The Marquess's Scottish Bride: A Sweet & Clean Historical Romance (The Chase Brides Book 2) (6 page)

“EGAD, IT WILL
take three days to cover Cainewood in this accursed creeping carriage. Pass me that journal, will you?”

“Clever change of subject.” Kendra handed Jason the leather book and one of the pencils made from the graphite mined on their property. She hitched herself forward, frowning at him seated across from her in the carriage. “You’re not well enough to go. It’s been barely two weeks.”

“I’m not waiting any longer.” He flipped open the estate journal and made a note to have the Johnsons’ roof rethatched. “The reward isn’t working. An innocent man is dead, and little Mary nearly so. Thanks to Gothard.”

“Thanks to Gothard? It’s yourself you blame.” As usual, Kendra was too observant for his comfort. “Someone else is hurt, and naturally, it’s all your fault,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

Ignoring her sarcasm, he scribbled reminders to buy another bull and see that Mistress Randall’s spinning wheel was repaired. “Not hurt, Kendra—dead. Their lives stolen from them.” He rolled the pencil between his hands. “I’d have left already if only I had some clue to the Gothards’ whereabouts. They seem to have disappeared.”

“They’ll resurface. And the reward you’ve posted will ensure you’ll hear of it.”

“When?” He banged the journal closed and slammed it onto the seat. “When will I find the blackguard who made me a killer? How many others will die before he’s caught?” His fists bunched between his spread knees. “And who died at my hands? The least I can do is send condolences to his family, make some reparations. Where the deuce is Ford?”

Kendra stared at him. “He’s working on it,” she said carefully.

Her pale green eyes looked so troubled. He consciously relaxed his jaw and, with a sigh, reached to put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me.” He glanced out the window at the peaceful fields of Cainewood, struggling for the calm that usually came to him so easily. “I feel so powerless.”

Kendra’s gaze followed his and caught what he’d missed in his blind fury. “Look, he’s back.” She leaned to watch her twin gallop up the lane.

Jason knocked on the roof to stop the carriage and threw open the door. “News from Chichester?” he asked. “Do you know who he was?”

“No.” Breathless, Ford shook his head. “His companions bore him away without so much as reporting his identity. That’s not what I rode out to tell you, though.” He swept off his hat and dragged a hand through his wavy brown hair. “There’s a stableman waiting to see you. At home. Two of your horses have been stolen.”

A hard ball of anxiety hit Jason in the stomach. “Not Chiron?”

“No. Pegasus and Thunder.”

“Thank heavens for small favors.”

Although he was relieved his favorite mount had been spared, Jason still cursed the slow carriage a hundred times before it finally rolled over the drawbridge and through the barbican into Cainewood’s grassy quadrangle. A man waited on the wide steps that led to the castle doors, cap in hand and a crude blood-stained bandage tied around his head.

Wrenching his shoulder painfully, Jason bounded from the carriage and toward the double oak doors. “Porter, come in, will you?” He gestured the stableman into the entry.

The man frowned and touched his fingertips to his forehead.

“Come in,” Jason repeated. “You’re no longer bleeding. And these floors have seen their share of blood through the years, in any case.”

With obvious reluctance the man climbed the steps after Kendra and Ford. Staring up at the slim pillars that supported the stone hall’s vaulted ceiling, he seated himself gingerly—not on one of the carved walnut chairs that Jason indicated, but on one of the iron treasure chests instead, probably figuring it would be easier to clean.

Jason followed Porter’s awed gaze as it swept the entry, taking in the intricate stone staircase, crowned at intervals with impressive heraldic beasts. “What did you see?” he asked impatiently. “Who has stolen my horses?”

The man dragged his gaze back to Jason’s. “Those men, my lord. The brothers. The ones on the broadsides.”

“The Gothard brothers? In stark daylight?” Jason’s jaw dropped open in astonishment. “Right from under our noses?”

“They knocked me out.” Slowly Porter shook his injured head. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t hear much, and I couldn’t seem to move.”

