Книга - Bride of the Solway

Bride of the Solway
Joanna Maitland


If Cassandra Elliott does not escape from the Laird of Galloway, she'll be forced into marriage or confined to Bedlam! Desperate, she turns to Captain Ross Graham, and begs for help in a most unladylike manner.Fleeing across the Solway, Cassie and Ross cannot be distracted by a desire as wild as the Scottish hills. When Cassie is kidnapped, Ross realizes exactly what this spirited, seductive woman has come to mean to him…but will he find her in time to tell her?









He needed to listen for their pursuers. In fact, Ross thought he could hear something. Closer than before.


“The Laird of Galloway should be dead and damned to all eternity,” Cassie raged. “He would be well served in hellfire. For he is the very devil—”

“Miss Elliott. Hush! I think I hear horses!”

She ignored him. “And if he burns, it will—”

Ross had two choices. Silence her by brute force, or…He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.




JOANNA MAITLAND


was born and educated in Scotland, though she has spent most of her adult life in England or abroad. She has been a systems analyst, an accountant, a civil servant and director of a charity. Now that her two children have left home, she and her husband have moved from Hampshire to the Welsh Marches, where she is reveling in the more rugged country and the wealth of medieval locations. When she is not writing, or climbing through ruined castles, she devotes her time to trying to tame her new house and garden, both of which are determined to resist any suggestion of order. Readers are invited to visit Joanna’s Web site at www.joannamaitland.com.

Bride of the Solway features characters you will have met in My Lady Angel.




Bride of the Solway

Joanna Maitland







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One




Prologue


London—Wednesday, 22nd June, 1815

R oss gritted his teeth and started for the door. Once through it, he might just have a chance of breathing again.

‘Captain Graham.’ Julie’s beloved voice was full of concern.

Ross turned back to her, slowly, trying to school his features into mere friendliness.

‘Pray do not leave us, sir,’ she said quietly. ‘There is so much still to discover. And so much to thank you for.’

He shook his head at her, forcing a smile. He found he could not speak.

‘And you must have so much to say to your friends here.’ She nodded in the direction of their hostess and her escort, talking together in the far corner of the room, sharing thoughts so intimate that they had brought a slight blush to the lady’s cheek. There stood a man whose love was returned, Ross thought. A fortunate man.

‘Most of all, my dear friend,’ Julie continued rather earnestly, ‘I should like you to know Pierre, to have him esteem you as I do.’

She was looking past Ross as she spoke, her eyes searching the room before fixing on a point beyond Ross’s shoulder. He knew, without turning, that her eye had lighted on her lover. The sudden softening of her glance and the glow of her complexion betrayed the depth of her feelings for the man.

Another shaft of pain stabbed deep into Ross’s gut.

Swallowing hard, he steeled himself to act the part of the gentleman and friend, the part he had been forced to play for months now. Yesterday, he had had hopes of winning her. No longer. All that was left was pride.

He bowed slightly to her. ‘Mademoiselle, I am at your service, as ever.’




Chapter One


‘Y ou harlot!’

His insult was the last straw. Cassandra Elliott launched herself at her half-brother in yet another attempt to retrieve the remains of her letters. But James was too big and too strong. He fended her off with one long arm, using the other to push the torn fragments of paper into the depths of the fire. Cassandra could do nothing but watch, while they twisted and blackened in the flames. ‘You are hateful,’ she spat, with a sob that was part fury, part frustration. ‘You have no right—’

‘I have every right! Now, you will tell me his name.’

Cassandra shook her head vehemently. ‘Never! You can—’

James pushed Cassandra roughly on to the oak settle. ‘I am the head of this family, and I will not have you bring disgrace upon us by your wanton behaviour.’

‘My wanton behaviour? I have done nothing but receive a few harmless love poems. Nothing more. But you, Jamie Elliott—’

‘I am—’

‘You are the one who spends every other night in the whorehouse. When you are not lifting the skirts of our own maids, that is. It is not I who bring disgrace on the Elliott name. You—’ ‘You forget yourself, sister. I am a man, and the laird, besides. I—’

‘You are a—’

‘Enough! Hold your tongue!’

He towered over her, menacing, his brows drawn together in a black frown, his fists clenched.

Cassandra tried not to cower away from him. She must not give him the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid. If only she were not so alone.

‘No one but you would dare to question my actions. I will have no more of it. You are only a lassie. You will do as you are told. And if you don’t…’

He bent down so that his face was within an inch of hers. She could feel his fury like the waves of heat from a roaring fire.

‘You’ll not be forgetting what happened to your mother, will you now?’

His voice had suddenly sunk to a snarling undertone, far more terrifying than all his bellowing. At the mention of her mother, Cassandra’s heart began to race. Now she was surely lost.

‘I can put you in the Bedlam just as easily as Father did your mother. There’s no man here will gainsay me. They all know what a mad, headstrong lassie you are—have always been. I have only to say that you’ve been playing the harlot, following in your mother’s footsteps, and every man among them—aye, and the women, too—will help me carry you through the Bedlam door.’

She reached a hand out to him. ‘You would not—’

‘Do not put me to the test, lassie. Remember, I am my father’s son.’ Snatching up the single candle, James strode to the door and left the little parlour, without once looking back.

Cassandra heard the sound of the key turning in the lock. She did not need to try the door. She was imprisoned—again—and it would be a long time before James relented and permitted her release. If she were truly unlucky, he would not even allow her food and drink.

She looked around the room in the feeble glow of the dying fire. She must have some light. She could not bear the thought of being shut up alone, in the dark, in this bare and hostile chamber. She knelt before the hearth to light a spill from the embers but, as she touched the flame to the tallow dip, she noticed a scrap of paper on the floor behind the chair leg. It was the last remaining evidence that anyone in the world truly cared for Cassandra Elliott.

She pulled the fragment from under the chair and smoothed it once, then again and again, as if willing it to be whole again. At least one person did care. Just one. But he could not help her.

Impatiently, she brushed away a tear. It was anger. Only anger. She was not so weak that her half brother could make her cry. She was not!

She caressed the paper yet again. There was so little left. It was barely an inch wide and held only a few disjointed words, part of three lines of Alasdair’s bad poetry. She had smiled when she first read it, recognising the evidence of the boy’s calf-love. He might be only fifteen, but he idolised her. He saw himself as a knight, winning her love by deeds of great daring. But if James Elliott once discovered the lad’s identity, the daring would be thrashed out of him. She would never betray his name, no matter how much James threatened.

She dropped on to the hard oak settle once more and stared at the scrap of paper. Like her Trojan namesake, she, too, could prophesy, all these centuries later. She could prophesy that the Elliott family was doomed. First her father, and now her half-brother. Drunkards and gamblers, both. Neither of them caring anything for their land, or their people. Both of them wasting their substance in the pursuit of pleasure. Both of them treating their womenfolk worse than their cattle.

If only she could get away. But where could she go? She had no money and no friends in Galloway who would dare to take her part against the laird. Everyone hereabouts knew exactly who she was. It would be impossible to hide from James on this side of the Solway. If she did run away, James would find her and bring her back. He might even carry out his threat to lock her away in the lunatic asylum. Cassandra’s own mother had died there, imprisoned on trumped-up accusations of adultery. Had she been mad? Not at first, perhaps, but certainly at the end. And her husband, Cassandra’s father, had shut the door on her as if she had ceased to exist. From the day she was put in the asylum, he had never visited her, never sent to ask after her, and never once mentioned her name.

James Elliott was capable of doing exactly the same to Cassandra if she did anything more to thwart his plans to marry her off. She had to protect Alasdair. But if James really believed she was unchaste—

Cassandra shuddered and dropped her head into her hands. She would not weep. She refused to be so craven. She would—

The key grated in the lock.

Cassandra quickly wiped her face and squared her jaw. If James had returned so quickly, it boded ill. She hastily tucked the precious scrap of paper into her pocket.

‘Miss Cassie?’ It was Morag, Cassie’s maid, who had served the family since Cassandra was a child. ‘I’ve brought you some warm milk, dearie, and some bannocks and cheese. The laird is in a fearful temper with ye, but he’s off to the whor— He’s gone out. He’ll not be back till the morn, ye ken.’ Morag put a pewter plate and a mug on the low table. ‘Eat up, Miss Cassie. I’ll be back in a wee minute to take they things away.’ She said nothing more. There was no need. They both knew that if James discovered what Morag had done, she would be dismissed on the spot.

Cassandra ate greedily. She had had nothing since early morning. The cheese was strong and delicious, the oatcakes newly baked. All too soon, the plate was empty. Cassandra licked her finger and ran it round the rim to pick up any stray crumbs. She was still hungry.



Ross looked up at the sky. He had become used to the longer days as he moved north, taking advantage of the extra hours of daylight to put the greatest possible distance between himself and the pain of London. Here in the Scottish border country, the light held till well-nigh midnight when the weather was fine, as it had been for most of his journey.

But now the weather was changing. And suddenly. On the western horizon, huge black clouds were rearing up like angry stallions, ready to attack with flailing iron-shod hooves. A mighty storm was coming. And there was precious little shelter available for a solitary traveller and his faithful mare.

Ross touched his heel to Hera’s chestnut flank. She needed little encouragement to quicken her pace. She had probably smelt the coming storm long before Ross had noticed anything amiss. He began to regret that he had decided to travel on to Annan instead of stopping on the English side of the border, where there were good beds to be had, and good food for man and beast. Here, so close to the Solway, there was no sign at all of any habitation as far as Ross could see. Probably the ground was too treacherous.

In the distance, he spied a small copse of trees. Dangerous, of course, if there was lightning. He looked up at the sky again. The black anvil clouds were swelling even before his eyes. And they were racing towards him. He had no choice.

He turned Hera towards the copse. He dared not go in. But, in the lee of the trees, they would find some shelter from the increasingly sharp wind, even if not from the wet. He pushed Hera on, urging her to a faster pace than was truly safe in the deepening gloom. ‘Not far now, my beauty,’ he murmured gently, laying a gloved hand on her neck. The mare’s ears twitched at the sound of his voice. She was unsettled by the coming storm. Even her master’s voice was not enough to calm her. ‘Not far now,’ Ross said again.

The mare slowed at the edge of the copse. Its old and misshapen trees had been bent almost double by the prevailing winds. ‘Better than nothing, I fancy,’ Ross said half to himself, preparing to dismount.

An enormous flash of lightning split the sky, followed by seconds of eerie silence. Hera laid her ears back and rolled her eyes in fear. Then came the thunder, growling like a pack of ferocious wolves. Hera tried to rear up, but Ross held her steady, automatically reaching out his hand to calm her.

But he was not thinking about his mare at all. He was concentrating on the sound that he had picked up in that tiny silence. Galloping hooves. Someone else was out on this wild night. By the sound of it, his horse was bolting.

Ross peered into the night, trying to identify the sound against the keening wind. Yes, there! The horse was racing towards him. And its pace had not slackened one jot.

He turned Hera towards the sound, readying her to intercept the stranger. But he had reckoned without the storm. Just as the unknown galloped past him, there was another flash of lightning. Hera reared up again. This time she almost unseated Ross. He wasted precious seconds regaining control, and even more in persuading her to follow the bolting horse.

He had no choice. For in that flash of lightning, he had clearly seen a terrified bay horse and, on its back, an equally terrified girl dressed in what looked like a long white shift and with her dark hair streaming behind her. Heaven knew what she was about, fleeing alone into the night. She might be a thief. She might even be mad. But whatever she was, Ross could not leave her to the mercy of the Solway and the terrible storm.

He kicked Hera into a gallop and cursed loudly when she baulked. ‘Come on,’ he breathed, leaning over her neck. ‘Come on, Hera. Don’t let me down now.’

Obedient to his voice, the mare started bravely forward once more. Ross knew that his chances of catching the girl were slim—she was already well ahead of him and he did not dare to force Hera to match the pace of the bolting horse—but he still had to try. Somewhere in front of them lay the Solway with its quicksands and unpredictable tides. Unless the horse stopped of its own accord, it would probably kill itself and its rider. The odds were against him. But Ross knew he had to try.

