Bride of the Solway (14 page)

'Now, the real question is, how much?'

'How much?' Ross repeated, startled into speech.

'Aye. How much will ye give me
fer
the lass?'

'Are you telling me, Elliott,' Ross said slowly, pronouncing each word with great care as if he were talking to a very small child, 'that you are prepared to sell your sister to me?'

Elliott drained his brandy and slumped back in the chair, laughing. 'What else can a man do
wi
' her? I
canna
take her to wife
mysel
', can I? If I can get her leg-shackled, I can get me a wife to run the house instead. That'd be cheaper than Cassie.' He refilled his glass. 'Aye, that'd be a fair bit cheaper.'

Ross felt the anger growing in his gut, like metal boiling in the furnace, just waiting to burst out into fiery wrath. He mastered it. With difficulty. 'How much did you have in mind?' The words came out softly, through gritted teeth, but Elliott was too far gone to notice.

'Twenty thousand.'

That was a fortune. Ross could not lay his hands on such a sum unless he sold almost everything he possessed. 'That is.. .a good price, certainly. And, in return, the bridegroom would get?'

'Why, Miss Cassandra Elliott of
Langrigg
. Whit else?'

'I was thinking of your sister's dowry, as a matter of fact,' Ross said carefully.

In spite of his drunken state, Elliott had begun to look a little sheepish. '
Ain't
no dowry.'

'She has nothing from her mother? You surprise me.' Ross knew that his measured tones were getting under Elliott's skin. Good. He needed to find out as much as possible about the man's intentions.

'Nothing. It was all used up in paying for— Never you mind. It's gone. She comes with what she stands up in. An' that
bluidy
horse, too, since I
canna
ride him.'

'I have to say, Elliott, that you are making a singularly poor fist of the business of selling your sister.'

Elliott hauled himself to his feet and glared at Ross. 'Enough o' yer jaw-me-dead talk. D'ye want her, or no'?'

Ross walked quietly across to the door. 'I fear she is above my touch. You will have to look elsewhere for your rich mark. Good night to you.'

* * *

Ross drove his clenched fist into his open palm. What a fool he had been! Everything Miss Elliott had said, everything she had hinted, it was all true. And that was probably not the half of it. Hanging was too good
lor
James Elliott. What he needed was something much slower, and much, much more painful.

Ross resisted the urge to slam the door of his bedchamber. It would achieve nothing. And if anyone else heard, it would lead to questions. Questions which he was in no position to answer.

He had questions of his own, now. Miss Elliott could be in real danger. She had asked him for help—had breached a lady's code of behaviour to do so—and he had refused her. He had allowed his own concept of honour to
colour
his response, even while he knew that she was not the sort of hysterical woman to make serious allegations without reason.

It was not only Elliott who deserved to be shot. It was Ross himself. How could he have been so stupid, so prejudiced—?

Enough of that! He could indulge his guilty conscience later. For now, he had to decide on a course of action. The visit would be over in little more than twelve hours. Miss Elliott, and her appalling brother, would leave for
Langrigg
and for the danger that awaited her there. Ross might well have no further chance of private conversation with her. She had given him the chance, there in the garden, and he had spurned it.

'Are you for bed now, sir?' Fraser asked, appearing silently from the dressing room.

'No.' Ross took a candle to the small writing desk by the window and drew out paper and ink. He scrawled a few words, folded the sheet and sealed it with a wafer from the drawer. 'Fraser, I need you to convey this note to Miss Elliott.'

'Aye, sir.' Fraser did not move. His face was a blank mask.

'Now, Fraser.'

'Aye, sir. I take it you won't be wanting her brother to know about it?' He spoke as if it was the most normal thing in the world to be conveying notes to unmarried ladies in the middle of the night.

'Correct, Fraser. Do it now, and ensure that no one apart from Miss Elliott herself is aware of it.' 'Am I to wait for a reply, sir?'

Ross could not prevent himself from grinning at his imperturbable manservant. The situation was more than ridiculous. 'No, Fraser. No reply. Just get it done as fast as you can. Then come back here. I may need you again.'

Fraser nodded and left as quietly as he had come.

Ross began to pace the room, trying to come up with some kind of a plan. The question of money was easily resolved. He would give—no, lend—Miss Elliott whatever she required. But should he tell her what her brother was about? Should he hint at his suspicion about Elliott's sanity? Surely not. How could he do that, without also speaking of the foul illness that was the likely cause? Miss Elliott was a woman of decided character, but even she would be mortified by talk of brothels and the pox.

He was still undecided when Fraser returned.

In response to Ross's raised eyebrow, Fraser said simply, 'It's done, sir. I gave it into her own hand. Her woman saw me, of course, but you need have no worries on that score. Morag would never betray her mistress.'

Yet more of Fraser's information gathering, it seemed. Ross nodded, reassured. What he was planning to do could put Miss Elliott in danger. He needed to take every possible precaution to protect her.

'I have asked Miss Elliott to meet me in the garden, Fraser. As soon as she is able. I will do my best to ensure we are not seen, of course, but I need you to guard my back.'

'Aye, sir.' Fraser grinned. 'Shall I need a pistol?'

'No. It's not brute force I need, but a diversion. Watch Elliott for me. He's in his room, I think. If he should come out, I need you to find a way of delaying him and to make as much noise as possible while you do it. That should give me enough warning to get Miss Elliott safely back into the house without being caught.'

'You'll make sure the side doors are open before you go out, sir?'

Ross grinned his response. Fraser knew perfectly well that Ross would secure more than one escape route before entering the danger zone. They had both learned the value of that, more than once.

'May I suggest a greatcoat, sir? Probably better to cover that white shirt. The moon's still pretty bright out there.'

