Her Outlaw Page 4

  Ordinarily Dair reserved the Whitechapel lodgings for activities related to the Riever, but tonight he sought the space simply for the proximity of a bed. The ache in his head was intensifying in such a way that Dair doubted he’d make it back to Mayfair if he tried.

  Besides, better Jake didn’t see him in this sorry state. He’d insist on sending for a physician or a priest or even a whore to exorcize Dair of this plaguing pain. Never mind that Dair had already tried all three treatments. Nothing helped. Not powders, not prayers, and not physical release. Only sleep granted him surcease when the headache reached proportions such as these. One day, if he were lucky, he’d go to sleep and never wake.

  All in all, that was not such a bad way to go. He’d certainly flirted with harder deaths during his thirty-four years. The gunshot in Italy. The knifing in New York. The fire in Java that gave him nightmares to this day. No, he wouldn’t complain about meeting his end in such a manner.

  Because meeting his end, sooner rather than later, was what lay in store. Dair was dying. He had a tumor on his brain.

  He’d always expected to hear a death sentence someday, though he’d anticipated receiving it in a court of law rather than a physician’s office. In truth, death by hanging sounded infinitely preferable to being eaten alive from inside. He’d decided he wouldn’t let it go that far. When the time came, Dair would choose the moment and manner. He couldn’t control this part of his life, but he’d damn sure control his death.

  The hammering in his head increased, making it more difficult for Dair to think. Making him wonder if the six-to-eight months his physician had estimated was realistic. Lord, he hoped so. He’d made little headway in finding a replacement for Sister Mary Margaret. Plus, he’d need every available minute to gather the necessary funds. After all, raising children in this day and age wasn’t an inexpensive proposition.

  And damned if he’d die and abandon them. Nor would he saddle Jake with responsibility for their care. His friend had his own child-related problems to manage at the moment, his own obligations. The Home was Dair’s responsibility.

  The pain escalated. His vision blurred and he broke out in a sweat despite the chilling cold. Only sheer determination kept him on his feet. Finally, the door to his lodgings appeared before him, and he battled his way up the three flights of stairs to his room. With a trembling hand, he fit his key in the lock. He stumbled into the room, onto the bed, managing one final coherent thought.

  He’d better grab Millicent’s rubies, too, while he was at it.

  Strathardle Glen, Scotland

  THE STONE CIRCLE RUINS ROSE like jagged teeth against a brilliant blue afternoon sky. Hamish Campbell leaned casually against the largest of the standing rocks and watched Angus Fraser huff and puff his way up the grassy mound. The fat old thief’s physical condition was as weak as his character. Hamish sneered with disgust. He didn’t like dealing with worms such as Fraser, men who would betray a longtime business associate for a relatively small amount of gold, but sometimes needs required.

  Hamish stepped out of the stone’s shadow and revealed himself to Fraser. “Hello, Angus.”

  “Mornin’, sir.”

  “Lovely day isn’t it?”

  “Aye. Tis always nice to come home. Scotland’s air breathes fresh life into a man too long in England.”

  “Yes, it does. You should be grateful that I required you meet me here rather than in London.” Fraser shrugged halfheartedly and Hamish continued, “So, what new information do you have for me today?”

  Angus scratched behind his ear and stared blindly at the cup-marks on one of the standing stones. “MacRae is headed for a wee bit of a holiday at Mr. Jake Kimball’s country estate.”

  Interesting. “And why is that?”

  Angus made a brief and succinct report about Kimball’s bride hunt. “Dair requested a report on two women who are scheduled to attend—Miss Katrina McBride and Mrs. Emma Tate from Texas.”

  Hamish’s head came up like a hound on a scent. “Texas?”

  “Aye. He seemed keen for the information. Once I got a look at the ladies meself I understood why. They’re beauties. Both of them.”

  “Hmm…” They could be old-crone ugly for all Hamish cared. A McBride from Texas. He clasped his hands behind his back and stared out over the glen as excitement fired in his veins. A McBride from Texas with a connection to Alasdair MacRae. Had his hunch paid off, then? Was his investment in time and manpower about to bear fruit?

