Tavish went immediately to the switchback stone steps leading from the courtyard to the beach to find Alec. One look at the man’s face told Tavish all he needed to know.
He asked anyway. “What have you found?”
Alec rested his hands on his hips, his chausses and tunic damp with sweat and seawater and sparkling with sand. “Nothing, laird. Nary a footprint, nor a single sign that Miss Keane has ever been here.”
“What about the cliff?” Tavish asked.
“The dinghy’s been around once,” Alec answered. “One of the men fished a boot out of the rocks with a pole, but it belonged to Frang Roy. Another pair have gone back, searching the lower rocks now that the tide is going out.” He paused, and the air around the men grew heavy. “I pray they find nothing.”
“As do I,” Tavish said, looking out over the dark gray water. He sighed. “I’ll be at the cliff if I’m needed.”
“Aye, laird,” Alec said. “But there is likely little for you to do there; that monk already had the hole half dug by the time I’d left him.”
Tavish left the beach, and when he came into the courtyard at the top of the stone steps, Mam was waiting for him outside the kitchen. She met him in the center of the courtyard, away from the other buildings and prying eyes. She was once again wearing the old crossed-bodice apron, and had Tavish not known she was his mother, he would have mistaken her for one of Roscraig’s servants.
“Lady Glenna told me,” she said in a low voice, her eyes shifting about the courtyard. “Terrible about that man, dreadful as he was. Have you nae found Miss Keane?”
Tavish shook his head. “Nay, Mam. But why are you about the kitchens with the maids? You should be preparing to meet the king.”
Harriet had begun shaking her head before Tavish could finish speaking. “Nay, Tav. Nay. I’m of no sort to be meeting a king—that’s for your position. And I hear that Lord Hargrave has returned. I canna bring myself to be in the same room with that man.” Her eyes were doleful when she looked up at him, and once again, his mother looked old to him, frail, the overcast gloom setting the lines around her eyes and mouth. “I’m frightened of him, I am.”
“I’ll not let Vaughn Hargrave harm you, Mother,” he said, taking hold of her shoulders and bending down slightly to look in her eyes. “Never.”
“You don’t know, Tav,” she said in a low voice. “Tommy was no coward, and yet he ran. He ran,” she insisted, and her voice hitched. “I doona think he ever stopped running.”
“Listen to me, Mam, and listen well,” Tavish said. “I am no lad of ten and eight. And I will not let Hargrave threaten anything you and I—you and I—have worked for all our lives. I don’t know anything about Thomas Annesley, but I know us. Vaughn Hargrave didna grow up in the alleys behind Market Street or the wharf of Leith. He doesn’t ken who he’s made enemies of here. And if he should lay hand to anyone in my care, I will kill him. Do you hear me? I will kill him. Whatever grievance he has with the man who sired me matters not. This is my house now, and I will defend it.”
Mam’s chin flinched, and then she clutched Tavish to her stout frame. “Just be careful, Tav,” she whispered. “You’re all I have.”
Tavish gave her a quick squeeze and then set her from him. “I’m going to talk to Dubhán.”
“But the meal, Tav…”
He was already walking away. “I’ll be back in time. I want you to dress for the feast, Mam. You need to be there.”
“Tav, nay. I—”
“I need you to stay with Glenna,” he said pointedly.
Mam pressed her mouth stubbornly but then she nodded. She raised a hand and called after him, “Take care, Tav.”
Tavish turned, and in moments he was through the entry corridor and once more on the cliff path. The sky grew darker as he neared the doocot, the occasional crack of a raindrop being flung through the green canopy as he stopped to examine the blood-splotched path. He only paused a moment and then continued on to the small graveyard.
He saw the dark monk standing on the edge of the clearing, looking out over the rippling water, and although Tavish didn’t think his footsteps made any sound in the soft grass, Dubhán turned as soon as Tavish breached the first line of graves.
“Has the young woman been found?” he asked in his calm, lyrical voice.
