Treasured (43 page)

Tears were streaming down her face by the time she reached the edge of the hole. The yawning pit was larger than before; clearly another section had fallen in. “Jack! Where are you? Please, please, answer me.” Tears choked her voice, and she could not hold back the sobs as she sank to her knees, edging forward to peer over the edge. “Jack!”

“Isobel?” A figure stepped into view, covered with dirt and stone dust, and Jack turned his face up to her.

“Jack!” She began to laugh and cry all at once. “Thank God! Oh, thank God. Jack.” Her hand slipped, and suddenly the ground before her crumbled. She plunged downward.

“Isobel!” Jack lunged forward, arms outstretched, and Isobel slammed into him, knocking him over and sending them both to the ground. His breath went out of him with an oomph, and for a moment they lay there, stunned, struggling for air.

Isobel was the first to move, pushing up to her knees. “What are you doing here? Why did you come to the castle—why are you grinning at me like that?”

“From relief.” He laughed, sitting up and pulling her into his arms, squeezing her to him so tightly she could hardly breathe. “I thought— God, Isobel, I thought you wanted me dead.”

“What!” She jerked back from him, her face flaming with fury. Sweeping the tears from her cheeks, she exploded, “Here I am, thinking you were dead—and you assume I tried to kill you! How could you think such a thing of me? Do you think I shot you as well?”

Isobel scrambled to her feet, her fists clenched. Jack followed quickly, reaching out to take her arms. “No! Never. I mean, not until a few minutes ago. You think I wanted to believe it? But you wrote me a note, asking me to meet you here. And there was your shawl, hanging there. I ran to the edge, thinking you had fallen in. I realized, too late, that this had been planned. It was your hand! I’ve just spent a hellish hour thinking you wanted me dead.”

“It couldn’t have been my hand. I didn’t write you a note.”

He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, extending it to her.

“Jack, your hands!” Isobel took his hands, turning them palms up. “They’re scraped raw.”

“I’ve had time to pick out the splinters,” he said wryly. “I thought of wrapping my handkerchief around one, but I fear it is as dirty as the rest of me. Here, don’t cry again.”

“I’m not crying,” she said disdainfully, then sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. “I am just so . . . so
furious
.”

“I know.” He bent to press his lips against her forehead. “Read the note.”

Isobel unfolded the paper and held it up to the narrow strand of light slanting in through the ruined ceiling. She scanned the words, her stomach turning to ice, and she sank to the floor, her knees suddenly too weak for her to stand. Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It is very like my writing.”

“I know. I’ve seen enough of your ledgers to recognize it.”

“I did not write it.” She could not bear to say the rest of her thought—how few people would be able to copy her writing.

“I know you did not.” Jack squatted down beside her, taking the note from her nerveless fingers and sticking it back into his pocket. “No doubt anyone with access to the house could have looked at your ledgers, too.”

“No doubt. Oh, Jack!” She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest.

“It’s all right. It’s over.” His arms were tight around her. “No need to worry now.”

“There is a need. There is a need until you are safe.”

Isobel clung to him, unable to utter the thoughts and fears tumbling about in her head, as the shadows gathered above them.

Suddenly a voice sounded in the distance. “Isobel? Where are you?”

Jack stiffened, but Isobel sprang to her feet. “Coll! We’re down here! Be careful! It caved in, but we are all right.”

“You’re not hurt?” The voice sounded much closer now, and in a moment Coll peered over the side of the hole, haloed by light. When he saw them, he grinned and held the lantern out to illuminate the area beneath him. “You look like a couple of ghosts, all that white dust on you.”

“I am sorry we are not presentable enough for you,” Isobel retorted tartly, and Coll chuckled. “Now, do you suppose you could get us out of here?”

“I’d like to, but I came running when Hamish found me. I didn’t think to bring a rope. I’ll get one, and a lad or two to help pull you up. Here—just a minute.” He stood up and was gone for a few minutes, returning with a broken-off branch, from which most of the smaller stems had been stripped. Hooking the lantern over one remaining stem, he lowered it to them. “At least you’ll not be in the dark the whole time.” He stood up. “And, Izzy, try not to pull the rest of it down on your head while I’m gone.”

Isobel muttered something beneath her breath and turned to Jack. He stood watching her, the lantern he had retrieved from Coll in his hand.

“I think I am beginning to believe that Munro does think of you as a sister.” Jack smiled and took her hand. “I want to show you something. I’ve been poking around a bit.”

“You decided to go exploring?” Isobel asked in astonishment as she followed him.

“I didn’t see much point in sitting about waiting to starve to death. Or for someone to come put a bullet in me
again. I hoped I might be able to find another way out. And I did find something. I think when the timbers and stones gave way beneath me, it knocked a hole through a wall behind them.”

He held up the lantern, illuminating a partially collapsed wall. Behind it, crude stone steps stretched downward.

“Another secret staircase?”

“Your ancestors were obviously enamored of the idea. I don’t know if it was secret; there’s not enough wall left to be certain. The stairs were half hidden by timbers, but I shoved them aside enough to see down into it. There is a subcellar beneath this one.”

“The dungeons?” Isobel’s eyes widened. “You’re thinking this is where the tunnel might have come out?”

“You said yourself that the castle was as likely a destination as any. I would have explored it, but it was black as pitch down there.”

“We have light now.”

With a conspiratorial grin, Jack started down the steps. Uneven and rough, these stairs were little more than graduated blocks, with barely half a flight of them, ending in a long, narrow room. What had once been rows of large barrels lined one wall, a few still intact. At the far end of the room was a short wooden door.