Another huge lightning flash, followed immediately by thunder. This time, Hera’s only reaction was a nervous twitch of the ears. Ross was almost sure that he had seen the girl, a long way ahead. There was something white up there, certainly. He urged Hera to move faster.

Now they were in the eye of the storm. The thunder was almost constant. Lightning forked to the ground. The storm seemed all around them, and very dangerous. The sudden drenching rain of high summer had started, too. Ross could feel it soaking through his clothes and running down on to his saddle. He gripped the slippery reins more tightly. He was sure, now, that he was gaining on her. Her horse must be tiring. In that last glimpse, she had seemed much nearer than before.

There was another bright flash and a huge crack of thunder, directly overhead. Ross saw the girl about fifty yards ahead of him. Her horse reared in fright, unseating her. Then it started off again, pulling the white-clad figure behind it.

Ross breathed a curse. She must be caught in the stirrups! The animal must slow now, surely, with such a weight dragging behind it? But the girl… How would she survive such an ordeal?

It seemed to take an age before Ross caught up with them. He reached out to grab the horse’s bridle and force it to a steaming halt. Only then was he able to do anything about the fallen rider.

He threw himself out of the saddle and knelt by the sodden body on the ground. The girl was not moving. Perhaps she was dead? He put a hand under her shoulders to raise her inert form.

‘I can shift for myself, thank you, sir,’ said a sharp voice from underneath the mass of wet hair.

Ross sprang back as if stung.

The girl sat up and tried to push the hair from her face. Then she thrust an arm up in triumph. ‘He thought he had the better of me,’ she cried. ‘Ha! As if I would ever let go.’

In her right hand, twisted round her palm, were the horse’s reins.

‘You could have been killed,’ he said, aghast. ‘Why did you not let him go?’

‘Because I need him,’ she said simply, looking up at Ross through her unkempt mane of hair. ‘Without him, I could never escape.’

Ross shook his head. Perhaps she was mad, even though she did not sound it. ‘Hold my horse,’ he said sharply, thrusting Hera’s reins into the girl’s free hand. ‘Now…’ He jumped to his feet, hauling the girl up after him. Then he took off his coat and placed it round her. She was shivering with cold. And she was wet through.

‘You must not, sir,’ she said crossly, trying to push the coat off her shoulders. ‘I am perfectly well as I am. I was only—’

‘Nonsense,’ he snapped. ‘You will get the ague if we do not get you warm. Now…I presume you are from these parts? Is there any shelter to be had hereabouts?’

‘Well…there is old Shona’s cottage, I suppose. I was going there when Lucifer bolted.’

Ross laughed shortly. ‘He is well named. What on earth made you try to ride such an animal? And dressed as you are, too?’

‘You sound like the dominie. Why is it that every man I meet wants to tell me what to do? I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.’

Ross quirked an eyebrow. She was clearly a lady, but she looked anything but capable. Besides, she was probably no older than fifteen or sixteen. She was soaked to the skin, and her garb was barely decent. And she was riding an ungovernable horse. She clearly needed someone to take charge of her.

‘I am not a schoolmaster, ma’am, even if I sound like one to you. My name is Ross Graham, and I am a stranger in these parts. If you will permit—’ he sketched a hasty and inelegant bow in her direction, which provoked a hint of a smile ‘—I will escort you to safety. Perhaps you would…er…point me in the right direction?’

The girl shook her head at him. ‘Any man who can remember the courtesies of the drawing room in the middle of a raging thunderstorm must be addled in the brain.’

Ross put a hand firmly on her shoulder and squeezed. He had had enough of courtesies. They were getting wetter by the second. ‘Which way, ma’am?’ he demanded sharply.

‘Oh, very well. Help me to mount, and I will show you.’

‘You don’t mean to ride that animal again, do you?’

‘Of course I do! It will be much quicker than walking, you know. And I shan’t let him get away from me again, you may be sure of that. Besides, the storm is passing over. He will be calmer now.’

‘Good grief!’ said Ross to himself, but he threw her up into her saddle, none the less.

The girl set off at much too fast a pace. Unless she knew every inch of this ground, she risked her horse at every step.

‘Have a care!’ Ross cried to her retreating back. ‘You will kill your horse at such a pace in the dark!’

‘Not I!’ she retorted over her shoulder. ‘Follow me if you dare!’

For ten minutes, he did, wondering all the while whether he was right to risk his mare in such conditions. She had carried him through the final two years of the Peninsular War. It was no fair recompense to risk her on the links of the Solway.

‘There!’ cried the girl, pointing to a tiny building, almost hidden against a slight rise in the ground. It looked to be little more than a ruined wall from this distance. ‘Come on!’ She set her heels to Lucifer and pushed him to even greater speed.

Watching her, Ross realised that it was no longer quite so dark. The storm was indeed passing. The rain had almost stopped. He could see the girl quite clearly ahead of him. Her white skirt hung down below the borrowed coat, gleaming against her horse’s dark flanks in spite of the many mud stains upon it. And her legs and feet were bare.

Reaching the tiny cottage, she threw herself from the saddle and began to pound on the door. It opened just as Ross climbed down from Hera’s back and started after her.

From the doorway stepped a tall, black-browed man, grinning fiercely down at the girl. ‘I thought so,’ he said shortly, seizing her by the arms and pushing her roughly towards one of the three men who had followed him from the hut. Ross’s coat fell from her shoulders to the ground. The speaker took no notice. ‘Take care of her while I deal with this blackguard.’

‘Let her go!’ Ross cried. The girl’s captor simply grinned and put a filthy hand across her mouth, muffling her scream of outrage. Ross reached automatically for his weapon. He had none. He had not worn a sword since he had put off his regimentals, and his pistols were snugly holstered by his saddle. He had nothing but his fists. He squared his shoulders. Even one against four, he would show them what a man could do.

The dark man must have sensed something. From nowhere, he produced a pistol and casually pointed it at Ross’s heart. ‘So you’re the man, are ye? Y’are good for nothing but poetry, it seems. Well, we shall see how many lines you can compose among the rats. Take him and bind him, lads.’

The other two men grabbed Ross by the arms and, in spite of all he did to resist, Ross soon found his hands tightly bound behind his back with rough hempen rope, and a dirty piece of sacking tied around his mouth for a gag.

‘Put him on his horse and bring him,’ ordered their leader. ‘Ned, fetch the horses.’

Perhaps, in the dark, they had not noticed the pistols by Hera’s saddle? If only Ross could free his hands, he might be able to—

‘There are pistols here, maister,’ cried one of the ruffians, pulling one from its place and brandishing it in the air.

‘Give them to me. And those bags of his as well. I’ll look through them when we have more light. His coat, too.’

Ross’s captor pushed him onto Hera’s back. With his hands tied behind his back, it would be a dangerous ride.

‘And the leddy, maister?’ The ruffian nodded in the direction of the girl, whose thin gown was now sticking to her limbs, making her look almost naked. She seemed oblivious to that, however, for all her efforts were bent on freeing herself from the man who held her fast.

‘You and Tam, take her back to the house and lock her up,’ cried the master. ‘And make sure she does not escape from you this time, Tam, or it will be the worse for you.’

At that moment, the man Tam cried out in pain and pulled his hand from her mouth. ‘The wench bit me!’

The girl paid not the least attention to Tam. She was glowering at the dark man. ‘Curse you, Jamie Elliott,’ she screamed, with loathing in her voice. ‘May you rot in hell!’

‘I may well, my dear,’ Elliott replied coolly, mounting his horse, ‘but not at your bidding. I will see to you later. For the present, I have more important work to do, in dealing with your lover.’ Leaning forward, he took hold of Hera’s rein and kicked his own mount into a fast trot, pulling Ross’s unwilling mare after him. They were twenty yards away before Ned, standing open-mouthed, hauled himself into the saddle of the second horse and galloped after his master.

Behind them, the girl shouted something, but her words were carried off by the wind. Ross and his captors were alone.



‘Oh, Miss Cassie! Ye’re fair drookit! Just look at you! Did ye not think to take a cloak, at least?’

‘If I’d stopped to find a cloak, I’d not have got away at all.’ Cassandra forced herself to smile at the maid who was fussing around with warm towels and a dry nightgown.

‘But you didna get away, dearie,’ Morag said sadly. ‘And after this, the laird will make sure to keep ye even closer. When he saw that you’d climbed down from your chamber, he was that fashed, he nearly threw Tam out after you. We could hear him yelling, from down in the kitchen. Tam’s to put bars on yer window, first thing in the morn.’ Morag began to towel Cassandra’s sodden mane of hair. ‘My, but ye’re soaked, lassie. ’Twas a daft thing to do. You’ll be getting the ague, next.’

‘That’s what he said, too,’ murmured Cassandra, snuggling into the thick wrapper that Morag had added over her nightdress.

‘The laird said that?’ Morag sounded astonished.

‘Not he,’ said Cassandra, on the thread of a laugh. ‘Jamie Elliott cares not a whit whether I live or die, provided that I do not inconvenience him and his plans.’

‘Wheesht, lassie!’ Morag’s finger went to her lips. Her eyes registered shock. And fear.

‘It’s no more than the truth,’ Cassandra said, though more quietly than before. ‘If I died of the ague, my brother would think himself relieved of an unwelcome burden.’

Morag looked grim, but she did not attempt to argue. The whole household knew what the laird thought of his young half-sister. And how unfairly he treated her.

‘Morag,’ said Cassandra urgently, ‘when the laird and the men come back, you must do your best to find out what they have done with him. Please.’

‘What d’ye mean?’

‘The man who tried to rescue me.’

‘Rescue…? I think you’d better start at the beginning, Miss Cassie. You’ve got my head in a whirl.’

Cassandra patted the woman’s work-roughened hand and let out a long sigh. ‘Aye, I suppose… Well…I thought Jamie planned to leave me locked in the little parlour downstairs. I was surprised when Tam said I was to be locked in my own chamber instead. Until I thought about it, of course. From the parlour, I might have been able to speak to someone outside, even when the shutters were barred. From my own chamber, there was no chance of that. Not without shouting and being caught. It’s too high up.’

‘D’ye tell me you climbed down the wall?’

‘I… No, I didn’t. But Jamie must think I did.’

‘But if the door was locked—’

Cassandra smiled knowingly. ‘There are ways of getting a key from the other side of a door, you know, Morag.’

The maid looked unconvinced.

‘You’ll keep my secret, Morag?’

The woman nodded.

Cassandra knew Morag was to be trusted. ‘I slipped a paper under the door and then I turned the key from the inside. It took a while. It was very stiff. Then I pushed it out and it fell on the floor. I was lucky. It fell onto the paper and there was just room to pull it back under the door.’

‘Oh!’ said Morag in wonderment.

‘It’s an old trick. I’m surprised Jamie didn’t work it out. Maybe he was fooled because I relocked the door and left the key there. And the window open.’

‘But why did you go off in just yer thin gown? And not even a pair of shoon on yer feet?’

‘It was all I had, apart from a shawl. And I lost that when Lucifer bolted. Jamie had Tam clear out my clothes press. He said I should get used to living in a shift. That’s how I’d be dressed when I was taken to the Bedlam, he said.’ Cassandra swallowed hard at the terrifying memory, even more terrifying now that she had tried, and failed, to escape.

‘He’ll not send ye there,’ Morag said firmly. ‘Nobody thinks ye’re mad. And he canna marry you out of the asylum, can he?’

‘But he says I’m a…a harlot. Like my…’ her voice dropped to a strangled whisper ‘…like my mother. He could confine me for that. You know he could.’

‘He’ll not do that. He’ll…he’d have yer godfather to reckon with if he did, and he’ll not take the chance of that.’ Morag nodded, as if to confirm the truth of her words.

And it was true, Cassandra thought. Her godfather, Sir Angus Fergusson, had once promised to stand by her, even though he had been estranged from the family for many years. And he wielded just as much clout as Jamie, perhaps more. If only she’d been able to reach him…

‘Was that where you were going?’ At Cassandra’s answering nod, Morag burst out, ‘You were going to cross the Solway in the mirk? Alone? Ye are mad, lassie!’

