Page 47 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

Can’t leave the room, he’d said. Marjorie rifled through her wardrobe, digging for her warmest wrapper.

She’d leave indeed, and get to the bottom of this affair with Archie.

She had saved those boys once; she’d save them again.

And no man would stop her—not Cormac, not Archie, not even Jack the poor excuse for a pirate.

She felt Fiona rustling around at her back, setting the room to rights, and it made her angrier. Even her accursed maid had insisted she stay inside.

Locked in. No man told her to lock herself away. She’d been independent for years. She’d be independent long after she exorcised Cormac from her system. And that’s precisely what she’d do. Exorcise him like the demon he was.

She tugged the long woolen shawl out with a feline growl, embracing her anger as armor against her heartbreak. Angry. She’d be angry, not hurt. Later she’d let herself feel the hurt. But first she’d do what needed to be done.

“Your Cormac wilna be pleased,” Fiona said under her breath.

“Would you stop that infernal muttering. The Lord preserve me, girl. Say your piece, or shut your mouth.” Marjorie slammed the door to her wardrobe. “And he’s not my Cormac.”

Fiona gaped at her.

Marjorie haphazardly wrapped herself in the shawl, regretting for a moment that she’d snapped so at her poor maid.

But then a thought followed fast on its heels.

That poor maid had endured more hardship at the hands of a bully father than Marjorie would know in a lifetime.

Crossing her arms at her chest, she considered Fiona anew.

“Well,” she said firmly, “you could come with me.”

And the speed with which Fiona had them whisked down a back staircase and out the door was startling.

Saint Machar glowed yellow in the bright moonlight. Skeletons of trees destroyed in the wars still hovered about the church, casting eerie shadows on the facade.

“Crivvens.” Fiona clung to her arm. “It looks a frightful place at night.”

“Nonsense.” Marjorie tugged her maid along. “It’s a place of the Lord, whatever time of day.”

“That doesn’t mean it don’t make my skin crawl. Like a goose over my grave, mum.”

“I am not your mum ,” she spat, pulling her arm free. “Would you please call me Marjorie?”

Fiona gave her a weak smile. “All right then, Marjie.”

“Marjorie.” Remembering her anger, she pressed on, striding down Chanonry Road toward Westhall.

“The boys will be asleep, up there,” Marjorie said, nodding to the triangular upper story.

“But Archie”—she grimaced—“stays for a time before the fire, in the library. It’s where he sees his patients during the day. ”

“May I ask you a question, mum . . . Marj . . . Marjorie?”

“It seems you just did,” she retorted, and then shook her head at her own cheek. She couldn’t let impatience get the better of her. The truth was, the night had unsettled her, and she was happy to have her maid’s company. “My apologies, Fiona. Please, what is your question?”

“Why are you so angry with Archie? He seems a good man. A caring man.”

“They all do, don’t they?” Cormac had also seemed a good and caring man.

Flustered, she scrambled for an explanation, then said simply, “It remains to be seen what our Archie is about.” She gave Fiona a sharp look.

“I have a question for you , though. What was Archie doing visiting you at your home?”

Fiona inhaled sharply, and Marjorie would swear that, if it were daylight, she’d see a blush on her maid’s cheeks.

“He helped me once,” she began tentatively.

She raised her left hand, holding her index finger to catch the moon’s light.

“He’d come to your uncle’s to pay you a visit.

I’d cut myself in the kitchens, badly. Archie saw me just after it happened.

He told me if I didn’t let him dress the wound, I’d lose my finger. ”

The maid shrugged, looking nervous. “He said you wouldn’t mind if he came to the vennel to check on it. He needed to put on a clean bandage. He said it wasn’t wrong of me to let him come.” She cast her eyes down. “But still, I never told you, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Goodness, Fiona.” Marjorie grabbed the girl’s hand to study it.

Sure enough, a thin scar wound around the top of her finger, white as a cobweb in the moonlight.

“What do you think of me? Imagining I might begrudge you a finger , for goodness’ sake.

” She dropped Fiona’s hand. “Of course it’s fine that he came to see you.

