by Lauren Smith
“Are you finished?” Brody asked when she licked her fingers clean.
“Yes.” She accepted the flask of water he offered her and took a few gulps before she handed it back to him.
“We should go.” Brock mounted up, and they all followed him.
The path they took to Kincade was not on the North Road, but a series of back roads, dusty trails and open fields. Brock had said that the North Road would be the route Ashton would most likely take if he pursued them. It was better if they could reach the castle without a confrontation and take shelter behind the walls before Ashton and his men arrived.
“Not far now,” Aiden cheered as their horses trotted up a hill overlooking a vast loch.
Beyond the blue waters lay Castle Kincade, nestled in the midst of a vibrant green field. Rosalind’s heart leapt as years of happy memories from before her mother’s death came back. She had learned to swim in the shallows of that loch and learned to ride in the nearby forest.
I’m home.
And this time father wasn’t there to blacken the castle or her life.
Her brothers rode past her, and for a long moment Rosalind stayed frozen upon the hill, fighting an internal battle. She could follow her brothers and return to a life in the Highlands, or she could return to London and face Ashton. She knew he wouldn’t let her go if she came back to London. It wouldn’t matter that she viewed their agreement as void after his breach of trust. But would he come after her in Scotland?
And some small part of her asked, Did she want him to?
“Rosalind!” Brock waved his arm from below on the sloping hill. With a sigh, she kicked her heels into her horse’s flanks and followed her brothers.
The castle looked almost the same as when she’d left. How was that possible? Rosalind dismounted from her horse and let a groom lead it away before she followed her brothers into the front entrance. The craggy gray stones were like old friends, but part of her was also wary because darker memories still lingered in the shadows of the hall.
“You should rest. Would you like your old room? Or…” Aiden’s cheeks turned a ruddy red. “Sorry. You should have another room, one of the nicer ones down here.” He nodded to a hallway she’d never been allowed to visit when she’d lived here. An entire wing of sealed-off guest rooms.
“Brock had us open them after Father passed.” Brodie curled an arm around her shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze as they walked down the hall. Brock lingered by the stairs, watching the three of them, his gaze unreadable.
“How is he?” she asked as they both watched Brock over their shoulders. Her brother had taken the worst of the beatings intended for her before she’d fled and had always protected everyone from their father at his own expense. Worry ate away at Rosalind. What if her father’s death had hardened Brock?
“He is…” Brodie struggled for words a moment. “Relieved. I think he feels guilty that he doesn’t mourn our father, but none of us do.”
“I understand,” Rosalind said. She understood all too well the guilt of feeling so little grief at old Lord Kincade’s passing.
“Why don’t you take this room and sleep? We raced to get here. You could use a bath and a change of clothes. I’m sure I can find Mother’s trunk in the attic.”
“It wasn’t destroyed?” She remembered all too clearly her father shouting that he’d sold the jewelry and burned the clothes mere weeks after her mother had died.
Aiden shook his head as he joined them outside her guest room. “Brock hauled the trunk up into the attic in the north tower and left it hidden beneath some old drapes.”
Rosalind rested her hand on the door to the room. “You’re right. I think I could use a bath and some rest.” Her body felt heavy enough that if she took a swim in the loch, she would not stay afloat.
“Get some rest. We’ll send someone to tend to your bath and bring you a change of clothes.”
She hugged each of her brothers before they left. But within moments, there was a knock at the chamber door.
“Rosalind?” It was Brock.
“Come in.” She was dragging a white sheet off a settee that backed up to a large feather bed with dark-blue drapes and faded gold tassels.
Her brother entered, his hands fisting around a packet of old letters.
When he did not immediately speak, she settled onto the couch, coughing slightly as dust wafted around her. Brock came over and slowly held out the packet. Thick twine bound the letters tightly, forming grooves in the old parchment.
“What are these?” she asked, taking the letters from him.
“I swore I would not give these to you, but it was father’s dying wish. It is your choice whether you wish to have them or not.” He backed up and nodded at the empty fireplace. “If they prove to be upsetting, you are free to burn them.”
She plucked at the twine, unfastening them to retrieve the newest letter, one that wasn’t faded like the others. “Do you know what they contain?”
“I do not. You may tell me after, if you wish, but I must see to the house. We have preparations to secure your safety. I’ve hired men from the village to assist us if anyone comes for you.”
Rosalind nodded. “Thank you, Brock.” When their eyes met, she was a child again, a girl of sixteen who was standing in a hall, her lip split and her face swelling from her father’s fists, and he was the brother who’d stood between her and her father whenever he could. Her protector.
But I don’t need to be protected. Not any longer. She could see in his eyes that he was realizing the same thing.
“Rest, little sister.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead before he left her alone.
It seemed like ages before Rosalind worked up the courage to open the newest letter in the stack. She broke the wax seal upon the letter and unfolded the pages. It was a letter to her from her father.
Rosalind,
I know you wish to burn this letter without reading past these first few words, but I beseech you not to do so. In years past, I was unkind because I knew I was among the damned, yet forced to walk among the living. And the hatred I had for myself I turned upon others, including you.