‘It wasn’t that dark. Not till the storm came. And I was going to get Shona to take me across. Only Lucifer bolted in the storm. It was all I could do to hang on to him.’ She did not add that she had been hanging on while being dragged along the ground. Better to let Morag think that she had still been on his back.

‘Ye might have ended up in the quicksands,’ Morag breathed in horror.

‘Well, I didn’t. A man caught us. He… I couldn’t see him very well in the gloom, but he spoke like a gentleman.’ She smiled to herself. He had acted like a gentleman, too. Such fancy manners he had. Ross Graham. Who stopped to introduce himself in the middle of a thunderstorm.

‘But the laird wouldna lay hands on a gentleman, surely?’

‘I doubt he knows, Morag. They bound him and gagged him before he had a chance to say a word. And in the dark, no one would be able to tell from his clothes. Besides, they were all dripping wet.’ She stopped, twisting her hands together. ‘You must find out what they did with him, Morag. You must. Even if they…even if they’ve killed him.’ She shut her eyes tightly for a second against the horrifying picture her own words had conjured up. Jamie would not stoop to murder. Would he?




Chapter Two


R oss opened his eyes. He could see absolutely nothing. It was pitch dark. But he did not need his eyes to know just what sort of place he was in. His nose told him that. It reeked of damp and decay. More muted was a clear reminder of the stench of human bodies kept imprisoned for too long. There was something else, too, that he could not quite identify.

Where was he? He stretched out a hand, touching damp straw over the stone floor where he lay. He had already felt the cold eating into his body. Clearly, this place—whatever it was—never saw the sun. He made to sit up. Too quickly. A searing pain in the back of his skull stopped him dead.

Ah, yes. Now he remembered. He had tried to escape when they reached the outskirts of Dumfries and had been struck down for his pains. He put a hand to the back of his head and gingerly felt for blood. There appeared to be none, though there was a distinct lump under his hair. Well, he had suffered worse in the wars. He would mend. At least Elliott and his dastardly companion had untied his arms.

Ross felt about in the dark. He had been thrown down near a wall and so he sat up, rather more cautiously than before, and leant his aching head against it for a few moments. Where was he? Somewhere in Dumfries, he supposed, but clearly a prisoner of the man, Elliott.

Ross’s fingers began to quest around in the dank straw beneath him. His left hand met something different. Why, it was his sodden coat! He should have recognised that pervasive smell of wet wool. He pulled the coat towards him and quickly checked the pockets. Not surprisingly perhaps, his money was gone. He cursed roundly. Then, with a grim smile, he ran his fingers down the inside of the lining, where the hidden pocket lay. It remained intact. He still had his English banknotes. But it was a pity that he no longer had golden guineas with which to bribe his way out of whatever prison Elliott had thrown him into. Elliott. And that girl. He remembered her vividly, lying crumpled on the ground. Who was she? Whoever she was, Elliott certainly had some hold over her. She—

Something scuttled over Ross’s foot. A rat. Of course. There were bound to be rats in a place like this. It was bad, but no worse than many a Spanish billet during the war. Ross shrugged philosophically. The gesture reminded him, painfully, that he should not make any hasty movements. His head was not up to it. He must move slowly and carefully. He should explore his prison and find out whether there was any possibility of escape. In this clammy darkness, he could not tell whether there was even a window.

He pushed himself on to his knees. Then, with a hand on the wall for support, he slowly began to get to his feet. Just at that moment, a door opened in the far wall and a lantern appeared. Ross was temporarily blinded by the sudden light and unable to see what was beyond.

A man’s voice said, ‘Och, so ye’re no’ dead then,’ and broke into raucous laughter.

Ross stared towards the doorway, trying to make out the features of the man who stood there. It was neither Elliott nor his henchman, Ross decided. This man was much stouter than either.

‘I’ve brought ye a wee bit dinner,’ said the man. The lantern stooped and there was the muffled clatter of a metal plate on the straw-covered stone floor.

Ross took a step towards the door.

‘Stay jist where ye are!’ cried the man quickly. ‘I’ve a pistol here and I’ll shoot ye, if ye come a step nearer!’

Ross stopped in his tracks, allowing his arms to hang loosely by his sides, palms forward. ‘You must know that I have no weapons,’ he said calmly.

‘Aye, but the laird said ye was dangerous. I am no’ to take any chances with ye.’

‘And you are the laird’s man?’ said Ross, proudly.

‘Nothing o’ the kind,’ protested the man at the door. ‘I do my duty by ye, as I would by any other prisoner.’

A cold chill ran down Ross’s spine. ‘Where am I?’

‘Where d’ye think? Ye’re in the gaol, in Dumfries.’

‘And with what crime am I charged, to be held here? I have done nothing to warrant it.’

The turnkey laughed. ‘That’s no’ the way the laird tells it. He says ye’ll hang.’

‘Dammit, man!’ Ross took another step forward. ‘I’ve done—’

‘Stop where ye are!’

Ross stopped dead. However, the gaoler had moved smartly backwards and closed the door between them. The lantern now showed the bars in the tiny window in the door.

‘Ye’ll learn yer fate soon enough,’ said the man with a low chuckle as he turned the key. ‘Soon enough.’ The lantern receded and disappeared. Ross was alone again. In the dark.

He had endured too many hardships in the Peninsula to dwell on might-have-beens. His first thought was to secure the plate and whatever food had been provided, before the rats ate it. He got down on his knees once more and then felt his way towards where the light had been, until his outstretched fingers found the plate. It contained a largish piece of hard bread and nothing else. Ross grinned into the darkness. It was quite like old times.

He broke off a chunk from the stale bread and chewed it thoughtfully. He needed to get a message to someone. Was there anyone in Dumfries who would help an unknown gentleman from England? Perhaps with one of the banknotes from his hidden store, he could bribe the gaoler to take a letter to the provost or the local magistrate? Yes, he would do that.

A thought struck him. He was surprised into a burst of hollow laughter. What if the local magistrate was the Elliott laird?



Cassandra paced the floor of her chamber. Her gaol. Her only consolation was that her clothes had been returned to her. She was decently clad, and shod. But now there were bars on her window, making the room feel even more like a prison.

She refused to dwell on that. With luck, she might be able to unlock the door using the same trick as before. But first, she must have news of the man who had tried to rescue her. What on earth was keeping Morag? Surely she should have been able to glean some news by now?

The sound of the key turning in the lock brought a halt to her pacing. Morag?

The door opened. ‘Morag!’ Cassandra cried as the servant entered, bearing a tray of food. ‘Have you found out what happened to the ma—?’

Morag frowned warningly and gave a tiny shake of her head.

‘She has tried, sister,’ said a voice from the darkness beyond the doorway. James Elliott stepped forward into the room and pushed the door behind him. ‘She has tried so hard that even Tam noticed her eagerness for information. And you will agree that our Tam is not the quickest of nature’s creatures. So, since you are so desperate for news of your lover, I have come to bring it myself.’

‘He is not my lover!’ Cassandra protested hotly. ‘I never saw him before yesterday!’

James ignored her. ‘Return to the kitchen,’ he ordered sharply. ‘And remember what I said, woman. You will not attend on my sister until I give you leave. If I find you have been alone with her, you will find yourself in the workhouse. Or the gutter.’

Morag had shrunk away from his terrible words. Without venturing even a glance at Cassandra, she hurried out. Cassandra’s only ally had been defeated.

James threw himself down into the high-backed oak chair and stretched out his long legs. He had every appearance of a gentleman sitting at his ease. But James Elliott was no gentleman. He was—

‘Now, sister. We have matters to discuss. First, that woman of yours. She will no longer serve you. Not alone. Tam will make sure that you have no opportunity for private speech with her. Or with anyone else who might try to help you. Understand that I am the laird, and my will is to be respected. No one will be allowed to cross me. Not even you.’

This time, Cassandra did not protest. She refused to look at him. She clenched her jaw and stared at the floor. Hot words clamoured for release, but she would not give in to them. A moment’s satisfaction was not worth weeks of even greater restrictions on her person.

‘Lost your tongue sister?’ James’s voice was now thoroughly nasty. He paused for a few seconds. Then, realising that Cassandra was not about to respond, he said, ‘You wanted information about your lover. You thought I had killed him, did you not? Faith, lassie, I am not such a fool as to put myself on the wrong side of the law. Not when it stands ready to help me.’

Cassandra raised her eyes to his face. At least Ross Graham was not dead.

‘Your lover, my dear sister, is in Dumfries gaol awaiting his trial. And, after it, he will hang.’

‘No!’ Cassandra shrieked. ‘No! You cannot! He has done nothing!’

James raised his eyebrows and glared mockingly at her. ‘Nothing? I think not, my dear. Abduction is a serious offence. A hanging offence. And I stand ready to swear that he abducted you. I have no doubt that the law will dispose of your lover to my complete satisfaction.’

‘You would perjure yourself? Before God?’ whispered Cassandra in horror.

‘It is no perjury. I found ye both, remember? And I have three witnesses to the fact, besides old Shona.’

‘James…please.’ For herself, she would not plead. But she could not allow an innocent man to be hanged. ‘He is not my lover. I will swear it, on a stack of bibles if you wish. I had never seen him before. I was alone.’ At the look of disbelief on her half-brother’s face, she became even more desperate. ‘I was alone, I swear it. I was going to cross the Solway. I thought if I could get to my godfather’s—’

James’s head jerked up. He scowled blackly at the reminder that he had one enemy who was powerful enough to take his sister’s part.

Cassandra rushed on. ‘The storm caught me. Lucifer bolted. If that man had not appeared from nowhere and stopped us, Lucifer would have bolted straight into the firth. ’Twere better if he had, perhaps. Then you would have been rid of an unwelcome burden.’

James looked unconvinced. But he ignored most of what Cassandra had said, merely replying, ‘You are a burden, indeed. You and your lovers. I warn you. You are likely to seal your own fate. An unmarried sister has a degree of value. But only if she is known to be chaste.’ He rose. Ignoring Cassandra’s gasp of outrage, he bent forward, seizing her chin and forcing her head up so that he could assess her features. ‘You are not so bad looking when you lose that mulish expression. I might be able to get a good price for you.’

‘You would sell me? Like a…a horse?’ Until that moment, Cassandra had dared to hope that she might have at least some say in the choice of a husband. She should have known better. She knew James.

‘Why, sister, what else did you think I would do? I had no intention of keeping ye here much longer in any case. I can easily find another—cheaper—housekeeper. A sister costs too much. But, after this escapade, I must get you safely leg-shackled before the rumours start. Like mother, like daughter, they’ll say, and then you’ll have no value at all.’

Cassandra gasped, then bit her lip. Hard.

‘What? Nothing to say, girl? Don’t you wish to plead with me to find you a handsome young buck for a husband?’

Cassandra said nothing.

‘Well, no. Perhaps you are right to hold your tongue. You know as well as I do that handsome young bucks rarely have the blunt that old men do. So, I fear that your husband is unlikely to be young. Or handsome. Indeed, the man I have in mind is—’ He stopped short, waiting for her question. When she remained stubbornly silent, he strolled to the door. ‘One thing I will promise you, though,’ he drawled, as he opened it. ‘Your husband may be old and cross-eyed, but he will be a gentleman. I do have my position to consider. Good morrow to ye, sister.’

Then he was gone. The door was locked behind him. Cassandra was alone again. And now she was desperately afraid. She must do something to save Ross Graham. She must! She could consider her own predicament later. It was much less important than a man’s life. James intended to use the law to kill Ross Graham. And he was ready to perjure his soul to do it. She must do something. She must! But what?

Cassandra resumed her pacing. The tray of food remained untouched on the table. If she swallowed a bite, it would choke her.