  Was the treasure finally within his grasp?

  In the months that had followed the card game, he’d begun to doubt. Alasdair MacRae’s actions indicated he knew nothing of the Prize, and Hamish suspected he might be wasting his resources. Until now. A McBride and a MacRae. This MacRae. The Guardian’s son.

  Roslin MacRae’s son.

  “You have a man on duty at Chatham Park?” Hamish asked, expecting confirmation.

  Fraser frowned and rubbed the back of his neck. “I had a wee bit of a problem with that.”

  Ice all but dripped from the word as Hamish demanded, “Clarify.”

  “MacRae discovered one of my watchers,” Fraser replied.

  He explained how Dair MacRae had spotted the boy he’d had on the job, and with every word the older man spoke, Hamish’s fury grew. Now was not the time to rouse MacRae’s suspicions. Nor was it the moment to leave him unobserved. In a hard, flat tone, he stated, “You’ve failed.”

  “No, no, it’s all right,” Fraser quickly assured Hamish. “He doesn’t know it was me. I arranged for him to receive information that the person who had him followed is the husband of one of his lovers. He’s quite the swordsman, ye ken.”

  What Hamish kenned was that Angus Fraser had tipped his hand and lost his quarry. That was unacceptable. Dair MacRae was an intelligent man and now he’d be suspicious and on his guard.

  “As far as me not having anyone at Chatham Park,” Angus continued, “I dinna believe it to be a problem. He’ll not be doing any business of interest while in the country. He’s there for his friend. I’ve put word out about town that I’m to know the moment MacRae returns to town.”

  If he even returned to London. Hamish’s mouth settled into a grim line. “I need someone at Chatham Park. Immediately.”

  Scowling, Fraser shook his head. “I don’t have anyone in the area. My contacts are all in cities.”

  “Then you are no longer of any use to me.” In fact, Angus Fraser was now a liability. Fraser could lead Dair MacRae back to him and that simply wouldn’t do. In light of today’s information, Hamish had every intention of revealing himself to MacRae. Eventually.

  At the time and place of his choosing.

  He clapped the older man on the back. “I’m afraid our arrangement must come to an end.”

  Fraser sighed heavily, then shrugged. “Aye. All right. Tis fine enough with me. I like Dair MacRae. I haven’t liked spying on him. So if you’ll just pay me me final fee?”

  Fool. Hamish Campbell cleared his throat. “You’re a Highlander, Fraser. Do you know where it is you stand?”

  Fraser looked around, then dragged his hand down his jaw, uncertain as to what his employer asked. “Ye mean, a fairy ring?”

  “Aye. You see, fairies built their sithean before the great Flood of Noah. Locals call this one Cnoc a Chiuil, music knoll, because they often hear sprightly dance music coming from inside it. Do you hear anything, Angus?”

  “Nae.”

  “Pity. It’s said that the little folk can make themselves any size they wish, and that anyone who has the opportunity to see them dance in their underground halls can be so mesmerized that years pass with great rapidity.”

  Apprehension skittered across Fraser’s face. “I have heard such tales of fairies. My mother said they dance and revel on moonlight nights on the moors.”

  “Do you know how to defend against fairies?”

  The older man glanced back down the hill, but didn’t respond. Hamish took his silence as denial. �
�You can use iron, the name of God or a horseshoe over your door.”

  “For good luck.”

  “Ah…luck.” Hamish smiled. “Luck is a funny thing. It can be good or bad. Sometimes, luck can simply run out…as did yours when you allowed MacRae to discover that he was being watched.”

  Hamish pulled his gun and shot Angus Fraser in the chest. As Fraser let out a cry and fell to his knees, he added, “Consider it your good luck that I brought you home to die.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  EMMA’S STOMACH CHURNED AS the carriage turned on the drive that led up to Chatham Park ten days after what she thought of as the Infamous Interview. She looked forward to the long weekend with a combination of excitement and nervousness.

  She couldn’t wait to see Dair MacRae once again.

