Chapter Nineteen #2
Another day of living with the knowledge that Elise was locked in hell had worn Marcus beyond thin.
The Single Penny's tavern door swung open and he snapped his attention onto the newcomer, his brother-in-law.
His heart rate accelerated. The grim expression on the lad's face didn't bode well.
Steven assessed the room in the same manner he had the day they'd met William Shelby, then pressed through the cluster of men milling near the door and shuffled across the room.
He slid into the seat opposite Marcus and without preamble whispered, “I'm a complete fool.”
“What has happened?” Marcus demanded.
“We were so occupied with Danvers—so sure Elise was there—”
“Are you saying she is not?”
Steven shook his head. “No. Only that our knowing she is there created a distraction.” He gave a harsh laugh. “If I didn't know any better, I would swear Price planned it.” His mouth dipped into a deep scowl. “It occurred to me last night that I should question Price's servants.”
“Wouldn't Ardsley stop you?” Marcus asked.
“If he knew, yes. There is little love lost between Price and his servants. The housekeeper, in particular, despises him.” Steven halted and looked past Marcus. He realized the barmaid must be approaching with ale in hand. An instant later, she appeared at his right and set an ale before Steven.
“Any of that jackrabbit stew left?” Steven asked.
“Always got jackrabbit stew,” she replied.
“Two,” Steven said, and she left. He drank from his mug, then said, “Mrs Hartley is a jewel of a housekeeper and Price knows it. Every day, after lunch, she goes to the market. This afternoon, I met her there.” Steven paused.
“I've always wondered why she stays with Price.
A woman with her skills could easily find another post. She doesn't live in terror of him as the other servants do.
“This is the only concession I have ever known him to make in his household.
That, too, puzzled me. Price isn't a man to tolerate being questioned. Today, I discovered why she stays. Mrs Hartley has a son. He is now thirty years of age. About fifteen years ago, he killed a man in a brothel brawl. The dead man was a well-respected businessman. All these years, Price has been holding this over her head.”
“Why tell you this after all this time?”
Steven gave a low grunt. “Two reasons, I suspect. One, she likes Elise. The second, once I told her Price was holding Elise captive she must have realized that there was a great chance I would deal with him legally. That would free her from Price's hold.”
“Bloody hell,” Marcus burst out. “You didn't inform her of my presence?”
Steven glanced around the tavern and Marcus cursed his temper.
The younger man leaned closer. “Of course not.
But the woman's no fool. She knew I was up to something.
Nothing goes on in any household the servants don't know, sometimes even before other family members, and with good reason; they're smarter than the devil himself. Our stew is coming.” Steven slumped back in his chair.
Marcus did the same as the barmaid set a bowl of stew before him, then Steven. She turned and headed back to the bar. Steven placed his elbows on the table and took another drink of ale before stirring the stew.
“Mrs Hartley knew that Price told the board Elise was here in America,” he said, and took a bite of stew.
“He's in the habit of having late meetings in his home with board members.
Last night, a woman was brought in. She was dressed in black.
Heavily veiled and heavily sedated. Price carried her to one of the guestrooms on the second floor.
He wouldn't allow anyone into the room when he took her up. Half an hour later, he called for Mrs Hartley. Imagine her shock at seeing Elise in the bed, looking as if she had all but stepped into the grave.”
Marcus's heart missed a beat. “How did he get her past us—we left Danvers too soon.”
“Don't lose yourself just yet, MacGregor. I thought the same, but there was something wrong with Mrs Hartley's story.”
“What do you mean?”
“She said a single candle burned on a table in the corner of the room. The covers were tucked tightly around the woman's shoulders. Despite the dim lighting, Mrs Hartley observed the emaciated neck and hollow cheeks of the woman—and her hair—you know how thick Elise's hair is.”
“Aye.” Marcus remembered well the silky feel of the thick tresses between his fingers.
“Mrs Hartley said her hair was so thin that her scalp was visible in places.”
“'Tis but two months since Arsdley abducted her. How is it possible—”
“It isn't,” Steven cut in. “The resemblance must have been strong for Mrs Hartley to believe the woman was Elise, but Mrs Hartley said the woman was barely recognizable as the Elise she had seen just a year ago.
Elise lost weight due to the stress of Amelia's illness, but she was, overall, very healthy.”
