Chapter 8
Days passed, and nothing changed. Kai and Calan stopped by from time to time, but only to report a total lack of progress. Kai explained that they were going through the names on the signed letters one by one, though several men weren’t at home or possibly had moved.
“We’ll find them, though,” Calan said. “It’s just a matter of time.”
Though he smiled as he spoke, Cat sensed a darkness in his tone, a relentlessness, a complete unwillingness to let even one of the names slide away. She would not want to be a target of Calan’s hunt.
Duncan’s visits were fewer, and even less hopeful.
He told her, “Can’t find any hints of similar aggression in the city, and when I explained what was happening—not using any names, of course—the magistrates all sided with the shooter.
They didn’t care at all that some madman was taking aim at Edinburgh’s residents.
One even said that it ought to teach you a lesson to keep your mouth shut. ”
Cat lifted her chin. “Now you see why we don’t wait for men to change things.”
Duncan rumbled an agreement. She’d always liked him, ever since Brodie first brought him over for a visit years ago. He was like a friendly bear, sometimes a bit grumpy, but in general a staunch ally and a steady presence.
Thane, who’d been standing nearby, said nothing to that, and she hated him a little more.
The man seemed indifferent to her plight, except for how it reflected on his own responsibility to Brodie.
That he never forgot, judging by how closely he kept an eye on her.
Always Thane was there. And even when he left the room, he remained in her head, regardless of how hard she tried to think of anything else.
The day of the rally crept closer, and Cat despaired of the problem being solved in time to give her speech.
She didn’t dare speak to Thane or the other men about it—she knew what they would say, and it would be to stay home and skip the rally.
But then the shooter would have won, silencing Cat by keeping her confined, even if he hadn’t succeeded in killing her.
And anyway, would the man dare take a shot at her in the middle of a park? Surrounded by people, in broad daylight? The attack outside Lady Balfour’s party had been at night, with only Thane next to her. This was a very different situation.
Plus she couldn’t bear to disappoint Mrs Roberts and the other women. Miss Fairchild had championed her inclusion on the list of speakers—it seemed churlish to back out, citing a shadowy attack that might never be repeated.
So she would go.
The only question that remained was how.
Cat had to get outside unseen. If she closed the door to the small parlor, she could slip out the side entrance into the garden, and scale the wall by climbing the oak tree—a feat she and Brodie had done countless times as children when they wanted to go have adventures.
Cat and Brodie made a pact to never tell anyone about their escape route.
So the secret remained theirs alone, meaning Thane and his men wouldn’t think of it.
After she got off the property, she’d go to the little park down at the end of the street, which was surrounded by a tall iron fence and gated to keep out random passersby.
Residents held keys, and Cat reasoned that the crazed gunman probably wasn’t a neighbor, or else he’d have shot at her closer to home.
There she’d wait just long enough to make sure no one noticed her departure, and then she’d hail a hackney cab to take her to the site of the rally.
She had coins for the fare, she could tuck her speech in her reticle, and she’d leave directly after her part in the rally was done.
She’d be back in less than two hours. With luck, no one would miss her at all.
She dressed in her usual black, wishing that it wasn’t quite so dramatically different than the spring surroundings of new green grasses and budding trees. Perhaps she was being a little capricious.
No. She had a duty and she intended to complete it. Just as Brodie carried out his duties as a soldier, regardless of risk. She touched the charm at her neck.
“Wish me luck, brother,” she whispered.
* * * *
On Thursday, morning came and went, and Thane felt his eyelids dropping a bit.
He hadn’t been getting enough sleep since he started watching Catriona.
And not just because of the late-night watch duties.
The woman seemed to designed to rob a man of sleep—if he wasn’t fuming over something she said, he was getting distracted by her face and figure.
A woman so determined to eschew men shouldn’t be so damned alluring.
If he had to watch her nibble the end of her pencil while she stared out the window composing her next speech one more time…
it was maddening. Especially because he knew that technically, he did not have to look.
But he wanted to look. Something in him craved the torment Cat so unwittingly caused.
But now, no one was presently tormenting him.
The whole house was covered in a hazy, sleepy quiet.
Yes, he knew that the servants were moving around, especially in the kitchen and in the back of the house and the small yard—he could hear the splash of water as a few of the young women washed household linens.
But the main rooms were totally empty. Tacita had gone up for an hourlong nap, which he’d learned was the lady’s habit.
Catriona had been talking to the housekeeper earlier, but he hadn’t seen her since midmorning.
A housemaid came by, a bucket of coal in each hand. She bobbed a curtsey to him.
“Excuse me, Jenny. Do you know where Miss Ross is?”
“The side parlor, sir. By the garden doors. At least, last time I saw her.”
He let the maid go by and then made his way to the parlor, hoping to catch Catriona in a good mood. Maybe they could talk like civilized people for once.
“Miss Ross,” he called, knocking on the closed door. “May I come in?”
There was no answer. He rolled his eyes. So much for civilized conversation. She must be determined to act like a brat today.
“Miss Ross, it’s important.”
Still nothing. He frowned. It wasn’t like her to keep quiet—a wickedly barbed comment was far more her style.
“Catriona?” he asked, risking her given name. Unbidden, a familiar burn began to form in his gut. It was the feeling that accompanied him so often as a soldier. The feeling that something was wrong.
He opened the door and strode in, preparing for an indignant yelp from Catriona, or some censure for not respecting a lady’s privacy.
But the parlor was empty.
“God damn it.” He quickly crossed the room. The glass doors to the garden were closed, but not locked. Had someone got in and taken her? She would have screamed the house down at the sight of an intruder. Unless the intruder had the means to silence her.
Thane cast about, searching for some clue.
A half sheet of paper lay on the floor, pinned down by the leg of the chair.
He bent and picked it up. Not a ransom note, he realized instantly.
Just one of the announcements that Cat and her ladies’ league always seemed to have in their reticules, ready to foist upon unsuspecting people.
This one was for an upcoming event in the park promising speeches on the cause of women’s rights.
Then he inhaled sharply. This wasn’t an upcoming event. It was today. It was happening now.
And Cat had snuck out of the house to be there to give her damn speech.