It was still dark. But it must be morning by now, surely? Ross knew he had not been asleep for more than a few hours, at most. Even with his coat wrapped around him, the cold had penetrated his bones. He had woken, shivering. So now he paced the floor of his tiny cell, trying to get some warmth back into his limbs. Three paces, turn about, three paces, turn about, three paces…

He had too much time to think here. That was the real problem of his confinement. He could do nothing more now until the gaoler reappeared. Nothing except pace. And remember. He tried to focus instead on Elliott and that girl. By Jove, she was a handful!

Ross tried to picture what she looked like, but failed. He could see only a mass of dark hair, tangled and dripping, and a white gown that clung to her limbs. He recalled his shock at discovering that her feet and legs were bare. But he could not recall her features. Had he actually seen her face in the darkness? He had had a vague impression of huge dark eyes in a pale face. Nothing more. He was not at all sure he would recognise her if he saw her again.

Still pacing, he grinned into the darkness. See her? How could he? He could not even see his own hand in front of his face!

His decision was already made. When the gaoler returned, he would offer him a bribe in return for pen and ink, and the promise to take a letter to the provost. Ross fingered the hidden pocket and the riches concealed there. It had served him well in France and Spain, and had saved his beloved Julie from many a hardship.

Julie…The memories came flooding in, like the rush of water when the sluice is released. He remembered every detail of her beautiful face, her peach-bloom complexion, her golden hair. The sinuous curves that moved beneath the plain cheap gown she wore, causing his breath to catch in his throat and his body to heat. Her low husky voice, her brilliant smile, the way she worried at her full lower lip when her thoughts were far away—

Enough! He knew now what she had been daydreaming about. Certainly not about Ross Graham, much though she had tried to cozen him into believing that her regard for him might soon turn into love. She had played him for a fool.

A part of him—the gallant, honourable part—attempted to defend her still. Perhaps he had misunderstood her behaviour? Was it not possible that she had intended to show him only gratitude, and friendship? That he had simply seen what he longed to see?

He paused to think back over the months of their escape together, the hundreds of miles they had tramped from Julie’s humble cottage along the French Mediterranean coast and across the north of Spain to find a ship to England. She had been so brave and determined throughout their ordeal, in spite of all the dangers, even when they had so nearly been captured by Bonaparte’s soldiers. Was that what had blinded him to her wiles? For they were just that—wiles. She was a lady, of course, but that had not stopped her from flirting with Ross: those frequent little touches of her fingers, how she insisted he take her hand to help her over uneven ground, the way she looked up at him with those wide trusting eyes, running her tongue over her lips as if inviting him to kiss her. Damn it, she had known he could not. Not while he alone was responsible for bringing her out from under the nose of the enemy and delivering her safely to her relatives in London. She knew he was a man of honour. That was surely why she had agreed to escape with him? Was it necessary to make him love her, too?

He shuddered. Whatever her motives, she had succeeded. Twice—at Perpignan and at Santander—he had tried to declare himself. Twice she had silenced him with a soft finger across his lips. ‘Say nothing now, my dear friend,’ she had said, that last time. ‘We shall be in London soon, and free. There we may both say everything that is in our hearts.’ And then she had smiled her blinding white smile and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Almost as if she were tasting him.

Ross’s body began to harden at the very thought. He cursed aloud at his own weakness. For a woman he had never even kissed!

Fool that he was, he had believed that Julie, the granddaughter of a marquis, would stoop to consider a man with little wealth and no family. He had persuaded himself that once she was free, and safe in London, she would admit that Ross had captured her heart.

It had not happened. They had arrived in London on that strangest of days, when the whole city was rejoicing at the news of the victory at Waterloo. Julie had almost been run down by one of the mail coaches, all hung with oak leaves, racing out of the city to carry the tidings to the furthest corners of the land. Ross had pulled her into his arms to save her, feeling the rapid beating of her heart against his chest, filling his lungs with the scent of her skin and her hair, holding her close as he had been longing to do… For seconds only. And then it was over. She had drawn away from him. With the utmost propriety, they had made their way to Berkeley Square to be welcomed into her noble English family.

There, for one more second—just one—he had smiled, knowing that on the morrow he would finally tell her everything that was in his heart.

And then he had seen it. Julie’s eyes were fixed on that other man. Her face was lighting up with love. As hers blazed brighter, Ross’s hidden flame of love and hope had flickered and sunk to a dull ember. And then to cold and twisted dross.

She had never loved him. Never. She could have been in no doubt that Ross was losing his heart to her. Did she care? Certainly not enough to tell him the truth, that her heart was already given. She had prevented him from declaring himself, no doubt to save her own blushes, not his heartbreak. For, if he had once spoken, she would have had to refuse him. And to tell him why. Oh, it was so much easier to play him like a fish on a hook, a little slack here, a little tug there. Keep the stupid fish thinking that it is not being duped, that it has free choice. Never let it see that it is about to be served up on a plate.

Incensed at himself, and at Julie, Ross slammed his clenched fist into the wall. For a moment, the pain stopped him from thinking. Then bleak sanity returned.

Was I bewitched? he wondered. One beautiful woman, helpless, dependent on me for her safety, relying on my honour to preserve her virtue? Is that all it takes? Aye. One beautiful woman gazing up into my eyes and my wits go a-begging. After all those years in the wars, I should have learnt to deal better with women. God knows there were enough of them asking for our help, for our ‘protection’. And beautiful women, too. But not one of them wormed her way into my heart.

Until Julie. Beautiful, desirable, bewitching Julie. With a heart encased in cold stone.

Ross felt as if a powerful fist had grasped his own heart and was squeezing fit to crush the life out of him. The pain was immense. Unbearable.

‘No!’ he cried the single word aloud. No! I will not let one scheming woman ruin my life. I will forget her, as she deserves. She is not worth one instant’s suffering. And I will never again allow a beautiful woman to bewitch me as Julie did. If ever I take a wife, let her be dark and ugly and…and mute. I will not be beguiled again, not by beauty, or honeyed words, or gentle touches on my skin. If ever I find another woman in distress, pleading for my help, I shall turn my back on her, and laugh as I ride away.

A sudden spasm of pain in his injured hand caused him to gasp aloud. And then he began to laugh, a great gale of cleansing laughter welling up from deep inside his soul, sweeping away the bitterness and the anger. When at last it subsided, he felt totally drained. But now, finally, he was free.

He had loved Julie. He would willingly have died for her. But the love was gone, extinguished like a single candle flame doused by a torrent of water. He was whole again. He could go forward. Like an adder, he had sloughed off his old damaged skin. In its place was a new whole one, strong and supple, with a clear warning pattern.

He forced his shoulders to straighten into something resembling his normal upright carriage. He must look to the future, however threatening it now seemed. He had come to Scotland to solve the mystery surrounding his family and if…when he managed to escape from this prison, that was exactly what he would do. No one, however noble, would be able to look down on him in the future. He would still be an officer and a gentleman, but he would find a family to be proud of. It would be a new life.

In that new life, he would keep his heart well-armoured against tender feelings. For any woman.




Chapter Three


S tooping, Cassandra muttered darkly under her breath. There was light coming through the keyhole. James had clearly taken the precaution of removing the key. Perhaps he suspected that Morag had helped her to escape?

She crossed to the single chair and dropped heavily into it. She must protect Morag from James. The maid would be prepared to take risks for Cassandra—out of love and devotion—but she must not be permitted to do so. For James was a cruel and vindictive man. He would take pleasure in dismissing Morag and in doing everything in his power to ensure she starved.

There must be another way.

Ross Graham was in Dumfries gaol. He was to be brought to trial. That meant an appearance before the provost, perhaps even before the Sheriff himself. The provost would believe Jamie’s accusations of abduction. He would authorise a trial. He had no reason to doubt the Elliott laird’s word.

Unless the Elliott daughter herself disputed it.

She had to find a way of persuading the provost to call her as a witness. She had to tell him what had really happened. Perhaps Morag…? No. Too dangerous. Not Morag. Besides, the maid would have no plausible reason for going to Dumfries, and no means of travelling there, either.

Cassandra leant her elbows on the table, picked up her pen and began to chew the end of the quill. She must do it herself. Somehow.

She could write a letter, of course, but there was no one to whom she dared entrust it. Morag was the only one who would take her part. And using Morag for such a hazardous task was out of the question.

She raised her hand to wipe her damp brow. She must have caught a chill from being out in that thunderstorm. She felt a little hot. But what did that matter? It was but a minor indisposition when a man’s life was at stake. She felt in her pocket for a handkerchief.

Her fingers found, not fine linen, but a tiny scrap of paper.

Alasdair! The fifteen-year-old youth from the nearby estate who fancied himself in love with Cassandra. The lad who wrote her bad poetry in which he swore to serve her unto death. Would he dare to serve her now, in spite of the risk of crossing her fearsome half-brother?

She must try. If Alasdair were caught, James would give him a thrashing, but nothing more. Even James would not dare to do real harm to a gentleman’s son, especially when they were such near neighbours. James could not afford to make even more enemies in Galloway.

Cassandra swallowed hard. If only she could escape! She had absolutely no wish to put Alasdair in danger, but what choice did she have? None. She was about to wager a beating for Alasdair against a hanging for Ross Graham. She could not allow her rescuer to die.

She rose and began to pace, planning what she must do. She must write a careful note to the provost. But not now. Not yet. There was always the chance that James would have her chamber searched, or walk in on her, as he had done when he found her with Alasdair’s poems. No. The note must be written just before it was despatched.

But how to despatch it? She could drop it out of the window, perhaps, but only if Alasdair were already there. And the lad knew better than to be found on Elliott land. What if—?

A tiny knock on the door interrupted her ravelled thoughts.

‘Miss Cassie!’ The strident whisper could be clearly heard. Morag must be at the keyhole.

Cassandra ran to the door. ‘Morag!’ she whispered urgently. ‘Be careful! If my brother hears you—’

‘Dinna fret, Miss Cassie. The master’s at his meat. And Tam is waiting on him. I’ve told Tam that ye need feeding too, but—’

‘Never mind that, Morag. Listen. I need you to get a message to Alasdair. Tell him to come here as soon as it’s dark. I’ll drop him a note. He’s to take it to Provost Scobie. Tell him it’s urgent. Can you do that? Please, Morag? I know that—’

‘Wheesht, lassie. Of course I can do it. I’ll tell Tam I’m away to see the cook at Alasdair’s house, that I need to borrow—’

Even through the barrier of the heavy bedroom door, Cassandra heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Oh, God! Morag would be caught! And it was Cassandra’s fault. She held her breath, waiting for an outburst from Tam, or from her brother.

None came. Instead, she heard weary footsteps toiling to the top of the stairs and then plodding along the corridor to her door. It could only be Tam. Her brother was younger, and much lighter on his feet. Slightly relieved that Morag seemed to have escaped detection, Cassandra moved quietly back to her chair and sat down, resting her head on her hand and breathing deeply in an attempt to calm her nerves. She must not let Tam see how frightened she had been that Morag might be caught. She must appear to be totally downhearted at the turn of events, and at her brother’s victory over her. She must appear to be cowed.

Tam did not knock. He simply unlocked the door and walked in.

That changed Cassandra’s mind completely, for she knew better than to permit such behaviour from her brother’s servant. She rose from her place and glared at the man. ‘You did not knock,’ she said coldly.

‘I thought I heard somethin’. I had to see that ye—’

‘Nothing of the kind. I’ll warrant you marched into my chamber in hopes of finding me in a state of undress. Do you know what happens to such men, Tam? Peeping Tom was struck blind, remember?’

Tam began to bluster.

‘Enough of your lies! I shall tell the laird of your unseemly behaviour as soon as I see him. He will not believe your excuses, either. He knows full well there is no escape from this room, now that the windows have been barred.’

Tam’s colour had fled at the mention of the laird. ‘There’s no need to say anything t’ the laird, mistress. He— I was coming up to see ye anyway, to find out what ye was wanting for yer dinner. There’s fresh-baked bannocks. And Morag’s made a great kettle o’ venison stew, if ye’d like. And—’

‘That will do me very well, Tam, for I have not eaten today. Perhaps tomorrow you will be more mindful of your duties towards me. It falls to you, after all, to ensure that I am well enough fed that I have no grounds for complaining to my brother.’ She stared him out until he looked away.

