As they went into the darkened pathway his spirits followed, growing heavier. He longed to see her so badly he could taste it, yet the thought of leaving her—
Max’s horse lifted its nose and snorted, prancing a bit. As Max brought the horse back under control, he caught the faint scent of smoke. He looked back at Orlov. “Do you smell that?”
“Aye.” Orlov peered over their heads, turning his horse in a slow circle. “I wonder where— General, there.”
Max followed Orlov’s gesture to where a plume of black smoke suddenly appeared above the break in the trees, billowing into the blue sky and then disappearing. “Rowallen?”
Orlov nodded. “Perhaps we won’t be late for dinner after all.”
Max whirled his mount and hied it down the path, Orlov following. Murian, what have you done?
When Max and Orlov emerged from the forest, Rowallen looked like a kicked-over anthill. People poured out of every door, some carrying buckets, others with empty hands, there to gawk. It took no time to find the reason for the disturbance. One of the outbuildings near the main barn was on fire, flames shooting from the windows, thick black smoke billowing.
Max rode past an old farm wagon that blocked the main door of Rowallen, a wagon he’d seen in Murian’s village only a few days ago. The two large farm horses watched the mayhem with disinterested gazes.
Max jumped down from his horse. A footman who’d been standing on the top step peered longingly at the servants milling about, reluctantly came to take Max’s horse.
Orlov called to another footman, who was gawking at the fire from the other side of the drive. The footman took the horse and tied it to an iron ring embedded in the castle wall for just such a purpose.
Max climbed the steps to the castle as Orlov fell in beside him, the footman following. They paused on the top step. “At least it’s not the main barn, where the horses are.” Very good, Murian. Well planned.
“Aye, my lor’,” the footman replied. “Tha’ building is used fer storage. There’s feed in there, and ropes and sich, bu’ no animals.”
“There’s also oil fer the lamps,” the other footman added, as he joined them. “A fire like tha’ will burn fer a long while.”
“That explains the black smoke,” Orlov said.
“Aye. ’Tis so hot, no one can get close enou’ to pour water on it. We’ll ha’ to wait fer it to cool afore we can put it oot.”
Orlov peeled off his gloves. “It looks as if every person in the castle is there. I suppose this means dinner will be late.”
“It wouldna surprise me, me lord.”
Max sent Orlov a look. Well, well. My lovely Murian not only dispersed the guards, but many of the servants as well. They made their way into the castle, the footmen following.
Max handed them his coat and gloves and then strode to the grand stairs, Orlov behind him.
“I hope Her Grace is no’ too shook up fra’ her accident,” one of the footmen called after him.
Max froze. Slowly, he turned. “Her Grace? I thought she was napping in her room.”
The footmen exchanged uneasy glances. “I dinna know aboot tha’,” the footman replied. “But a short time ago, she went fer a ride, she did.”
“Aye,” added the other footman. “Wi’ one of your men.”
Golovin. “What happened? Was she injured?”
“She’s no’ the one as got injured. Bu’ she was upset, and I dinna blame her. It must ha’ been horrible, a child runnin’ oot of the woods and right into her path like tha’. ’Twas fortunate a farmer happened by to carry the child here.”
“A farmer?”
“Aye, the largest mon I’ve e’er seen.” The footman shook his head. “A giant.”
Ian. “This child that was struck by the horse. The grand duchess brought her here?”
“ ’Twas no’ a she, bu’ a he. A tall lad, it was.”
The other footman nodded. “They’re oopstairs now, waitin’ on the doctor, although it may be an hour or more before he comes. The fire broke oot just as they arrived, and there was no one to send fer help.”
“I will stop by and see to Her Grace, then. Thank you for letting me know.”
“Aye, Your Highness.”
Max hurried up the stairs.
Behind him, Orlov murmured, “So the grand duchess convinced Golovin to take her to visit Lady Murian.”
“Aye,” Max said grimly.
“I take it we are not going to Her Grace’s bedchamber.”
