He searched the caves for a time, Josette looking about with Beitris, but he turned up no convenient casks of gold.
Will did find some interesting things, however, as Josette and Beitris wandered back outside to sunlight. Another flask of brandy, a sheathed knife with a jeweled hilt, and curiously, a few paintings that had hung on the walls of Kilmorgan. They’d been rolled up and covered with oilcloth, proving supple and intact when unrolled.
He also found more cracks in the wall that led to another set of shallow, but very empty caves. Hmm.
Will looked these over briefly and then re-rolled the paintings and carried his find to Josette.
“Booty from a lost ship?” she asked, touching the rolled-up paintings in wonder. “Or a robbery?”
“This was Duncan’s.” Will held up the sgian dubh, the bejeweled knife Duncan had worn with his best formal kilt. “No doubt filched from his chambers when the castle’s rubble was picked over. Whoever took this also knew what paintings to steal and how to keep them from ruin.” He’d recognized the face of Rembrandt van Rijn and a still life by another Dutch master.
Josette’s eyes widened. “Did Mr. Macdonald take them? I remember … he boasted to Captain Ellis and me that he’d plundered paintings from Kilmorgan Castle. I saw a few of them.”
“Possibly.” Will scanned the horizon. “But others could have come here as well.” He let out a breath. “No sign of the French gold. I might be wrong, and Macdonald has a different hiding place entirely.”
“He using Kilmorgan is a good theory,” Josette said generously. “And he might be better at hiding things than the thief who took these.” She gestured at his armful.
“True.” Will handed her the knife, hilt first. “Hold on to that for me, Josie. I can only juggle so many things.” He tucked the paintings securely under his arm and took up the lantern. “Better still, keep it for yourself. If I know Duncan, that blade is clean, well oiled, and sharp. Or sell it. It’s worth a few bob.” A lump came to his throat as he pictured Duncan and his exacting obsession about taking care of his weapons. It hadn’t kept him alive, in the end.
Josette reverently examined the scabbard and hilt encrusted with blue and green stones—Mackenzie colors. “I could never sell your brother’s knife.”
“Well, he isn’t using it at the moment.” Will cleared his throat. “And though Duncan was a sour man with his brothers, he was gallant with the ladies. He’d rather you had it than me, I think.”
“Thank you, Will,” Josette said, her dark eyes holding gratitude. “I’ll look after it.”
Will wanted to kiss her. He wanted to so much that he made himself turn and head for the cliff path under the cloud-covered sky.
He led them upward, Josette a little way behind him, Beitris lingering to chase a few sea birds.
A Scotsman stood waiting for them at the top, gazing over the cliff’s edge, his craggy face set in a scowl. He was alone.
“Bhreac,” Will said in surprise. “Why have ye come? You didn’t bring the ladies with you, did you? Far too dangerous yet.”
Bhreac didn’t answer. “Did you find it? The French gold?”
Will thought rapidly and took a chance. “Yes.”
Josette said nothing—in fact, a glance out of the corner of Will’s eye showed she was not yet in sight, the last bend of the path concealing the view below.
“Good,” Bhreac said. He lifted the pistol he’d been holding behind his back and leveled it at Will’s nose. “Ye can give it to me, then.”
Josette froze when she heard Bhreac’s words. She crouched down, hiding behind thick brush, and peered upward at the two men.
Bhreac had a pistol aimed at Will’s face. Will regarded him calmly, still holding the lantern in one hand, paintings under the other arm.
Beitris reached the top of the path and noticed Bhreac. With a deep Wuh! the dog rushed him.
Josette held her breath, worried the dog’s attack would make Bhreac pull the trigger. But Beitris only danced around the two men, recognizing her old friend and seeing nothing wrong. Bhreac ignored her.
Josette remembered Will’s answer when she’d first asked whether they could trust Bhreac. I have in the past. Doesn’t mean he’s entirely trustworthy, but he has no reason to betray me at the moment.
Now, it seemed, Bhreac had found reason.
“I’ll show you the gold later,” Will said. “I’m tired of climbing up and down trails. It will still be there.”