‘I’ll fetch yer food right away, mistress,’ he said, slinking out of the room.

Cassandra listened. Tam was not so intimidated that he failed to lock the door. A pity. But at least he would not dare to walk in again unannounced. She could write her letter to the provost, knowing that she would have time to hide it if he came upstairs again.

She sat down at the table and picked up the chewed quill. She dipped the pen in the standish and began to compose one of the most important missives of her life.



‘I’ve brought yer coat, sir.’

Ross pushed himself to his feet and strode forward to take the coat from the gaoler. Under his shirt, the comforting wad of banknotes moved against his skin. He would keep it there from now on.

‘My missus did her best, sir, but it’s no’ what it was. It’s dry enough, and she brushed it, but—’

‘No matter,’ Ross said, beginning to shrug his arms into the sleeves. It struck him, absurdly in the circumstances, that it was as well that he had never indulged in the form-fitting coats made by Weston, for this one had shrunk a fraction. It felt distinctly tight across the shoulders. A Weston coat would have split.

‘The provost wants to see ye, sir. I’m to bring ye to his house.’

‘Excellent,’ said Ross. ‘I take it that the provost has the power to get me out of this pestilential hole?’

‘Aye…that is…I don’t rightly know if… Thing is, sir, I have to take ye through the streets an’…an’ye’ll have to be in shackles.’

‘What?’ Ross barked.

‘It’s more than my place is worth, sir, to take ye wi’out. If ye was to escape—’

‘I have no intention of trying to escape, gaoler. Where would I go? I have no horse, no clothes… I am a gentleman. I will give you my word that I shall not try to escape on the way to or from the provost’s house. Will that content you?’

‘If ’twere only me, sir, I’d take yer word like a shot, but it’s the provost, ye see, sir, and—’

Ross calmly fastened the buttons on his coat. ‘You have received a certain degree of…er…compensation from me in the matter of the letter you delivered to the provost, gaoler. It is possible that you may be able to render me similar services in the future. But only if you are prepared to treat me as a gentleman.’

‘Weel…’

‘And then, of course, there would be no need for me to mention our…understandings to the provost.’

‘Aye. Ye’re right, sir. There’ll be no need for they shackles if I have yer word on it.’

Ross nodded solemnly.

‘And anyways, I’ll still have my pistol. If ye was to run, I’d have to shoot ye.’ He grinned slyly, raising the huge old-fashioned pistol that had been hidden by the skirts of his coat.

Ross raised his eyebrows. ‘I was rather hoping it was my hat you had there.’ He ran the fingers of both hands through his unkempt hair. ‘I am in no fit state to meet the provost, or any other gentleman. I don’t suppose your wife has saved my hat as well as my coat?’

‘Ye didn’t have no hat when ye arrived, sir. Nor gloves, neither. Jist the coat, and what ye stood up in.’

Ross shrugged his shoulders. His hat was probably somewhere out by the Solway, half trampled into the mud. He ran his fingers through his hair one last time. ‘Very well. That is the best I can do. Will you lead the way, gaoler?’

With a grin, the turnkey shook his head and stood aside to allow Ross to pass out of the tiny cell. ‘We’ll jist walk along thegither, sir.’ He lifted his pistol a fraction. ‘Jist so as I can see ye.’

Ross grinned back and walked out towards the daylight that he had not seen for more than two whole days.



‘Why is the prisoner not shackled?’ Provost Scobie was a small round man, but he had drawn himself up to his full height to berate the gaoler.

‘I have given my parole that I will not attempt to escape, sir,’ said Ross calmly, before the gaoler could say a word.

The provost looked Ross up and down. His lip curled a fraction.

Ross took a deep breath. ‘Allow me to introduce myself, sir. I am Captain Ross Graham, late of his Majesty’s Fifty-second Regiment. A holder of the King’s commission does not break his word.’

The provost recoiled half a step in the face of Ross’s implacable stare. ‘Ah, indeed, sir. Indeed. As you say. But the charges against ye, they are serious, very serious. I have read yer letter but…well, I can’t see my way to… With James Elliott a witness against ye, there’s nothing to be done until you come to trial.’

‘And when will that be?’

‘Well, that’s difficult to say. It depends on the witnesses and—’

‘This is a civilised country, Provost. You cannot just throw a man into gaol and leave him to rot. Habeas corpus demands that you bring me to trial or set me free.’

The provost cocked his head on one side and raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, now, sir, that’s just where ye are wrong. Habeas corpus is English law. The writ does not run on this side of the border. Even a fine gentleman like yerself may have to stay in the gaol until it should be convenient to bring him to trial.’ He looked straight at the turnkey, who shuffled his feet a little, but said nothing. ‘And on such a serious charge, the sheriff himself would need to preside…and he’s not due to be in Dumfries for quite a wee while.’ He stroked his jaw thoughtfully.

Provost Scobie was going out of his way to be unhelpful. Probably in Elliott’s pocket. So Ross would have to find a way of helping himself.

‘On such a serious charge, as you put it, Provost, a gentleman must be allowed to call on the services of his friends.’ Ross glanced round the small bookroom and lighted on a kneehole desk piled high with files and papers. The provost was not a tidy worker, it seemed. ‘You will permit me to write a letter, I take it?’ Without giving the man time to reply, Ross sat down at the desk, pushed the papers into a precarious heap, and began to write on a sheet of the provost’s expensive paper.

‘I…well, I… Sir, you have no—’ The provost paused to collect himself.

Ignoring him, Ross continued to write swiftly.

‘Sir, prisoners are not permitted private correspondence. This is most irregular. I—’

‘You are welcome to read my letter before I seal it, sir,’ Ross said equably, without lifting his head. He needed to send only a very short note. His friend, Max, as a member of the House of Lords, was bound to be acquainted with some of Scotland’s nobility. Provost Scobie was the kind of man who would take heed of an earl or a duke before any mere laird.

Ross sanded and folded his letter but did not seal it. Then he addressed it to Max’s London home. He would still be there. Probably.

Provost Scobie came to stand by Ross’s chair. ‘The letter, if you please.’ He held out his hand.

Ross calmly unfolded the sheet and gave it to him. The provost read it through quickly, glanced suspiciously at Ross, and then read the letter again. He frowned. And he was beginning to look a little worried, too. Good.

‘It is a very straightforward letter, as you see, sir. I have asked my friend to find some persons of standing—Scotsmen—who may intercede on my behalf. You cannot object to that, I dare say?’

‘Er…no. No, I suppose not. But who is to say that your friend, er—’ he looked again at the letter ‘—your friend, Max, can persuade a Scottish gentleman of standing to perform such a service for you?’ He was looking down his nose at Ross as he spoke.

Ross twitched the sheet out of the provost’s hand and rose to his feet so that the little man had to look up at him instead. ‘I can rely on my friend,’ he said with a smile, turning the sheet over and putting it almost under the provost’s nose. There, in Ross’s firm hand, was the address: The Rt. Hon. the Earl of Penrose.

The provost goggled and began to stammer something unintelligible.

‘Provost Scobie.’ The door had opened at the provost’s back to admit an ancient manservant. ‘The colonel has arrived, sir. Shall I show him into the parlour, or—?’

The provost turned to the door with obvious relief. ‘No, indeed. I’ll come myself this minute.’ Without sparing even a glance for Ross, the provost scuttled out into the hallway. The servant closed the door behind him.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the gaoler with a hint of an apologetic smile. ‘Looks like I’ll be taking ye back.’

Ross swallowed an oath. He was not beaten yet. The provost had clearly thought his prisoner was a nobody. Now that he’d discovered Ross had high-ranking connections, the little man would be racking his brains for a way of placating both Ross and the Elliott laird. He was playing for time. But he would not be given it.

Ross strode across to the door and flung it open.

The provost was bowing to a tall, dignified man who was just on the point of handing his hat and cane to the servant. Grimly, Ross clenched his jaw and waited for the right moment to intervene. The visitor was clearly a gentleman.

‘My apologies, Colonel, for keeping you waiting.’ The provost bowed again to his visitor. ‘Legal business, you understand, with this…er…this prisoner.’ He indicated Ross with a vague hand gesture. The look that accompanied it held more than a hint of uncertainty. ‘If you would like to come into the parlour, I have a very fine Madeira that I should—’

‘A moment, Provost,’ said the colonel sharply. ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to explain what the devil is going on here? This is Captain Graham, is it not? I must ask you to explain why you have this gentleman in custody.’

Ross frowned in surprise. This colonel knew him. But how? Ross scrutinised the unknown officer carefully, but could not place him. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but that was all. And yet—

Seeing Ross’s uncertainty, the colonel stepped forward and offered his hand. ‘You won’t remember me, Captain Graham. I’m Colonel Anstruther. I was invalided home after Badajoz. We did not run across each other much in the Peninsula. But I remember you well enough. General Picton spoke very highly of you.’

The two men shook hands, totally ignoring the provost and the hovering gaoler. ‘Thank you, sir,’ Ross said. ‘It was an honour to serve with him. You know, I suppose, that he fell at Waterloo?’

‘Aye. I heard. A sad loss.’ He shook his head regretfully.

The silence was broken by the provost. ‘Colonel,’ he began, stepping forward, ‘if you—’

‘You have not told me why this officer is being held, Provost.’

‘I…er…’ The provost had turned very red. ‘Well, Colonel, he is facing a very serious charge. Abduction. Brought by James Elliott, the victim’s brother. I would not have confined the captain, you understand, but Elliott insisted. Said he was bound to try to escape. And that he was dangerous, too. Much as I’d be minded to—’ he smiled weakly at Ross ‘—I cannot just release him.’

Ross ignored the provost completely. ‘Colonel,’ he said warmly, ‘I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have someone to speak on my behalf. In a country with no habeas corpus, it seems I can simply be left to rot and—’

‘Nonsense. Who told you that?’

‘I—’

‘I told the Captain we have no habeas corpus, Colonel,’ interrupted the provost. ‘And it’s true enough, as you know. I was just about to tell him about the Scots law equivalent when you arrived, so he may have misunderstood the situation. Scotland is a civilised country, Captain. Prisoners are not left to rot here, any more than in England.’

‘And now that I am prepared to vouch for Captain Graham, there need be no delay about releasing him, Provost. The Captain will give you his parole and you will release him into my custody.’

The provost hesitated. He was shuffling his feet nervously. ‘James Elliott insisted—’

‘James Elliott may be assured that Captain Graham will make no attempt to escape. Unless you doubt my word in this, Provost?’

The provost almost cowered before the colonel’s ferocious frown. Rubbing his hands together in his agitation, the little man looked from the colonel to Ross and back again. There was no hint of weakness in either of them. ‘I must know where the prisoner is to be found, sir,’ he said lamely.

‘I shall be in residence here in Dumfries for some weeks now. Captain Graham will be my guest. You may rest assured that I shall not take him out of your jurisdiction.’ The colonel turned to Ross and smiled. ‘If you are ready, sir, I will take you to my house now. My business with the provost can wait. It was not really important.’ He ignored the provost’s sharp intake of breath and turned for the door.

‘A moment, Colonel, if you please,’ Ross said quickly. ‘While I will certainly give my parole to the provost, I cannot possibly accept your generous offer of hospitality when I am in such a dreadful state. I am not fit to enter a gentleman’s house. And I do not even have a change of clothes.’ He looked down at his filthy breeches and boots, and his shrunken coat. He had not been able to wash for the best part of three days and he had been lying on rotting straw in a stinking gaol. He must smell like something dredged from the quicksands of the Solway. ‘Provost, what has become of my mare and my travelling baggage?’

The provost would not meet Ross’s eye. ‘Your horse is stabled at the George. There’ll be livery to pay. There was no baggage as I’m aware of. Just a horse and a greatcoat. And ye’ve found that, I see,’ he added sarcastically.

The colonel paid no heed at all. He himself opened the street door, without waiting for the servant. ‘Don’t worry, Graham. Your baggage will turn up, I’m sure. And in the meantime, I imagine you would welcome a hot bath and a good meal.’