“Why would we? We know where she is.”
They went straight to Loudan’s bedchamber. Normally guards were stationed to each side, but this afternoon the hallway was empty.
“Bloody brilliant,” Orlov said, looking impressed.
“If they’ve as good of a way out of the house as in.” Max knocked. “Open the door!”
The door cracked open and Tata’s eye appeared in the slit. She looked him up, then down, and then back up. “Are you alone?”
“Orlov is with me.”
“And the guards?”
“They are still gone, though they’ll return soon.”
She opened the door and waved them in with her cane. “Hurry!”
Max entered the bedchamber.
Golovin stood behind the door, his sword drawn, ready to support the grand duchess. Seeing Max and Orlov, he flushed and sheathed his sword.
“Don’t,” Max said shortly. “You may need it before we are done.” He looked about the room. Will was hurriedly going through the drawers of a desk. The young man nodded at him and continued with his task. Past him, Murian’s booted feet stuck out from under the bed, while Ian peered behind a huge wardrobe.
Orlov gave Golovin a disgusted look. “You had one task, Golovin. One.”
Golovin looked ill. “I know.”
“You were to see Her Grace to her bedchamber to take a nap. That is all. And what did you do? You rode with her into the woods, brought back thieves, set a barn afire—
“That wasn’t me that set the fire, but Widow Reeves and Widow MacCrae.” Golovin brightened. “They did a good job!”
“As distractions go, it was beautifully done. But it does not excuse you from your actions. You put Her Grace in danger,” Orlov charged.
“Golovin did no such thing.” Max crossed the room to where Murian was under the bed, admiring the shape of her legs outlined by her breeches. “No one needs to put my grandmother in danger. She does it all by herself.”
“I like an adventure,” Tata Natasha said from where she’d stationed herself at the window, looking out. “It keeps the blood running. But this— Pah! This is not danger. One day, I will tell you of the time your grandfather and I found ourselves afoul of an entire battalion of the tsar’s men. That was danger.”
“If this has to do with you and Grandfather stealing anything, please do not share your story,” Max said.
Tata Natasha shrugged and didn’t say another word.
Max looked at Ian. “How did you pass Lady Murian off as an injured lad?”
Murian’s muffled voice came from under the bed. “It was harder than we expected.”
“Aye, it took a bit of work on Her Grace’s part to make tha’ happen.” Ian put his shoulder to the wardrobe and shoved it from the wall. “Lady Murian is a mite tall to be a child. We ha’ her wrapped in a blanket, bu’ one of the footmen commented upon her height. Fortunately Her Grace was able to point oot tha’ one of her grandsons was six foot at the age of twelve. Tha’ did the trick.”
“It made learning to ride a joy,” Max said drily.
Murian wiggled her way out from under the bed, then rolled over and looked up at him. Dust coated her breeches and coat, a smudge graced one of her cheeks, while a cobweb hung from her braid where it was pinned about her head in a tight circle. Yet the second their eyes met, it was as if the previous few days had never happened.
He’d never been so happy to see anyone. And from the warm glow in her eyes, she felt the same.
Ian flushed and looked away, muttering under his breath.
Max grinned. “Your pet giant doesn’t like me.”
Soft and pliant in his arms, she smiled. “Och, neither do I, but if I must put up with a frustrating foreign prince, it may as well be you.”
Tata Natasha limped to another window and peeked out a crack in the curtain, her cane thumping as she went. “The heat of the fire has lessened some. There’s a bucket line from the well to the building. It won’t be long now before they’ve put it out.”
She looked at Max. “You’re tall. See those sconces on the wall by the fireplace? You can reach them. Check if they move and open a secret door.”
“A secret door?”
“ ’Tis a castle; one never knows. Murian, see if there’s aught in that trunk against the foot of the bed.”
Max gave Murian a swift kiss on her forehead and then moved to the sconces. Ian knocked on the wardrobe, looking for a false back.
