Chapter 33
Gordon was gone by morning, his side of the bed cold, and Agnes did not see him again until it was time for the cèilidh.
“Daenae concern yerself, me Lady,” Iona had said, some worry lacing her voice, when she had come to serve breakfast. “The guests are arrivin’, and as the Laird, it’s his duty to welcome them into the castle. He’ll be watchin’ for any sign of that duke too. He wouldnae trust anyone else to do it.”
“Should I not be welcoming them too?” Agnes had countered. “Why would he leave without me?”
“Nay, me Lady, all ye need to do today is relax and enjoy yerself. Ye had a long day yesterday, and today will be longer,” Iona had replied, though it had done nothing to put Agnes at ease.
But as the day wore on and she dressed for the night’s occasion, she began to wonder why she cared that Gordon had left their bed without so much as a farewell. It was not as if they had ended things on a particularly good note last night.
Maybe he had decided that they needed to spend the day apart to avoid quarreling in front of a larger audience.
Or he is preparing me for the rest of my life, sharing a cold bed.
She took one look at herself in the mirror to study her red gown, but it only served to dredge up vivid memories of the other night.
Her face hot, she quickly left the bedchamber. There were too many memories in there, and though her mood was low, she was determined to have some fun this evening.
The Great Hall thrummed with activity, voices buzzing like an apiary, while music drifted through the hallways, adding a vitality that no amount of open curtains could create.
It was perhaps the sweetest sound Agnes had ever heard, though it took her ears a moment to adjust as she stepped through the tall double doors and into the room beyond.
Swarms of guests filled the space. Some of them were dancing a lively reel, some were picking at the feasting table, some were huddled together in deep discussion, some were clearly gossiping.
Agnes might not have cared much for balls and parties before, but the sight of so many people and so much life filled her with an immediate rush of joy.
Lizzy would relish this.
But the baby was upstairs with Iona, no doubt sleeping through it all.
“Lady Agnes, is that you?” An unfamiliar voice pulled her out of her thoughts.
Somewhat dazed, she peered up into brown eyes that she didn’t recognize. A young gentleman, no more than twenty or so, with a sweeping mane of strawberry blonde hair and a bright smile.
She frowned. “Do I know you?”
What is an Englishman doing here?
“Goodness, that is rude of me. We have met once or twice, my Lady, though it was foolish of me to expect you to remember,” he said, chuckling. “I am Lord Samson.”
Samson?
She racked her brain, trying to place the name. It was not a title she was familiar with, and she had studied the peerage of England in great depth.
“I just wanted to wish you hearty congratulations on your nuptials,” he continued, oblivious to her unease. “You must be overjoyed, for this is quite the most beautiful castle. The grounds are rather lovely too, though I confess I have not seen much of them. I arrived as the sun was setting.”
“I apologize, Lord Samson, but who are you exactly?” she pressed. “Where did we meet? Where is your family seat?”
“Pembury House, my Lady,” he replied.
Her blood ran cold.
“Then you know the Duke of Pembury?” Her eyes narrowed.
You know Edwin.
“His brother. Well, his half-brother. My father’s second marriage,” he explained, somewhat bashfully. “I had hoped to reach you sooner, but I confess, I found myself lost in the Highlands for longer than I care to admit.”
She realized her mistake at that moment: Samson was not the man’s title, but his first name.
Fear flared in her chest. “And why would you hope to reach me?” she asked, a bite in her voice. “Has your brother sent you here in his stead?”
“Heavens, no.” Samson pulled a face. “Quite the opposite. I meant to reach you before him, and since I have seen no sign of him, I am hopeful that I have managed it. Perhaps he has lost his way in the Highlands too. In truth, it was a stroke of luck that I learned about this lovely gathering when I did.”
She didn’t trust a word coming out of his mouth, for she neither believed in luck nor coincidence. There was no way that Samson was here of his own volition, for a reason entirely unrelated to his older brother’s schemes.
“Apologies, I have jumped ahead of myself again,” Samson said, grimacing.
“I was at Pembury when news came that you had gone to Scotland with my niece. I overheard my brother talking to some men about kidnapping the baby, and I wanted to come here to warn you. Indeed, I left the very next day, and should have been ahead of those kidnappers. But then, as I said, I lost my way.”
“Those men are dead,” Agnes said, her arms crossed, ready to run if she had to. “They did attempt to kidnap my niece but were stopped. I would take that as a warning, if I were you.”
The young man looked strangely crestfallen, so either he was an exemplary thespian, or he was sad to hear that his fellow conspirators were dead.
“You don’t trust me,” he said, nodding. “That is understandable. I am a stranger to you, even though we are family. But I assure you, I mean no harm. I have known my brother to do some terrible things, and just before he died, my father charged me with ensuring that Edwin did nothing foolish. I have not always been successful, but I knew I could help prevent him from stealing my niece from you.”
“I have not always been successful…”
Was he referring to Christine? Agnes hoped not, or he would receive a punch to the face.
She studied him more intently. There was no deceit in his expression; his manner was youthfully earnest. For reasons she could not explain, she wanted to believe that he was telling the truth.
“Ah, yes! I have proof!” he added suddenly, a grin spreading across his face.
“I brought a man with me. He helped me find my way here. He can tell you that I was indeed lost. He is in the stables. And there is a letter in my saddlebag, a letter that I wrote while I was lost and hoped to send to you if I could not find my way here.”
She eyed him warily, her suspicions still jittering in her veins.
“I am not going to the stables with you,” she said coldly.
He laughed awkwardly. “No, of course not. I was not suggesting that you should.” He paused. “Let us go to the entrance. You can wait there, surrounded by your husband’s soldiers. I will bring the man to you.”
It was a fair compromise, and she knew she would feel safe among Gordon’s men. They were everywhere outside, patrolling constantly. She had watched them from her window throughout the day, pointing them out to amuse Lizzy.
“Very well,” she relented.
After all, it would have been unfair of her to judge this young man if it turned out that he had come here to try and warn her.
Belated and useless, true, but it would be nice to have another ally against Edwin.
Someone closer to him who could keep an eye on him, and perhaps inform her if he planned to kidnap Lizzy again.
Yes, that might actually be very useful.
For she would not be able to learn of Edwin’s whereabouts up here in the Highlands. An informant would be exceptionally useful.
So, with a faint flicker of possibility in her chest, she followed Samson out of the Great Hall. As she trailed him closely, she opened her mouth to ask him if he knew where Edwin was when he suddenly whirled around and clamped a cloth over her mouth and nose.
Her eyes widened in panic, her hands flailing to try and shove him away as a stinging, sweet scent invaded her nostrils. A somewhat familiar smell, for she remembered the physician using it in the weeks before her mother died to ease her suffering.
It was the scent of ether, and she knew she did not have long until it took hold.
“I am sorry,” Samson whispered. “You really left us no choice.”
Her flailing slowed against her will, her arms suddenly leaden, her knees buckling as her head swam and her eyes rolled back. She was aware of Samson catching her, her feet scuffing on the floor as he maneuvered her through a door, and then… there was nothing.