“What
did
you hear?” Jason crouched at the man’s feet and peered into his apprehensive eyes. “Anything. Anything you can remember, I want to hear it.”

The groom fiddled with the cap in his hands. “The one was saying he didn’t want to take the horses.” He set the cap in his lap. “I couldn’t hear what the other said.”

Reeling with confusion and frustration, Jason touched the stableman on the knee. “Anything else?”

“They did mention another man’s name. They were headed to Lord Scar—” He stopped and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I cannot remember,” he said at last. “Lord Scar-something. He said his brother was entitled to whatever this other lord has. And they were going to take the horses and go get it.”

“Gothard.” Jason stood and cursed under his breath. “Cuthbert Gothard, the Earl of Scarborough. Why didn’t I think of that connection?”

“It’s a common name,” Ford said. “You had no reason to think the Gothard brothers were connected to Lord Scarborough.”

But he should have. It was his job to eliminate any threat to his village. “I could have sent a letter of inquiry to Scarborough, asking if they were relations and what he knew of their whereabouts.” He paced the three-story chamber, his footsteps echoing off the vaulted stone ceiling. “Now it’s too late—the brothers are on their way already.” He paused midstep. “If I hurry, maybe I can reach Pontefract before they do and give Scarborough fair warning. Then lie in wait.”

“Lie is right.” Kendra slanted him a look of utter disbelief. “You’ll end up lying in the road somewhere. You’ll never catch them if you’re riding in a carriage, with them on the backs of your fine horses. And you cannot ride Chiron such a distance in your condition.”

Hadn’t Father told him to stand up for what he believed in? Even putting aside his personal responsibilities, common decency would demand he warn the earl.

“I can ride Chiron, and I will.” Turning back to Porter, he pressed a coin into the stableman’s hand. “I am sorry for your injury. Have it seen to in the kitchen, and tell Ollerton I said you may have the day off.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Porter stood and bowed, but Jason’s attention was already elsewhere.

“Ford, ask Claxton to bring a portmanteau to my chamber. I’m off for West Riding.”

“No, you’re not!” Kendra ran after him up the wide stairway and jumped ahead of him as he entered his chamber. “You were shot two weeks ago, for heaven’s sake!”

Shouldering her out of the way, Jason strode to his chest of clothes to choose a few of his plainest shirts. “It’s not serious; the surgeon said so himself. The first days found me groggy from the laudanum, and I’ve let you coddle and care for me since. But now the blackguards have stolen my horses, and I’ve a lead where they’re headed. Nothing you say will keep me here. Lives are at stake, and apparently, for reasons I cannot fathom, I am involved.”

Ford came in with Claxton, who had brought the portmanteau and moved to pack it. “I’d best choose my wardrobe myself,” Jason told him. “This is no ordinary journey.”

His manservant blinked. “Then I shall ready myself for travel.”

Jason shook his head. “I mean to go alone, dressed as a commoner. If Gothard thinks I’m dead, it makes no sense to call attention to myself.”

“Alone, Jason?” Kendra railed as Claxton left the chamber. “Who will care for you?”

He walked to the bed, opened one of the two leather bags, and tossed in the shirts. “The shoulder doesn’t pain me much,” he said, stretching the truth, “and there’s no sign of infection.” That at least was fact.

And if his younger brother and sister were looking at him as though he’d gone around the bend, so be it. He would do what was expected of him. What he expected of himself.

Kendra pulled the shirts back out and folded them neatly. “You should have let Claxton pack.”

“I’m capable of packing for myself.” Selecting two fine lawn shirts and a snowy cravat from the chest at the foot of his bed, he bypassed his sister’s outstretched hands to demonstrate. Three pairs of his plainest breeches and a couple more workaday shirts came next. Then a dark blue velvet suit. The boots on his feet would do.

“Geoffrey Gothard must be stopped.” Jason paused in his packing to gaze out the diamond-paned window. In the sunshine beyond lay his land, his people. “I cannot face my own villagers until it’s done.”