Jack tugged at the rusted iron ring halfway down the door. At first, the door would not budge, but then, with a loud scrape, it lurched open a few inches. Keeping a cautious eye on the wall and ceiling around it, Jack pulled at the ancient door until the space was wide enough to slide through.

He almost stumbled, but recovered and went down the three steps onto the lower floor. They were now in a larger
vaulted chamber, empty but for a few bits of wood, iron, and leather and a wheelbarrow with a cracked wheel that listed against one wall.

“Well”—Jack surveyed the room—“no tunnel and no more doors.”

“I’m not so sure.” Isobel pointed to a strip of decorative stone that ran at eye level across the opposite wall. Taking the lantern, she went to the strip and held the light up to it. Carved into the stone every few feet were rosettes. “Look.”

“Roses. Just like the fireplace.” They paced beside the wall, peering at each stone flower, all thoughts of murder attempts and collapsing ceilings fleeing their heads.

“Jack.” Isobel pointed to the small, cylindrical hole in the center of one of the flowers.

He pulled out the watch key, inserted it into the hole, and began to turn. With a click and a thud, part of the wall separated a fraction of an inch. Digging their fingers into the crack, they tugged it open, releasing a scent of dank, dusty air. Jack held up the lantern, revealing the chamber inside. The room was simply but almost elegantly furnished, with tapestries and even a mirror hanging on the walls, giving it a cozy, lived-in appearance.

The pleasant scene was spoiled, however, by the skeleton stretched out in the middle of the floor.

He lay on his face, one arm stretched out and the other bent back to the scabbard at his waist. He was clad in the Rose tartan, buckled with an empty sword belt. And rising from his back, wedged between the ribs, was a long, thin dirk.

Isobel sucked in her breath. “Oh, my God.
Malcolm
.”

A
re you certain?” Jack asked.

“Look at the dirk in his scabbard. It has the Rose symbol on the hilt; Malcolm is wearing it in the portrait at Baillannan. You’ve seen it. Over there, leaning against the wall—I dare swear that is the same claymore he is holding in the picture. He is the right size and he’s wearing our tartan. Obviously he knew about this place and how to get in. We can take the ring on his finger and show it to Aunt Elizabeth to be certain. But I know it is he.”

“So he never left Baillannan.”

“No. The Redcoats must have seen him and followed him into the castle.”

“Yes. Or perhaps common thieves.” Jack pointed to a small, ornate coffer sitting beside the bed, lid open and empty. “They stabbed him. Took the money from the chest and fled—odd that they did not take the ring as well.”

“It would have implicated them in his murder if they were found with it,” Isobel pointed out.

“Yes, perhaps that is it. Well . . . Andrew and Gregory will be disappointed to find the treasure has been stolen.”

“No doubt.” Isobel stepped into the room, feeling as if she were trespassing on sacred ground. “I suppose this was where he hid from the soldiers.” She walked over to the chest of drawers, where a washbowl and a pitcher stood. Beside them were two decorative combs such as women wore in their hair. “How sad. Perhaps this was their ‘spot,’ the one he mentioned in the letter to my grandmother.”

“Then she knew about this room all along? About the key? Your aunt is right; the Rose family is indeed tight-mouthed if she never told her son or daughter.” Jack paused. “But if she came to meet him and found his body like this, surely she would not have left her husband lying there.”

“It could have happened after she left.” Isobel frowned. “Though when he never showed up after that, one would think she would have come down here to see if she could find a clue, at least, of what had happened to him.”

“He might have had the only key and she entered it only with him. But, no—any watch key this size would fit, as we’ve proved.”

“I think he kept this secret from everyone. It would have been the best way to ensure his safety. Maybe these combs were gifts he had bought for Cordelia but he never got the chance to give them to her.” Isobel sighed. “I suppose we’ll never know.”

“I would have thought this connected to our tunnel, but there’s no other door.”

“Perhaps it’s hidden. Look at the inside of this door; it would look exactly like the wall when it was closed.”

“Very tricky people, your ancestors.” Jack glanced speculatively around the room.

At that moment, they heard the distant sound of a man shouting.

“Coll!” Isobel exclaimed, starting toward the door. “He will wonder what has happened to us. We’d best go.”

“Very well. We’ll come back another day and search for the tunnel.” Picking up the watch key and the ring, they left the room.

“Oh!” Elizabeth drew in a quick breath as Jack extended his hand to her, the ring he had removed from the skeleton lying on his palm. She covered her mouth with her hand, tears springing into her eyes. “Papa’s ring!”

“Then you recognize it? You know it was Malcolm’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Where did you find it?”

“We found him, Auntie.” Isobel put her arm around her aunt’s shoulders and guided her to a chair to sit.

“Found him? No, how could— Oh! You mean you found his body?”

Isobel nodded. Jack went down on one knee beside the older woman and took her hand in his. “I am sorry, Aunt Elizabeth, but we came upon a hidden room in the cellars of the castle. He was there, along with this.” Jack held out the watch key to her.

“Yes.” Elizabeth plucked the key from his hand. “This is
the key to his pocket watch. He was killed, wasn’t he? I don’t know why I’m crying. I’ve always known he must have died or he would have returned to us. But it’s hard, thinking of him lying there all those years and us up here, never knowing it.” She took the ring and ran her thumb over it. “This was the crest of his mother’s family. She gave it to him. I should give it to Andrew. Where is the boy?”