Rogue of the Borders (33 page)

The young man who had been left in charge of the desk looked up as they entered, an interested expression on his face as he saw Mari in the scandalously low-cut gown. He broke out in a big smile as he noticed Fiona behind her. If Abigail hadn’t been so nervous, she would have smiled. The contrast could not have been more different. Dark-blue silk highlighted Mari’s eyes and also enhanced her bouncing golden curls. Fiona’s raven hair flowed smoothly down her back and the pale-lavender fabric of her gown brought out the unusual light grey of her eyes, giving her an almost ethereal appearance. Thankfully, only a trace of her cleavage was showing.

“Can I be of help to you ladies?” he asked.

“We certainly hope you can,” Mari replied. “What is your name?”

“Otis,” he replied. “Otis Reed.”

“Otis. It is such a strong name,” Mari said. “May I call you Otis?”

“Of…of course,” he stumbled. “Yes. Please do.”

“Thank you, Otis.” Mari tugged Abigail forward. “This is my dear relative. You have secured a document that was meant as a gift to her…”

Abigail watched the young man as Mari went on to explain, adding some creative details that made Abigail think perhaps Mari had read
Pride and Prejudice
a few too many times. When she was finished, she smiled beguiling and waited.

Otis frowned. “It is highly unusual to release a document. Perhaps I should wait for my—”

“Oh, no need to bother him,” Mari said. “Mrs. MacLeod does not want to
take
the document. She just wants to read it. It was terribly romantic of her husband to secure such a thing for her, do you not agree?”

When he still hesitated, Fiona stepped up, her eyes wide and innocent and her voice whisper soft. If Abigail had been inclined to believe in the MacLeod faeries, she would have sworn Fiona might be one.

“’Tis grateful I would be if ye would let my sweet sister see the paper,” Fiona said lifting her palms in supplication.

Otis’s eyes fastened on her as though she truly were a mythical creature. “What a lovely accent you have.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said demurely. “If ye will allow my sister to see the paper, I will tell ye a story about my clan. ’Tis said we descended from the fae.”

“Well…” he replied, obviously enchanted himself. “I suppose I could let her
see
it. The document is in the safe in the back room. It cannot leave the room, of course.”

Fiona beamed at Otis. From the dazed look on his face, Abigail was beginning to wonder if Shane’s cousin was truly capable of ensorcelling someone.

Mari wasted no time in letting whatever spell wear off. “Thank you, Otis,” she said. “We understand and appreciate your kindness.”

“Ummm,” he replied, hardly noticing either Mari or Abigail as Fiona blinked wide eyes at him. “Ummm, this way…”

Abigail’s fingers trembled so much she was afraid she’d drop the metal cylinder when Otis handed it to her. Fiona launched into her story, positioning herself so the man’s back was turned and Mari partially blocked his view as well, watching the door motioning for her to hurry.

Not that Abigail needed to be told. Anyone could come in the front door at any moment, causing Otis to return to the counter. She wished she had time to actually see what the document was. She only got a glimpse of a Latin inscription as she quickly switched it with the other papers, replaced the lid and stood.

“And, if ye are verra lucky, the faerie might come to ye,” Fiona said as she concluded her story quickly.

“I would love to hear more,” Otis said.

“I am afraid we have taken up too much of your time already,” Mari answered, giving him a disarming smile as well.

“Yes,” Abigail said as she handed the cylinder back. Her heart was beating so hard, she was afraid he’d actually hear it. They had the paper, but not getting caught leaving with it was crucial. She strove to keep her voice calm. “Thank you so much for showing it to me. I feel a little better now.”

“Thanks to ye, Otis,” Fiona said as she moved toward the door and waved. “I enjoyed the conversation verra much.”

“As did I,” Otis said, a bedazzled look still on his face.

They didn’t wait to see it fade away. Abigail only breathed a slight sigh of relief when they were back on the quay and then she panicked as she looked around. “Where is the hack?”

Mari frowned. “It should have waited for us.”

