by Karen Ranney
“Someone’s shooting at us, Miss Sinclair!”
Another shot rang out and this time she didn’t need Robert’s urging to flatten herself behind a fallen tree. The earth was a pungent combination of pine and decay, the discarded needles from the mature trees above sticking to her hands.
Her face hurt, but a delicate exploration revealed she wasn’t actually hurt. Instead, she must have been struck by splinters from one of the shots.
“I’m afraid someone else believes they have the right to use your woods, Robert,” she said. Another shot rang out. This one was close enough she could hear the zing of the bullet before it struck a tree. “Thank the Lord he’s not a very good shot.”
There wasn’t much left of the tree trunk they were hiding behind. Time and the insects had hollowed out a majority of it, but the tree was enough of a shield she felt somewhat protected. She peered through the trees, in the direction she thought the bullets had originated.
In front of her was the entire hill, with Castle Crannoch to the upper left. Below was a cottage, half in ruin, evidently the gamekeeper’s cottage at one time. Her eyes followed the path they’d taken. Several large boulders might shield a man with a gun.
“It wasn’t a hunter, Miss Sinclair. The shots came from the castle,” Robert said with a terrifying certainty. His voice was low, and if her hand hadn’t been resting on his shoulder, she wouldn’t have known he was trembling.
She wrapped her arm around him as they stared out at the sun-dappled day.
“It was probably a hunter with very bad aim.”
“No one is allowed to hunt on Gordon land.”
“Rules don’t stop a man trying to feed his hungry family.”
“It wasn’t a hunter,” he said again. “Someone was trying to kill me.”
The comment was uttered so matter of factly she wanted to ask him how he had learned such sang-froid at such a young age. How could he view an attempt on his life so calmly?
“What a very odd thing to say, Robert.”
“It isn’t the first time it’s happened.”
Shocked, she drew back, and turned him to face her.
“What do you mean?”
“On the day my last tutor left, I’d gone to the gamekeeper’s cottage instead of saying good-bye.” He pointed to the ruined structure down the hill.
“You mean you’d hidden there when people were trying to find you.”
He looked away rather than at her.
“I was nearly caught in a trap. It wasn’t there before. I almost stepped in it.”
“An accident.”
“We don’t use traps at Castle Crannoch. Ask my uncle. He’ll tell you.”
He pulled away from her and stood, drawing up the leg of his trousers to reveal a bandage she hadn’t noticed.
“And someone pushed me down the stairs a few days ago.”
They stared at each other, Beatrice left without a word to say. What kind of hornets’ nest had she stumbled into?
She stood and went to the edge of the forest, keeping Robert behind her. Several moments had passed since the last shot, and she wondered if they were being stalked. Or, had it truly been a hunter, and he’d belatedly realized they weren’t game?
Her cloak was a deep blue, but Robert’s jacket was a fawn color.
“You were probably mistaken for a deer,” she said, even though she was beginning to be doubtful of her own claim.
He only shook his head.
A moment later, she dared herself to step out onto the path again. Right now, all she wanted to do was reach the relative safety of the castle. But how safe was Castle Crannoch, especially if what Robert said was true?
A quarter hour later, when no further shots had come, Beatrice decided it was safe to return. They climbed the hill, taking the path back to Castle Crannoch, in full view of anyone who might wish to harm them. The only concession to Robert’s safety was that he remained behind her. If what he said was correct, whoever was shooting at them would have a clear view of her, but not of him.
The journey was a harrowing one, and when they finally made it back to the castle grounds, Beatrice almost wept with relief.
“Your uncle needs to know what happened,” she said when they’d reached the safety of the outer courtyard.
He stopped and looked at her in a way no seven-year-old should ever look, with wisdom and a certain amount of sadness in his eyes.
“Go ahead and tell him, Miss Sinclair. He will say it was an accident. Or that it didn’t happen, and it was all my imagination. That’s what he said before.”
“He’s your uncle. He wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.”
The child’s laughter was eerie, and almost adult. He turned and looked out at the land stretching in front of Castle Crannoch.
“Miss Sinclair, my father married late in life. Up until then, my uncle believed he was the heir to the title. I was a surprise, and not a welcome one. If something happens to me, my uncle becomes duke.”
Shocked, she could only stare at him. “Robert, surely you cannot believe your uncle responsible,” she finally said.
The boy began to climb the steps up to the broad double doors. At the top, he turned to face her again.
“You can talk to my uncle if you wish, Miss Sinclair. But I can tell you now it will make the situation worse rather than better.”
She watched him enter the castle and wondered what, exactly, she should do. If Devlen were here, she might have confided in him. Instead, she chose Gaston, and went in search of the manservant. She found him in the kitchen.
“Do you have a moment to speak with me?” she asked.
“You’ve been hurt, Miss Sinclair.”
She touched her cheek. Up until that moment, she’d forgotten.
“A scratch, that’s all.”
“We’ve some ointment that will aid in preventing a scar.”