Marcus nodded. “The housekeeper thought Elise had been wasting away an entire year.”
“Right.” Steven took another spoonful of stew. “Consider,” he said between chewing, “it's not yet two months since Elise disappeared. Had Price starved her to the point of shedding that much weight, her heart would probably have given out.”
“The woman is not Elise.” Marcus leaned back in his chair. “Why an impersonator? Why not simply incapacitate Elise?”
“I can only guess,” Steven said, “but—”
“But,” Marcus interrupted, “he will not risk her leaving the asylum.”
Steven nodded. “Price is… canny.” His expression turned pained. “Had I been more aware—”
“Nae,” Marcus cut him off. “The man is clever and he can't have done this alone.”
Suddenly, Langley's words came back to Marcus.
“Ye have a spy, MacGregor.” Price Ardsley had help.
The truth hit like a landslide. The Campbells.
Marcus recalled the day they attacked the women at the loch and the look on the Campbell warrior's face when Elise called out that Nell had been taken.
The man recognized the American accent. They had come for Elise—for the second time.
Marcus suddenly understood why they hadn't accosted her when they kidnapped her: the ten thousand pound bounty.
But how had they known—more importantly, who at Brahan Seer had aided them?
“MacGregor.”
Marcus shook from his thoughts at hearing Steven's voice.
“What is it?” Steven asked.
“Ardsley may not be as omnipotent as he appears.”
“What do you mean?”
“I believe some old enemies of mine were in league with him,” Marcus said. “Elise had a bad habit of leaving Brahan Seer without an escort.”
Steven paused in taking another drink of ale. “Brahan Seer?”
“Our home in the Highlands. She used to go alone outside the castle.”
Steven grimaced. “I can believe she would be so foolish. Even as a girl, she drove Father to distraction, coming and going without permission.”
“You are saying this is a fault of hers?”
The younger man barked a rough laugh. “MacGregor, if you're only now coming to this conclusion, I have no sympathy for you.”
Marcus smiled faintly. “The woman can be a pain in the arse. She is mine, nonetheless.”
“These enemies,” Steven prodded.
“Aye. They kidnapped Elise once, tried a second time.”
Steven regarded him for a long moment, then shook his head and took another bite of stew.
Marcus liked the lad. “The board meeting,” he said. “The vote is to be held at Ardsley's home tonight?”
“No, tomorrow. But the board members are to meet at Price's home tonight. I wager Price is going to let them see Elise in her sick bed then, when he presents the paper tomorrow—a paper signed by my sister—it will be a fait accompli.”
“What time this evening?”
“Eight o'clock.”
Marcus glanced at the clock hanging on the wall behind the bar. Four fifty-five. “We have three hours.”
Steven raised a brow. “If we show up and claim the impostor…”
“Aye,” Marcus said. “If he wants my wife's fifty-one percent of Landen Shipping, he will have no choice but to return Elise to me.”
“We should have stormed the damned hospital,” Steven muttered darkly.
Marcus tensed, remembering all too well the strength of will it had taken to keep from hiring fifty men and raiding Danvers.
Strength of will. Nae. Justin had been the voice of reason.
They weren't in Scotland, Justin had reminded him.
Here, Marcus was naught but a British subject on foreign soil.
He had always thought of himself as a man of logic and not given to rash action.
But, until now, he hadn't realized how much he relied upon his position as the Marquess of Ashlund—even more—the son of the Duke of Ashlund.
Ah, Ryan, my ancestor, how far our paths have diverged.
For the first time in his life, Marcus understood the true nature of Ryan MacGregor.
All these years, Marcus thought he understood him—thought it was Ryan who demanded recompense for the wrongs done to the MacGregors over the centuries.
But, in truth, how could Marcus, a man of wealth and position, understand a man who possessed nothing?
A man who fought with the only weapon he had: his mind.
Marcus laughed inwardly. How many years had he fought his enemies with the sword—the very thing Ryan had fought against?
Marcus turned his attention to his brother-in-law. “We are far from finished with Price Ardsley. We shall deal with him in a way that brings about his demise because of his own actions.”
Steven's gaze intensified. “All I ask is that I be allowed to witness his end.”
“Aye, lad,” Marcus replied in a quiet voice. “You will be one among many.”
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