“Doona fash,” Fiona said, laughing as though she’d just had a grand time and then pointed. “’Tis over there.”

Abigail forced herself not to run toward it. They didn’t need to draw any attention to themselves. Still, the quelling of her legs and arms didn’t stop until they were safely away from the wharf.

“We did it,” Mari exclaimed, her cheeks pink with excitement. “We did it!”

“Aye,” Fiona replied, clapping her hands. “’Twas an adventure.”

Abigail smiled weakly. It had been an adventure she could have done without. Still, she had Shane’s documents. That was all that mattered.

“We will see you soon,” Mari said as the hack dropped Abigail off at her father’s townhouse. “I will ask Jamie to let Shane know you are waiting to see him.”

“Do not say anything about the papers. I want it to be a surprise.”

Mari nodded. “I think the less Jamie knows about those documents—or how we got them—the better.” She waved as the carriage moved away.

Abigail took several deep breaths as she walked toward the door. She needed to appear calm as though nothing more had transpired than going out shopping with Mari and Fiona. Too late, she realized it would have been helpful had she had a package or two. Well, she could just tell her father she had not been in the mood to purchase anything. Maybe she could make him feel guilty enough to let her visit Shane.

To her surprise, her father greeted her as she came in. “You are finally back. Come into the library. I have something to show you.”

For a scarce beat or two of her heart, Abigail wondered if Shane were waiting for her on the other side of the door. But the room was empty and she realized how silly that hope had been. “Have you heard anything from Jamie? Has Ian arrived?”

Instead of answering her, the earl moved toward the window and stared out. Abigail had a sinking feeling. “Is…is something wrong?”

Her father finally looked her way. “No. Nothing is wrong.”

“Then what?” Her knees began to shake and she sought a chair by the desk. “Is there a delay of some sort?”

“No delay.”

Abigail frowned. It wasn’t like her father to be so uncharacteristically silent. “Tell me what is wrong. Have you heard something about Shane? Is he hurt? Or—”

“He is not hurt. He stopped by.”

“What?” Abigail shot up in her chair. “Shane got released? Is he here? Why did you not—”

“I said
was
here.” The earl walked toward the desk and fiddled with some papers. “We had a talk. With all that has happened, he agreed it is in your best interests to be free of him.” Her father moved a document toward her. “He signed the annulment.”

Abigail looked at it, the words a blur. She grabbed the arms of the chair, feeling lightheaded, and tried to focus on the paper, but it swam in front of her eyes.

Shane had signed the annulment. Tears burned in her eyes as she looked up. “I did not agree to this.”

“I did. Truly, this is the best thing for you, Abigail. You belong here.”

A cold fury washed over her like an icy wave sloshing over the bow of a ship. “I am not your little girl. I am a married woman. How dare you make such a decision for me? You have no right—”

“You are still my daughter. I know you are upset, but in time—”

“Time will not change how I feel!” Abigail crushed the paper into a wad and threw it on the floor, overturning her chair as she jumped to her feet. “Tell me where Shane is. I am going to him.”

Her father shook his head and gave her a sympathetic look. “Shane is gone. He sailed with the tide.”

Abigail stared at her father, her ears ringing. Her vision faded as the room began to tilt and then she was falling…

Chapter Twenty Eight

Abigail sputtered, sneezing as the housekeeper held the smelling salts under her nose. Slowly, Abigail opened her eyes. The spinning of the room subsided and she sat up carefully on the sofa. What had happened? Her father stood by the desk, looking upset. Why—reality doused her as though she’d fallen into the Firth of Forth. Shane was gone. Her breath caught and she gripped the sofa arm, hoping she wouldn’t swoon again. She had never fainted in her life.

Shane was
gone
. He had only stopped by the townhouse to sign the annulment. What would he have done if he’d run into her? Maybe Jamie had told him she would be gone this morning. Mari had told her husband they were going calling—albeit she didn’t say
where
. Shane could very well have felt it was a convenient time to get the nasty business of their marriage taken care of—and then sailed as soon as he could.