She had no choice but to follow him, sitting at the table when he pointed to a chair, tilting her head just this way as he cleaned the scratch and then treated it with a foul-smelling salve. He handed her a small jar of it when he was done and gave her instructions to use it twice a day.
“Now, what did you wish to talk about?”
She glanced around her at the interested servants.
“Could we go somewhere more private?”
“Certainly, Miss Sinclair.” He left the tray of salves and ointments on the table and led her through a series of tunnel-like corridors. She vaguely remembered the path she took that first night.
They exited the castle to a small courtyard, and she knew her memory had been right. Devlen’s coach had stopped here.
“What is it, Miss Sinclair?”
“Can you keep a confidence, Gaston? Even if it is from your employer?”
“I do not know how to answer that question, not unless I know exactly what type of confidence.”
She admired loyalty, but she also needed to show some loyalty to Robert. He hadn’t asked for her word, but she felt as if he deserved it, for no other reason than his courage.
“Is Robert in any danger? Has anything happened to him since his parents died that might be construed as unusual?”
She’d expected Gaston to answer her quickly and in the negative. Instead, the manservant studied her for several long moments as if to gauge the meaning behind her question.
“There have been some incidents regarding the duke. Accidents any small boy would have.”
“Such as being pushed down the stairs?”
“His Grace often neglects wearing his shoes, Miss Sinclair, and takes to sliding on the floors in his stocking feet. It was an accident, nothing more.”
“And the trap?”
“We were not able to find the trap he spoke of.”
She almost mentioned the shots, then knew Gaston would explain them away just as she had. A zealous hunter, with an overabundance of gunpowder and a paucity of skill.
“Does Mr. Gordon know of these incidents?”
“My master does know, Miss Sinclair. He knows everything that goes on at Castle Crannoch. Simply because he does not comment about it or make it public knowledge is no reason to think he is not aware of the situation.
“If there are more such incidents in the near future, Miss Sinclair, it might be because of you.”
She stepped back. “Me?”
“His Grace might see you have a kind heart. He may use these stories to encourage you to leave Castle Crannoch.”
“You believe it’s his imagination?”
“Perhaps the ramblings of a child still grieving for his family.”
She looked down the mountain at the torturous corkscrew of a road. If she had any sense at all, she would leave this place with its hint of mystery and tragedy. But something had changed in the last two days. She’d found herself touched to the core by a little boy who was arrogant, obnoxious, yet startlingly brave.
No, she couldn’t desert Robert. She might well be the only person who believed him. Because the hunter—if he was truly a hunter—had shot at her as well as the boy.
Beatrice turned on her heel and left Gaston before she was tempted to say something she shouldn’t. She didn’t even ask him to keep what she’d said in confidence, knowing he wouldn’t. Instead, he would no doubt visit Cameron Gordon and within the next quarter hour relate to him everything she had said.
She took the back stairs to the second floor and knocked on Robert’s door. There was no answer, but this time she didn’t make the effort to find the boy. No doubt he had places to hide throughout the castle. A safe place, she fervently hoped.
Instead, she entered her chamber and slammed the door, feeling both childish and frightened.
Chapter 15
“When I used to slam doors,” Robert said, “My parents reprimanded me.”
She glanced at the other side of the room, where Robert sat on the edge of her bed, his feet dangling over the side.
“Should I ask what you’re doing in my chamber?” Nevertheless, she was oddly relieved to see him. “Are you placing another snake in my bed? Or is it to be a toad this time?”
His smile was utterly charming and he laughed like a little boy might laugh, not a serious young duke.
“Did I tell you I shot one of my tutors in the rump? It was an accident, of course, but he didn’t believe that. He told my uncle I was the spawn of Satan and should be sent away to prison, not to school. I shall have to think long and hard about what to do next with you, Miss Sinclair. I suspect you are not often frightened.”
“I was today. That incident,” she said, using Gaston’s word for it, “frightened me enough.”
“Yet you were very brave,” he said. “You stood out in the path and dared someone to shoot you.”
“I was not daring. I was hoping with all my heart the shooter was a hunter and by seeing me clearly he might realize I wasn’t a deer.”
“Did you tell my uncle?”
“Ah, the real reason you’re here. No, I didn’t.”
She sat on the bed beside him. “But I’m very surprised someone didn’t hear the shot.”
“They might have thought it really was a hunter. Perhaps my uncle has a yen for rabbit and sent one of the servants out.”
The inference being, of course, that Cameron Gordon was responsible, either directly or indirectly, for the events of this afternoon.
“I think you’re very brave, Miss Sinclair.”
The compliment was said in such a calm and pleasant tone, so unlike the autocratic whine Robert normally used, that she looked at the boy in surprise. Without his cloak of arrogance, Robert was a very pleasant individual indeed. In fact, she’d enjoyed being in his company this morning, something she hadn’t expected.
“What shall we do now?” he asked.
She would dearly like to lie down and put a cold compress over her eyes and ignore the throbbing headache that had grown ever since she’d been shot at, but she had to keep going for Robert’s sake.