I am too proud to ask for your forgiveness before I am gone. But I beg you now to grant a dead man one last request. Before my death, I sent you a device which I was afraid to leave with these letters lest they fall into the wrong hands. It resembles a pocket watch when closed, but it can be used to decode the cipher in which these letters are written. I have trusted your brothers to guard these letters until you returned to Scotland with the decoder.
These letters, between myself and a man named Sir Hugo Waverly, detail how I aided him in crushing a Scottish rebellion against the Crown long ago, shortly after your mother died. He had the leaders secretly murdered, and I said nothing. I betrayed my people and my beliefs to fill the family coffers with gold.
So long as Hugo lives you are not safe. You must use these letters to destroy him, even at the cost of our family honor. A man like Waverly cannot be trusted. He must be destroyed. Your brothers would fear the repercussions, but you were always the bravest among my children. Be brave now.
Montgomery
Rosalind’s knuckles were white as she gripped the letter. The odd little watch she’d received before she left for Lennox House hadn’t been a watch at all. Her father’s words burned through her, striking fear in her after years of feeling safe. But now it was not him she feared.
Hugo. The man she’d thought she could trust, the man who’d sent her brothers to rescue her…had helped to kill Scotsmen who’d wanted to leave the Crown. And her father had been one of them. And then he had helped Waverly murder them.
My father was a traitor. The realization of that hit her hard, and she had to struggle to breathe. She had always felt that the anger he’d shown towards her had been meant for himself, and this answered many questions as to how the man had changed so quickly after her mother’s passing.
Ashton was right. Hugo was a threat, and th
ese letters were the key to his destruction. Her anger at Ashton wishing to use her to flush Hugo out into the open faded against the proof she held in her hands. The evidence that would destroy him.
With shaking hands, she folded her father’s letter and tucked it beneath the other letters before she tied the bundle securely again with the twine. Then she slipped the letters into the folds of her skirt.
Tomorrow…tomorrow I can better decide how to use these to expose Waverly.
She would. There was no question what she had to do. She only wished Ashton were here to help her, though she hated herself for thinking that. He didn’t love her, would never love her, but he would know how best to use those letters to ruin Hugo.
Then it occurred to her that Ashton would do anything for those letters. Anything. She considered writing to tell him what she’d found. What was it worth to him? Her property back, of course, and perhaps a company or two of his in exchange for the letters and the decoder? Some small measure of payback for using her as he had.
But she couldn’t. It didn’t feel right. As much as she wanted to strike out at Ashton for the pain he’d caused, she couldn’t do it.
Rosalind was nothing but a mere pawn in a vast game between Waverly and Ashton. A game which she refused to play.
*****
“A castle. It would have to be a bloody castle,” Ashton muttered as he knelt behind a large boulder bordering the lake facing Castle Kincade. Godric, Cedric and Lucien were with him on either side as they studied the massive edifice in the distance.
“So much for our plans of overtaking them on the road,” Lucien grumbled.
Godric stared intently at the castle before glaring at Lucien. “Those Scots were devils when they fought us over bar wenches. I’d hate to see what they would do to protect their kin.”
Ashton squinted at the castle. “It’s not the brothers that worry me. It’s her father. He’s the real brute. Her brothers love her, but from what I gathered he’s bad enough to scare them into obedience.”
Godric and Lucien exchanged worried glances.
“We’ve never laid siege to a castle before.” Lucien smiled grimly. “I suppose there’s a first time for everything. But I’m afraid I left the family battering ram back at my estate.”
Godric couldn’t help but chuckle at that.
Ashton licked his lips, still feeling a little parched. They had ridden almost without stopping for two days, pausing only long enough to change horses at coaching inns. In that time Ashton had fought off the last bit of influenza, but it had left him weak and thirsty.
“Here.” Lucien offered him a flask of water, which Ashton drank greedily.
Godric shifted in his crouched position and scanned the trees around them. “Charles and Jonathan should be back soon.”
Ashton nodded at two figures who crept toward them, running in a crouch to avoid being seen by anyone watching from the distant castle. “There they are.”
Once Charles and Jonathan reached them behind the rock, they all huddled close together.
“What did you see?” Ashton demanded.
“Men on the turrets,” Jonathan said.
“Turrets? Lord…any crossbows?” Lucien muttered.
Cedric chuckled until Ashton glared at him. He cleared his throat and glanced away, as though trying very hard not to laugh. “Lucien, your sister should have been here. I imagine Lysandra could have built us a trebuchet.”
Lucien laughed. “I dare say she could. But we’d need something capable of hurling more than snowballs at the enemy.”
“Anyway…” Jonathan continued. “Those are just lookouts. There are more inside. I think they are expecting us to come after Rosalind with a small army.”
Charles nodded. “Jon’s right—there’s something wrong about this, Ash. They’ve got men posted at the front gate and men on the rooftops in pairs. I don’t have a clue how we will get inside. I can’t guess the numbers we might face inside either.”
“Well, Ash, what’s your plan? We’ll do whatever you ask, of course,” Godric assured him.