Max examined the sconces. “I take it you’ve found nothing so far.”
“Will discovered a hidden cubbyhole in the desk; there was naught in it but pen nibs.”
“Which wa’ disappointing,” Will said.
Orlov left Golovin guarding the door. “Where shall I look?”
“Check the trim work of these windows,” Tata ordered without pause. “Perhaps there is a piece of wood, a decoration that will remove to disclose a secret pocket of some sort.”
“The sconces don’t move.” Max walked to a large dressing table that sat to one side of the fireplace. “Have you looked here?”
“Da. There are no hidden drawers, no false bottoms in the drawers, no nothing.”
He opened a drawer, noticing a neat array of neckcloths to one side, silk kerchiefs to the other. He pulled the drawer free and dumped them all on the floor.
Tata scowled. “We have already looked there. Ian, check the marble table by the doorway.”
Ian crossed to the table and peered at it.
Max dumped the other drawers empty and, finding nothing, went to the wardrobe, which was the next piece of furniture in the room. He opened the doors.
“Ian’s already checked that, too,” Tata Natasha said sharply.
“It will not hurt to look again.” Hanging inside were numerous hunting jackets, dinner coats, and pressed breeches, while a row of shiny boots lined the wardrobe floor. He took the coats out, one at a time, shook them out, and then dropped them to the bottom of the wardrobe.
“Ye’re wastin’ yer time,” Ian said. “The earl would ne’er hide something in so obvious a place as a pocket.”
Max ignored him and removed a stack of starched shirts. Lastly, he picked up the boots and flipped them over.
As he turned over the fifth boot, something sparkly dropped from it, hit the floor with a loud ping, and then rolled in a circle.
Everyone stared.
“I believe I just found the Oxenburg crown.” He picked it up and examined it, glad to see no damage had come from the fall.
Tata Natasha could not have been stiffer. “He had our royal crown hidden in a boot?”
“Apparently so. With so many guards, maybe he didn’t feel the need to hide it that well.”
“Did the fall hurt your crown?” Murian asked from where she was digging in the trunk.
“Not that I can see.” He hefted it. “Bloody hell, that’s heavy.”
Tata came to take it from him. She leaned her cane against the bed and then wiped the crown with the edge of her shawl. “When you wear it too long, it gives the headache.”
“I imagine so.” Max checked the final boots but found nothing more.
Tata stuck the crown on her head, pausing to admire herself in a mirror.
“Tata!”
“It is my last chance. Start looking for that journal. We’ve not much time.” She returned to the window, her cane thumping with each step. “The fire is contained. People are returning to the castle. We must hurry.”
Will closed the last drawer on the desk. “Where else should I look?”
“The small tables by the bed.” Murian slid a glance at Max, and then added, “Be sure you do not just look for secret compartments, but other places, too. Obvious places.”
Will did as he was told.
All was silent as they each hurriedly raced through potential hiding spaces.
Outside, a noise arose. Tata announced, “Loudan is by the drive, yelling at the guards. I think he noticed they left the castle unprotected.”
“Which means they will return to their posts soon,” Max said grimly. “We must leave.”
“We canna.” Murian shut the trunk and stood. “I know it’s in here. Robert kept it in this room, so it has to be here.”
Max saw the desperation in her eyes. “Murian, we cannot stay. You know that.”
“There are footsteps coming up the staircase.” Golovin gripped his sword. “Many.”
Orlov hurried to the door and threw it open. “This way!”
Murian plopped her fisted hands on her hips. “I’m not leaving.”
“Murian, it’s not safe,” Max warned.
“I canna walk away from this opportunity.”
“I’ll stay wi’ Lady Murian.” Will left the small tables and came to stand beside her. “Ye’ve stayed wi’ us fer the last year, and I know ’twas no’ easy. The least I can do is stay wi’ ye when ye need it.”
Ian let out his breath in a huge puff. “Bloody ’ell, tha’ means I must stay, too. Oh weel, ’tis no’ often I get a chance to piss off his lordship in such a fashion.”