“Your plan to lure Macdonald here so he’ll try to save it is a fool’s one,” Bhreac said. “He’ll simply kill you and take it. Then all that lovely gold will be lost.”
“You’ve come to kill me and take it,” Will said mildly. “Not much choice for me.”
“We’re friends, Willie. Give me the gold, and I’ll leave ye be. I want it to buy passage for me and poor Lillias to reach the Continent. She needs someone to look after her.”
Will didn’t move. “Was this her idea? Has the taste of Lillias McIver in it.”
“She might have agreed with me,” Bhreac said without a blush. “She doesn’t trust you much—she’s somewhat bitter that you couldn’t save her husband.”
“No one could have saved him,” Will said somberly. “I’m sorry that should be so.” He spoke quietly, but Josette knew the man’s death had cut at him.
She crept slowly and quietly across the side of the hill, staying out of sight, aiming to come out a little way from the two men.
“Aye, well, I know you’re right.” Bhreac shrugged. “Give me the gold, and we’ll be gone.”
“And if I told you I was joking, that I couldn’t find it?”
Bhreac sighed. “Ah, Willie, don’t make me shoot you. Josette will never forgive me, and I’m fond of the lass.”
“She’s fond of you too. I truly don’t have it, Bhreac. Your journey was for nothing.”
“Never trust a Mackenzie,” Bhreac said. “I’ve always said—”
His words cut off as Josette, moving soundlessly behind him, brought the hilt of Duncan’s knife down hard on the base of his skull.
Chapter 26
Ow!” Bhreac stumbled, pistol wavering in his slackened grip. “Devil take ye, woman …”
Will twisted the pistol from Bhreac and pointed it at him. Then he looked again in disgust. “Ye didn’t even prime it.”
Bhreac shrugged and rubbed the back of his head. “I told you I didn’t want to hurt you. Och, get off me, ye great beastie.”
Beitris had finally decided to be a guard dog. She jumped on Bhreac, but instead of biting, she licked his face. No wonder she hadn’t attacked, Will reflected. She’d known Bhreac wasn’t a true threat.
Josette, on the other hand, glared at the man. She had the sgian dubh poised to smack Bhreac again, and Will had no doubt she’d have the blade out of its sheath in a trice if she decided it was needed. She knew how to fight, did his Josie.
“Down, Beitris,” Will said. The dog gave Bhreac one last swipe of her tongue then fell to her haunches, tail thumping. “Did ye truly think ye could stroll in here and take the gold I plan to restore my family with? And I’d tamely let you?”
Bhreac shrugged. “Not really. But worth a try. You really haven’t found it?” He sounded so wistful that Will wanted to laugh.
Will slid the pistol into his pocket. There was no powder in its pan, nothing to spark the gunpowder inside and discharge the bullet—if Bhreac had even loaded the thing. The man knew his way around guns, so Will believed him when he said he’d meant to frighten, not hurt.
“We’ve just began searching. Josette, ye can put the knife away now, love.”
“I’ll keep it out.” Josette said, not lowering her hand.
“She’s a wise lass,” Bhreac said. “Well, if ye didn’t find it in the caves, where next?”
“House. This way.”
He led them off, Bhreac and Beitris following readily, Josette behind Bhreac, she still holding the knife.
Will’s heart warme
d. With Josette as rearguard, he need fear nothing. She was as fierce a warrior as any Highland bride.
By “house,” Will meant the cleared land where the foundations had been laid for Mal’s great mansion. Mal had started the manor not long before the British soldiers had come. The soldiers had gone through the site, destroying all work done, and scattering the stones.
The locals, seeing no reason to let perfectly good building stone go to waste, had taken what they wished. Will didn’t begrudge them. Crofters needed to strengthen their cottages and repair shelters for their livestock for the hard winter.
Even with the foundation in ruins, the outline of the house was clear to see. The front gallery would run the length of the façade, with large windows every few feet to illuminate the interior. The view from the second and third floors of this gallery would be breathtaking—so said Malcolm.