“Can you show me where the library is?”
He shook his head.
She was surprised at his sudden recalcitrance, and wondered if she’d been too kind to think him pleasant only a moment earlier.
“My uncle uses that room during the day.”
Now she understood. She didn’t want to be in the company of Cameron Gordon either.
“Well, then it’s impossible for us to acquire some books to begin your education. Where did you and your tutors study?”
He looked away, brushed his hands across his trousers, studied a hole that had suddenly appeared in his stockings, anything but look at her.
“Robert?”
He glanced at her and then found the view from the window to be so intriguing it commanded his attention.
“Robert.”
He sighed heavily and turned to look at her finally.
“I had three tutors, Miss Sinclair.”
She waited.
“Two of them thought Castle Crannoch was too far from civilization and complained from the moment they arrived, so I wasn’t sorry to see them go. One of them wasn’t such a bad sort, but he kept telling me how handsome my uncle was and nearly swooning whenever he saw him. I had nothing to do with his leaving, truly. The arrow didn’t hurt him that badly. My uncle dismissed him.”
“So they weren’t here long enough for you to learn anything from them?”
He nodded.
“But where did you study?”
“There’s a small sitting room next to my bedroom.”
“Then we shall meet there in the morning.”
Instead of answering her, he slid off the bed, his eyes lighting up. “Would you like to see the attics, Miss Sinclair? There are lots and lots of empty rooms up there. There’s one I know that is perfect for a schoolroom.”
“The attics?”
He held out his hand for her. “Come with me, Miss Sinclair. I know the castle very, very well.”
“Who taught you when your parents were alive?”
“My father.”
She nodded, not unduly surprised. No wonder Robert resented having a governess or tutor. Their presence was a living reminder his father was not here to teach him.
As to Robert’s excitement over the attic, there was an answer for that as well. No doubt Cameron Gordon couldn’t navigate the stairs because of his wheelchair. She had the impression Robert’s uncle oversaw everything within his domain. For the time being, Robert, twelfth Duke of Brechin, was very much within his control. She wouldn’t be surprised if the child was always thinking of schemes to avoid his uncle.
Beatrice couldn’t say she blamed him much.
His rebellion, however, would be short-lived. Wherever they decided to study, Cameron Gordon would no doubt make an appearance. Nor would she be surprised if he commanded them to choose an accessible room. He was, after all, Robert’s guardian.
Robert led her down the hall, turned left, then right, evidently following a path he knew well. At the end of the hall, he reached out and pressed one of the decorations below the top frame of a painting. The wall instantly moved, revealing a small corridor. She’d seen one of the maids disappear into a similar one downstairs just that morning.
“A secret passage?”
“Just a way for the maids and the footmen to travel between floors. I think once they were used to hide treasure. My father said that some of our ancestors were thieves and rogues.” He grinned at her. “I think they’re haunted. I once saw the very first Gordon and his horse.”
She raised one eyebrow at him, and he shrugged.
“My uncle doesn’t like to see servants, so whenever they hear him coming, they sort of melt into the walls.” He giggled, sounding like a seven-year-old boy.
“Are there places like this throughout the castle?”
“No, only the newer part. This section of Castle Crannoch is only about a hundred years old. If there are any secret passages in the old part, I haven’t been able to find them.�
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“Do you do a lot of exploring?”
“What else is there to do?”
“Well, from this moment on, your lessons.”
He made a face but didn’t comment.
She followed him into the small anteroom leading to a circular iron staircase. Evidently, the space had originally been a tower. Sunlight spilled in through the archer slits, but so did the chill. In the depths of winter, it must be unbearably cold to serve the Gordon family.
He dropped his voice and whispered, “You can go down to the kitchen from here, as well as climbing up to the attics.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“You have to be careful because anyone can hear you. Sound carries very well.”
She held on to the railing and climbed, feeling as if they would never make it to the top. Heights made her uncomfortable.
Finally, they were at the top, the staircase ending in a wooden landing. There was a gap of some space between the top step and the first board, and Beatrice made it across without looking down.
“It’s all right, Miss Sinclair,” he whispered. “We’re almost there.”
He pushed open the door, and she found herself in a well-lit corridor, but narrower than the second floor. There was no effort to hide the entrance to the servant’s staircase.
“We’re at the top of the castle,” he said, and for the first time, the pride of ownership was in his voice. “There’s one room on this floor that has nothing but windows for a ceiling. It’s filled with trunks right now, but you can see the ocean from it.”
She was intrigued by his description, enough to silence her doubts for the moment.
“When we used to have a lot of servants, they slept up here. But they use the third floor now.”
“How many servants are there at Castle Crannoch?”
“Only about seven. We need at least five times as many to care for the castle.”
“Why don’t you employ them?”
“My uncle says he’s saving my fortune. I think it’s because he doesn’t like to have people around him.”
“You don’t like your uncle, do you?”
He gave her a look that made her want to retract the question.
A moment later, he spoke again. “My father used to say people have to choose between being good or evil.”