Rogue of the Borders

by Cynthia Breeding

  “We were able to let you take your ship,” Argyll said. “I suggest you do not argue the situation at this point. The tide turns in two hours.”

  “But I have—” Shane stopped, not wanting to ask about the missing manuscript in front of guards or even Jamie and Ian. The fewer people who knew of its existence, the better.

  “Dr. Morrison has informed me of your…condition,” Sussex added.

  The implied message was clear. The Grand Master was aware of the situation and it was out of Shane’s hands now. He wished he had time to tell them what was in the document, but having sent the coded message to Dr. Morrison, they would know how important it was to keep searching.

  Shane stood. The one thing he still needed to do was see Abigail before he left.

  “She is not here,” the Earl of Sherrington said when Shane rang his bell an hour later. “But come into the library. There is something I wish to discuss.”

  Shane followed him with leaden steps. He’d wasted precious time in ridding himself of the stench of Newgate, but he could hardly meet Abigail smelling like a sewer. And now she wasn’t here. Sherrington had obviously heard about his release since he wasn’t surprised to see Shane. Had Abigail heard too? Was she deliberately avoiding him? Shane had less than an hour to cast off or he would be arrested again.

  “Where is Abigail? I must speak to her.”

  The earl evaded his question, motioning him to a seat. He didn’t bother to offer him a drink. Instead, he took the chair across the desk from Shane. “Is my daughter still a virgin?” he asked bluntly.

  Shane nearly recoiled, holding onto his fraying temper by a thread. Time was of the essence and he had to see Abigail. “I gave ye my word. I dinna break it.”

  Sherrington relaxed slightly. “Good. That is one less problem then. A future husband will not feel he is being dealt spoiled goods.”

  The world sizzled red in front of Shane’s eyes. Even if he had succumbed to lust—which he hadn’t, by God—Abigail would not be soiled goods. She would not be soiled goods even if she had come to him without a damned maidenhead. Why did accursed society put so much emphasis on whether a lass was intact or not?

  Slowly, the meaning of what the earl had just said sunk in to his fevered mind. A future husband. Did that mean— “I need to speak to Abigail. Where is she?”

  “She is out.” Sherrington opened a drawer and took out a parchment. “Perhaps it is just as well. I am sure you can understand, given the allegations of your smuggling opium, that—”

  “Those charges have been dropped.”

  “Only because the Prince Regent’s brother and Argyll both stepped in. As soon as The Times gets wind of it, all London will know you were simply bought off, not absolved from guilt. Surely you do not expect Abigail to live with that kind of dark cloud hanging over her head?”

  Shane clenched his jaw. As much as he would love to knock the man out of his chair and onto his arse, this was his father-in-law. And, as much as Shane hated to admit it, there was a kernel of truth to what he said. The hypocritical ton would taunt Abigial with that knowledge. “I would still like to speak to Abigail before I leave.”

  “I do not know when she will return,” Sherrington replied, “but even if you did talk to her, she knows her responsibilities.”

  “Which are?”

  “Abigail is the daughter of an earl. I have no sons. Which means her child—her son—will inherit the title. An English title. Given the circumstances of your exile to Scotland, King George could declare the title extinct. I will not allow that to happen.” Sherrington slid the paper toward Shane. “This is the annulment agreement.” He dipped a quill in ink and held it out. “Sign it.”

  Shane stared at him. This was the crux of the matter. Ian had inherited the English title of Earl of Cantford because their great-grandfather fought with the first King George in the Jacobite uprising. Luckily, the English had no clue the secret order of Templars had supported Bonnie Prince Charlie—and still did support the Stuart return to Scotland’s throne—a throne that the current George thought was just a memory.

  With Shane’s current precarious position, he could take no chances on either putting Ian in danger or jeopardizing Abigail’s standing. Abigail might not care for London society, but her father’s title deserved to be passed on. As the Scots had learned after the disaster at Culloden, stripping the clans of their lairds also included the taking of lands and livelihood. Shane could not do that to Abigail.