Wings would run back from the main gallery, each complete with drawing rooms, libraries, and sitting rooms, with bedchambers on the upper floors. Each brother could have his own demesne, Malcolm had decided. He’d planned six wings, one for each of his five brothers and one for their father. He’d sadly revised those plans, cutting the wings to four.
A great staircase would rise through the house. The duke’s artwork would hang here, as well as Alec’s paintings. In a place of honor they’d hang the portrait of Allison McKenzie, beloved wife and mother. Malcolm had saved it from the burning castle.
“’Tis enormous,” Bhreac said in admiration. “Will be, I mean, if it ever is built. Not much chance, is there?”
Will kicked at a rock. “Remains to be seen. Mal has grand ideas, I’ll give him that. Alec is designing the gardens.”
“Huh.” Bhreac gazed about, pretending to ignore Josette, who hadn’t let him move far from her knife. “Will be worth looking at, if they manage it.” He rubbed his hands together. “Well, I’d best be helping you find the funding. Where do we begin?”
The workers had dug out cellars, which would house foodstuffs and supplies as well as wine and whisky. Not much had been done, but they’d left one square hole in the north side, supported with beams. Some of the beams had been looted as well, but enough remained to hold the makeshift ceiling in place.
The three of them searched, but found nothing hidden in the cellar, and no signs of digging to indicate buried treasure.
Will hadn’t thought Macdonald would leave the gold where the villagers and crofters could too easily stumble upon it, but then Macdonald might have hidden it there precisely because it was in plain sight. He was guileful.
The castle ruin would be more likely. They left the foundations behind and ascended the hill to the castle, Beitris gamboling along in their wake. From the top of the hill, Will looked out over the land, and his breath caught.
The sun had poked through the clouds to bathe the world in golden light. Beams caught in the mists, sporting rainbows across the glen. The outline of the new house was more clear from here—it would stand large and strong against the green-gray land. To the west and north, mountains stretched tall; to the east was a glimmer of the sea.
The silence was immense. Will had run in and out of the castle from this courtyard all of his life—and noise had prevailed. His brothers shouting, his father’s bellows, his mother laughing. Music—Allison playing the pianoforte she’d ordered specially from Padua, fiddles and drums of the villagers, his brothers trying to sing. Will hadn’t been bad at the pianoforte, and liked to play whenever he could find one.
Now the only sound was the wind in the trees, hawks crying as they rode the updrafts.
For a moment, Will fancied the castle was whole, windows glittering, the door banging as the tiny boy, Mal, tore out and flung himself down the path to the bottom of the hill. Alec or Angus would be chasing him, Will laughing as he got in their way, allowing the Runt to escape. Usually Mal had done something mischievous, but Will had always come to his defense.
“Are you coming in, Willie?” his mother’s voice floated to him. “If not, shut the door. You’re causing a great draft.”
Josette touched his arm, and the past vanished, dissolving on the breeze. The castle was a ruin, his family dead or scattered.
Josette was real. Warm. Here.
Will swallowed, closed his hand around hers, and led the way inside.
Josette’s heart broke as she followed Will through the remains of the castle. She remembered, from her long-ago visit, the lofty hall, the polished wooden staircase rising through the keep, the whitewashed stone rooms softened with paintings, books, and comfortable furniture.
The old duke had been testy, the brothers teasing and arguing, Alec and Mal flirting with Josette and treating her graciously at the same time. Duncan had been disapproving but polite. Glenna charmed every single one of them, turning the tough Highlanders to mush. The castle had been a bachelor’s abode, kept neat by the small horde of retainers there to look after the Mackenzies, including rawboned Naughton.
But it had been a home. Men and women had loved here, lived, died, found great happiness, suffered loss. Birth and death, marriage and family, brothers, fathers, sisters, mothers, friends, lovers—moving through the centuries.
Now it was a wreck. Scorched beams lay across rooms, crushing furniture beneath them. The stench of charred wood prevailed. The staircase was no more, having fallen to shards when flames consumed it.
“Oh, Will,” Josette whispered. “I’m so sorry.” Tears filled her eyes, which already stung from the lingering odor of smoke.