Fraser was right. There was no time to change. He needed to remain a shadowy figure, if he possibly could. Fraser was already fetching the greatcoat from the clothes press. In a matter of moments, Ross had donned it and was stealing quietly along the corridor and down the stairs to the garden door.

'Make haste, Morag.'

'I
canna
go any faster with ye jigging about like that, Miss Cassie.'

Cassie stood still while Morag fastened the last hooks on her gown. Then, full of impatience, she hurried to the window and opened the shutters just a crack. The garden was still full of moonlight. And in the distance, in the shadow of an old oak tree, she could just make out a tall dark figure. Was it Captain Graham?

It must be. Who else would be leaning against a tree in the colonel's garden at this time of night? It was certainly not James, for she would have recognised his silhouette immediately.

'He is waiting. I must go down.'

'Are ye sure, lassie?' Morag sounded anxious, but she was holding out Cassie's grey cloak, none the less.

'Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry, Morag. You can read his note for yourself, if you like. He says he wants to talk about how he can help me.' She pointed to the note on the table.

Morag fastened the cloak snugly round Cassie's shoulders and then picked up the note. After a cursory glance and a brief nod, she threw it into the embers. Ignoring Cassie's gasp of outrage, she said quietly, 'Best if there's nothing for the laird to find.'

The maid was right: Cassie paused on her way to the door. 'Morag, you must lock the door behind me. If my brother should come, you must refuse him entry. Tell him.. .tell him that I was feeling unwell, that I have taken a few drops of laudanum so that I can sleep. Say that it will not be possible to wake me.'

'But ye never take laudanum! He kens that fine.'

'Does he? I doubt it. He pays so little attention to what I do that he probably wouldn't notice if my eyes changed
colour
overnight.'

That surprised Morag into a nervous laugh.

Cassie touched her maid briefly on the arm. 'Don't worry. The chances are that he's had so much to drink by now that he's already passed out. And I'm sure that Captain Graham will have taken what precautions he can to ensure James is out of the way.'

'Aye.
Mr
Fraser will see to that.' Morag sounded very decided.

'
Mr
—? Oh, the captain's man. Yes, of course.' She opened the door a fraction and peeped out. The corridor was deserted. 'I'm going now. Lock the door after me.'

Cassie slipped out into the passageway and waited a few moments while her eyes became accustomed to the gloom. She did not dare to risk a candle. Behind her, she heard the click of the lock. Good.

Moving silently in her soft shoes, she stole along to the staircase, keeping close to the wall where the floor was less likely to creak. A few moments more and she had reached the ground floor and was standing on the path outside the garden door. James's chamber was on the other side of the house. He would not be able to see her from his window. Captain Graham had been careful in his choice of rendezvous. As was to be expected from a soldier.

Now, for the first time, Cassie paused to wonder whether she was taking a stupid risk. She was going to meet a man—a battle-hardened soldier—alone, and in the middle of the night. If they were caught together, her reputation would be in tatters. And if he chose to take advantage of her, she would have no
defence
. She could not scream, for that would only hasten her ruin. If she went forward now, her reputation, and her person, would be at Captain Graham's mercy. Did she dare trust him?

Of course she did.

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She was sure she could trust him. He had saved her more than once and he had always behaved as a gentleman should. And now he was offering to help her again. Something must have happened in the last few hours. Earlier, he had refused to help her. Now he was volunteering to do so. What had he seen, or heard, to change his mind?

She hurried down the path to where he was leaning against the oak tree. There was only one way to find out.

Ross straightened as she approached, noting approvingly that she, too, was shrouded in a dark cloak. From the house, they would look like no more that two dark shadows.

'Miss Elliott. You have come.' He took her arm and guided her round to the far side of the great tree where they would not be visible to even the most determined watcher in the house.

'Captain Graham, have you...have you changed your mind about the money?'

By Jove, she was not mealy-mouthed. Good. They didn't have time for
missish
turns. They must agree a plan and then part, as soon as may be.

'Miss Elliott, I will gladly help you. First, the money.' He reached into his pocket for the little packet of money he had prepared and pressed it into her hand.

'Oh, but—'

'Don't worry, ma'am. It is a loan, as you requested. You may repay me at your convenience.' He squeezed the fingers that held the packet. 'Best to tuck it away out of sight, I think.'

'Oh. Oh, yes. Thank you.' She stowed it inside her grey cloak. Then, with a brief smile, she turned to go back to the house.

'Miss Elliott. Wait. A moment more, if you would.'

'Sir?'

Ross fancied there was a shiver of nervousness in her voice. 'Do not be alarmed, Miss Elliott. I just wanted to say...I... The money is only part of it. If you need my services, in anything, you have but to say the word. If you need an escort to reach your godfather's house, I should be more than happy to provide it.'

Even in the deep shadow of the tree, he could see that her eyes widened at his words. Her jaw dropped, too, just a fraction. But she quickly recovered. In seconds, her wide mouth was set in a very determined line. And she was frowning up at him. Clearly, she mistrusted his sudden change of heart.

'You may believe me, ma'am. Tell me how I may help you. You have my word, as a gentleman, that I stand ready to do whatever you need.'

The frown relaxed. It was as if he had stroked it away by running a finger across her flawless skin. But she was still breathing quite rapidly, still quite heated. From the warmth of her skin, he could just detect a hint of her lavender fragrance among the night-time scents of grass and honeysuckle. And now she was smiling up at him, a little hesitantly, but enough to reassure Ross that she was willing to trust him. He felt suddenly proud. And protective of her. She was a woman of strong character, but she had no chance against her brother's wickedness without a man by her side. He would be more than content to be that man.