Rogue of the Borders

by Cynthia Breeding

  “Nae. I doona need his help.”

  Mari rolled her eyes. “Men. At any rate, you will have your wish. The earl is at his country estate.”

  That was good news at least. Shane definitely did not want Sherrington to see him here—or to smell him either.

  “Is there anything else you want me to do while we wait for Jamie and Ian to return? I think I could bring you home-cooked meals, especially if I bring the warder a helping as well. What would you like?”

  “Nothing. Ye have done enough to help, thank ye.” Shane eyed her speculatively. “Perhaps I could ask one more wee favor?”

  “Certainly. What is it?”

  “Would ye deliver a message to the Duke of Sussex’s physician?”

  Mari’s eyes widened. “You want me to contact the Prince Regent’s brother?”

  “Nae directly. It is Dr. Morrison I need to talk to.” Shane hated to involve anyone in his mission, but he had to find out if the cylinder had been found. The doctor would understand the request, even if it weren’t in code. “Tell him that I have a metal cylinder under a loose board in my cabin and it needs to be retrieved. It…is a gift that I doona want anyone else to get.”

  “Oh. You bought Abigail something. What is in it?”

  Shane didn’t bother to correct Mari’s assumption. Better she think it a gift for his wife. “A document in Latin.”

  Mari wrinkled her nose. “Only Abigail would appreciate that.”

  “Ye are probably right,” Shane agreed. “Still, ’tis important to me. Will ye do it?”

  “Of course. I will let you know what he says.”

  “Nae, lass. Doona come here again. Just have the doctor send word.”

  Mari looked as though she might argue, but then she nodded and stood. “I will leave my calling card at the duke’s this afternoon.”

  “Thank ye,” Shane said and then followed the guards as they led him to a different part of the prison. The new room contained not only a bed with a stuffed pallet—free of bugs and vermin to his relief. A pitcher and basin for washing stood on a small table beside a wooden chair and in a corner, a chamber pot as well. Compared to his previous cell, this place was luxurious. He wondered exactly how much money Jamie had to part with.

  A short time later, a scullery boy arrived with a meal. While nothing was hot, the bread was not too stale and the cheese free of mold. A sliver of dried meat had even been added, although as skinny as the lad was, Shane suspected there might have been two slices of meat originally. Still, the meal was another indication that Jamie’s donation to the chief warder, or perhaps Mari’s flirtation—an idea Shane didn’t even want to contemplate—was the reason for the generous bounty.

  Shane stretched out on the bed, the first time he’d felt comfortable lying down in over twenty-four hours. So far, he hadn’t seen any rats either. Now all he could do was wait for word from Sussex.

  It wasn’t until two days later that a guard brought him a note from Dr. Morrison. It simply read, “At the moment, I am unable to fill your prescription.”

  Shane crunched the paper and threw it down. He didn’t need code to understand.

  The metal cylinder was gone.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Janet was back, albeit wearing a cast. Meals were once again tasty and the household tidy. Albert helped his wife and spent time at the office as well. Even Richard had improved his attitude, whether because Albert was back or Fiona put in appearances, Abigail didn’t know, but things seemed to be running smoothly, both at home and the business.

  Yet, as the days passed, Abigail grew more and more worried. Shane should have been home by now. What was keeping him? She didn’t even want to consider he might have already annulled their marriage. More and more, she sought the sanctuary of Shane’s library, a place where she imagined his scent lingered and she could almost feel his presence.

  Entering the room on this gloomy, grey afternoon, she wasn’t surprised to see Shauna curled up in one of the chairs close to the warmth of the hearth.

  “Do ye want me to leave?” Shauna asked, closing her book.

  “Of course not.” Over the past days, she had enjoyed Shauna’s company since they both liked to talk about history. Abigail went over to the safe and removed the journal they’d been painstakingly translating. “Do you want to work on this?”

