Chapter Eighteen #2
Marcus's mind registered the letter lying on the table. He picked it up and handed it toward Justin.
The earl unfolded the paper and began reading. A moment later, he murmured, “Shay. Wait. Shay. This cannot be the fellow whose son you saved while on campaign in America?”
Marcus nodded.
Justin frowned. “What prompted you to contact him?”
“Landen Shipping informed me Steven Landen was serving in the Army.”
Justin laughed. “Good of them to be so obliging.”
“Colonel Shay located the boy.”
“Boy?”
“He is twenty-five.”
“I expected someone older than Elise.”
“I thought the same,” Marcus said.
“Something more you need to know,” Justin said. “If Elise doesn't return from the dead, her shares go to the next living blood relative.”
“Steven Landen would control Landen Shipping,” Marcus said.
“Steven Landen does control Landen Shipping. Elise's stock isn't his—not until the allotted five years passes—but he controls her vote until then.”
Marcus frowned. “Then why hasn't Ardsley simply killed him?”
“Because Steven's will bequeaths his shares and controlling interest to a distant cousin who lives in New York.”
“My God,” Marcus murmured. “Steven Landen is of no consequence—”
“If Price Ardsley has Elise,” Justin finished for him.
“Why the bloody hell is her brother not here?” Marcus burst out. “Where did you get this information?”
Justin grinned. “There is always a disgruntled employee to be found.” The earl returned his attention to the letter. A moment later, he looked up, shock written on his face. “My God, she shot her husband? Surely, it can't be true?”
“I believe every word,” Marcus said.
Justin glanced at the letter. “You knew nothing of this? Of course not,” he added.
Marcus gave a hollow laugh. “I knew I wanted her. Nothing else mattered.”
The earl nodded. “Love blinds a man.”
As does passion, Marcus added silently, then said, “I meant to leave immediately to find Steven, but if it is possible Elise is here—” he broke off, still unable to grasp the possibility.
“You must find the boy. He's the key to getting to Ardsley. I never met his sister. If our story is to hold any weight, it must come from you.”
“But Elise…”
A glint appeared in Justin's eye. “I will find her.”
Marcus grasped his cousin's shoulder and squeezed, then released him. “I'll depart tomorrow. We—”
The door opened and the waiter appeared, a plate of food in each hand. He approached the table and began to set Marcus's plate before him but halted, his gaze falling on the wine-stained tablecloth.
He straightened. “I shall replace the linen.” He turned to leave, plates still in hand.
“Nae,” Marcus said. “Leave the plates. We will live with the spilt wine.”
The waiter looked as if he'd been asked to strip naked and run through the streets of Boston.
Marcus rested his gaze on him. “Leave the plates, lad.”
The man did as instructed. “If you need anything—”
“We will call for you,” Marcus cut in. “Until then, see that we aren't disturbed.”
The waiter blinked, but gave a stiff bow and left.
Justin picked up his knife and fork. “I said you'd cut him to the quick.”
“I'll be back well before Landen Shipping's next meeting,” Marcus said. “Then I will cut Ardsley to the quick.”
* * *
Marcus slowed his horse in the dense forest and scanned the ground.
The tracks in the soft South Carolina ground were less than an hour old.
He glanced up through the trees. At most, the afternoon sun would be in the sky another two hours.
At a sudden commotion in the trees ahead, Marcus jerked his hand to the musket in his saddle holster, but relaxed when a flock of bobwhite quail took flight.
The leather fringes on the sleeves of the buckskin he wore swayed violently, then came to a rest as he focused again on the tracks and urged his horse forward.
Only a moment later he caught sight of two horses picking their way through the trees about seventy-five feet ahead. He looked closer. One of the horses was riderless. He'd been following the tracks of two men, where—the distinct sound of a rifle being cocked answered the incomplete thought.
“Take the musket from its holster and toss it,” a male voice said from above him. Marcus hesitated and a strong “Mister” settled the matter.
He slid the Brown Bess musket from its holster and tossed it to the ground. “I'm not here to cause trouble.”
The sound of the rifle's hammer being uncocked from above was followed by the light drop of the man from the trees onto the ground behind Marcus.
“You tracked me some distance before I realized you were on my trail,” the voice said. “Not bad for an Englishman.”
Marcus slowly turned his horse and found himself facing a young man dressed like himself, except the other's clothes bore testament of the wearer's time in the saddle. This was Steven Landen. Those deep brown eyes—and the challenge they held—were all too familiar.
“Scottish Highlands,” Marcus said.
“Well, Highlander, what are you doing in South Carolina tracking me?”
Marcus glanced at the Baker rifle the boy held loosely at his side—not so loose he couldn't yank it into position before Marcus was upon him.
Arrogant pup. But perhaps it was an arrogance born out of experience.
The British-made Baker rifle was known for its precision aim, a very good reason for a US Army tracker to carry the weapon.
Steven's gaze shifted past him and Marcus glanced over his shoulder to see the rider he'd spotted a moment ago standing a few feet away. He saw now what he hadn't discerned before. The buckskin-dressed man was Indian.
Marcus faced Steven. “How did you discover I was on your trail?”
“I'm the best tracker this side of the Mississippi,” Steven said with unabashed candor. “White tracker, that is.”
“You are Steven Landen, then?”
The boy gave no indication Marcus had hit the mark, only continued to study him.
“We need to talk. Privately,” Marcus added.
“Anything you have to say can be said in front of Joseph.”
“'Tis about your sister.”
Steven's nonchalant demeanor vanished. “My sister is dead.”
“Nae. She was lost off the coast of Solway Firth, Scotland.”
Steven's jaw tightened. He looked at the Indian. “Joseph.”
Marcus didn't hear the man leave but knew he had when Steven swung his gaze back to him.