‘Well, yes, sir, but—’

‘Good. Then come along. It’s but a step to my house. My wife will be delighted to meet you.’

Ross grimaced at the embarrassing prospect, but stepped forward to join the colonel on the threshold.

‘On second thoughts,’ said the colonel with a small, wry smile, ‘I might delay the introductions until after you’ve had a chance to make yourself a little more…er…presentable.’

In the circumstances, Ross found himself grinning at the older man’s gentle jibe. The poor colonel had obviously just had a lungful of gaol odours.

‘I’ll send a man to see Elliott, to find out what happened to your baggage,’ the colonel went on, as soon as they reached the street. ‘I imagine there must have been a mistake of some kind.’

Ross nodded automatically, as politeness demanded. But he knew very well that there had been no mistake. The Elliott laird had meant him to be left to rot.



Colonel Anstruther looked his guest slowly up and down. ‘It’s something of an improvement, Graham,’ he said at last, ‘though the fit of that coat is…er…’

Ross grinned at his host. ‘Your coat may not fit me very well, sir, but since my own is filthy, I make no complaint. Believe me, it is a blessing to be clean again. I owe you a debt for rescuing me from that stinking gaol.’

‘Nonsense, nonsense. Any gentleman would have done the same. And if we can’t find your own baggage, I’m sure we’ll be able to find some better-fitting clothes in Dumfries. We can do that tomorrow morning. It’s too late to do anything today, I fear.’

Ross nodded. At least he would not be beholden to the colonel for new clothes. He had money enough to buy his own.

‘One thing I…I must say to you, Graham, before I introduce you to my wife.’ The colonel pursed his lips and put his hand to his chin. ‘I must tell you that she is not in good health. She has a…a wasting disease. When you meet her, you will see. I must warn you that she will not speak of it, not to anyone. I ask you to treat her as if she were a normal healthy woman, and to ignore the fact that she can no longer walk.’

Ross took a step forward and reached out a hand, helplessly. ‘Sir, I should not be here. You—’

The colonel smiled rather tightly. ‘My wife would not have it otherwise, Captain. She is very much looking forward to making your acquaintance. No doubt she will quiz you about our adventures in the Peninsula.’

‘I shall be of little help to Mrs Anstruther, I fear,’ Ross admitted. ‘To be frank, sir, I barely remember meeting you there. As for adventures…there is very little fit for a lady’s ears.’

‘Very true,’ smiled the colonel. ‘I would not have my wife learn of some of the things we had to do. On the other hand, while I would not encourage you to make things up, Graham, you might—’

‘I shall do my best to keep Mrs Anstruther entertained, sir. It is the least I can do.’

‘Thank you.’ The colonel was silent for a moment, as if considering. Then he said quietly, ‘When I left for the Peninsula, there was no sign that anything was amiss. Her disease began while I was away, and she never said a word in any of her letters. Even when I had recovered from my wounds and was back at Horse Guards, she managed to conceal it from me. When I finally came home for good last year, I could barely recognise her. The bonnie lass I’d married was almost a wraith. Then, she could still walk. Since the spring, she cannot. She must keep her chair and be carried everywhere. You will see that she weighs no more than a feather now. Each night, when I carry her upstairs, I can feel that she is wasting away before my eyes.’

Ross could find no words to convey his sympathy.

The colonel shook his head, as if trying to shake off his moment of melancholy. ‘I tell you this so that you will not be shocked when you meet my wife, Graham. That is all. But she is all good humour. She never complains. You will soon discover that she is fully absorbed in her latest project, to finish our new house and garden in the country. And if you don’t take care, she will no doubt be enlisting your help for some part of her plans. It can be difficult to deny her, I warn you.’

‘If I can repay your kindness by serving Mrs Anstruther, I should be delighted to do it. Pray tell her that I am quite at her service.’

‘Now that,’ said a female voice behind Ross, ‘is a very rash promise for a gentleman to make. Just think what I might require you to do!’

The colonel laughed down at his wife in her wheeled chair. ‘Allow me to present Captain Graham, my dear. I did try to warn him of the risks he was running,’ he added, ‘but he would have none of it. So it appears you have acquired another willing cavalier.’

Ross stepped forward and bowed over Mrs Anstruther’s outstretched hand, feeling how tiny it was, and how thin. The colonel’s wife must have been very beautiful once. Now she was indeed like a wraith. A shadow of what she had been.



The following morning, James Elliott presented himself at Colonel Anstruther’s door. Carrying Ross’s bags.

Standing black-browed in the library doorway, Elliott bowed in the colonel’s direction and said, ‘I have come to return Captain Graham’s baggage and pistols, and to apologise for bringing the charge against him. It has been withdrawn, as the provost will confirm. I jumped to an unwarranted conclusion, I admit, but if you had known the circumstances, and my sister’s— Well, no point in going into that.’ He bowed slightly to Ross. ‘My sister has explained what took place, Captain Graham, and I have come to beg your pardon. My sister also begs to send you her thanks for rescuing her. She hopes that you have suffered no lasting hurt from your ordeal in…in Dumfries.’

Clever, Ross thought. By introducing his sister, he seeks to divert my righteous anger. And, as a gentleman, I have no choice but to acquiesce, especially here in Colonel Anstruther’s home. ‘Pray thank Miss Elliott for her kind enquiry. You may assure her that I am quite well, thanks to the Colonel’s intervention. I see you have managed to discover my missing bags. How remarkably fortunate. The provost assured me that there was no trace of them.’

‘A misunderstanding, I assure you, sir. Your luggage was conveyed to the stable, along with your mare. Both were well taken care of. And of course there is no livery to pay. I have seen to that.’

‘You are all generosity, Elliott,’ the colonel said, with some asperity.

‘Sir, I hope it will be possible to forget this unfortunate episode. My sister joins her prayers to mine. She wishes me to invite you both—and Mrs Anstruther, too, of course—to visit us so that she may offer her apologies in person.’

Clearly the Elliott sister was not to be permitted to visit them in Dumfries. It seemed that, if Ross wanted to see the girl again, and to unravel the mystery surrounding her, he would have to go to her. But it was the height of ill manners to expect the invalid Mrs Anstruther to wait on a mere child. Ross waited to see how the colonel would respond.

‘We are grateful for Miss Elliott’s invitation. Of course.’ The colonel’s pause before those last words held a wealth of meaning. Ross fancied that Elliott was beginning to look a trifle embarrassed. However good his birth, Elliott was no gentleman, but even he must realise that it was for him, and his sister, to wait on the Anstruthers. The Elliotts, after all, were the ones who needed to apologise.

‘You will understand, Elliott, that my wife is not able to travel easily. And my recollection is that the roads around your manor are remarkably bad. Is that not so?’ The colonel waited for Elliott’s reluctant nod before continuing. ‘However, you and Miss Elliott would be more than welcome to call on us here in Dumfries. Miss Elliott would be able to make her apologies then, would she not?’




Chapter Four


‘Y ou sent a letter to the provost,’ James thundered, shaking his fist at Cassie, ‘and I know only too well how it was arranged. You have gone too far this time, sister. That woman, Morag, shall leave my lands this very day. No woman defies me in my own house.’

Cassandra had known he would be furious, but also that it had been right to take the risk. She owed it to the man to save him. And now she must try to pay what she owed to poor Morag, too.

‘Morag had nothing to do with it,’ she said quietly, knowing that she must not provoke him further. She willed herself to be calm, to swallow her boiling anger against his continuing injustice and cruelty. If she appeared submissive enough, he might listen to what she had to say.

James said nothing. But it was clear from his expression that he was far from convinced. She must try harder.

‘Come, brother, you know she could not have taken a letter to Dumfries. For how would she have travelled? And secretly, too? Since I have been…er…keeping to my room, Morag has taken charge of the household in my place. If she had gone to Dumfries, her absence would have been noticed. You would have noticed. You are always fly to the time of day.’

Her heavy-handed flattery seemed to be working. His fists had unclenched a fraction. And he did not seem to be wanting to shout at her again. Yet.

Cassandra hurried on. ‘No one in this household was involved.’ His head came up sharply. ‘So there is no one to be dismissed on that account.’

‘Tell me who it was.’ He was trying to control his anger, for once. In some ways, that made him more frightening.

She ignored his question. But she would try not to antagonise him further. ‘In the end, it was as well that I did send the letter. For both of us,’ she added. ‘We both know we cannot afford to make an enemy of Colonel Anstruther, for he has too many powerful friends in Dumfries and Edinburgh.’ She could see that her arguments were finally making an impression on James. And she spoke only the truth. James might have thought he was taking vengeance on a friendless traveller with no standing in the world. But it had transpired that the traveller was a gentleman, and one who might have the power to ruin the Elliotts. She waited for her brother to respond. She had said enough for the moment.

‘It is true that Graham is a gentleman,’ he conceded at last, with an angry shake of his head. ‘One look at his fine linen told me that. But even a gentleman can be hanged, Cassie, if the crime is heinous enough.’ The venom in his words was unmistakable.

You might be speaking your own epitaph. The thought flashed through Cassie’s mind, unbidden. She was instantly ashamed. She might hate her half-brother, and with just cause, but she did not will his death. Never that. She only wished…she only wished to be free of him, and to find some degree of happiness in her life. A very little would suffice.

‘There was no crime,’ she said simply. ‘I had never met him before.’

‘Aye, so you say.’

‘Jamie—’

‘Enough of your wheedling, girl. You will tell me who carried the letter.’

Cassie set her mouth in a firm line and said nothing.

‘So that is to be the way of it? Very well. Since I cannot punish the real culprit, I shall have to find someone else to take the blame.’ His voice sank to a soft hiss. ‘Yes. I think Morag will suffice. She leaves this day.’

‘No. You cannot. Morag has done nothing. Please, Jamie, I promise you, she was not the one.’

‘I do not doubt it. But I should make an example of someone.’ He brought his face down to hers. ‘You do see that, don’t you, sister?’

‘Make an example of me, then. For it was I who wrote the letter.’

‘Oh, I intend to do that also. I have plans for you, Miss Cassandra Elliott.’

Cassie tried to suppress a shudder. She did not quite succeed.

‘It frightens you, does it? Good. And so it should. Your first task is simple. You are to find out about Captain Graham. We know he has powerful friends, but we know precious little of the man himself. No doubt he will happily enlighten you about his estate and prospects. After all, you were very friendly out there together, were you not?’

‘I will do no such thing. I am not a spy.’

‘You will do exactly as I say, or Morag will be dismissed.’ He glared at her. ‘Well?’

She was firmly caught. He had left her with no choice. She nodded.

‘Understand this, sister. I will be watching your every move. If you put a foot wrong, Morag will feel the weight of my retribution. Fiendish subtle, is it not?’

It was certainly fiendish, Cassie decided. He knew she would do whatever he wanted, while Morag was hostage for her obedience. She lifted her chin. ‘I cannot spy on Captain Graham unless I can talk to him. And I do not expect he would wish to have anything to do with the man who threw him in gaol. Or that man’s sister.’

He laughed harshly. ‘You credit me with precious little wit, Cassie. The arrangements have already been made. Do not look so surprised. Did you think me incapable of making an apology, as a gentleman should? Why, Cassie, you underestimate your brother. No sooner thought than done. We are invited to call on Colonel and Mrs Anstruther, and Captain Graham, at our convenience. To give you an opportunity to apologise for all the trouble you have caused.’

‘I—? Apol—?’

‘In fact, I doubt an apology will be expected,’ he continued smoothly, enjoying his triumph. ‘The gentlemen will not wish you to divulge the details of your disgrace in front of Mrs Anstruther, I imagine. It will be…it will appear to be a courtesy visit, to allow you to enquire after Mrs Anstruther and to make the acquaintance of Captain Graham. Nothing could be simpler, surely? Surely?’

She nodded weakly.

‘Let us be clear that your object, during this visit, is to show the gentlemen—both the gentlemen—that you are a fine lady with all the accomplishments necessary in a wife.’

‘Both the gentlemen? But Colonel Anstruther already has a wife!’

