Chapter Seventeen #2
Justin frowned. “The guards would have instructed them to jump long before they reached the cliff.
The men wouldn't have willingly gone over with the carriage.” Justin turned and walked toward the road until he disappeared among the trees.
A moment later, his faint call sounded from beyond the trees.
Marcus didn't move.
“Father,” Kiernan said.
Marcus looked at him and Keirnan gave him an inquiring look. Marcus started toward Justin's voice. He broke from the trees to find Justin examining the road. Father Fynn followed, his horse's reins in hand. Kiernan trailed with the remaining horses.
Justin didn't look up at their approach, only said, “Marcus, you are a far better tracker than I. Have a look.”
Marcus moved forward as though in a dream and squatted next to Justin.
“This road is nearly as rocky as the shore,” Justin said. “However, there is no mistaking these tracks.”
Marcus looked at the inch long depression crushing the moss which grew between the rocks.
“And,” Justin went on, “these.” He pointed to another small rut to his right.
Marcus looked at the track. He frowned and looked up at Justin. “A second carriage”
The earl nodded. “Have you any idea if this could be Elise's carriage?”
Marcus looked from one carriage track to the other, then back at Justin. “Nae.”
“They are two separate tracks, then?”
“Aye. They are spaced too far apart to be the same carriage.” He surveyed the ground. “This road isn't used a great deal.” The road branched off the main road to Edinburgh. He looked at Father Fynn. “This is the road you took from Braemer?”
“Aye,” the priest answered.
“We found no sign of the carriage leaving the main road,” Marcus said.
“True,” Justin agreed. “But the rain the night before obliterated most tracks.”
Marcus rose and stepped slowly toward the trees, all the while scanning the ground. When he saw the partial indentation of a hoof print, he looked up and stared at the trees through which Elise's carriage had raced.
“Kiernan,” he called without looking back, “bring me my horse.”
* * *
“Wait here,” Marcus told Justin and Kiernan when they followed him down the chapel hallway. They had remained close—too close—on the ride to the church, and Marcus had no stomach for it when he faced what lie ahead.
They obeyed, and he continued to the door that separated him from the body of the woman Father Fynn insisted was his wife.
Marcus reached for the door, his hand shaking so badly he gripped the doorknob with force enough to turn his knuckles white.
He pushed the door open, stepped through, then shoved it shut behind him.
In the time it took to slide his gaze from the floor to her body, the memory of Elise turning to face him the day he'd happened upon her in the meadow flashed before him. Burned into his mind was the proud expression that revealed the indomitable spirit that would not be tamed.
The memory shattered at sight of the body lying on the small bed in the corner of the room.
He reeled. Father Fynn warned that her skull had been damaged beyond recognition, but nothing had prepared Marcus for this.
His belly roiled. He fell to his knees, his stomach finally giving up what little he had been coerced into eating the past two days.
He wretched until he thought his liver would follow, then slumped forward.
A sudden pounding on the door jarred him. “Father!” Kiernan called from the other side of the door.
Amidst the pounding came Justin's calmer, “Marcus.”
“Stay out!” Marcus shouted.
He leaned forward, his palms finding purchase on the floor amidst the vomit.
The pounding ceased. Marcus slowed his ragged breathing, but no amount of effort controlled the shaking of his body.
He forced his head up, steadying his gaze on Elise's skirts, torn and mud-caked.
He recognized the light yellow damask. His gaze moved of its own volition to her hands, folded across her chest in an attitude of rest. Without thought, his gaze yanked farther up her body and he stared at the unrecognizable face.
* * *
Marcus jerked to consciousness as though roused from a slumber of years.
Daylight had faded the sky to a purple haze.
He rode between Justin and Kiernan. He searched his memory but found no recollection of how he had come to be there.
He looked left, past Kiernan, and studied the forested land.
There was something—something he couldn't quite grasp.
He looked ahead at the road, damp from the day's shower.
The recollection hit him like a bolt of lightning.
He couldn't mistake the place. Marcus yanked on his horse's reins, wheeling the beast past Kiernan.
“Father!”
Marcus ignored his son and galloped through the trees toward the spot where Elise's carriage had run off the cliff.
Hoof beats followed, but he cared nothing for his companions.
He broke from the trees into the clearing at the cliff's edge and brought his horse to a halt ten feet from the cliff.