  “Aye.” Shauna moved to a chair closer to the desk so they could study the entries together. “We were going to read about Rosslyn Chapel.”

  “Yes.” Carefully, Abigail turned the pages. “There are some drawings here dated September twenty-first, 1446.”

  Shauna looked over her shoulder. “Prints of the chapel?”

  “Not only the chapel,” Abigail replied. “It looks like this was meant to be a bigger church, laid out in a cruciform shape.” She bent down, squinting. “Yet right here, by the chapel part, it says ‘Secrets in Stone’. I guess that is not surprising since there is so much sculpture inside. Shane already told us about the green men aging as we go around the chapel. There are probably a dozen more stories to be told.”

  “Aye. What is this?” Shauna pointed to some dotted-line drawings of squares alongside the church.

  “I think the dots mean it is underground,” Abigail replied. “The squares probably are vaults. We read earlier some of the Sinclair knights were buried there.” She turned a page. “Here is another drawing.” She furrowed her brows. “It says ‘Solomon’s Temple’. How strange.”

  “Why would they have that in there?”

  “I do not know. Wait a minute.” Abigail turned and hurried up the staircase, returning in a few moments with a leather-bound tome. “I was wondering why a book on Old Testament history was alongside the genealogies on the Sinclairs.” She skimmed through some pages. “Here is another drawing of Solomon’s Temple—or at least, Herod’s version.”

  Shauna turned the book towards her and traced an area inside the drawing with her finger. “This looks exactly like the layout for Rosslyn.”

  Abigail tilted her head for a better look and then gasped. “That is the Holy of Holies where the Ark of the Covenant was kept.”

  “Why in the world would an earl of Orkney build a Jewish temple and disguise it as a Catholic church?”

  “Maybe he had to. The Catholic church still controlled Scotland back then. Heretics were burned at the stake.”

  Shauna frowned. “But the Sinclairs were of Viking and Norman descent—why would they be so interested in replicating a Jewish temple?”

  “I do not know.” Abigail paused in studying the pictures and looked up. “The original Templars went to Jerusalem supposedly to protect pilgrims, yet they spent nine years digging under the ruins of Solomon’s Temple.” She widened her eyes as a thought struck her. “They were Norman nobility.”

  Shauna’s eyes went round as well. “And a Henri Sinclair rode with them.”

  “There must be a connection.”

  “Aye, but what?”

  Abigail still pondered the next morning as she made her way to the office. She had hardly been able to sleep thinking about what the connection might be, but she wasn’t getting much sleep anyway, worrying about Shane. At least, something else had occupied her mind last night.

  As the hack stopped in front of the office, Abigail noted the wharf seemed to be quite busy. An unusual number of men—none of them dressed as sailors—were moving back and forth among several of Shane’s ships.

  She frowned and turned to Jacob. “Could you find out who those men are?” When he nodded and strode off, she turned toward the office. Richard looked up from a ledger as she entered, his eyes glinting strangely. “What is going on?”

  He looked almost smug. “It seems the English wish to inspect your husband’s fleet of ships.”

  “The English? Why would they come all the way up here?”

  “They did not make me privy to that information,” Richard said as he closed the ledger. “They did bring a London magistrate with them however.”


  Abigail stared at him. “From London? Why on earth—”

  She didn’t finish her question as Jacob stormed in. His face looked like a brewing storm and his boots sounded like thunder.

  “What is it? Why are those men here? What do they want?”

  “They would nae answer my questions, but they are nigh tearing the ships apart.” His hand closed on the dirk he wore at his waist. “Shane’s crews stand ready to take the men down though. Do ye want me to give the order?”

  Dear Lord. Jacob was asking her to command a fight? She was no strategist, nor was she skilled in physical confrontations. Abigail knew the men were probably itching to brawl since it seemed that was how most things were settled, but what would the outcome be? They would be hauled off to gaol and the ships would not be able to set sail. What should she do? Richard was watching her, his eyes like cold steel, and Jacob was fidgeting, waiting for an answer.

