Treasured (40 page)

“Isobel!” Elizabeth turned, relief mingling with guilt. “I am sorry.”

“They are trying to take my little restorative away.” Millicent appealed to Isobel. “I cannot imagine why. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.” The picture she presented would have been more convincing if her words had not been slurred and her face flushed, with her hair straggling down on one side.

“I feel wretched.” Elizabeth came forward. “It was that vexatious old Angus McKay. He brought some of his whiskey to Jack the other day—as if that lethal brew of his would revive an invalid. More likely to put one in a grave, I’d think! Foolishly I set the bottle down in the office. I thought Jack would be pleased to know that Angus was concerned about his health. It never occurred to me that Millicent might go in there and find it.” She cast an accusing glance at the other woman.

“She hid it from me!” Millicent started to rise, then sat back down with a plop.

The maid reached for the open bottle tilting precariously in the woman’s lap, but Millicent grabbed it with both hands. “You leave that alone! It is mine. Jack would not mind.”

“Jack most certainly would mind,” Isobel snapped, striding forward. She jerked the bottle from Millicent’s grasp, heedless of the liquid that sloshed out onto the floor, and thrust it at the maid.

“Louisa, take this down and pour it out. Auntie”—Isobel turned to Elizabeth—“if you would be so kind as to excuse us, I would like to have a word alone with Mrs. Kensington.”

“Of course, dear, of course.” Elizabeth shooed the maid from the room before her, casting another apologetic look back at her niece as they left.

Millicent, who had been staring at Isobel openmouthed, surged to her feet. “What do you think you’re doing? You have no right . . .”

The older woman swayed on her feet, and Isobel put her hand on Millicent’s shoulder, pressing her firmly back down into the chair. Millicent tried to shrug Isobel’s restraining hand away and when she could not, she set her chin and gazed up at Isobel like a mutinous child.

“You have no right . . .” Millicent repeated.

“I have every right, and well you know it.” Isobel dropped her hand from Millicent’s shoulder. “Mrs. Kensington . . .”

“Yes, Mrs. Kensington?” Millicent replied haughtily, then let out a little giggle and pressed her fingers to her mouth. “How silly. We are both Mrs. Kensington.”

“Yes, we are.” Isobel sighed and squatted down to look her mother-in-law in the eyes. “Millicent. You are my husband’s mother, and for that reason I shall treat you with respect. But I must be frank with you.”

“Must you?” Millicent wilted. “You—you are going to send me away, aren’t you?” Great tears welled in the older woman’s eyes.

“No, of course not. You are welcome here. Baillannan is your son’s home, and now it is yours, too. Where you live is entirely up to you and Jack.”

“He will not want me.” Millicent began to cry. “I have been a terrible mother, and he hates me. He has every right to hate me.”

“He does not hate you. He has taken care of you all these years despite the . . . the problems between you.”

“I know.” Millicent sniffed, dabbing at her eyes. “He is a wonderful man. So like—”

“No.” Isobel cut her off, wrapping her hand firmly around Millicent’s wrist. “Do not compare him to his father. Whatever you feel for your husband, Jack is not like him. He tries very hard
not
to be like him. Sutton Kensington left you. Jack has not.”

Isobel pinned Millicent with her gaze, grasping her hands firmly, as if she could somehow infuse the woman with her determination. “You and I both know you like to drink. And you do not act well when you have drunk too much.” Millicent crumpled, and Isobel squeezed her hands. “No, now look at me. This is important. You have an opportunity, a wonderful opportunity, to start a new life with your son. You could be happy here with us.”

“Yes.” Millicent nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am happy.” She sniffed. “Elizabeth is very kind.” She looked significantly at Isobel.

“Yes, she is. I am not so kind. You may choose to fight me. You can try to ferret out liquor wherever you can; you can pout; you can blame me or argue with me. But I promise you that you will not win. Or, if you choose to, you could join me. You can try to be the mother you wish you had been. You could be strong and fight whatever it is that impels you to drink. But either way, you will
not
drink alcohol in this house. I will not allow you to embarrass Jack or hurt him.”

Millicent blinked, and her mouth opened and closed. Finally she whispered, “Yes. I want that. I do, truly.”

“An excellent decision, Mother.” Both women whirled at the sound of Jack’s voice. He stood, leaning against the doorjamb, a trifle pale, but with a faint smile on his lips. “You and I don’t stand a chance against Isobel, I fear. She will pull us into propriety however we might struggle.”

“Jack! Whatever are you doing up?” Isobel popped to her feet. “You said you were going to nap.”

“I was trying to,” he protested, giving in easily as she put her arm around his waist and turned him around to lead him back down the hall to their bedroom. Jack curled his arm around her shoulders and bent closer to murmur, “You are quite the little tartar.”

“Oh, hush, and come back to bed.”

He pressed his lips to her hair, and she felt the breathy touch of his chuckle. “With you? Always.”

Jack’s mood improved as his strength returned, and once he was well enough to move about the house, his strength multiplied by leaps and bounds, though even he had to admit that his shoulder was not yet healed enough for him to start riding again. Isobel hoped that he would be content with that for a long while. She dreaded the thought of his riding out across the estate, exposed to whatever person might want to harm him.