‘Not for much longer. He’ll be a widower soon. And he’s very rich.’

So that had been James’s plan. Cassandra was horrified. The colonel was devoted to his wife. Everyone knew that. How could James be so callous?

Easily.

‘As for Captain Graham, I have yet to discover his circumstances. He may be married already. Or worse—poor. You will do your utmost to draw him out on both counts.’

‘A lady would not do anything so vulgar.’

For once, James did not shout. He even smiled. ‘A lady has ways of extracting such information, as you very well know. Did you learn nothing at all in that fine Edinburgh seminary that Father paid so much for?’

Cassandra said nothing. There was no point.

‘Now remember. You have been unwell. A slight chill has confined you to your room.’ He smiled mockingly as he stressed the word ‘confined’. ‘You are not quite fully recovered, but you have actually made a great effort for this special visit. Have I made myself clear?’



James Elliott took the chair indicated by the colonel and then turned towards Mrs Anstruther. ‘Your footman is just helping my sister down from the carriage. I have come in ahead of her to warn you that she finds herself a little frail just at present and does not think she will be able to remain more than a few minutes.’

‘I am truly sorry to learn that your sister is unwell, Mr Elliott.’ Mrs Anstruther looked concerned.

Elliott cast a glance over his shoulder to the half-open doorway before replying, in a low voice that reeked of false concern, ‘My sister, ma’am, chanced to be out riding some days ago when a storm broke. She caught a slight chill and has since kept to her room. This is the first time she has been able to venture abroad.’

Ross and the colonel exchanged glances. How glibly Elliott lied!

‘But she should not have come such a way!’ Mrs Anstruther exclaimed. ‘The poor child! She cannot be expected to make calls when she is ill. This visit should have been put off until another day.’

‘Believe me, ma’am, it is but trifling. You know what young girls are.’ He smirked then. ‘They fancy themselves ailing at the slightest sniffle. And—’ There was a noise of footsteps in the hallway. Elliott rose from his place. ‘Ah, here she is. You shall judge for yourself whether she is well enough for visiting. Come in, Cassandra, come in. Our host and hostess are waiting.’

The colonel stood up. Ross, too, rose politely. She might be little more than a child, and a hoyden besides, but she would not find Ross Graham’s manners wanting.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Anstruther,’ she said quietly, dropping an elegant curtsy.

Ross caught his breath. How on earth could he have made such a mistake? He had believed Miss Elliott to be fifteen, or sixteen at most; a mere child, and an unruly one at that. But this dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty was much older—and a full-grown woman, the kind of woman that men would fight to possess.

In that split second, Ross began to understand much that had puzzled him before. About Miss Elliott and her desire to escape. And about her brother’s ruthless determination to keep her close, and safe.



Cassandra had had to steel herself for this meeting. James had made his fell purposes crystal clear. And now, standing on the threshold of the drawing room, she knew that all eyes were upon her. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, trying not to look at either of the gentlemen, James’s intended quarry.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Anstruther,’ she said politely, dropping a curtsy to the beautiful but frail lady sitting in one of the wing chairs by the unseasonable roaring fire. James had been right about the colonel’s wife. Much had changed since their last meeting. She was now clearly marked for death. She had an ethereal, translucent quality about her. Half-angel already?

‘Come in, child, do. You must not allow yourself to become chilled.’ Mrs Anstruther’s body might be failing, but her mind seemed perfectly alert. ‘There is a sharp breeze coming off the river today. Indeed, it feels more like autumn than high summer. Come and sit by me so that we may enjoy this fine fire together.’ She smiled up at her husband, standing with his back to the hearth. ‘The gentlemen shall make way for the needs of a recovering invalid.’

Colonel Anstruther bowed slightly and removed himself a little from the fire. To Ross’s mind, the room was uncomfortably hot, but that was only to be expected; Ross had learned that the colonel permitted nothing and no one to divert him from anything that might ease Mrs Anstruther’s sufferings. Theirs was real love between a man and a woman. The kind of love that any right-thinking man would envy, even though few of them would ever attain it.

Pushing that unwelcome thought to the back of his mind, Ross stepped forward to greet Miss Elliott, as a gentleman should. How would she react to him, now that she appeared in her proper guise? Did she know how to behave as a lady? With such a brother, she had had a pretty dismal example to follow. Ross bowed politely and offered her his arm. ‘May I help you to a seat by the fire, Miss Elliott?’

She curtsied a second time. It was an elegant move. She had clearly been well taught, in that matter at least, for she had given Ross just the degree of respect required by their positions in society. He was an officer and a gentleman; she was a gentleman’s sister. Nominally, at least.



The two women had been talking amiably for some time when the tea tray was brought in. The need to curtail the visit seemed to have been forgotten. Mrs Anstruther smiled across to where her husband stood by the window, carrying on a rather strained conversation with Elliott and Ross. ‘Will you take a dish of tea with us, Mr Elliott? Or do you, like my husband, object to maudling your insides with such a beverage?’

Elliott strolled across to the fire and replied politely that he would be delighted to drink tea with his hostess. Too politely, Ross decided. The man was definitely trying to make a good impression on Mrs Anstruther, probably in order to curry favour with the colonel. But why? What was Elliott after? What could the colonel possibly have that Elliott needed?

Miss Elliott rose from her chair to help hand round the cups, first to her brother and then to the colonel. She moved with the grace of a gazelle. And she had beautiful white hands, almost as delicate and translucent as the fine porcelain she carried. ‘Cream and sugar, Captain Graham?’ For the first time, she smiled directly at him. He realised, with something of a surprise, that her dark eyes were not brown, but blue, the rich blue of a summer twilight sky. So very unlike her brother’s shifty brown eyes. But then, they had not had the same mother. That would account for the differences between them. Ross was suddenly glad of it. He found he could not stomach the thought that Miss Elliott was in any way like her blackguard of a brother.

‘Captain Graham?’

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Elliott. No sugar, thank you.’

She nodded and brought his cup to him. ‘It is unusual for a man to drink tea without sugar.’

‘We did have tea in the Peninsula, ma’am, and sugar. But they were not always easy to come by. One learns to adapt.’

‘I am surprised to learn that officers in the army were drinking tea,’ she said, on the thread of a laugh. Her eyes were dancing. They were really very beautiful eyes.

‘We were not all lost to the ways of polite society, ma’am. One or two of the officers were accompanied by their wives, so we single men did not become complete barbarians.’ He willingly returned her smile. Her brother might be scheming, but Miss Elliott seemed to be everything a lady should be. How was it possible that she had been fleeing for the Solway, dressed only in a sodden shift? Ross determined to solve the mystery surrounding her. It was clear that she needed protection from her brother. But why?

‘I find I have a picture of you in my mind, sitting on the ground around a camp fire, weapons in one hand and a bowl of tea in the other. Absurd, is it not?’

He laughed and was delighted that she did, too. She had very even white teeth and a wide, kissable mouth. Lord, where had that thought come from? For a moment he was stunned by his own reaction.

‘I can see that I must not pursue that avenue of conversation any further, Captain Graham, lest you find yourself confiding what else the single officers were doing. Tell me, what brings you north? Your accent suggests that you are originally from Scotland, but I was wondering why you chose to visit Dumfries rather than, say, Edinburgh. Does your family come from here?’

‘I am not exactly sure.’ He cursed silently. What on earth had possessed him to let that slip? Miss Elliott’s surprise was clear and absolutely predictable. Everyone disdained a man without a family. Now he would have to explain something of his Scottish origins—not that he knew much—and to try to parry the inevitable questions.

She did not display the vulgar curiosity he had expected, however, saying merely, ‘How…er…unusual. Do you plan to make a long stay in this part of the country?’

Ross was becoming more and more impressed. This was a true lady. She had seen his dawning embarrassment and had skilfully helped him through it. What had happened to the hoyden? Was this really the same woman? It seemed impossible. Yet it was true.

He must do his best to respond in kind.

‘I find it strangely beautiful, I must admit. As I have no pressing reasons to return to London, I fancy I may spend some time in these parts, exploring the area. There are some fine houses to visit, I believe?’

‘Yes, indeed. Many. And even finer gardens. The climate here is most clement, particularly towards the west. Some of the local gentry have created beautiful gardens and are bringing in all sorts of new plants from distant parts. I find myself envying them greatly.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Yes, I know it is a sin, but I cannot help myself. Whenever I visit such a garden, I cannot help but covet the glories I see there.’

‘Then you have much in common with Mrs Anstruther. Oh, not the sins, I am sure,’ he added hastily, ‘but the love of plants and gardens. The colonel and his wife are creating a new garden at their manor near Castle Douglas, I believe.’

‘The colonel’s property is rather more than a manor, sir,’ she replied with a twinkle. ‘It is an ancient castle, built as a bulwark against the invading English. As you travel around you will see that there are many such, mostly in ruins. The colonel’s family spent many years restoring it, I believe. Most other families preferred to build anew. A modern house can be more comfortable, I suppose, though it lacks the magic of the old places.’

‘Ah, do I detect a lover of gothic romances?’

She blushed. Delightfully.

‘Forgive me, ma’am,’ he said quickly. ‘That was impertinent of me. Tell me, if you will, what places of interest I should visit while I am staying in Dumfries.’

She named several, ending with Sweetheart Abbey. ‘It was built by the Lady Devorguilla in memory of her beloved husband. His heart is buried there. It is a strange, haunting place, but very beautiful. You will find it an easy journey, in the day, though better on horseback than by carriage. Are you travelling alone?’

‘For the present, yes. Though my man, Fraser, will be joining me in the next few days.’ He dropped his voice to be sure that Mrs Anstruther would not hear. ‘He will be quite horrified, of course, about what happened. He’ll maintain, loud and long, that if I had allowed him to accompany me in the first place, as he’d tried to insist, I wouldn’t have been thrown into gaol at all.’

She drew herself up slightly. Ross could not decide whether it was because she wished to distance herself from her own out-rageous behaviour, or whether she disapproved of his obviously close relationship with his valet. ‘You will tell him what happened?’ Her voice definitely held a hint of hauteur. So, she didn’t think a gentleman should confide in his valet. How little she knew. Having shared the privations of the Peninsular War with Fraser, Ross trusted his man implicitly. With his life, if necessary.

‘It matters not a whit whether I tell him or not.’ Ross grinned suddenly, remembering many instances when he had tried to keep information from Fraser. ‘Fraser is the best gatherer of information I have ever known. He’d find out somehow. He’d have made a very successful spy.’ Now that was not quite true. For, on occasion, Fraser had already made a very successful spy. And the British army, though unaware of the details of the man’s dangerous service, had reason to be eternally grateful for Fraser’s abilities.

‘How very…interesting.’

He had lost her. The sparkling look was now veiled as she took his empty cup and returned to speak to Mrs Anstruther. Her brother had risen from his place and was bowing to his hostess. The pair clearly meant to leave.

‘It was a great pleasure to meet you again, Miss Elliott,’ Mrs Anstruther said. ‘And you, too, Mr Elliott. I do hope you will come again soon, so that Miss Elliott and I can continue our discussions. I have rarely met anyone so young yet with such enthusiasm for plants and gardens. We share a common passion, I think.’

Miss Elliott smiled warmly. ‘I cannot hope to match your knowledge, ma’am, but I should very much like to learn more from you. What you tell me of your new garden is fascinating.’

‘I long to visit it again. But situated as I am—’ she gestured impatiently at her useless legs ‘—it may be some time before I can do so. However, if you wish to visit the house and garden, please feel free to do so. My gardeners would be delighted to learn that there are other ladies in the world just as passionate as I am.’ She looked sideways at Ross. ‘Perhaps Captain Graham would like to accompany you? And your brother, of course.’

James Elliott cleared his throat and directed a swift warning look towards his sister. ‘Cassandra is most grateful for the invitation, ma’am. Very generous of you, I am sure. However, we must not think of making any excursions until Cassandra is quite well again. It does not do to risk a lady’s frail health.’

