“He already owns a good amount of land that my uncle lost.”
“And perhaps your father didn’t want him to lose more; but maybe he fell into the gambling pit himself.”
“He’s never gambled before.”
“But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t start. This marker is from the third of May. Gordana was murdered on the tenth. To have this torn up, your father paid it in full by witnessing against me. Campbell must want to know where your father is for a reason. He sent those men after me to see me dead. That would solve one of his problems. And then your father might have been safe. But I doubt it. Only a guilty man would hide his tracks.”
“Did Gordana ever mention Owen Campbell?”
“She sang at the Rook. I know she was looking for a benefactor. When she first started trailing after me, I told her I wasn’t interested. She was a young girl, and I didn’t have much to my name. She told me that was fine. She just needed to give the impression that she was in my care.
“Why?” Sabrina wanted to know.
“Someone was pressuring her to be in his bed. She never told me his name. In hindsight, I can see she was afraid of him. Why else would a woman want to pretend to have a protector?”
“And the irony would be to have you accused of her murder,” Sabrina observed. “But did Campbell kill her? And why?” she asked.
“Excellent questions. I will ask him when I see him, but first, I want to find your father. He knows the answer. Would he leave the country?”
“I don’t believe so. He truly cares for Mrs. Bossley. And we don’t have the money.”
Cormac nodded as if a thought had crossed his mind. He walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“You stay here. I have an idea where your father might be. Having a passing acquaintance of your family, I believe I know where any of you would go.”
“Annefield?” The estate was the first thing that came to her mind. She followed him out of the bedroom and into hers.
Cormac started dressing as he confirmed her suggestion. “Yes, and if my supposition is correct, your uncle and father may not know what to do. Campbell is breathing down their necks. They are trapped as long as I’m here.”
“But why wouldn’t they have made their presence known when we were there? Why would Father not at least tell Mrs. Bossley?”
“Because he is afraid for his life.” Cormac pulled on a boot and reached for another. “I must find him before Campbell does.”
“And you are going tonight?”
Cormac nodded. “What would you do if you were hiding out? I’d come out at night, when the servants are in bed. Of course, they can’t keep it up. Not forever.”
“I’m going with you,” Sabrina said. She began tightening the laces of her dress and reaching for her stockings.
“No,” he answered. “It could be dangerous.”
“Yes, it could be dangerous for you if I’m not there. You need me. Father might not trust you otherwise.”
She put on her good, sensible shoes and quickly braided her hair as she followed him out the door. “I’m ready to go.”
He paused. “Sabrina, I would feel better if you stayed here.”
“And I would go half-mad with worry if I did. Besides, you don’t know the way to Annefield,” she said, and won the argument.
Well within the hour, they had secured Rolf, so that he wouldn’t run after them, and were in the pony cart on their way.
It was half past midnight. There was a moon, but occasionally it was covered in clouds. Fortunately, Dumpling was always pleased to travel to Annefield, even when roused from his night’s sleep.
When they came to the entrance of the drive, Cormac tied Dumpling up and gave him hay they had brought with them. Otherwise, Dumpling would start complaining and make a racket.
Taking Sabrina’s hand, Cormac led her along the trees lining the drive to the house.
All appeared quiet. There was a light in an upstairs window. “Whose is that room?” he asked.
“My uncle’s.”
“You stay here.” He started forward. “I’m going to break into the house.”
“Why don’t we just knock on the door?”
“And give your father a warning? I think not.” He started off, but she grabbed his arm.
“You are very certain that Father is there? If you break into the house like a thief, things may not go well.”
“Yes, I am certain he is there, and, yes, I will be careful.” He pressed a hard kiss on her lips, then took off before she could offer another argument.
Sabrina watched him leave. “I love you.” She whispered the words. She hadn’t the courage to say them to his face, and yet, they needed to be spoken.
She looked up at the light in the bedroom. She knew very little about her uncle’s habits other than his taste for whisky. He’d spent a good portion of her life living in London.
In a few minutes, she saw Cormac’s shadow run around to the back of the house. She wondered if he would open a door or a window. At one time, Ingold always had a footman sit in a chair in the front hall in case there were late-night guests. She didn’t know if that was still true or not.
She stood. The night was cold. She crossed her arms, hugging herself and worrying.
Actually, it was more that she told herself she was worrying. In truth, she was very annoyed. She didn’t like being left behind. Furthermore, she could probably talk to her uncle better than Cormac could.
Sabrina had just decided she needed to go to the house and join him when she noticed a shadow moving from the stable path.
At first, she thought it was Cormac returning. But then the shadow separated into four different forms moving toward the house—just as Mac had told her they had when they’d attacked her.
The front door opened, and two of the figures went inside. Another two went around the back, and Sabrina was done with waiting.
She ran toward Annefield to warn Cormac.
Chapter Nineteen
After climbing through a window, Mac found himself in the study. He carefully picked his way through the dark to the hall, then turned to the left, expecting there to be a servants’ stairway.