  “No fighting,” she said. “There must be a reason for this…this visit. I will go talk to the magistrate they brought along.”

  Jacob blocked the door. “Ye will nae go out there.”

  “You cannot tell me what to do.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and said nothing.

  Richard snickered.

  For the first time in her life, Abigail realized why—just maybe—why men felt such satisfaction in fisticuffs. She had an inclination to box Richard’s ears herself. Collecting her thoughts, she smiled at Jacob, who only raised an eyebrow in response.

  She never had been good at flirting. “I need to find out what is happening. You can escort me.”

  Jacob planted his feet more firmly.

  Men. She tried to peer around him to look out the door, but he was nearly as large as Shane. “Would you please—”

  A shout cut her off. It was followed by several more and then sounds of men running. Had the crews attacked the English?

  Jacob turned slightly to see what was taking place and Abigail used the opportunity to slide behind him and slip out the still-open door and down the steps. She heard him curse. In three strides, he was beside her, hand grasping her arm. “’Tis nae wonder the MacLeod men are getting grey hair,” he muttered. “Ye English women canna obey an order.”

  Abigail was about to explain to him why women did not obey commands, but she saw what had caused the commotion. A traveling coach stood on the quay, its four horses lathered and breathing hard. Sailors surrounded the coach, shouting angrily, fists raised in the air. And then she saw Donald emerge from the group.

  He started for the ships, but when he saw her, he turned and headed her way, the militant sailors cursing in his wake. Donald stopped and held up a hand. Amazingly, the group quieted, although their expressions remained murderous.

  Abigail would have run to him, but Jacob still held her arm in a steel-like grip. “Where is Shane?” she asked Donald as he approached. “What has happened?”

  Quickly, he told her what had transpired in London. “I will answer your questions later, my lady, but I need to keep a riot from starting. The crew is nae keen their ships are going to need repair.”

  “Go.” Abigail replied, her legs beginning to shake. At least Jacob’s hold was helping her to stand. “I need to go inside.”

  “’Tis what I said in the first place,” Jacob muttered as he helped her up the steps and to a chair by the wall.

  “Did you find out what the problem is?” Richard asked.

  Abigail glanced at him. How could he appear so calm? “They are looking for contraband that has not been declared,” she said, not wanting to reveal all the details. “Evidently, something was loaded on the Border Lass without Shane’s knowledge and he mistakenly did not declare the goods in London.”

  “Do you know what it was?”

  She wasn’t about to tell Richard it was opium. Even if Shane had been offered that shipment legitimately, she doubted he would have taken it. Too much of that powder found its way to the streets rather than physicians’ offices. “Donald did not have time to give me all details,” she said, “but I suspect if the authorities are looking for any kind of illicit dealings, they are probably going want to go over the accounting books as well.”

  Abigail peered over her spectacles at Richard. Had he gone slightly pale?

  He swallowed. “Of course. I have them right here. Everything is in order. They will not find a problem with my bookkeeping. Not a single thing.”

  She studied him. His defensiveness sounded like something from Shakespeare. Was Richard, like Hamlet’s mother, protesting a bit too much? Abigail narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

  Did Richard know something?

  “Shane is in prison?” Fiona asked incredulously as Abigail paced back and forth in front of the desk in the library. “How could such a thing happen?”

  “I do not know,” Abigail replied as Shauna came in and closed the door, locking it. She paused briefly. “The twins are occupied?”

  “Aye, for now. Janet is feeding them scones, but I doona want them barging in while we talk.”

  “Agreed,” Abigail said, beginning to pace again. “They do not need to find out about this. At least, until we know what kind of danger Shane is actually in.”

  “But how could it happen?” Fiona asked again. “Shane would never take part in smuggling anything.”

  “Of course he wouldna,” Shuana replied, a rare edge to her voice. “Along with our brothers, he is one of the most honest persons I know.”