Bhreac glanced around in sympathy. “Aye, ’twas a bad business. I pray those who did this rot in hell, I truly do.”
Will squared his shoulders. Josette noticed that he kept his gaze averted from the destruction as he led the way to the rear of the castle, where a few stone walls were more or less intact.
“I’ve been back only once since it burned,” Will said, his voice neutral, but Josette heard the strain in it. “The cellars are still accessible.”
The taint of smoke was heavy at the very rear of the castle, but a small area had escaped the fire. Will pulled open a warped door to reveal a stone staircase.
“From the original keep,” Will said. “Mackenzies of old could scramble up this staircase from the bottom of the cellars to the top of the walls.”
He started down without worry. Josette waited for Bhreac to follow him—she didn’t trust him behind her. Bhreac shot her a nervous grin before he started downward, Beitris after him. Josette brought up the rear, following the glimmer of Will’s lantern.
“Is it safe?” Bhreac asked, his voice tight.
“Should be.” Will’s voice floated back to them. “The keep has lasted four hundred years. More than one enemy has tried to raze it, without success. Ah, here we are.”
He stepped off the stairs to a vaulted room that echoed his footsteps. The light from Will’s lantern caught a stone floor and empty shelves, but didn’t penetrate far into the darkness.
Josette gathered her skirts out of the dust as Will led them along without hesitation, passing rows of racks similar to those in the distillery. No whisky barrels were in sight, however, probably looted by the soldiers or those like Macdonald who happened along afterward.
Whatever hadn’t been stolen had been smashed—crockery, wooden boxes, crates, empty kegs. Nothing of value remained that Josette could see.
“I don’t spy any gold,” Bhreac said, words loud in the still air.
“We should be above the tunnels now,” Josette said, remembering their walk through the dark. “Is there a way down from here?”
“Used to be a trap door for lowering the whisky for the ponies to carry away,” Will said. “We never opened it, so it might have been bricked over.”
“Would Macdonald know about it?” Bhreac asked.
“No idea,” Will began, but Josette interrupted.
“It would be another way in and out, one less visible than the castle’s front door,” she pointed out. “If Mr. Macdonald needed t
o move the gold in a hurry, he would have an easy way to take it out of the castle.”
“The woman has cunning,” Bhreac said. “I’d watch her, lad.”
“Josette is the wisest person I know,” Will said, sounding proud. “Man or woman. You are right, love—the trap door was over yonder.”
He headed off into the darkness, Josette and Bhreac following. Beitris nosed about in the dark, finding many things to explore. Josette heard her snuffling, then sneeze.
“Oh.” Will’s voice drifted back to them and Josette hurried to where he stood unmoving, his lantern high.
Bhreac surged forward, stumbling over debris in his haste. “Did you find the gold? Is it here?”
Will didn’t answer him. “I thought you gone forever, my friend,” he said softly.
The light from his lantern fell on a bulk of something shrouded in a dust-covered cloth. Will set the lantern on the floor and grasped the cloth with great care. He pulled it slowly away, the fabric slithering from an object about five feet long and four feet tall.
Josette’s breath caught as he raised the lantern again, its light glinting on burnished mahogany and polished brass.
Bhreac sighed in disappointment. “No gold there.”
“No.” Will’s voice had gentled to a note Josette rarely heard in it. “Treasure of a different kind.”
Josette thought the piece of furniture was a harpsichord, top shut, keys covered, or a clavichord. Then she realized it was a pianoforte, and must be the one Will had told her his mother had purchased.
Will folded the cover back from the keys. It shouldn’t play, Josette reasoned, abandoned here. But the thing had been cared for, the wood oiled, the brass cleaned.
Will pressed his fingers to the keys. The sound that came out was off, the strings far out of tune, but they struck and rang.
“My father sent this down here after my mother died,” Will said. He played a scale, then another, the notes quiet. “He couldn’t bear to look at it. Naughton took care of it, though, and so did I, figuring that someday Dad might want it back. I used to come down here and play, too far from the rest of the house to be heard.”
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