Tavish shook his head. He looked down briefly at the fresh grave, the mounded dirt slightly higher than the riotously green grass around it, then continued toward the edge of the plot where the earth fell away in a ragged chunk; where he’d once followed the path to the cave, and where Frang Roy had succumbed to the afterlife. He looked down at the jagged rocks and wash of mud that had erased nearly all signs of the treacherous ledge that comprised the trail.
It was the only place left on Roscraig lands that hadn’t been checked.
Isn’t that what nobles do? Go on pilgrimages? I shall have to begin at once.
“I need rope, Dubhán.”
The monk blinked, his eyes wide. “I’ve no rope, laird.”
“What do you lower the coffins with?” Tavish asked.
“There have not been any coffins for some time. The man in the village who made them is dead.”
He was running out of time. Perhaps Audrey was, too.
Tavish pulled his sword from its scabbard and reached out to take hold of one of the long vines looped from a high branch. If the thick climbers could hold the bulk of the likes of Frang Roy, they could surely hold him. Tavish hacked it in two high up on one side and then replaced his sword as Dubhán strode toward him.
“Surely you cannot think to descend so dangerous a path in hopes of finding Miss Keane,” Dubhán warned soothingly. “Frang Roy could not have taken the lady to the caves without my knowledge.”
Tavish glanced over his shoulder at the monk while he took the now long, dangling vine in both hands. “Really, Dubhán? The man died on your doorstep, and yet you heard nothing. What do you know of his actions before he was hanged?” He yanked hard on the vine several times, pulling its length from the host tree until it held firm.
“I can make no defense for my lack of vigilance, laird,” he said with a bow of his head. “But Miss Keane would not have gone willingly, you must agree. Even if she was unable to cry out, the path would have been impossible for Frang Roy to navigate while carrying her.”
Tavish gave a short sigh, looked out to the Forth for a moment to compose himself. He turned his eyes back to Dubhán. “Maybe Frang Roy had nothing to do with it. Maybe she went on her own. I don’t know. But I must look. I can leave no stone unturned, Dubhán. She is my friend.”
“Is she, laird?” the monk questioned softly.
The two men stared at each other for a moment, and in the back of Tavish’s mind, he recalled Audrey introducing Vaughn Hargrave to him at his own feast.
No. He’d known Audrey since they were both children. She’d come to Roscraig with the intention of wedding him. She cared for him. In this madness, he was beginning to suspect everyone he knew of treachery.
Dubhán folded his hands together inside his sleeves. “I will watch over you, lest you fall.”
“If I should fall,” Tavish said, looking down as he stepped one foot over the side, “there will be little you can do for me. Watch over Glenna.”
The instant his other boot left the damp grass, his foot slid through the earth as if it had no more substance than cream. The vine ripped through his hands like a hot blade and Tavish fell full body against the muddy cliff face, traveling downward at least five feet before the toe of his boot caught on a buried rock. He clung to the vine, the side of his face slick with cold mud, panting as the waves washed over the rocks still far below him.
Dubhán called down, “Shall I pull you back up now, laird?”
“I’m fine, Dubhán.” Tavish spat the dirt from his mouth. He looked down and saw the mud-cove
red rock ledge marking the entrance to the cave some ten feet down; there was perhaps only three feet of vine left in his hands. “This vine won’t be long enough; you’ll need cut another piece to affix to the end to bring me up.”
“Aye, laird.”
A ropy root horseshoed from the cliff, and Tavish let himself slide down until his boot caught it like a stirrup. Only a foot of vine left, and the distance to the ledge was more than his height.
“Audrey!” he shouted, and his voice rang flat between the water and the mud. “Audrey, are you down there?”
Only the cry of gulls answered him.
If she were trapped, yet able to walk, she would have been shouting for help. There would be footprints in the mud.
If she was in the cave, she was injured or she was dead. And if she was either of those things, it was Tavish’s fault.
He took a deep breath, stretched out one arm and leg and then leaped for the ledge. He landed hard on his left leg and hip and slid across the shelf, scrambling and clawing for purchase with his hands as he came to a stop at the edge. Not daring to stand, Tavish crawled toward the opening of the cave, sinking into the deep mud nearly to his elbows until he slid through the muck and into the darkness.