Marcus leapt from its back and strode to the very edge of the cliff.
“Father!” Kiernan's shout preceded his burst into the clearing.
Marcus whirled. “Her wedding band.”
“What?” Kiernan said, breathless as he jumped from his horse and hurried to his side.
Marcus looked past him to Justin, who was dismounting. “I didn't see her wedding ring. Did the priest give it to you?”
“No,” Justin replied.
Marcus tightened his jaw as he pushed past Kiernan. “What have they done with her wedding band?”
Justin strode to his side. “The highwaymen would have taken everything.”
Marcus shook his head. “Nae. The ring was a size too large. She feared losing it and packed it away for the trip.”
The earl shook his head. “Surely the highwaymen would have searched the baggage.”
“The emerald is three karats. It will not be easily hid. I can find it and Elise's murderers within the week.”
For the second time that day, Marcus rode through the streets of Braemer.
Elise's body was already on its way to Brahan Seer.
Justin had made the arrangements. Marcus's gut twisted.
He would retrieve her wedding band, find the guards who had deserted her, then return to Brahan Seer…
and to her. He could offer no recompense for her death, but neither would he find peace for the remainder of his days.
He stopped in front of the modest church.
“Wait here,” he ordered Kiernan and Justin, then dismounted and went inside.
Father Fynn walked down the aisle toward the door. He halted when Marcus entered the sanctuary. They stared at one another for a moment, then the priest said, “You're here about the jewelry?”
Marcus felt another vicious twist to his insides. “Aye.”
Father Fynn nodded. “Come with me.” He turned and started toward the altar.
Marcus followed him to the back of the church.
He hesitated when the priest paused before the altar to make the sign of the cross.
Left led to the room where Elise had lain.
Father Fynn turned right, but Marcus's knees weakened nonetheless.
They continued down a short corridor and entered a modest bedchamber.
Father Fynn stopped before a desk in the far corner and opened a drawer.
He retrieved a folded paper, then faced Marcus.
“I wanted no mistakes. When I saw the quality cut of Lady Ashlund's clothes, I assumed she had met with highwaymen.
Therefore, the fact she wore no jewelry did no' surprise me.
I thought no more of it until Sara MacPhee, one of my parishioners, arrived early this morning.
According to her, her son discovered your wife.
I didn't know that when I spoke to you earlier because it was James MacAlphie who alerted me to the presence of Lady's Ashlund's body in the loch.” Father Fynn paused.
“You must understand, the jewels represent a lifetime of wealth to these people.” Marcus made no response and Fynn went on.
“The long and short of the matter is that Sara's son took the jewelry.”
Marcus clenched his hands into fists.
“The boy is gone. You could find him, of course, and would be well within your rights to extract payment. A man of your position could sentence the boy to a lifetime of imprisonment.”
Marcus envisioned the boy hanging alongside the three men who had been entrusted with Elise's life.
Father Fynn unfolded the paper. “Sara saw the jewelry. She described a thin, gold bracelet and a brooch—”
“I am well aware of my wife's jewelry,” Marcus snapped.
He strode to Father Fynn and snatched the paper from his hands.
“Of course.” Father Fynn hesitated. “Lord Ashlund, I pressed Sara for information concerning the brooch. It was the most valuable of the items, so I had hoped—”
“Most valuable?” Marcus demanded coldly. “My wife's wedding ring was far more valuable. The emerald is three karats. The gold, twenty-four karat. The ring has been in my family for generations. It is priceless.”
Father Fynn looked startled. “Emerald? What emerald?”
“She packed the ring in her valise with the chain and brooch.”
The priest pointed to the paper Marcus held. “I swear, Lord Ashlund, there was no emerald ring. Wait, there is this.” He opened a drawer and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. He unfolded the document and handed it to Marcus.
He lifted the paper and recognized the pawnbroker's ticket for Elise's wedding band.
Thick gold wedding band his mind repeated the words on the document. Elise had kept the pawn ticket. Why?
Marcus riveted his gaze to Father Fynn. “Where is this Sara MacPhee?”
Fear crossed the priest's face.
“I will not harm her.”
Father Fynn hesitated, then said, “I cannot stop you.”
“No,” Marcus said, his voice hard. “No one can.”
* * *
In the predawn hours the next morning, the door to Marcus's study opened and Justin and Kiernan entered. The time of reckoning had arrived.