  “Someone obviously wanted to get Shane in big trouble for not declaring goods on which huge duties are due. But whom?” Abigail ticked possibilities off on her fingers. “Did the shipper in Le Havre think he could hide the opium and have it go undetected? That would mean whoever was to receive it would be waiting. Donald said the merchant who bought the cognac was the one who discovered it, so that doesn’t make sense unless the merchant was only the wholesaler and the cognac meant to go to another destination. Still, inventory is counted and reconciled when delivery is made so that would have been risky.”

  “Could Richard have anything to do with it?” Fiona asked. “He was the one who set up the original arrangement.”

  Abigail sank into a chair. “I thought about that. Richard does know the supplier in Le Havre, but he said it was because he worked at the port. I do not see how he could know who the receiver of the goods in London was. Even if he did, how could he get a message to that person? I do not like Richard, but why would he even suspect such a transaction was going to happen? It makes no sense.”

  Abigail had played and replayed the scene in her head, partly because it had become an obsession, but also because it blocked her from thinking of the squalid conditions Shane must be living in—or what kind of torture he was enduring. Tales of horror circulated among staff below stairs. She had visited the Tower of London once and, although Newgate did not use the rack to dislocate bones and tear muscles apart nor pull out fingernails—as least she thought—the prison still had its share of torture to persuade persons to confess, even if they were not guilty. The common people generally felt the gaolkeepers were corrupt and allowed anyone who couldn’t afford the bribes to languish in dungeon-like conditions. Had Shane been able to pay or had his funds been confiscated along with his ship? Donald had said no one was allowed back on board, not even to retrieve clothing, and she knew Shane kept his coin secured in his cabin.

  Banging on the door interrupted her thoughts. “Let us in!” one of the twins called through the wood while the other wanted to know why it was locked.

  Shauna sighed and went to open the door. “We are having an adult conversation not meant for your ears.”

  “Is that conversation meant for mine?” a deep, masculine voice asked.

  “Jamie! Oh, thank God you are here.” Abigail leapt from her chair and rushed to him. “Is Ian with you?”

  “Nae.” He looked at the twins. “Ye take yourselves off to the kitchen and be some help to Janet instead of just eating her sweets.”<
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  “But—” Caitlin began.

  “Now.”

  “We never get to hear anything,” Caylin grumbled as they reluctantly moved down the hall. “Jamie used to be our friend.”

  “Doona think ye can make me feel guilty either,” Jamie called after them, closing the door and then looking at Abigail. “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “I am worried. I want to go to him.”

  Jamie sighed. “Aye, Jillian said ye would, even though Ian and I told her ’twas nae needed.”

  Shuana raised a brow. “Nae needed?”

  “Ian has already headed to London,” Jamie replied, “and his neighbors, Henri and Andre, came to Edinburgh with me to catch a ship to Calais so they can investigate the French angle on this.” He turned back to Abigail. “Your father was out of town when I left, but once he returns, he can set the wheels in motion.”

  But would he? Abigail wrung her hands. The marriage sham to Shane had been her father’s idea. How willing would he be to step in to help now? Well, he had better be willing to help—and more than willing. He had better move mountains. She lifted her chin. “I am going to London.”

  “’Tis nae much ye can do there.”

  “Why would Abigail nae want to go?” Fiona asked indignantly before Abigail could answer. “She has a right to go. She is his wife.”

  Abigail bit her lip, hoping Fiona was right. The look Jamie gave her made her think he’d heard of the strange marriage arrangement as well. Still. It did not matter what anyone else thought. Abigail loved Shane. “My place is with him.”

  Fiona jumped up. “And I am going with her.”

  “’Tis nae a vacation, lass.”

  “I think Mari would feel Abigail needed as much female support as she could get,” Fiona retorted. “Your own wife will nae be happy with ye if ye doona take us.”

  Jamie sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He plucked a strand and held it up. “Grey,” he said.