The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (46 page)

“Wait.” When Kendra stopped, he snapped the watch closed and whirled to face her. Her brow knitted, she motioned off the path. “Is that Cait’s?”

A white feather fluttered near the ground. He ran closer and saw it was attached to the hat he’d bought in Wansford. “Egad. Yes.” He plucked it up and clutched it to his chest.

“Look, there was a horse here.” Hampered by her high heels, Kendra came along more slowly. “The grass is torn up. By hooves, I think.” She bent down and scooped up a glint of gold. “And what is this?” She handed it to him. “It’s Cait’s as well, isn’t it?”

As his fist closed around the emerald pendant, his heart plunged to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. “I’ve lost her,” he whispered, staring at the dull green stone.

“She’s lost, yes. But that doesn’t mean you’ve lost her.”

“You don’t understand. This amulet is ancient—it’s been in her family for centuries. She believed something bad would befall her if ever she was without it.”

A sudden wind whipped Kendra’s skirts. “Don’t tell me
you
believe that nonsense.”

He clenched his hand, feeling the amulet dig into his palm. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“I’LL EXPLAIN
this one more time, numbskull. Now, pay attention.”

Listening to the Gothard brothers argue, Caithren nervously wandered the small chamber they’d brought her to, the back half of a two-room suite at an inn that had seen better days. Besides the sagging bed, a table and two plain chairs were the only furniture. Evidently Jason had been right to think them short of funds.

“Thanks to Cainewood doing just as I expected of him, things are right on schedule.”

“What
things
, Geoffrey?”

Geoffrey’s gaze flickered to Cait. She moved around to the other side of the table and feigned unconcern, running a finger across the bare wood. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him scribble something on a sheet of paper, neatly fold it into a square, and tuck it into his pocket.

“Things.” Geoffrey blew out a perturbed puff of air. “I’ll be going to the wedding alone.”

As he talked, he donned padding to bulk up his body. He’d also worn it to inquire at Scarborough’s house, Cait realized. Jason had been right about that, too.

Still speaking to Wat, he jerked his squarish head in her direction. “You will wait here and guard the chit.”

In reflex she backed up and sat on the bed. The ropes creaked, and a musty smell wafted from the mattress.

Geoffrey glared at his brother. “Think you can handle that?”

Wat shrugged.

A heavy sigh escaped Geoffrey’s whitish lips. “I’ll lock the two of you in, then. She won’t be going anywhere unless Cainewood breaks down the door. If that should happen, you know what to do?”

Wat just looked at him questioningly.

With a huff, Geoffrey marched over to Cait and pulled her off the bed.

“Ouch!” She yanked free. “I will thank you to keep your hands off my arm. It hurts where your brother cut me.”

Without answering her, he jabbed her in the middle of the back and sent her sailing into the small anteroom, shutting the door behind her.

She stumbled over to sit on an unpadded wooden settle. This room was even more austere than the first. Fuming, she got back up and pressed her ear to the door, but try as she might, all she heard was unintelligible murmurs.

What was he saying? What was he planning? Her mind raced with possibilities. Was he telling Wat to detain Jason? Kill him? Kill them both?

She gulped.

At the sound of footsteps approaching, she raced back to the settle. Geoffrey opened the door between the rooms, and she watched through the frame. He returned to the table and pulled a cracked mirror from a bag, along with a fake beard and some adhesive. Then he set to work, turning himself into the man she’d seen yesterday morn.

Rising again, she positioned herself on the threshold. “Why would Cainewood be breaking down the door?”

Her words came out a challenge, maybe not the smartest thing to do. But she’d never been good at controlling her emotions.

A nasty grin appeared in the bushy brown beard. “Why, to rescue his fair damsel, of course. Conveniently keeping him from the wedding.”

“What makes you think he cares what happens to me?” she asked, almost hoping he
didn’t
care so he wouldn’t play into the Gothard’s scheme.

“Cainewood hasn’t let you out of his sight.” He settled the wig on his head. “Nor far from his lips, I might add.”

Had he seen them, then, those times they’d kissed to hide their faces?

As though reading her mind, Geoffrey let loose a sinister chuckle. “He’ll be coming after you, all right. Don’t you worry your pretty little head.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Aside from the question of how he would even begin to search for her in this enormous city, what if he thought she didn’t want to be found? She very much doubted Kendra had seen the abduction take place. What if the Chases simply assumed Caithren had run off—had
escaped
, as Jason had termed it last night—when he’d finally entrusted her with her own bedchamber?