It’s just . . . I wonder that . . . why did he visit again? ”

“We talk. Sometimes. When he comes to see you or your uncle.” Fiona looked away, her cheeks decidedly flushed, visible even in the moonlight. “He said he’d heard about some trouble down by the docks. Said he was . . . concerned.”

“Mm-hm.” Marjorie eyed her maid thoughtfully. She was a pretty thing, if a mite peculiar, with a wide and open face, full bosom, and blushes that betrayed her every whim. Pretty enough to explain Archie’s visit? She wondered.

The housekeeper let the women in and showed them to the library. They found Archie where Marjorie had predicted, sitting on an armchair before the fire, reading.

He nearly jumped from his seat, startled. “How did you get in? You didn’t bring that MacAlpin fellow, did you?” He spotted Fiona behind her, and face softening, he sprang to meet them. “Is aught the matter?”

“What indeed,” Marjorie snapped. “The question is, what have you done with the boys you took?”

Fiona gravitated toward him, giving him a warm smile. “I told her they were safe in your care, Arch.”

Marjorie shot her a look, raising a sharp brow at the nickname. Suddenly it wasn’t just the boys’ safety that concerned her.

“The boys?” His gaze was locked on Fiona, and there was something charged in his eyes. Stepping closer, he began to reach out, but then hesitated, and quickly clasped his hands behind his back instead. “They’re all tucked upstairs.”

She felt the tension between Archie and her maid and bit the inside of her cheek to remind herself of discretion. What a strange and unexpected mystery within a mystery. “I’d like to see them, if I may.”

“Who?” Archie finally looked at her. “The boys?”

“Who else?” Impatient, she simply hiked her skirts and headed to the stairs.

“They’re upstairs, where they always are,” he said to her back. The sounds of Archie’s and Fiona’s hushed murmuring ushered her out of the room.

The makeshift dormitory was a windowless room with a low, gabled ceiling. She stood at the doorway, letting her eyes adjust to the utter blackness. And though it took her a moment to make sense of the sleeping forms, the heavy breathing of over a dozen boys greeted her, even and peaceful.

It was just as Archie had said: they were all asleep.

She tiptoed in until she found Davie, a smaller figure in the corner.

His cheek was crushed against his pillow, mouth open, his face serene.

She stroked a finger along his forehead, sweeping the hair from his brow.

Safe. Something that’d been clenched in her chest loosened, and she breathed a relieved sigh.

She stood, staring into the blackness. There were a couple of problems that remained. If Archie wasn’t the kidnapper, who was? And why was Archie receiving money from the bailie?

Careful not to wake the boys, Marjorie went back downstairs, worrying the questions in her mind. Fiona and Archie stood together before the library fire, and she had to clear her throat to get their attention. They sprang apart at the sight of her.

Archie fiddled nervously with his cuffs. “Did you see them?”

If she didn’t have more pressing matters on her mind, she’d have asked the two of them what was going on. But instead she said, “Safely tucked in for the night, as you said.”

“I was telling Fiona. I implore you. It’s not safe here.” Archie hesitated, looking from Marjorie to Fiona, unsure which woman he should address. “You must return home.”

Annoyed with the whole situation, Marjorie turned her back on him and dropped unceremoniously into a chair. “First I have something to discuss with you, Archibald.”

“But it’s not safe. The bailie . . .”

She meticulously folded her woolen wrapper. “Oh, I know about you and the bailie.”

“His is a dishonorable household,” Archie said fervently. “You both must hurry back to your uncle’s. The lads are safe with me.”

He gave Fiona a tender look, and for Marjorie, that mawkish expression was the last straw.

“I’ve seen what safe means for you,” she said brusquely.

She’d grown tired of roundabout men who told her what to do, with no explanation for it.

She’d state the situation plainly, if nobody else would.

“I saw you receive money, when I was at the bailie’s home.

Is taking money in exchange for children what you’d call safe ? ”

Archie’s eyes flew to her. “Losh, no, Marj! I’d never do such a thing.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that I saw you skulking about the bailie’s back rooms, taking payment from his manservant, not long after Davie’s disappearance?”

He sputtered for words, and just when Marjorie thought she’d trapped him, he surprised her with an entirely different excuse. “The money . . . that wasn’t from the bailie. It was payment from his wife. I made Adele a tonic. Against pregnancy.”

