Chapter Twenty-Two #3
The night Price Ardsley disappeared, Mister Jacob O'Riley reported witnessing two men outside Ardsley's estate accost a lone rider. A hood was thrown over the victim's head, then he was tied and thrown into the back of a carriage driven by his two assailants.
William Sheldon of the Boston Police Department interviewed Mister O'Riley but determined the event O'Riley witnessed is not connected with the disappearance of Price Ardsley.
Anyone having information about Mister Ardsley's whereabouts is directed to report to Captain Sheldon immediately.
Marcus reread the first clipping. Price Ardsley in Australia. Heated satisfaction shot through him. So, he would not have to return to America after all. He refolded the two clippings, slipped them back in their envelope, then opened the letter and began reading.
Ashlund,
Six weeks have passed, and I am fully recovered from the knife wound you inflicted. Had the doctors not insisted on the long convalescence, I would have caught the next ship bound for Scotland and run a dagger through your leg for good measure.
I imagine you've read the newspaper clippings I sent. Strange things are afoot. I can't say what lies ahead. Though I feel certain Price Ardsley won't be in a position to pay anyone to kill another man—or two men, as the case may be—again in the near future.
See that Elise gets the letter addressed to her.
Take care of her.
Steven
Marcus refolded the letter and placed it in the envelope with the clippings. He took the letter addressed to Elise and went to her chambers. He sighed upon finding her room empty. Perhaps when he returned she would be here and… He left the letter on her dresser, then headed for the stables.
Marcus heard the approach of footsteps even as Elise called out his name.
He exchanged a glance with Kiernan before turning from the stall where his son was saddling the stallion he had chosen to ride.
As she hurried down the stable aisle toward them, Marcus's heart began to hammer out the heavy beat he had been experiencing more and more of late when in her presence.
He noticed a letter—Steven's letter—tightly clutched in her hand.
Elise had nearly reached them when she lifted the letter. “This came today?”
“Aye,” Marcus replied.
“Steven says he is fully recovered and out of the hospital.” She stopped beside Marcus. Her expression clouded over. “Marcus, please, don't lie. How bad was the wound? Is it possible he truly is out of danger?”
“I told you the truth, love,” he said. Except for the fact Steven had turned at just the wrong moment and the knife Marcus had thrown pierced the breastbone above the heart instead of his arm, as intended.
Marcus shuddered inwardly as he always did when remembering how close he came to killing his wife's brother—and how close the brother came to killing his own son.
“The wound wasn't life threatening.” Or so the doctors said two days later, when Steven began to show signs of recovering from the loss of blood. Marcus would have arrived back in Scotland a week earlier had he not tarried in Boston to assure himself the boy would recover.
Kiernan stuck his head out the stall. Elise jumped, bumping into the small table against the wall.
The brush and trimming scissors lying on the table skittered across its surface.
She quickly righted the table before they fell to the floor and looked at Kiernan.
He flushed and Marcus knew his son was remembering his part in nearly getting killed, and nearly getting Steven killed.
Marcus had also feared Elise wouldn't forgive Kiernan's part in her brother's brush with death.
But she had, or so her warmth toward the boy seemed to indicate.
Would her warmth eventually extend to him?
Would she forgive him? He wouldn't forget the sight of her pale face when he told her how Kiernan had saved him and Steven from Price's assassins, and how Steven had mistaken Kiernan for those assassins.
When Marcus gave her the short letter Steven had written for her, she noted the shaky hand the letter had been written in and wouldn't be completely consoled—until today.
She blushed in response to Kiernan's embarrassment, and Marcus's body pulsed. He suddenly wished his son far away. Perhaps, if he and Elise were alone, she might allow him to make love to her. Marcus turned to Kiernan.
“Mayhap you should go on without me.” He looked at Elise. “Will you walk with me?”
She looked as though he had asked her to puzzle out the secret of the universe, and Marcus repressed a laugh. He extended his hand. She slipped her hand into his. He glimpsed a figure entering the door at the far end of the stables as they turned to leave.
“Silas,” he called after the new stable hand, “see to Alexis. I won't be taking him out as planned.” Marcus turned back to Elise and urged her toward the door at the far end of the stables. “Did Steven have much to say?” he asked.
“He will return to duty in the Army.” She hesitated. “He mentioned Price is missing.”
“He cannot harm us, Elise.”
Her gaze swung to his face. Her brow furrowed, then she nodded. They exited the door and took a few steps down the path before she exclaimed, “The letter!” and broke free of his hold on her hand. “I must have dropped it.”
“Elise,” he called, but she had already disappeared back into the stables. Bloody hell, at this rate it would be another six weeks before he got his wife back to the house, much less into his bed. He strode back inside the stables.
His heart jumped into his throat. In the instant before he broke into a run toward Elise, he took in the sight of Kiernan riding through the stable doors, Silas stepping from the stall next to the door, knife poised for throwing, and Elise grabbing the trimming scissors from the table.
She hurled them toward Silas as she had thrown the sgian dubh that day at Brahan Seer.
The scissors hit their intended victim with deadly accuracy between the shoulder blades.
Blood darkened the dirty shirt he wore. Silas faltered and turned, eyes wide with surprise.
His expression contorted into rage. He roared and lunged toward her.
Kiernan whirled his mount around to face the sudden commotion.
His gaze met Marcus's, then Kiernan shouted and dug his heels into his horse's ribs.
The beast's nostrils flared as he dipped his head and charged.
Marcus forced his legs to pump harder. Silas would still reach Elise before either of them did.
She pivoted and grabbed the hoof pick hanging on the wall.
The hair on Marcus's neck rose when Silas clutched at her.
She swung the hoof pick. Kiernan reached them as she slashed Silas's arm.
The horse slammed into Silas and he was knocked forward and into Elise.
He grabbed her, but Marcus leapt between them, shoving her behind him.
The table crashed onto its side and Elise cried out.
Marcus seized Silas's collar and pounded his fist into the man's jaw.
“Father,” Kiernan shouted as he leapt from his horse.
Marcus swung Silas around and sent him flying through the door of the stall.
Silas banged into the wall and crumbled to the ground.
Marcus whirled to face Elise. His breath came in quick, deep gasps—much like hers.
She met his gaze, eyes blazing. He looked at Silas.
The scissors had fallen from his back onto the straw-laden ground beside him. Marcus looked back at Elise.
“You never told me where you learned to throw a knife like that!” he shouted.
She blinked as if yanked from a dream. “Steven—” her voice caught, but Marcus realized it was the last vestiges of fear—and rage. “Steven learned as a young boy. I-I always feared he would hurt himself, so I attended his practices.”
Elise yanked her skirt above her ankles and strode to the stall opening. She stared at Silas, her hands clenched on the fistful of skirt she held. She pivoted as Marcus stepped up behind her and collided with him. He grasped her shoulders.
She grabbed his arms as though to steady herself. “Will we ever be free of him?”
In her eyes, Marcus saw the fear he had felt when he saw Silas poised to murder his son.
Marcus glanced around and spotted the bucket of water he was looking for several stalls down.
He fetched it, then pushed past Elise and Kiernan and threw the water on the unconscious man.
Silas awoke with a sputter. Marcus seized him by his collar and yanked him to his feet.
“Who sent you?” Marcus shouted.
Silas cowed.
“Tell me or I'll kill you here and now.”
“That woman.” Silas cringed.
“Woman?” Marcus gave him a hard shake.
Silas went silent.
“Kiernan! Give me your pistol.”
“No,” Silas cried.
Marcus lifted his fist for another blow.
“Ross!” Silas shouted. “Lady Ross.”