He found it without difficulty and began quietly climbing the stairs. Hades could not be darker than the stairwell. He was careful. He didn’t want to make a sound that would alert anyone to his presence.
At the top of the first flight of stairs, his fingers traced the wall and found the door. He stepped into the hall. There was only one room with light spilling out from under the door. He moved toward it.
But just as he passed the main staircase, downstairs, the front door opened. Mac recognized the creak of the hinges. He stepped deeper into the shadows and held his breath.
His initial thought was that it was either a servant up and about, or Sabrina had decided to defy his command—again.
The sound of the small table in the front hall falling over and a distinct, male grunt caught his attention.
The servants would know where the table was—and would the love-of-his-life grunt?
That question gave him pause. Sabrina never failed to surprise, but she was graceful.
“Careful,” a man’s voice warned, the angry whisper carrying through the darkness.
“Do we have enough knives?” another whispered.
“Keep your voice down. We don’t want to wake the servants. I don’t want this business untidier than what it already is.”
There was no mistaking the last speaker. Owen Campbell.
“It isn’t our fault,” a man said. “Everything has gone wrong this night. We should have been done with this.
“Shut up,” Campbell ordered.
They were coming up the stairs. One of the steps squeaked when they placed weight on it. Mac waited. They were almost upon him.
A shadow crossed and rose up the stairs, then another and another. Three men. One seemed unusually big and burly, just like the man who had
attacked Sabrina.
What were the chances there was more than one party of men up to mischief in the middle of the night in Aberfeldy?
They went single file to the earl of Tay’s room, walking right past Mac hidden in the shadows, and entered without knocking. Light flooded out into the hall before the door. Mac pressed against the wall.
The men didn’t notice him. They weren’t looking for him. They were too intent upon their mission.
No greeting met them from the inside. Since none of them wore masks, Mac could see Owen Campbell clearly when he entered the room. He had even paused in the doorway and looked out into the hall, as if he sensed Mac’s presence but didn’t glimpse him.
Campbell turned back to the men in the room. “Let us do this quickly but be neat about it. I don’t want blood on any of you.”
Those were not words Mac wanted to hear.
Campbell shut the door, and Mac stepped out in the hall, almost meeting Sabrina, who was running up the stairs, her step so light, he’d not heard her, preoccupied as he was with Campbell.
She started to give a startled yelp, but Mac clapped a hand over her mouth—and then realized making noise might be their only solution.
He could hear Campbell’s low voice giving instructions in the earl’s room. He prayed that meant they had not murdered whoever was in there with them.
“When I say the word,” he told Sabrina, “I want you to scream. I want you to scream loud and keep screaming while you run for your life and wake the servants. Understand?”
She nodded, then held up her hands. The glint of brass caught his eye. She had secured what was becoming her favorite weapon of choice—andirons.
“Good girl,” he said, taking the poker. It was brass and well balanced. She pressed the shovel into his hand as well.
“What is going on?” she asked.
“I’m not certain,” he said. He moved to the earl’s door and took position behind it. “Now scream.”
No scream followed.
Sabrina stood as if she hadn’t truly grasped what he wanted her to do. He motioned with his fireplace weapons that he expected her to scream. This second.
With a nod of understanding, she opened her mouth and uttered the most puny scream Mac had ever heard. It obviously wasn’t in her nature to scream. He’d heard women carry on about mice with more zeal.
However, it did serve the trick.
From the other side of the door, Campbell’s voice said, “What was that?”
Sabrina’s eyes widened. She had recognized Campbell’s voice.
The door to the earl’s room opened. Light flowed into the hallway, highlighting Sabrina standing at the top of the stairs, her brows together as if she hadn’t fully comprehended what was happening and, for a second, Mac could have cursed.
She was so reasonable. In the short time he’d known her, he’d learned that she wanted the “whys” and the “hows.” Her analytical mind made her a good partner in solving the mystery of Gordana’s death.
But right now, Mac needed noise.
The big man who had attacked her that evening stepped into the hall.
Sabrina opened her mouth in angry shock. But instead of screaming or running down the stairs, she came charging toward the man and shoved him against the wall for all she was worth.
Apparently, she had the element of surprise on her side. Or perhaps coming from such a well-lit room into the hallway’s darkness had made it difficult for the brigand to see. Impressively, Sabrina hit him just right, using her whole body in her attack.
“What the bloody—” the brute started, before falling back and catching sight of Mac behind the door. “What—?” he shouted, but Mac wasn’t going to let him warn the others before Sabrina was safe. He slammed the man’s throat with his elbow, dropping the shovel in his exertion. However, he still held the poker.
“I said run,” Mac ground out to Sabrina. She’d done her part. Now he needed her to be safe, but Sabrina decided what she needed to do was scream.
And scream she did. The halls rang with her scream.
Mac was sorry he’d ever thought her a puny screamer. Of course, one blow could not quell such a big man, and Mac found himself fighting with the brute over control of the poker.
As if that weren’t enough, Owen Campbell came out in the hall with another of his henchmen, one who held a wicked-looking butcher knife.