“You sent broadsides near and far,” Kendra argued. “It’s common knowledge that Gothard is a wanted outlaw. For the hundred pounds you’ve offered—”

“—that MacCallum woman will see it done,” Ford finished for her.

“Emerald MacCallum? The Scot who wears men’s clothing and carries a pistol?” Jason blinked and dragged his gaze back to the dim room. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for that claptrap. A woman tracking outlaws for the reward money—why, you’d have to be maggot-brained to believe such fancies.”

Ford shrugged noncommittally.

“Then someone else will see it done.” Kendra crossed her arms.

Jason could feel his face heating. Part of him agreed with her, but his father’s expectations of him overrode her cool logic. “I cannot wait for
someone
to see it done. Since the king abolished Cromwell’s Major General districts, there’s
no one
to see it done.” His sturdiest stockings joined the pile of clothing. “Didn’t we see that in Chichester? A man was murdered in the middle of a crowded square, and no one even knows who he was.”

“Charles did well to abolish the districts,” Ford protested. “Clarendon says their main purpose was to tax us Royalists.” He raised a finger to make another point, then shook his head as though realizing this was not the time for a debate. “Jason, are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

“I’ve never been more sure. Such lawlessness cannot be borne.” Jason paced the red and blue carpet, snatching up an ivory comb and his shaving kit as he went. “The counties don’t cooperate, don’t share information with one another. Gothard could be off somewhere leading a blasted parade and not draw any official’s notice!”

Kendra came to stand before him. “And
you
could chase a violent lunatic to Constantinople and back without stopping to think about whether his crimes are your responsibility!” She tried to smile, a gentle smile that tugged at his heart. “Jason, the Gothards are gone from this area—you can be sure of it. You’ve done all you can. You’re injured. You have people here, people who need you.”

He dropped to sit on the bed, fighting to marshal his temper. “He made me kill an innocent man. Perhaps the reward will bring him in, perhaps not. But I cannot just wait and see; I won’t be able to live with myself until Gothard is behind bars, never to murder again. And I’ll hear from him just what he thinks my part is in this debacle.”

“But—”

“No buts, Kendra.”

“You’re worse than Colin,” she grumbled, referring to their other brother, who said that all the time.

Rising from the bed, Jason grabbed a ball of hard-milled soap from his washstand, threw it into the portmanteau, flipped the bags closed, and secured the latches. “No more arguments.” He went to his sister and gave her a hard hug, ignoring the jolt to his shoulder. “They’ve singled me out—how can I turn away? What kind of man would that make me?”

Kendra opened her mouth, but Jason cut her off. “You cannot stop me, little sister.” He gripped both her shoulders. “Just wish me Godspeed.”

“If you won’t wait to heal, then at least wait an hour or two for Ford and me to get ready. You’ve never gone off without us. I can care for your wound—”

“This isn’t a holiday, Kendra. You would slow me down.”

He saw her take a deep breath before the fight drained out of her. When she nodded up at him, he turned to Ford. “Find out who I killed, will you? Ask around again in Chichester.
Someone
must know the identity of his two acquaintances. Then locate them, follow up. Send word to Pontefract if you hear anything.”

“Jason, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Do it,” he ordered. He jammed his sword into his belt, tucked a small pistol into his boot top, and lifted the portmanteau. “Watch over Cainewood for me. With any luck, I won’t be long.”

“And then we can lay this nightmare to rest?” Kendra asked.

He stared at her a long time while the chamber filled with an oppressive silence. Then, unable to make that promise, he kissed her cheek and strode from the room.

“Godspeed,” she whispered after him.

HER BACK TO
the other passengers straggling in and queuing to rent rooms, Caithren stared at the innkeeper in disbelief. “Are you telling me there are no horses for hire in this town?”

He rubbed a hand over his bald head. “That’s what I’m telling you, madam.”

Mrs. Dochart took Cait by the arm. “Come along, lass. Maybe the situation will change on the morrow.” With her other hand she set down her valise and dug inside for coins. “We’ll take a room upstairs, Mr. Brown.”