Murian choked on a laugh, and even Max had to shake his head. But the rumbling outside was growing closer.
Bloody hell, what should he do? The soldier in him warned that they would be trapped if they stayed, but another part of him urged him to do this for her, to take a chance and find the blasted journal. She’d been looking for it so very, very long.
He looked at her and found her heart in her eyes. And she was in his heart. “We stay.”
Orlov winced but nodded. He closed the door with a regretful sigh.
Max turned to Ian. “Help me move the wardrobe in front of the door.”
The two hurried to do so, the heavy wood scraping on the floor.
“Continue searching,” Tata Natasha ordered. “The quicker we find that blasted journal, the better.”
Murian and Will hurried to do just that, Will pulling the mattresses from the bed while Murian searched through the shelves, shaking each book and then stacking it on the floor.
The doorknob rattled. And then rattled again. “Who’s in there?”
“Tasha!” Murian whispered.
Max raised his brows. Not many were allowed to address his grandmother so, but Tata Natasha didn’t look the least surprised.
“You must come out now!” the stern voice ordered through the door.
Murian whispered to Tata Natasha, “Answer him.” A faint smile curved her mouth. “Make him regret it.”
Tata Natasha barked a short laugh, and then she made her way to the door. In her most imperious voice, she called out, “Who is there?”
During the ensuing silence, they continued their search.
Finally, the same deep voice replied through the door, “Yer Grace?”
“Who else? What do you want? Who are you?”
“I beg yer pardon, bu’ I’m Cap’n David MacNoor. Ye are trespassin’ in his lordship’s chamber.”
“His lordship’s chamber? Don’t be ridiculous! This is my bedchamber, you bloody fool.”
A muttering arose at this, and then Captain MacNoor answered, “I’m sorry, Yer Grace, bu’ tha’ is Lord Loudan’s bedchamber, no’ yers.”
“How do you kno
w?” she demanded. “It looks like mine. There’s a bed and a dresser, several, in fact, and two chairs by the fire and—”
“Yer Grace, ye were in the green bedchamber. Lord Loudan’s bedchamber is red.”
“Really? Let me look.”
Murian grabbed another row of books and shook them open.
“Wha’ next?” Will whispered to Murian. “There’s naught in the mattresses.”
“Move the carpets and see if there’s aught here,” Murian ordered. “Mayhap there’s a trapdoor.”
He hurried to roll up the carpets.
Outside, the guard cleared his throat in what he obviously thought was a stern manner. “Yer Grace, I ha’ been standin’ guard on this chamber fer nigh on four weeks. This is Lord Loudan’s bedchamber. I’d bet me son’s head on it.”
“Oh.” Tata Natasha leaned on her cane. “Mayhap I’m mistaken, then. The bedchambers in these old castles, they all look alike.”
“Aye, Yer Grace. Can ye open the door, please? I’ll be glad to escort ye to yer own chamber.”
“That would be fine, except I happen to be nude.”
Silence stretched on the other side of the door. “I beg yer pardon, Yer Grace. Did ye . . . did ye jus’ say ye were n—n—”
“Of course I’m nude! How else am I to take a bath?”
“Ye’re bathin’? Bu’ . . . is there water?”
“No, and there’s no tub, either! Someone is supposed to send both. I’ve been waiting here, in the nude, for a very long time. I hope I have not caught a cold.”
“Ah. Nay. I dinna. I—ah. Yer Grace, if ye’ll hold one moment, I’ll fetch Lord Loudan and he can— One moment, Yer Grace.”
The sound of his footsteps running down the hall made Tata Natasha snicker. “That will keep them for a few moments, at least.” She turned and limped across the floor, to where Will had rolled back the rug. “While they fetch Loudan, I’ll look in the—” Her cane, thumping with her steps, hit a board that echoed.
For a long second, they all looked at one another.
The Prince and I Page 27