  He grabbed the pen, scribbled his name to the document and stood. “I will see myself out.”

  Sherrington took the paper. “I will tell Abigail you stopped by.”

  Too furious to speak, Shane only nodded. Once outside and on the street, he decided he had just enough time to get over to Jamie and Mari’s townhouse. If the faeries were with him, Abigail would be there.

  He’d swim after the damn ship if he had to.

  “You are going to be in so much trouble if Jamie finds out about this,” Abigail said to Mari as they, along with Fiona, waited in the rented hack across the street from the Customs House.

  “He just will not have to find out then,” Mari replied.

  “Doona fash,” Fiona added. “Jamie is used to my escapades. He will just think this is another one of them.”

  Mari giggled. “He is getting used to mine too.”

  Abigail eyed both of them. “This is not going to be funny if we get caught.”

  “Oh, pooh. We will not get caught,” Mari said. “The plan is good.”

  The plan was near lunacy. Abigial bit her lip. Since she had not had a better idea, she had gone along with it. Now that they were here, waiting for the head Customs man to go to lunch, she was thinking it more harebrained by the moment. She was to play the broken-hearted wife, devastated by her husband’s arrest. That part was not hard, since it was true—but first they had to persuade the man in charge to let Abigail see the document. Then Mari and Fiona were to create a diversion—Abigail was quite sure Jamie would not approve of his wife’s intended flirtation—which would allow Abigail to switch the manuscript with the pieces of parchment that were hidden in her reticule.

  Lordy, Abigail had never stolen so much as a crumpet from her father’s kitchen before. Fiona insisted they were entitled to the document, since Shane had meant it as a gift for Abigail—a slight fabrication Mari made from the original story. Given the Scottish history of reiving, Fiona no doubt felt they had every right to the papers, but Abigail was pretty sure the English government would see it differently.

  “There he goes,” Mari said excitedly as a portly, grey-haired man left the building and headed toward a tavern off the quay. “Time to move. Are we ready?”

  Abigail had never felt more unready. “We can still change our minds.”

  Fiona and Mari both looked at her like she had lost hers. “I do not think Shane would have asked me to deliver the message to Dr. Morrison if those documents were not terribly important,” Mari said.

  Abigail felt her face warm. Mari was right. The papers must hold important information. The sooner they could be retrieved, the better. She was just being a coward. “You are right. Let us go.”

  “Good.” Mari adjusted her bodice, revealing more cleavage than Abigail realized Mari had. Jamie was definitely not going to be pleased. But that was another battle. She stepped out of the carriage behind Mari and Fiona and adjusted the cuffs on the modest brown wool gown she wore. At least her friends knew better than to ask her to dress provocatively. Abigail patted her hair in place and adjusted her spectacles. Her part was to look bereft.

  The young man who had been left in charge of the desk looked up as they entered, an interested expression on his face as he saw Mari in the scandalously low-cut gown. He broke out in a big smile as he noticed Fiona behind her. If Abigail hadn’t been so nervous, she would have smiled. The contrast could not have been more different. Dark-blue silk highlighted Mari’s eyes and also enhanced her bouncing golden curls. Fiona’s rave
n hair flowed smoothly down her back and the pale-lavender fabric of her gown brought out the unusual light grey of her eyes, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. Thankfully, only a trace of her cleavage was showing.

  “Can I be of help to you ladies?” he asked.

  “We certainly hope you can,” Mari replied. “What is your name?”

  “Otis,” he replied. “Otis Reed.”

  “Otis. It is such a strong name,” Mari said. “May I call you Otis?”

  “Of…of course,” he stumbled. “Yes. Please do.”

  “Thank you, Otis.” Mari tugged Abigail forward. “This is my dear relative. You have secured a document that was meant as a gift to her…”

  Abigail watched the young man as Mari went on to explain, adding some creative details that made Abigail think perhaps Mari had read Pride and Prejudice a few too many times. When she was finished, she smiled beguiling and waited.