  A discreet pair of questions in one of London’s better dress shops had confirmed the fact that he was not, in fact, married. Emma felt her cheeks warm with a blush, but it didn’t stop her from thinking about the man. She’d hardly stopped thinking about him since the day of the interview. The idea that he might be her adventure wouldn’t leave her alone.

  Perhaps she could enjoy a temporary liaison with Mr. Alasdair MacRae.

  The wicked thought had been whispering through her mind for days now, but she was trying to ignore it. She was. Really. Following through on such a scandalous notion would take more courage than she possessed, would require more mischief than she wanted to make.

  Yet what better place to indulge in mischief-making than in a foreign country where no one knew her?

  As the carriage took another bend in the tulip-tree-lined road, Emma studied Chatham Park. She’d never seen a building quite like it before. From its Baroque front to the Greek Revival portico, to the medieval-styled high tower, or belvedere, Chatham Park was a conglomerate of styles that would give her architect father a headache just looking at it. Emma counted four wings, three stories high, extending from the main building. Finding Kat’s necklace in a place this big would take a miracle.

  As the coach pulled into the circular drive, Emma spied Jake Kimball standing on a third-floor balcony. Her gaze moved past him to a figure framed in a second-story window. Alasdair MacRae.

  Oh, my. Excitement sizzled through her.

  Moments later, the carriage rolled to a stop. The sisters climbed a broad flight of stone steps and entered Chatham Park’s great hall. Emma gazed in wonder at the painted ceiling, the paintings on the wall, the marble sculptures and rich Persian carpets. Why, this place truly was as grand as a palace.

  Its king paused halfway down the stairs. “Ladies, welcome,” Jake Kimball said. “I’m delighted you could join us. Alasdair MacRae, you remember Mrs. Tate and Mrs. Peters.”

  Emma’s pulse quickened as she spied MacRae looming in the doorway of what appeared to be a library. He wore dark colors from head to toe and the intensity in his silver stare seemed at odds with his friendly smile. “I certainly do. Ladies, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Emma offered him a hesitant smile.

  Kimball asked his friend to show Emma to her room, and a few minutes later, Emma followed MacRae down a long hallway. He smelled of sandalwood and spice, and he moved with silent, powerful strides. She felt as though she should attempt to make small talk. Maybe something along the lines of Excuse me, Dair. Would you care to engage in a liaison with me?

  Emma almost tripped over her own feet at that rogue thought.

  When minutes ticked by without any attempt on his part to engage in conversation, Emma grew even more unsettled. Did he plan to ignore their previous meeting, even in private? Is that what she wanted? Maybe she should bring it up. She frowned at his back and wished he wasn’t such an enigma. Except, enigmas were intriguing, weren’t they?

  Finally, he halted outside a door almost at the end of the hallway. “Emma, your suite.”

  Instinct told her to remain in the hallway when he opened the door and stepped inside. Only when he glanced over his shoulder and arched a challenging brow did she manage to move. She’d never been able to ignore a dare. Taking a step forward, she caught her first glimpse of the “snow globe room” and her cautiousness faded in the face of her delight.

  “It’s magical,” she breathed. Snow globes lined the walls and adorned the tabletops and decorated every space in the room available for display. They contained carousel horses and toy trains and village scenes. One section of shelves was devoted to bawdy globes that, upon closer look, made her blush.

  She lifted a snow globe depicting a Dutch windmill off a table. “I knew Mr. Kimball was a devoted collector, but I wouldn’t have guessed his interests included snow globes.”

  “Bernard Kimball collected everything from precious gems to toothpick sculptures.”

  “Toothpick sculptures?”

  “I believe they’re housed in a room on the third floor. I’ll show them to you sometime this weekend.”

  “That would be nice.” She smiled encouragingly. “I was hoping the weekend’s entertainments included a tour of his collection. I’d love to see the toys and the precious gems.”

  Like stolen emerald necklaces.

  “I’ll arrange it.” Dair MacRae folded his arms and gave her a considering look. He was obviously in no hurry to leave. Now was he going to talk ice cream? Apparently not. He asked, “Which of the globes appeals to you most?”