Ashton’s throat tightened. They had come all this way to face certain danger and poor odds.
“I…I appreciate that you all came with me. But I should go on alone. We didn’t expect them to beat us back to their fortress. I cannot ask any of you to risk yourselves, not for Rosalind.” For a long second his friends glared at him, their expressions hard.
Charles huffed as though offended. “You’re a daft fool if you think we’ll let you go on alone. That being said, I have a plan.” A wicked grin spread across his face.
“Bloody hell, that’s always a bad sign,” Cedric muttered.
“Charge in and beat them soundly, I suppose?” said Godric.
“Ash,” Charles continued, ignoring the others, “you take my horse and ride up to the gates. Demand an audience with Rosalind. Her father and brothers will refuse at first. Tell them you won’t leave until you see her, and that once you have said your piece, you’ll return to London. The rest of us will gain entrance to the castle by any means necessary.”
“Notice how he leaves out the details on what those means are,” Cedric whispered to Godric, who nodded.
“And then?” Ashton demanded. Any plan Charles concocted was bound to end up in trouble.
“Well…we’ll need to find a way to distract her father and brothers while you whisk your lady love away to safety.”
“Bravo!” said Cedric.
“Brilliant plan,” said Godric.
“Best plan I’ve heard in ages.” Ashton’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Though there are a few flaws,” Jonathan noted.
“Mostly flaws, really,” Ashton agreed.
“Actually, it’s a terrible plan,” Cedric groaned.
“Utter rubbish,” Godric concurred.
“We’re doomed.” Ashton sighed. At this point he was worried their position would be given away by Jonathan’s laughter. “It’s also the only plan we have,” Ashton said. “Charles is right. They won’t open their doors to all of us.”
He turned his focus back to the castle. Rosalind was somewhere inside there. All alone and probably hurting if her father had exercised his temper upon her again. There was no choice but to risk everything to get to her.
“Jon, let me borrow your horse.” He nodded in the direction of the woods where they’d hidden their coach and horses.
“Of course.” Jon regained his composure and followed him, hunched over to keep out of sight. Once they were deep in the trees, they stood from their crouched positions.
“He’s a good beast. Try not to let the Scots take him.” Jonathan patted the black gelding’s neck before he untied the reins and offered them to Ashton.
“I’ll do my best. Tell the others I said thank you. For everything.” Ashton couldn’t put into words what the League meant to him or how he’d feel if he lost any of them.
“They know.”
A sad smile curved upon Ashton’s lips. “Take care of yourself, Jon.” If things went poorly, he might not see any of them ever again.
“Be careful.” Jonathan watched as Ashton mounted the horse and rode out of the woods toward the castle.
The sun beat down on Ashton’s head, making his temples throb with an unwelcome headache. The fever from the influenza had gone but had left his skin flushed. If Rosalind’s brothers did not let him inside, he very well might pass out and fall right off his horse.
Castle Kincade was a stout, craggy stone structure that had stood upon this hill for more than two centuries, weathering storms, armies and the winds of change. It was impenetrable. Not even Charles’s wild schemes could find a way to break through.
“Halt!” a man somewhere above the battlements cried out in a thick brogue.
Ashton tugged the reins up and back, stopping his horse. It swung its head from side to side and pawed the dirt restlessly with one hoof. Ashton let his head fall back so he could stare up at the man on the ramparts watchin
g him.
“State your business!” the man barked.
“I’ve come to request an audience with Lady Melbourne.”
The man disappeared from view for several long moments and then finally reappeared.
“The lady says you can go and hang yourself!” He finished with a nod and a mocking salute.
“Rosalind!” Ashton bellowed. “I know you’re up there! Give me one bloody minute and then you never have to see me again!”
The thought of never seeing her again was… No. He would not think about that. He had to see she was safe, and if she wasn’t, he’d remove her immediately. Somehow.
He squinted up at the castle, and suddenly Rosalind’s faced appeared. Her dark hair was pulled back at the nape of her neck, and she looked as tired as he felt.
“Please, Rosalind. Just give me a few minutes. That’s all I ask.”
Her gray eyes were stormy, and he couldn’t miss the hurt in them, even as far below her as he was. She stared at him for a long moment, long enough that he feared she would simply leave him there at the gate.
“Very well,” she finally said and disappeared.
He waited for a few minutes until sounds behind the tall wooden doors of the castle’s entrance alerted him that they would open. At last the doors parted to reveal a darkened hallway. It was clear the castle had been remodeled long ago, and whatever was left of a courtyard had been walled in and floored and made part of the residence. Ashton slid off his horse, landing heavily upon the ground. He was barely able to catch his breath.
A man, heavyset and with a distrustful glare, walked up to Ashton and took the reins to his horse.
“Sassenach,” the man muttered as he led Ashton’s horse away.
Brushing dust off his trousers, Ashton entered the castle interior and abruptly halted. Several men stood there, three of whom he recognized as Rosalind’s brothers, and every man was armed. He had seven pistols trained upon his chest. Two of the brothers parted to allow their sister to stand between them. But none of them in the room were old enough to be her father. Where was the eldest Kincade?