The smell of seawater and beeswax, old incense and gull shit filled his nose as he gained his feet and blinked, letting his eyes adjust. He crouched and walked deeper into the cave until he came to the grotto, where it was dry and quiet and still.
And empty. Audrey wasn’t there.
The shadows were deep, and so Tavish scoured every inch of floor, every low-lying alcove, but there was nothing there to indicate anyone had entered the cave since he and Dubhán had left it weeks ago. A dark thought occurred to him, and so he reached up into the highest niche, but his fingertips felt the end of his money chest just where he’d placed it. Tavish turned and sat down on the edge of the stone altarpiece with a sigh, and cradled his head in his hands. His roar of frustration echoed back against his own ears.
Damn his pride. Damn it! He’d been so sure of himself, so certain of his success as laird. Determined to show everyone who had ever doubted him that he would rise up and rule his own kingdom. But now…
Now, everything was falling apart. Audrey was gone, he’d driven Muir away. The resentments left burning in Edinburgh had crawled across the Forth while he’d been blissfully unaware, too busy playing lord of the manor, so absolutely certain that now—now—no one dared cross Tavish Cameron. But here they had all come to roost around him at Roscraig, them and so many more dangers that he could never have predicted. He was Damocles, and the sword was falling.
He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand and then rose and left the cave. He held on to the edges of the stone entrance as he emerged, turning his head upward at a sharp angle to see the edge of the cliff.
“Dubhán!” He waited while the gulls swooped and cried.
“Aye, laird?”
“She’s not here. Throw me the vine.”
Dubhán paused. “Forgive my distrust, laird, but what of the trunk?”
“It’s where we left it,” Tavish said. “The vine, Dubhán. I must return to the hall right away.”
Chapter 19
Glenna’s fingers were clasped so tightly together beneath the table she had lost feeling in them. Her chest rose and fell shallowly beneath the black-and-red brocade of her bodice. In her peripheral vision, her curls shivered despite the tightly woven coif young Anne had created, betraying her nerves. She couldn’t force herself to swallow, and she feared that if anyone should touch her, she would shatter.
Hell had broken loose in the Tower.
The hall roared with guests, the number of people packed into the cavernous room seemingly doubled from the last feast, and yet there was no gaiety in the commotion; no music. The food so lavishly provided remained largely untouched. Glenna kept her eyes trained on the table, occasionally glancing furtively to her right to be certain that Harriet was still seated next to her. To her left, King James kept his own counsel, waving away the shouted approaches, the declarations of outrage while his soldiers maintained a perimeter about their liege.
Once, Glenna had glanced across the table and found that Vaughn Hargrave was staring openly at her, a serene smile on his face as if he were an oasis of calm unable to be touched by the discord raging around them. She didn’t look up again.
A man’s shout rose above the noise and would have remained indiscernible if not for the repetitions of those gathered.
“Here he comes!”
Tavish.
Glenna looked to her left at the king, who gestured to his soldiers with a single nod. Half the company pushed through the crowd, and a moment later the guests parted, revealing the soldiers half dragging a struggling brown mass of man before James. Tavish shook off their restraining grips and stood in the hall, his clothing unrecognizable beneath the mud.
Glenna began to rise, but Harriet’s firm hand cautioned her from under the table.
The short, round, well-dressed man with the thin mustache rushed forward, barreling into Tavish before the guards could pull him away.
“Where is she, you animal?” Niall Keane shouted, flinging away the guards. “Where is my daughter? Where is Audrey?”
The hall grew silent, as if everyone held their breath in anticipation of Tavish’s answer. Niall Keane’s breaths wheezed in his barrel chest.
King James spoke. “It seems you forgot to mention earlier that Miss Keane has come up missing, Cameron.”
“I had hopes she would be found this afternoon, my liege,” Tavish said. “I only discovered her absence this morning. I have had all of Roscraig searched—it is where I have just come from.”