His gaze swept to Fiona, as though the maid’s recognition of his innocence were paramount.

“I’ve long suspected the bailie of nefarious doings,” he insisted.

“Their lifestyle exceeds what would be expected of an officer of Aberdeen. I slowly ingratiated myself to him, watching and waiting all the while.” He pulled his shoulders back.

“When Davie was taken, the time had come to act, and act boldly.”

Fiona puffed with pride.

“ You had suspicions, too?” Marjorie sat forward on her chair. “But why didn’t you simply tell me?”

“I tried. That day at Humphrey’s. But your Cormac was—”

“Once and for all,” Marjorie snapped, “he’s not my Cormac.”

Archie’s eyes widened. “Be that as it may, Cormac struck me as . . . how shall I put it . . . arrogant about the matter. I assumed you were safe in his care.”

“I’m in no man’s care.”

Fiona grunted as though she knew better, sharing a little eye roll with Archie.

Marjorie popped up from the chair. She had to turn her back from the sight of them cutting doe eyes at each other. “So how do we stop the bailie?”

“I must stay here all night,” Archie said with great bravado. “I’ve heard the Oliphant leaves at dawn. I’ll guard the boys until then.”

Though Marjorie knew his gesture was brave and true, his earnestness nettled her. Cormac flashed into her mind, and she scowled. She’d seen bravery, and it didn’t sit perched on a leather armchair, behind a locked door, bearing a snifter of brandy.

“I’ll stay with you.” Fiona couldn’t say the words quickly enough.

“Then you and I shall keep watch,” he said grandly.

Marjorie looked from Archie to Fiona. The attraction was plain between them, but she wondered about their difference in class.

Though Archie didn’t come from great wealth, he was studying to be a physician, and some would find his choice of a maid shocking.

If they were discreet, Marjorie supposed Fiona’s looks were enough to elevate her above her station.

Indeed, her maid was ripe and lovely, and clearly there was something about her that made Archie feel like the man he struggled to be.

Marjorie looked down at her feet. She recognized love when she saw it. It made her feel empty and alone.

“Will you be safe?” Fiona asked her.

“I’ll rush back to Humphrey’s straightaway. I’ll lock myself in as I’d promised and wait for Cormac.” Marjorie managed a smile. “You’ve the right of it, Arch. Cormac will help me.”

The lies spilled easily enough from her mouth.

She knew what she had to do, and it wasn’t cowering in her bedroom.

She may not have the skills to sink the Oliphant .

But there were men imprisoned on board, men who’d set sail at dawn, to spend the rest of their days toiling on a plantation far from home.

She’d get on that boat, somehow. She’d free them.

Humphrey’s house was pitch-black when Cormac returned. He took the back stairs two at a time—he couldn’t see her soon enough.

It’d been wrong not to tell her the truth. He’d tell her about Aidan. He vowed it was the last secret he’d ever keep from her.

Together they’d find a solution. Together they’d convince Aidan, and then Cormac would save the men. There was no other way; he saw that now. They belonged as a pair. Everything felt wrong when they were apart.

He burst through her door, but the bedroom was empty. Baffled, he ran his hands over the sheets as though he might somehow find her hiding there.

He heard a scuffling behind him, and spun. But instead of Marjorie standing there, it was the wee scullion girl. His heart fell.

“Where is she?” he asked, and his voice came out as an accusation.

“She went with Fiona.” The girl spoke quietly, and Cormac had to tilt his head to hear. “They raced off.”

“Where?” He forced his voice to evenness. It’d do no good to terrify his only source of information.

“I heard . . . mayhap there was talk of a man, and a ship,” she said, not taking her eyes from her feet.

Cormac’s heart stuck in his throat. Could Marjorie have gone to the ship without him?

She could, and she would. She’d been furious with him and apparently feeling more betrayed than he’d ever have imagined.

How had he let it come to this? He needed to find her, tell her the truth, and make her his. If she didn’t believe he loved her, he’d show her.

Cormac raced back into the night. He’d destroy that ship, even if it destroyed him in the process.