  Otis frowned. “It is highly unusual to release a document. Perhaps I should wait for my—”

  “Oh, no need to bother him,” Mari said. “Mrs. MacLeod does not want to take the document. She just wants to read it. It was terribly romantic of her husband to secure such a thing for her, do you not agree?”

  When he still hesitated, Fiona stepped up, her eyes wide and innocent and her voice whisper soft. If Abigail had been inclined to believe in the MacLeod faeries, she would have sworn Fiona might be one.

  “’Tis grateful I would be if ye would let my sweet sister see the paper,” Fiona said lifting her palms in supplication.

  Otis’s eyes fastened on her as though she truly were a mythical creature. “What a lovely accent you have.”

  “Thank you,” Fiona said demurely. “If ye will allow my sister to see the paper, I will tell ye a story about my clan. ’Tis said we descended from the fae.”

  “Well…” he replied, obviously enchanted himself. “I suppose I could let her see it. The document is in the safe in the back room. It cannot leave the room, of course.”

  Fiona beamed at Otis. From the dazed look on his face, Abigail was beginning to wonder if Shane’s cousin was truly capable of ensorcelling someone.

  Mari wasted no time in letting whatever spell wear off. “Thank you, Otis,” she said. “We understand and appreciate your kindness.”

  “Ummm,” he replied, hardly noticing either Mari or Abigail as Fiona blinked wide eyes at him. “Ummm, this way…”

  Abigail’s fingers trembled so much she was afraid she’d drop the metal cylinder when Otis handed it to her. Fiona launched into her story, positioning herself so the man’s back was turned and Mari partially blocked his view as well, watching the door motioning for her to hurry.

  Not that Abigail needed to be told. Anyone could come in the front door at any moment, causing Otis to return to the counter. She wished she had time to actually see what the document was. She only got a glimpse of a Latin inscription as she quickly switched it with the other papers, replaced the lid and stood.

  “And, if ye are verra lucky, the faerie might come to ye,” Fiona said as she concluded her story quickly.

  “I would love to hear more,” Otis said.

  “I am afraid we have taken up too much of your time already,” Mari answered, giving him a disarming smile as well.

  “Yes,” Abigail said as she handed the cylinder back. Her heart was beating so hard, she was afraid he’d actually hear it. They had the paper, but not getting caught leaving with it was crucial. She strove to keep her voice calm. “Thank you so much for showing it to me. I feel a little better now.”

  “Thanks to ye, Otis,” Fiona said as she moved toward the door and waved. “I enjoyed the conversation verra much.”

  “As did I,” Otis said, a bedazzled look still on his face.

  They didn’t wait to see it fade away. Abigail only breathed a slight sigh of relief when they were back on the quay and then she panicked as she looked around. “Where is the hack?”

  Mari frowned. “It should have waited for us.”

  “Doona fash,” Fiona said, laughing as though she’d just had a grand time and then pointed. “’Tis over there.”

  Abigail forced herself not to run toward it. They didn’t need to draw any attention to themselves. Still, the quelling of her legs and arms didn’t stop until they were safely away from the wharf.

  “We did it,” Mari exclaimed, her cheeks pink with excitement. “We did it!”

  “Aye,” Fiona replied, clapping her hands. “’Twas an adventure.”

  Abigail smiled weakly. It had been an adventure she could have done without. Still, she had Shane’s documents. That was all that mattered.

  “We will see you soon,” Mari said as the hack dropped Abigail off at her father’s townhouse. “I will ask Jamie to let Shane know you are waiting to see him.”

  “Do not say anything about the papers. I want it to be a surprise.”

  Mari nodded. “I think the less Jamie knows about those documents—or how we got them—the better.” She waved as the carriage moved away.

  Abigail took several deep breaths as she walked toward the door. She needed to appear calm as though nothing more had transpired than going out shopping with Mari and Fiona. Too late, she realized it would have been helpful had she had a package or two. Well, she could just tell her father she had not been in the mood to purchase anything. Maybe she could make him feel guilty enough to let her visit Shane.

  To her surprise, her father greeted her as she came in. “You are finally back. Come into the library. I have something to show you.”

