Ruark laughed but without much amusement. “Aye, and a small fortune that was, too.”
The man bobbed his head in apology. “I spent it following his bloody lordship, or at least tagging after his baggage and that frigate he sailed on from London.”
George took the major’s arm and now interrupted. “Major Carter, I, for one, have heard enough. I would ask that you post some men around the house. Sir Gaylord will no doubt be back. If he does not return we can begin searching for him.”
Ruark went to the door. “I shall see to some temporary repairs upstairs if you gentlemen will excuse me!”
He gathered his tools and wood. Nathanial’s gentle chuckle followed him as he made his way up the stairs. Ruark entered his bedchamber, stepping carefully around the door where it leaned askew. He lowered the tools to a tabletop and glanced toward the bed.
Empty?
His gaze quickly searched the room then returned to the four-poster. He had seen the open desk and now espied the note. He went nearer, and a moment later his bellow of rage trembled the house. He leapt down the stairs, taking them three at a time and dashed into the drawing room where he flung the crumpled sheet of paper in Trahern’s lap.
“He’s taken her!” he choked through the red haze of his wrath. “The bastard’s got Shanna!”
It was Amelia’s voice, firm and commanding, that finally broke into his mind. “Ruark! Control yourself. You will do her no good this way.”
Ruark shook his head as if to clear his mind and realized it was Nathanial who held his arm and his father who took from his now unprotesting hands the rifle he had unthinkingly snatched up. He returned to reality, and though the heat of his rage was gone, the cold fire still burned in the pit of his belly.
As Pitney watched Ruark he was reminded of a venging beast and was at the same time deeply relieved that this time the savage fury was not turned upon himself, for there were no restraining chains. The foolish one who had roused this beast of prey would do well to never rest his feet.
Trahern frowned at the note in his lap. The initial scrawled on the bottom ran over and over in his mind as a multitude of emotions washed through him. The sum would only tweak the shallowest depth of his wealth, and there was enough to cover the total sum in a strongbox on the Hampstead. But ‘twas the anger in his mind that hurt him most. For all his skill in judging men, he had let this serpent nest in his own household.
Ralston sat meekly in his chair, not daring to interfere. He had known nothing of Gaylord’s vices and had only hoped to gain a part of the dowry.
George paced the floor, wanting to fling himself into some activity, but having no direction for it. Nathanial stood with the women, who silently gripped hands in their fear for Shanna. Jeremiah was close by, clutching his rifle with white-knuckled determination. Whatever happened, he would take part in it. No childish excuses anymore.
Pitney rose and worked his hands convulsively as he read over Trahern’s shoulder. His voice was the first to break the tense quietness. “I’ve seen that thing at the bottom before.”
“Of course you have,” Trahern snapped with unusual rancor. “ ‘Tis marked on every one of his kerchiefs, his shirts and anywhere else he can put it. It’s a ”B“ for bastard.”
“Nay! Nay!” Pitney ranted. “I mean somewhere else. Something not so—aye, that’s it. Milly’s ‘R’! ‘Twas no ’R.‘ The lass could not read or write and only gave us what she saw. A ’B‘ with a little curlique at the bottom, for Billingsham.”
Trahern lifted the paper and shook it at the major. “ ‘Twas that knight of yours who killed Milly!”
“With all respects, sir,” the major replied calmly. “He is not my knight.”
Pitney snorted. “I heard the tale from a young lieutenant in the dramshop on Los Camellos. It seems a horse stepped on Sir Gay’s foot, and he fell against a Marshal as a mortar burst nearby. The Marshal gave him credit for saving his life and lauded the brave deed until Gaylord was awarded the badge of knighthood.”
The major raised his brows and half apologized. “Such things happen in battle.”
“You’ll see! You’ll see!” the Scotsman raved, nearly beside himself. “He’ll do your little girlie the same as he did mine, with his bloody little whip and his bloody big fist!”
The Scotsman felt a strange chill creep up his back. Raising his eyes from the paper, he met Ruark’s stare and shuddered. The man’s face was blank and his eyes cold and flat, shining with a light that seemed to come from somewhere in the depth of them. He gave no word, but there was death in every inch of him. The Scotsman had heard a story once of a mythical lizard who could stare into your eyes and draw the life from you. He looked away quickly, nervously, because that was the same cold feeling he caught from the other man, that same one who had been hung and yet stood here… Jamie shuddered again and reconsidered his religion most fervently.