“You lie!” Niall Keane shouted, struggling once more with the guards to reach Tavish. “What have you done to her?”
“I’ve done nothing, Niall, I swear it,” Tavish said to the man. “I saw her last night at the feast—she was well and enjoying herself.”
Vaughn Hargrave’s voice cut through the tension like shears through fine silk. “Really? How then do you explain her chamber? Forgive my bluntness, Master Keane, but was she enjoying herself when you tore her apart, Cameron?”
Tavish’s eyes widened, and he looked to the king. “What do you mean? I went to her chamber this morn—there was naught amiss. Some things were in disarray, but her belongings were—”
“Disarray?” Keane screamed. “Her bed is soaked with blood! The gown she was wearing is shredded as if an animal attacked her! Like you attacked your whore!”
Glenna flinched but did not look up as the crowd gave a collective gasp.
“What?” Tavish’s voice was unlike Glenna had ever heard it, unsure and hesitant. “No—her…her bed hadn’t even been slept in. I looked again after the king arrived. There was no blood, no—”
The king stood and interrupted with a wave of his hand. “Take him. I wish to see his face myself once the door is opened.” To Glenna’s dismay, he gestured toward her. “You as well, Miss Douglas. I would know if you are complicit in this diabolical scheme.” The king addressed the hall. “The rest of you remain where you are. I am sure there is a sensible explanation for all of this, and one not so dire as to warrant the waste of this good meal.”
Glenna rose on trembling legs and followed the party from the hall—the king and Master Keane leading the way while the soldiers took hold once more of Tavish’s arms. She pulled her arm away with a gasp when someone grabbed it, but it was Harriet Cameron, and she reached out once more and took Glenna’s hand firmly in her own.
Glenna squeezed the woman’s fingers.
In moments they were in the west tower, and a soldier opened the door to Audrey’s chamber, while the other shoved Tavish inside.
“No, no,” he protested loudly. “Someone did this; this was not here before.”
Glenna st
epped inside the room, feeling the king’s watchful gaze on her. She couldn’t help her gasp, though—the tales had not prepared her for the sight.
The bed curtains hung limp where they had been ripped from their ties, revealing the jumbled bedclothes that were no longer elegantly striped, but covered over in large, dark stains that had ran past the edge of the thick mattress and soaked into its depth. Miss Keane’s incredible yellow gown lay strewn about the floor in long rags, the silk turned ugly brown where the spray had splattered.
“Miss Douglas?” the king prompted, startling Glenna from the trance the carnage had inflicted. “What was the state of this chamber prior to this afternoon?”
“I don’t know, my liege,” she said in a rasping voice. “I’ve not been inside this room since Miss Keane arrived at Roscraig.”
“No one has seen the inside of this chamber except Tavish Cameron,” Niall Keane accused. “And so it is he who knows what transpired here.” Master Keane’s chest heaved, his face purpled. “I will kill you!”
“The maid,” Tavish shouted, trying to back out of the guards’ hold. “There was a maid in here before me this morning, only I don’t think she was a maid. The woman I told you about, liege, in Hargrave’s party. She is a spy.”
“You liar!” Keane shouted. “You have done to my Audrey what your father did to Cordelia Hargrave!”
“Enough,” James said. He turned to the guards. “Escort Master Cameron to his chamber, and make certain he stays there all the night. Miss Douglas, I understand that chamber also belongs to you, and so I will grant you leave between it and your father’s floor. But you will be watched. Any attempts to aid Cameron in escape or further subterfuge will be severely dealt with. Do you understand?”
“Aye, my liege,” Glenna whispered.
“I had intended to take my leisure at Roscraig, but these issues cannot be left unaddressed. Court will convene in the morning in the hall. Your grievances, Keane, shall be first attended. In the meantime, the soldiers not posted as guards shall take torches and continue searching for Audrey Keane. Venture from the trails into the woods. Scour the ravines.” He looked to Glenna once more. “What might she be wearing, Miss Douglas?”
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