle, watching the movements of the two scouts who had their hunting lodge under surveillance.

“They’re not in uniform,” Gavin whispered in Alex’s ear.

“Demos agents, I presume, or their lackeys.”

Silence followed Alex’s terse reply.

The scouts had lit a small fire that could not be seen from the lodge. One was sitting on the ground with his back to a wall; the other was obviously taking the first watch, but it wasn’t a close watch. They obviously weren’t expecting trouble. Calley had done well. Lights were shining from every window of the lodge, giving the impression that the occupants were still up and about.

Three scouts and now there were two. It didn’t take a leap of the imagination to figure out that the missing scout had ridden to his master to tell him that the Hepburn brothers were taking cover in their hunting lodge. It was the logical place for them to go. If these scouts were attached to Demos, who or what had brought them here? Foster? Mahri? The professor?

His mind kept straying to the broken-down cottage and how soldiers had been lying in wait for Murray and his conspirators. The soldiers had started shooting almost at once. They’d been shooting to kill. Who had informed on Murray? Would the soldiers have killed Mahri if she’d shown herself?

Who was the enemy, Demos or Colonel Foster?

And whose handkerchief was wrapped around Mungo’s badge?

The handkerchief seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket. He’d used it to dab the tears from Mahri’s cheeks, and the dark energy that it had given off had practically scorched his fingers. Emotions had pumped through him, making his stomach heave. All he had was an impression of overweening arrogance. What he had to do now was test his suspicions. His psychic power was inclined to lead him astray. He wanted proof before he acted.

“Ready?” he asked Gavin.

A fraction of an inch at a time, they slid from their perch till they were on the same level as the scouts. “Stand and deliver!” Alex barked out as though he and Gavin were highwaymen.

One man brought up his gun, and Gavin blasted it out of his hand. It was all over in minutes. It wasn’t only surprise that had won the day. These men were big and brawny, but they were untrained and no match for a disciplined agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

“What are you going to do with us?” asked one as Alex trussed the man’s hands behind his back.

“We’re going to hand you over to Colonel Foster for questioning,” he said.

 

 

It was only a six-mile trek to Juliet’s house, but it was slow going because they kept off the beaten track. Alex didn’t want to take the chance of running into any Demos agents, and he was sure now that it was Demos who would hunt them down. They were expendable, but Mahri was not. He’d convinced himself that they wouldn’t hurt her, not until she had given them what they wanted.

He kept thinking about her, how she rode astride like a man. How she never seemed to tire. She had plenty of pluck, and she could withstand hardships.

So why did he worry about her like a mother hen with only one chick?