Chapter Seventeen
Marcus followed Elise's carriage tracks from Whycham House onto the road leading to Ashlund.
Where a heavier-trafficked crossroad joined the Ashlund road, a myriad of tracks, all muddied by the night's rain, obscured hers.
Marcus ordered Justin to return to Whycham House and check all farms and cottages near the road, while he continued onward and did the same.
Two hours passed before he heard the pounding of hooves over the sound of his own mount's gallop.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw Justin approaching.
Sophie rode alongside and Kiernan followed with a dozen more men behind.
Marcus slowed his stallion as they neared.
He observed the haggard look on Sophie's face when they came alongside.
They had discovered no news.
“There are four farms between the point you left us and Whycham House,” Justin said. “I did not wish to diverge too far off the road until we could better ascertain where she might have gotten lost.”
Marcus's head jerked to the side and he glared at Justin. “Lost?”
“You have found nothing?” Justin went on.
Marcus looked forward again. “Nae.”
“We are but midway between Ashlund and Whycham House,” Justin said. “There is much territory yet to cover.”
Two farmhouses down, they encountered a peasant who remembered Elise's entourage.
“When?” Marcus demanded.
“Yesterday,” the man replied. “I was returning from MacLellan's down the road. Later afternoon, four-thirty or five, I would say.”
“All was well with her?”
“As far as I could see.”
“How many were in the party?” Marcus asked.
“I didn't see inside the carriage. Let me see, there was the driver, wheeler,” he paused, then added, “there were three or four men riding alongside. Can't say for sure.”
“Sounds as if the men are accounted for,” Justin said.
“Come,” Marcus directed the man, “you will show us exactly where you saw my wife.”
They rode a mile south on the road, when the farmer stopped them. “Here.”
Marcus dismounted and examined the tracks. “Bloody hell,” he cursed. “It looks as though all of Edinburgh has traversed this road.” He tried following his line of sight along one set of carriage tracks, only to lose them in the tangled web of another in the moist ground.
“Lord Phillip passed this way,” the man said.
Marcus cut his gaze to the man. “Lord Phillip. When?”
“I passed him about two miles north of his estate,” the man replied.
“Then you saw Lady Ashlund here?”
“Aye.”
Marcus looked at Justin. “Phillip's estate borders mine.”
Justin nodded. “Perhaps they passed one another.”
An hour later, Marcus departed Lord Phillip's estate knowing nothing more than that the earl had set out to visit a friend to the north before heading south for Edinburgh. Marcus cursed the earl's timing, his absence, and his person.
Marcus glanced at the sky as he mounted his horse. The day had turned to dusk. He had ridden since morning and his mount flagged. He rode to Ashlund and exchanged his horse for a fresh one. He reached the outskirts of Ashlund property and encountered the search party.
“Exchange your horses for fresh ones at Ashlund,” Marcus instructed. “I'll speak to the tenants of the two farms to the south.”
“Father,” Kiernan said in unison with Justin's, “Marcus.”
“I left instructions for horses to be readied for you,” Marcus said. “You will overtake me soon enough.”
* * *
Dusk gave way to night as they extended the search into the countryside to the west. To the east, a high cliff butted the shoreline of an inlet from the bay.
Now, they rode fifteen miles south of Ashlund, stopping at every village and home on the road to Edinburgh.
The next village lay five miles farther south.
Marcus urged his horse into a harder trot and the company following did the same.
Sophie rode between Marcus and Justin with Kiernan behind them.
“Marcus,” Sophie called above the clatter of hooves.
He looked at her. An overcast sky hid the moon, but four of the twelve men who accompanied them carried torches and he easily made out her strained expression.
Sophie shook her head. “Why didn't Elise—” She broke off with a stifled choke.
Marcus looked straight ahead. “I alone bear the blame. Don't cause yourself any further grief over the matter.”
“No further grief?”
Her words hit him like barbs and Marcus snapped his attention onto her.
Her eyes blazed. “You can be an arrogant bastard, Cousin. Whether or not I share blame, I will grieve as I please.”
She yanked her horse's reins and Marcus pulled to the right in order to avoid her horse. She circled to the rear of the company and brought her stallion alongside Justin's.
A moment of silence passed before Justin said, “Seven men traveled in the company, all trained men of war. Not easy prey.”
“Yet they are gone,” Marcus said.