He hadn’t cared enough to even say goodbye? Abigal blinked back the sting of tears. Maybe…maybe he had meant to say goodbye the morning he’d left Edinburgh when he’d returned to the townhouse. Maybe…maybe he had planned all along to end their marriage on this trip to London, only getting arrested had gotten in the way. She hated herself for being so needy, but she had to ask.

“Did…did Shane leave any message?”

Her father shook his head. “He said nothing after he signed the paper—only that he’d show himself out. He did have to get to his ship before the tide turned or he’d be arrested again.”

Had she heard correctly? Maybe she wasn’t over the effects of her swoon. “Arrested again? Why?”

“Leaving London permanently was part of the condition for having the charges dropped—and it took both Sussex and Argyll to get the magistrate to agree to that.”

Abigail felt like she’d taken another dunking in the sea. Shane was banned from England? Forever? The room began to swim again. She’d never see Shane again. She gulped in air to keep from fainting.

“I think it would be good if you went to your room and rested,” her father said.

Numbly, Abigail nodded, her feet feeling leaden as she made her way up the stairs to her room. The housekeeper followed her, muttering to herself as she helped Abigail out of her morning dress, pulling back the coverlet on the bed and closing the draperies so the room would be darkened. “Rest now. I will have tea sent up later, my dear.”

“Thank you,” Abigail said and waited until she could hear the housekeeper’s steps fade away before she let the tears come. How could this have happened? Why did it happen? The whole smuggling incident was bogus. She trusted Shane enough to know he would never be involved in something like that. Someone had masterminded the whole thing. But who? And why?

Suddenly, she remembered the papers that she had stolen—which ironically, made her the thief instead of Shane. According to Mari, the cylinder had been important enough that Shane sent a coded message to Dr. Morrison. Were the contents of that document the reason for the opium to be hidden and then
discovered
? Had someone intended for the papers not to be delivered?

Abigail sat up abruptly, threw back the sheet and padded toward her reticule, pushing aside the heavy drape to allow some light into the room. Removing the scrolls—there appeared to be two—she unrolled them carefully. The ink had faded somewhat, but the writing was classic Latin—a language that had always fascinated her. There was some kind of quote at the top of the page, but she felt her eyes widen as she caught the word “Templar” in the first paragraph, followed by a list of items—gold and silver urns, plates, vases, casks or coffins—which in turn listed the jewels each contained—as well as several metal canisters holding scrolls. It appeared to be an accounting of treasure dating from 1128. She gasped. She’d just read about that—1128 had been the year the original Templars brought the treasure from Solomon’s Temple to Scotland. Was this that list? If so, where was the treasure buried? Abigail scanned the writing again but found nothing about location. Her eyes returned to the quote at the top:

Forte est vinum. Fortior est rex. Fortiores sunt mulieres. Super omnia vincet veritas.

Wine is strong. The king is stronger Women are even stronger. Truth conquers over all.

Abigail frowned. The quote was familiar, but she didn’t think she’d read about it. Where… She stilled suddenly, remembering. The inscription had been on a lintel near the crypt in Rosslyn Chapel. The vaults below the chapel supposedly contained Sinclair knights? What if the Templar treasure was also buried there?

Another thought struck her. If all this were true, then the William Sinclair who’d built the chapel in the 1400s was affiliated with the Templars as his ancestor, Henri, had been. Had Templars somehow survived nearly two hundred years in Scotland and brought the treasure to Rosslyn?

Laying aside the first parchment, she looked at the second. This one had been written much later. The paper was of different stock, the ink clear and the Latin modern—or at least, as modern as a dead language could be. It didn’t take her nearly as long to read it, but when she finished, her hands went numb and her blood ran cold.

The Stuart claim to the throne had not ended with childless Henri, Duke of York. Bonnie Prince Charlie had evidently had a son, Edward James, hidden and exiled in France and whom the first King George refused to recognize when he ascended to the English throne.