  For a scarce beat or two of her heart, Abigail wondered if Shane were waiting for her on the other side of the door. But the room was empty and she realized how silly that hope had been. “Have you heard anything from Jamie? Has Ian arrived?”

  Instead of answering her, the earl moved toward the window and stared out. Abigail had a sinking feeling. “Is…is something wrong?”

  Her father finally looked her way. “No. Nothing is wrong.”

  “Then what?” Her knees began to shake and she sought a chair by the desk. “Is there a delay of some sort?”

  “No delay.”

  Abigail frowned. It wasn’t like her father to be so uncharacteristically silent. “Tell me what is wrong. Have you heard something about Shane? Is he hurt? Or—”

  “He is not hurt. He stopped by.”

  “What?” Abigail shot up in her chair. “Shane got released? Is he here? Why did you not—”

  “I said was here.” The earl walked toward the desk and fiddled with some papers. “We had a talk. With all that has happened, he agreed it is in your best interests to be free of him.” Her father moved a document toward her. “He signed the annulment.”

  Abigail looked at it, the words a blur. She grabbed the arms of the chair, feeling lightheaded, and tried to focus on the paper, but it swam in front of her eyes.

  Shane had signed the annulment. Tears burned in her eyes as she looked up. “I did not agree to this.”

  “I did. Truly, this is the best thing for you, Abigail. You belong here.”

  A cold fury washed over her like an icy wave sloshing over the bow of a ship. “I am not your little girl. I am a married woman. How dare you make such a decision for me? You have no right—”

  “You are still my daughter. I know you are upset, but in time—”

  “Time will not change how I feel!” Abigail crushed the paper into a wad and threw it on the floor, overturning her chair as she jumped to her feet. “Tell me where Shane is. I am going to him.”

  Her father shook his head and gave her a sympathetic look. “Shane is gone. He sailed with the tide.”

  Abigail stared at her father, her ears ringing. Her vision faded as the room began to tilt and then she was falling…

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Abigail sputtered, sneezing as the housekeeper held the smelling salts under her nose. Slowly, Abigail opened her eyes. The spinning of the room subsided and she sat up carefully
on the sofa. What had happened? Her father stood by the desk, looking upset. Why—reality doused her as though she’d fallen into the Firth of Forth. Shane was gone. Her breath caught and she gripped the sofa arm, hoping she wouldn’t swoon again. She had never fainted in her life.

  Shane was gone. He had only stopped by the townhouse to sign the annulment. What would he have done if he’d run into her? Maybe Jamie had told him she would be gone this morning. Mari had told her husband they were going calling—albeit she didn’t say where. Shane could very well have felt it was a convenient time to get the nasty business of their marriage taken care of—and then sailed as soon as he could.

  He hadn’t cared enough to even say goodbye? Abigal blinked back the sting of tears. Maybe…maybe he had meant to say goodbye the morning he’d left Edinburgh when he’d returned to the townhouse. Maybe…maybe he had planned all along to end their marriage on this trip to London, only getting arrested had gotten in the way. She hated herself for being so needy, but she had to ask.

  “Did…did Shane leave any message?”

  Her father shook his head. “He said nothing after he signed the paper—only that he’d show himself out. He did have to get to his ship before the tide turned or he’d be arrested again.”

  Had she heard correctly? Maybe she wasn’t over the effects of her swoon. “Arrested again? Why?”

  “Leaving London permanently was part of the condition for having the charges dropped—and it took both Sussex and Argyll to get the magistrate to agree to that.”

  Abigail felt like she’d taken another dunking in the sea. Shane was banned from England? Forever? The room began to swim again. She’d never see Shane again. She gulped in air to keep from fainting.

  “I think it would be good if you went to your room and rested,” her father said.

  Numbly, Abigail nodded, her feet feeling leaden as she made her way up the stairs to her room. The housekeeper followed her, muttering to herself as she helped Abigail out of her morning dress, pulling back the coverlet on the bed and closing the draperies so the room would be darkened. “Rest now. I will have tea sent up later, my dear.”