“True,” Justin agreed, “but there will be news of them somewhere. A company of brigands large enough to take such a large party could not go unnoticed.”
“Then let us find that news,” Marcus said, and spurred his mount into a full gallop.
The morning sun had only begun to spread across the grey sky when Marcus brought his horse to a halt in front of Ashlund.
Justin, Kiernan, and the messenger, carrying news of a priest who said he had knowledge of Elise's entourage, followed Marcus as he jumped to the ground and ran for the porch, then took the stairs two at a time.
Pushing past the oak door, they strode down the corridor to the drawing room.
Marcus threw open the door to find Sophie sitting on the couch. Beside her sat the priest, Father Fynn.
The priest stood and Marcus hurried forward. “Father,” he said, “what news do you have?”
The priest hesitated.
“Tell me,” Marcus demanded. “You have news of my wife.”
“Forgive me, Lord Ashlund,” Father Fynn began, “Yesterday, we found a woman's body washed ashore near Braemer.”
Marcus's head reeled. He looked at Sophie, who had yet to rise. He turned back to the priest. “You can't be sure. We found no sign of foul play.”
“Lord Ashlund, I wasn't aware you had married, and this woman was a stranger to us. Therefore, we began a search of our own. We traveled upstream and—” he broke off.
“What? What did you find that could possibly confirm your suspicions?”
“A carriage.”
Marcus stared. “A carriage means nothing.”
“I know the crest. All living in this area know it.” Father Fynn pointed at the two-sworded crest hanging over the hearth. “The carriage bore your crest. It lies on the shore near Glenurcom.”
Forty-five minutes later, Marcus stood with Justin and Kiernan at the edge of a wooded cliff overlooking Glenurcom.
He looked down at a carriage, the front half of which was submerged in water.
The horses' bodies were tangled in the mass of leather and iron, which had once been harness and axle.
Marcus watched small waves lap at the bloated mass of flesh.
He stared again at the broken carriage, then closed his eyes.
Even from a hundred-foot distance, there was no mistaking the Ashlund crest.
He turned away.
Justin followed. “You say you found another woman's body in the carriage?” he addressed the priest, who had remained astride his mount.
Father Fynn nodded. “Young. By her dress, I assumed a servant.”
“Mary,” Marcus mumbled.
“And you found the bodies of how many men?” Justin asked.
“Four.”
“How many men had you left with her, Marcus?”
He laughed bitterly. “Not enough.”
“How many?” Justin repeated.
Marcus looked up, startled from his stupor by the earl's sharp tone.
“Four. The driver, two wheelers and one guard. Kiernan rode with them. They were but twenty minutes from Whycham House—” He ceased speaking when Kiernan's mouth tightened.
“'Tis not your fault, Kiernan. You saw them to Whycham House as I instructed.”
“Three men are missing,” Justin went on in a business-like manner. “Where are they?”
Marcus looked at him. He heard the words, but the meaning escaped him. “What?”
“Three men remain unaccounted for.”
“You know full well where they are,” Marcus said in a savage voice. “They ran from my wrath. And well they should. But they can't hide from me forever. When I catch them—”
“Don't be a fool,” Justin cut in, his voice still calm. “There isn't a man in your personal entourage who would run rather than die. As for the three men from my household, I've trusted them with Sophie's life many times.”
Justin began looking about the rocky terrain of the forest. He strode ten feet, then came to a halt.
He studied the ground for a moment before saying, “The carriage came through here.” With a sweep of his hands, he indicated a wide area between the trees.
“I see only this bit of carriage tracks here,” he squatted and ran a finger over two inches of ground, “and,” he scuttled forward, “this here.” He ran his fingers over another four inches of ground.
Marcus looked at the ground, but the imagined picture of Elise's terror-stricken face as the carriage careened through the forest toward the cliff's edge blurred his vision. He watched numbly as Justin rose, walked another twenty feet in the direction of the road, then stopped again.
He dropped to a squat and examined the ground. “Here is a hoof print.” He lightly touched a mossy spot between embedded stones. “This stony ground challenges my limited skills as tracker.”
Father Fynn dismounted and joined Justin in studying the ground. He glanced toward the road, then rose, strode several paces, and studied the ground. “Two rode here.” The priest pointed to the ground a foot away.
Justin rose and walked another ten feet past the priest. He surveyed the ground, then the cliff. He looked at Marcus. “Why didn't the women jump?”
Marcus's stomach lurched.