Ross hoped his reactions did not show on his face. The man was a lying cur. Had he not poured scorn on the assumed frailty of young ladies not half an hour ago? Why was he now declining Mrs Anstruther’s invitation when he had gone to such lengths to ingratiate himself before? There was something very strange going on in the Elliott family. Very strange indeed.

Mrs Anstruther stretched up her hand to Miss Elliott. ‘Forgive me, my dear,’ she said. ‘I hope you will be fully recovered very soon. It will not be possible for me to return your call, alas, but perhaps you will overlook my discourtesy and come to me again? I did so enjoy our talk. The colonel does his best, and he has become very knowledgeable about plants of late, but he does not share my passion. Not as you do.’

Miss Elliott blushed. ‘You do me too much honour, ma’am. And I should be delighted to call on you again.’ She glanced towards her brother, who was frowning. ‘As soon as I am able.’

‘You will understand if we take our leave now, ma’am,’ her brother said. ‘We must get home while it is still light. It would not do for Cassandra to become chilled.’

The normal courtesies were soon exchanged. Elliott could almost have been a real gentleman. Certainly, his assumed manners could not be faulted. Ross felt his gorge rising as he watched. The man was the very devil.

Ross insisted on escorting Miss Elliott to her carriage, offering his hand to help her to mount. With one foot on the step, she turned to look into his face. Their eyes met, and held. He felt a slight pressure of her fingers in his. ‘Thank you, Captain Graham,’ she said softly. ‘I am truly most grateful to you.’

‘Your servant, ma’am,’ he said, returning the pressure for just a fraction of a second. A silent message was sent and received. Ross had no doubt that Miss Elliott—Cassandra—understood what he intended. He had risked his life to save her once. And he stood ready to do so again.




Chapter Five


C assie shrank back into the corner of the carriage, where James could not see her if he chose to ride alongside rather than out in front. She had only the length of the journey home to order her thoughts and to decide how she would respond to his demands. For they would certainly come.

Jamie would go to any lengths to get what he wanted. And what he wanted now was to marry Cassie off to a rich man as soon as he possibly could. His debts must be even more pressing than before, she decided, for until now, he had been planning to wait until Colonel Anstruther was free to remarry. No doubt James expected to borrow money from his future brother-in-law at every opportunity. But surely that meant finding a man who was both rich and weak? Colonel Anstruther was certainly not weak. He would never be an easy mark.

And nor would Captain Graham. He, too, was every inch the soldier—strong, determined, resourceful, and a knight in shining armour to a damsel in distress. She was sorry now that she had snubbed him when he mentioned having been thrown into gaol. But she had been mortally embarrassed at the thought that he was about to tell his valet about her outrageous behaviour. Once one servant knew of her attempted flight, it was bound to become the talk of Dumfries. What little standing she had in the community would be gone. She would not even be able to call on Mrs Anstruther again.

That meant she would not be able to meet Captain Graham again.

She felt a sinking in her stomach at the thought. She was grateful to him. Of course, she was. But it was more than that. She had not met many single gentlemen since she had left her Edinburgh seminary, and almost all of them had been old, or lecherous, or both. Captain Graham was neither. He was young and vigorous, and handsome enough if one overlooked his red hair. He had very pleasing blue eyes, too, that twinkled with good humour. And he was kind to hoydens on the banks of the Solway. Altogether the kind of gentleman that any young lady would wish to know.

But was he rich? Oh, dear, she did not know. She had discovered—quite cleverly, she thought—that he was a single man, but she knew little of his circumstances. Perhaps if she had not snubbed him, he would have been more forthcoming? But no. He had not wished to speak of his family. He had inadvertently let slip that he knew little about them. And he had been embarrassed at having said even that. There was no way she could have successfully quizzed him.

James would not accept such an excuse. What was she to tell him? Perhaps she could draw inferences from what the captain had said without actually telling a lie. Think, Cassie, think! She knew he had served in the Fifty-second Foot and she imagined he would have had to purchase his commission in such a good regiment. That meant he had some money, at least. Good, that was a start. His family came from Scotland, and fairly recently, too, judging by his accent, yet he knew nothing of them. So he must have been brought up in a home in England. Somewhere in England. And a gentleman’s home in England, however small, would require money to maintain it. She would tell James that the captain was Scottish-born but English-bred, and that he appeared to be comfortably off.

And she would say that, if James wanted her to find out more details about the captain’s finances, he would have to allow her to meet him again, in easier circumstances. She had done the best she could in the space of a few minutes’ polite conversation.

Yes. She would suggest that they take up Mrs Anstruther’s invitation to visit her new garden and that Captain Graham be invited to accompany them. On such a visit, there would be many opportunities to draw him out. Surely even James would see the sense in such a plan?



‘Never seen yer linen in such a state, Captain. Not even when we was in the Peninsula.’

Ross sighed and set about smoothing Fraser’s ruffled feathers. ‘The colonel’s man has done his best, Fraser, but it’s been precious little use after the mauling Elliott and his men gave to my belongings. Do your best to restore what you can. For the rest, we’ll have to buy new.’

Fraser was not mollified. ‘And yer boots, too, sir. Surely the colonel’s man knows how to black boots?’

‘Indeed he does, but not boots that have been squelching through Solway mud and then spent days in a sodden and stinking gaol. I’m surprised they haven’t rotted through. I doubt even you would be able to rescue them, Fraser.’ Ross quirked an eyebrow at his batman and long-time companion.

‘Aye, well, they may not be a total loss, sir. I’ll see what I can do.’

Ross smiled. The challenge had provoked exactly the response he had expected.

‘And in the meantime, you won’t go barefoot. There’s another pair in the bags I brought with me, and a supply of linen, too. I must have you respectable to dine with Mrs Anstruther. I can’t imagine how you looked when you were wearing the colonel’s coat. Disgraceful, no doubt.’

‘Perhaps, but it was a great deal better than how I looked when the colonel first found me, I can tell you, Fraser. I had neither hat nor gloves, my coat and breeches were damp and filthy, and everything about me reeked of the gaol. It was a wonder the poor colonel did not put a handkerchief to his nose.’ He laughed softly at the memory. ‘To his credit, he did not, though he did soon learn not to stand downwind of me.’

Fraser tried in vain to hide his smile.

‘So be grateful that this is the worst you see of me. Or smell!’

Fraser gathered up Ross’s scattered clothing and made for the door. ‘If you won’t be needing anything else this evening, sir, I’d best get on with salvaging what I can.’

‘Thank you, Fraser. I know you’ll do your best.’ He waited until the valet was halfway through the door before adding softly, ‘And when you have a moment free, I have a special task for you. One that you will enjoy, I fancy.’

Fraser turned. One look at Ross’s face was enough to tell him what was in store for him. He grinned widely. ‘That’s more like it, Captain. Sounds just like old times. What was it you was wanting me to find out for you?’

Ross beckoned him back into the room. Once the door was safely closed, he said, ‘I need you to discover some information for me, Fraser, about a young lady and her family. She—’

‘That would be the young lady you rescued down by the Solway, would it, sir?’

Ross groaned and struck his forehead in mock despair. ‘By Jove, Fraser, is there anything you don’t find out? The colonel and I have gone to considerable lengths not to have that tale bandied about, and yet you know about it before you have been here five minutes. I suppose there’s no point in asking how you know, is there?’

‘No, sir,’ Fraser said flatly.

Ross knew there was nothing to be gained by pressing the man any further. He sighed theatrically, shaking his head. ‘Very well. I shall not ask. Now, just in case you do not already know, the lady in question is Miss Cassandra Elliott and she lives with her half-brother, James, at Langrigg House, between Dumfries and Annan. I want to know what James Elliott is about and what was so terrible that his sister was prepared to take the risk of fleeing across the Solway. I need to—’

‘You need to know everything there is to know about the Elliott family. Very good, sir. Leave it to me.’

Ross wondered how Fraser, a stranger newly arrived in Dumfries, could possibly hope to get the information Ross needed. But he knew better than to ask. ‘Thank you, Fraser. I know I can rely on you,’ he said simply, and meant it. ‘Oh, and forget about the ruined boots. Better use your time for the Elliotts.’

Fraser drew himself up to his full height, which was considerably shorter than Ross. ‘I shall do my duty, sir,’ he said formally, ‘and that, sir, includes your boots.’



‘Make sure you take your most becoming gowns. God knows I’ve paid enough for them, over the years, just to make sure you look the part of a fine lady. I want my investment to be repaid, Cassie. Mark that. You must ensure that the gentlemen are suitably impressed.’

‘You have changed your mind all of a sudden, have you not, James? When we visited the Anstruthers, you made quite sure that I would not accept the invitation.’

‘That was before Colonel Anstruther himself became involved. Now that he is to act as our host, it is a splendid opportunity for you to display your…er…womanly attributes.’

Cassie felt herself blushing. Again! Why did her brother have to be so crass? And why was it that she always showed her embarrassment?

‘Be ready to leave first thing tomorrow morning. The carriage will be at the door by nine. Do not be late. Morag will accompany you in the carriage and I shall ride alongside. We should arrive well before noon.’

‘But I had intended to ride there myself. I hate being cooped up in the carriage. In summer weather like this, there is no reason why I should not ride.’

‘There is every reason. I do not wish you to ride.’

Cassie bit back the angry ‘Why not?’ that rose to her lips. Instead, she said, ‘Colonel Anstruther is a military man. He would expect his wife to ride. And ride well. Would this not be an opportunity to demonstrate my attributes in that area of a lady’s accomplishments?’ Good tactics, Cassie thought to herself. That had stopped James in his tracks. Captain Graham would be proud of her.

James started to speak, but Cassie heard barely a word. Why on earth was she thinking it mattered what Captain Graham thought of her?

‘Cassie! Pay attention! This is no time for your eternal daydreaming. It is your marriage we are planning here.’

Cassie swallowed hard, but said nothing.

‘Remember, the aim of your visit is to impress the gentlemen. Your first object must be Colonel Anstruther. He is by far the better catch. Captain Graham may not be a catch at all. So far we know nothing more of him than that he is an officer, and a gentleman, and brought up in England. For all we know, he may be simply subsisting on half-pay. That most certainly would not do.’

‘Have your spies uncovered no more information, then?’ Cassie said sweetly.

‘No. The captain’s man is remarkably close-mouthed. Even when he has been well plied with ale. At my expense.’

‘Oh. Who did you send?’

‘Not Tam or Ned, if that’s what you were thinking. The captain’s man would be bound to have learned that they were the ones who threw his master into gaol. No, I sent Malcolm.’

‘Ah,’ Cassie nodded. Malcolm was James’s man through and through, part valet, part steward, and utterly devoted to James’s interests. ‘Well, if Malcolm could discover nothing, I imagine there is nothing to be learned by that route.’

‘No. That leaves only one avenue. The direct one. You, Cassie, must find out the truth about Captain Graham, either from the man himself or from Colonel Anstruther. You will have the whole of our visit to do that.’

‘But it is only two days and one night! Such questions require a degree of intimacy which could never be achieved in so short a time.’

James smiled nastily. ‘I’m sure you will find a way, Cassie. And to give you every opportunity, I shall have your horse tied on to the back of the carriage. Make sure you take your most becoming riding habit. Riding out with the gentlemen does give plenty of opportunity for intimate conversation. Make the most of it.’



It was a beautiful, sunny summer’s day as Cassie’s carriage slowed for the approach to the great door to the Anstruther castle. Cassie had been gazing in awe as they drove up the long avenue. It was a huge—monstrous—edifice. She wondered that the Anstruther family had invested so much money in restoring it, for it surely belonged to a bygone age. The walls were of massive stone. There were only the merest slits of windows at ground level. And one of the towers had still not been repaired. It looked as though it had suffered from cannon fire in some battle, centuries before.

‘I’m glad I packed they heavy petticoats,’ Morag said. ‘We are all like to freeze t’ death in there.’

‘I’m sure the colonel will make us more than comfortable,’ Cassie said, though she was not at all sure she spoke the truth.

‘Aye, well, I’ll judge that after I see for myself. He’d have done much better to build a fine new house, where a body could be warm and dry. There’s bound to be draughts everywhere. And the lums will reek.’





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