Seeing Mac struggling with his man, Campbell ordered both of his men to, “Kill that bastard. And you,” he said to someone inside the room, “shut her up.”
A third man came running out of the room. He, too, held a knife and went after Sabrina.
Now she ran down the stairs, with Campbell’s man in pursuit. If something happened to her, Mac would never forgive himself.
The strength of ten men filled him. Fear could do that.
He won the poker by kicking the giant in the groin. The man fell to the ground. Mac turned and slashed the air with his weapon, connecting with the head of the smaller man, who dropped his knife and fell to the floor, screaming louder than Sabrina had.
The giant lunged for the shovel Mac had dropped. Mac jumped for it as well. For a moment, both men pulled on the andiron—and then Mac let go.
Once again, the big man lost his balance. He was a clumsy oaf. He crashed to the floor, and Mac finished him off with crack over the noggin with the poker.
There was a crashing sound from downstairs.
“Sabrina.” Anxious for her, Mac started for the staircase—but Owen Campbell blocked his path. He held the butcher knife.
“I believe Miss Davidson has had an accident,” Campbell said.
Mac moved forward in a murderous rage. He’d rip the man’s heart out with his bare hands, but then a voice called up.
“Everything is fine,” Sabrina shouted. “I found some andirons down here. You don’t need to worry about this one, Cormac. The servants will take care of him.”
“God, I love that woman,” Mac said. “Love her.”
He looked to Campbell. “She is safe. And now, you are going to pay dearly.”
The Scot’s response was to throw the knife with all his strength at Mac.
Fortunately, Mac had anticipated it. A butcher knife is a heavy thing. It is meant for hacking at meat, not flying swiftly through the air. Mac easily avoided the cleaver while batting it out of the way with his poker.
Footsteps charged up the stairs. Excited voices asked what was happening. Sabrina had roused the servants.
Campbell swore and ran into the earl’s bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
Mac stormed after him. He yanked on the door. Campbell was holding it closed on the other side, but his strength was no match for Mac’s anger.
Winning the battle over the door, Mac threw it open, ran into the room—and came to an abrupt halt.
He was shocked by what he saw. The earl of Tay, Richard Davidson, Ingold the butler, and even the good reverend were bound and gagged like trussed pigs. Two of the men were on the bed, the butler on the floor, and the earl was in a chair. He could tell they were happy to see him by the relief in their eyes.
Unfortunately, Mac’s momentary lapse of attention gave Campbell enough time to grab his own andiron from the earl’s hearth. He whipped it through the air, and Mac smiled.
He was going to enjoy this fight.
Campbell lunged at him.
Mac feinted, turned, and crunched Campbell’s nose with a direct blow with his fist. The Scot groaned and stepped back.
“Take a moment,” Mac told him. “I’m certain that smarts. After all, I’m a physician. I know how to heal, and I know a hundred ways to pound your body and cause excruciating pain. Really. This will not be a good fight for you.”
Sabrina had appeared in the doorway. She had several servants with her.
“You are outnumbered,” Mac pointed out. “You might want to give up.”
“And what? Hang?” Campbell demanded, raising his poker.
“It
is a possibility,” Mac said with satisfaction, but Campbell had another trick in mind.
Because, instead of attacking Mac, he turned, and raising the poker, started to bring it down on the head of the man closest to him, Richard Davidson. He knew he was trapped but apparently wished to make someone pay in a fit of boiling rage.
Mac realized his intent. He leaped forward and was able to block the deadly blow with his own poker. Their weapons crossed. They stood toe to toe, and it was now a test of strength and wills. One knew his life was at stake; the other had a score to settle.
They wrestled back and forth.
Looking into his enemy’s eyes, Mac said, “You can’t win. Give it up, man.”
Campbell’s face turned red with exertion. Mac was the stronger of the two. He knew he would beat Campbell—and he did. Campbell’s poker bent. He tried to flail Mac with it, but the two were too close to each other. Mac easily wrested the weapon from him and threw it across the room.
Owen Campbell was defenseless. Nor could he run. Even if he had made the distance past Mac, Sabrina and the household servants blocked his way out the door.
“You are done,” Mac advised him.
But instead of crying quarter, Campbell looked at him, and said, “What did I do wrong? Why did she not want me?”
For a second, Mac didn’t understand. “She?”
“Gordana. Why would she choose you?”
Campbell was the man Gordana had rightfully feared.
“There was nothing between us,” Mac answered.
Campbell barked his disbelief. “I saw her go into your room. She refused me, numerous times, as if I didn’t matter. She kept me dancing to her tune, then she went to you.”
“She might have just come to talk. Or entered my room when I wasn’t there to give you the impression that we were lovers. We weren’t. And even if we were, you shouldn’t have killed her for it,” Mac said.
“I didn’t mean to kill her. She made me angry. She would not listen to me.” Campbell punched his fist into his hand to punctuate his words. “I told her what I wanted, what I had to offer. I am an important man. I could have given her anything she desired. She turned me down. She said she wanted you, a man who couldn’t offer her the coin for a meal.”
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