  Emma glanced around the room. “I don’t know. There are so many…it would be difficult to choose.”

  “Pick five.”

  “But why…?”

  “Indulge me.”

  Emma decided she was in no big hurry to move him along, so she was happy to cooperate. She took her time moving around the room, studying the contents. She made sure to look at everything before making her first selection.

  She chose a snow globe that contained a sewing basket with three colors of thread—red, green, and blue—and set it on the small round table he’d cleared and moved to the center of the sitting room. Next she selected a globe that contained a slingshot. Her third choice was a globe that displayed a stack of books, her fourth—prompted by mischief—a harlequin’s mask.

  She hesitated over her fifth selection before choosing the globe that had caught her notice the moment she walked into the room. The snow globe showed an intricately depicted four-masted barquentine in full sail with a figurehead of a woman with long, reddish-blond hair. Emma lifted it gently, swirled the snow inside it, and smiled. Then she set it with her other four choices and turned to Dair MacRae. “Well?”

  “Interesting.” MacRae folded his arms and circled the table. “My challenge is to discern why you made each particular choice, what that choice reveals about you. The books are obvious, of course, considering your profession. But it was your third choice, which suggests that the first two are more important to you.”

  “Not necessarily.” Emma took a seat in one of the rosewood chairs set before the fireplace. “Maybe I simply fancied the colors or the intricacy of the design.”

  “No. You carefully considered your selections.” He lifted her first choice from the table. “Since you’ve confessed to being a pitiful seamstress, I suspect your choice of a sewing basket represents something more than a particular interest or talent. You mentioned that your mother attempted to teach you to sew. That suggests time spent together. Family time. Am I correct, Emma? Did your first choice represent family?”

  Emma did so appreciate intelligence in a man. “Close, sir. But not exactly.”

  “It’s Dair, and how was I mistaken?”

  Emma stared at the snow globe and smiled. “I thought of my mother, of course, because of the subject, but the spools of thread represented me and my sisters.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  Now it was Emma’s turn to probe a bit. “The three spools of thread, the three colors. I have two sisters, and we each have a unique piece of jewelry that’s quite special to us. They’re alike but for the color of the stone. I’ve a ruby, my sister Mari
has a sapphire.” She watched him closely and added, “My sister Katrina’s stone is emerald.”

  She noted only a nod, no suspicious narrowing of his eyes or flick toward her neckline to where her ruby necklace ordinarily rested. Part of Kat’s plan was to keep the necklace hidden until such time that revealing it might help their search.

  “You’re close to your sisters.” He stated it as a fact, not a question. She nodded and he asked, “Do you have other siblings?”

  She smiled. “Three younger brothers.”

  “Ah. The slingshot.”

  “The boys and my father have contests at least once a week.”

  He studied her, his silver eyes intent. “So, the first two choices are family, the third your work. That says quite a lot about you, Emma.”

  The way he said her name, smooth and slow with lots of lip, she’d never heard an m spoken with quite so much…savor.

  “Now, this…” He lifted her fourth choice, turned it up and down, and watched the snow settle over the mask. “This intrigues me. Care to explain the reason for this selection?”

  Emma smoothed her skirts and offered what she hoped was an enigmatic smile. “I don’t believe I do.”

  He looked at her for a long moment, and Emma felt a little rush of power at refusing such an intense personality as Alasdair MacRae. Then, he grinned at her, a delighted acknowledgment of her challenge. Emma found herself smiling right back at him.

  “You’re a fascinating woman, Emma, and that brings us to your fifth choice.” He carried the ship snow globe to the window where he held it up to a beam of sunshine. “I find this choice the most intriguing. You took great care in making your final selection. What does it say about you?”

  He looked at her, then, with eyes like silver shards. “What brings you here to Chatham Park, Emma McBride?”

  Startled, she blinked. Panicked. Did they know she and Kat had come to steal? How? They hadn’t been here half an hour yet. What had she done wrong already? “Pardon me?”