They did not talk about the shooting after their initial conversation. Jack seemed content enough to dismiss the incident as an accident, an errant shot by a poacher, and Isobel did not express her own doubts on the matter. Coll had reported to her that he had found fresh scrapes and marks on the rocks at the top of the hill where the rockslide had occurred, evidence, he thought, that some sort of lever had been used to pry the rocks from their base and send them tumbling down to the path below. The thought was a spear of ice through her chest. She could see in Coll’s eyes that he, too, thought someone had set out to kill Jack.

She could not bear to think about who could have done such a thing. Coll did not believe that any of the men he knew was the culprit. If one of them was capable of murder, it was far more likely he would have attacked Donald MacRae, the Earl of Mardoun’s hated steward. It was absurd that any of the crofters would have tried to do away with a man whom they were beginning to know, even like. Only one man so thoroughly disliked her husband. One man who would benefit if Jack died.

But it could not be Andrew!

Isobel could not believe it of her brother. The boy she had loved and taken care of from birth could not have turned out a murderer. Yes, he could be resentful and sullen; he harbored a grudge. But his ill will came out in small, spiteful acts and thoughtless pranks, such as bringing Jack’s mother here or encouraging her to drink too much. He would not resort to cold-blooded killing.

Guiltily, she knew she should tell Jack her suspicions. She should let him know what Coll had found. But every time she steeled herself to address the issue, she could not do it. If even she could suspect Andrew, how much more would Jack believe he had done it? She could not turn Jack so completely against her brother without any real proof.

No matter how bad it might look for Andrew, there had to be another explanation. Coll might turn up evidence of another suspect, or that it had actually been an accident, however unlikely it seemed. In the meantime, Jack was safe here in the house, where she and Hamish could keep an eye on him. Isobel would make sure she was with Jack when he took a stroll outdoors. And Coll now made frequent patrols
over the estate, looking for anything or anyone out of place. When Jack insisted on riding again . . . well, she would face that when she came to it.

Jack declared himself strong enough to take a walk outside the house, and after only a minor protest, Isobel gave in, strolling with him to the bench on the promontory above the house. They sat there for several minutes, enjoying the caress of the May sun on their backs as they looked out across the loch.

“I should like to explore the castle again,” Jack commented, gazing at the remains of the tower rising in the distance.

“Yes, we should go. I’ll have Cook pack us a cold lunch to take.”

Jack cast her a sideways glance and smiled. “You cannot guard me forever, you know.”

“I am sure I don’t know what you mean.” Isobel gave him a haughty look. “If you do not care for my company, I shall not force it upon you.”

Jack chuckled and took her hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss. “I care very much for your company. And I look forward with great anticipation to a picnic with you at the castle.”

When they returned to the house later, Jack’s mother informed them with great regret that they had just missed their cousin’s visit.

“Gregory? Was Andrew with him?” Isobel asked, her stomach clenching.

“Not the boys. Cousin Robert.” Elizabeth’s eyes twinkled as she added, “Millicent thought him quite handsome.”

“Cousin Robert?” Isobel asked in surprise.

“Yes, he has such a nice bearing,” Millicent commented. “I could see at once that he was a military man. He looks a good deal like Gregory, I thought.”

“Yes, I suppose he does. I’ve never thought of him in that regard.”

“Robby took after his father,” Elizabeth agreed, apparently in better humor with her cousin than usual. “Uncle Fergus was a good-looking man, though never as handsome as my father. A poor imitation, more like.”

“He came to inquire after your health, Jack,” Millicent went on. “He was most sorry to have missed you.”

“Mm. No doubt.”

“I think he primarily came to complain about Greg and Andy.” Elizabeth chuckled. “Gregory is certain there is a secret room in the cellar of their house, and the treasure must be in it.”

“Is there a secret room?” Isobel asked.

“I have never heard of one. Robert says Gregory wants to smash holes in the wall, looking for it.”

“Oh, my.”

“It sounded terribly exciting,” Millicent said. “A priest hole, perhaps.” She frowned faintly. “Though Colonel Rose was certain the family was never Catholic, even secretly.”

“No,” Elizabeth agreed regretfully. “I never heard any stories like that either. Gregory thinks my father hid there after he landed, but I am certain he came here. Why would he have stayed at Fergus’s house?”

“Yes, one would think there would be ample places to hide in this house,” Millicent commented. “I got lost the other day when—”

Isobel sat bolt upright. “A hidden room!”

“Yes, dear.” Her aunt looked at her oddly. “That’s what we were talking about. But Robert is convinced there isn’t one.”

“No, no, I mean here. Do you remember, Auntie, how you said you saw your father walk
into
the fireplace?”

Distress creased Elizabeth’s face. “Yes, I know it sounds a little mad, but I—perhaps I was mistaken. But I remember so clearly him walking down the hall and into this room.” She pointed toward the massive stone fireplace jutting out from the wall.

“Into the fire itself?”

“No. I—he couldn’t have.”

“Isobel, what is it?” Jack leaned forward, intrigued. “What are you thinking?”

“Weren’t priest holes often beside a fireplace?”

“I suppose so; it would be easier to hide a secret room with the width of the—” Jack stopped, standing up and turning around to look at the fireplace. “You think there is a priest hole there?”

“But the Roses weren’t Catholic, at least not after the change of religion.”

“Maybe not a priest hole. But what about a hidden passage? There are stories about secret staircases and walkways in the old castle.”

“Oh, yes.” Elizabeth nodded her head. “There was supposed to be a tunnel out to the sea caves, so that they could
escape a siege of the castle. Do you think they put one in this house when they built it? I have never heard of it.”