True, he’d said over and over he felt responsible for her safety, and he’d charged after her on his silver horse more than once. But if Jason attended the wedding and captured Geoffrey Gothard—the very menace he’d been protecting her
from—
then…

Well, then he wouldn’t be responsible for her anymore, would he?

Caithren shook her head. She had no idea what Jason was thinking, which meant she couldn’t count on a rescue. She’d have to manage on her own.

She walked to the window and looked out. Four stories down. Her first thought had been to open the window and jump. But even when Geoffrey left and she had only to deal with thickheaded Wat, it would still be four stories down.

She wouldn’t be jumping.

Pressing her forehead to the cold pane, she strained to see the wall below. Vines. Old, gnarled vines, the stalks as thick as her forearm. She could climb down the vines.

But only if she incapacitated Wat somehow.

Her gaze darted around the room and into the next one. There must be something here that could help her. Whatever it took, she had to get to the wedding.

SOMEHOW JASON
managed to dress for the wedding, though he didn’t know how it happened. His heart pounded so hard his fingers shook. He was torn in three directions at once.

One, find Cait—absolutely his first priority, but the least likely to be successful. London was the biggest city in England, a veritable rabbit warren of streets and buildings. She could be anywhere.
Anywhere.

Two, get to Scarborough’s house and warn him.

Three, go to Lord Darnley’s wedding, where he might capture Gothard once and for all.

Since Scarborough was expected at the wedding, he had a strong hunch Gothard would be there, too. For the bride and groom and wedding guests, he hoped he was wrong, but at least it would be done.

Scarborough and Gothard. Those last two he could handle. He hoped.

He frowned at himself as he tied his cravat in the mirror, bungling the knot for the fourth time. He couldn’t think about past failures. He had to pull himself together and do what needed to be done.

Save Scarborough and apprehend Gothard.

Or go after Cait—

A knock came at the door. Giving the cravat a final yank, he went to open it.

“A letter, my lord.” Goodwin proffered a neatly folded square.

The note was obviously scribbled in haste. Eleven words that made up his mind.
Your girl can be found at the Bull Inn on Bishopsgate.

A clue. A direction. Relief coursed through him, though he knew it was premature.

He nodded at Goodwin. “Have the carriage brought round immediately.”

He hoped Scarborough had received his warning letter; if not, the man would have to fend for himself. Or—

“Ford!” Grabbing his velvet surcoat—black, to match his mood—he bolted from the room and down the stairs.

WAT SAT SLUMPED
in a chair in the back room, his shifty brown eyes watching Caithren pace back and forth while she did her best to ignore him.

She was envisioning Lord Darnley’s wedding. There they were, walking down the aisle, Lord Darnley and his bride. Her mind conjured up a bonnie image of a man in a dove-gray velvet suit and a woman in a lovely pink gown. Very English. The kirk, of course, was enormous, this being London. Dressed in every color of the rainbow, guests filled row after row of pews. On one end sat a man wearing bright blue satin bedecked with gaudy ribbons.

Adam.

She had to get to Adam. She’d come all this way, and it was her one and only chance—

“Sit down, wench. You’re making me barmy.”

She sat. Geoffrey had given Wat a pistol.

Congealed food sat on a pewter plate before her, making her stomach roil. There was a spoon, but no knife. No weapons at her disposal.

When she closed her eyes, a vision of Jason’s smile seemed to hover behind her lids. What was it about him that made her miss him so fiercely all this day, the first day she’d spent without him since he’d kept her off the coach? Certainly not his black-and-white judgments, his innate stubbornness, his overdeveloped sense of responsibility. But whatever it was, he had changed her life. Changed an essential part of Caithren Leslie.

She could no longer imagine living all her life without love. Without Jason’s love in particular.

But somehow she would have to.

Now she knew what her answer to his proposal would have been. But he wouldn’t be asking. Once he captured Geoffrey Gothard, he’d leave for his home in the country. She’d been telling him to leave her all along, after all.

It was painful, knowing he cared but not enough. If she could even believe he’d been telling the truth when he said he loved her. Wishing the three words had never passed his lips, she reached to touch her amulet and splayed her hand across the bareness there instead.

So much ill luck had befallen her lately.

She had to get to Adam. Everything had gone wrong, but this one thing—this
one
thing—had to go right. With her emerald or without.