Page 28 of Highlander Unbound (Lockhart Trilogy #1)

I n a small hotel room in Cambridge, near the university, Ellen peered into the small pouch where she kept her money. It was dreadfully close to empty—the coach fares, the cost of the hotel, all of it draining her meager resources to the point that she had just enough now to buy coach fare to reach a port city. Which meant the beastie had to be sold in Cambridge if she was to have enough to take her and Natalie across the sea to France.

She glanced at Natalie, seated at a small table and drawing on the newspaper a gentleman had given them on the coach ride to Cambridge. She had hardly spoken since their predawn departure; she had not complained about their quiet leaving of Peasedown, but had been rather disappointed that Ellen had no better plan in mind than to go to Cambridge.

“What of Captain Lockhart?” she had asked.

Ellen hadn’t been able to look at her, had pretended to busy herself with their things. “The captain is not coming.”

Natalie remained frostily silent the entire trip.

Ellen could only hope that she’d feel better once they reached France—actually, she could only hope that she’d feel better. It was the only thing she would allow herself to think, for she could not bear to think that Natalie might never be happy, might have fallen too far into the abyss of her little fantasies already. Dear God, what an ugly thought.

She immediately put it out of her mind, because frankly, at present, she had a more urgent matter to attend to—the selling of the beastie. The hotel clerk had been nice enough to point out where she might find a number of shops selling novelty items and antiquities, and she was anxious to get on with it, to see if she might interest a shopkeeper in acquiring the Scottish antique.

“I must go out and see if I might find a spot of supper for us, darling,” she said to Natalie, putting her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

Natalie shrugged it off, continuing to draw.

Ellen repressed a weary sigh. “Do not open the door to anyone, do you understand? Not to anyone.”

“Who should come here?” Natalie asked coldly, grimacing as she raised her head to glance at the tiny surroundings.

“You’ll mind your tongue, young miss,” Ellen said wearily. “It’s the best I can do for you at present, but I intend to remedy that shortly. In the meantime, you will not open that door to anyone . Am I quite understood?”

“Quite,” Natalie muttered, and dipped her head, focusing on her drawing. Ellen picked up her cloak, took one last look at Natalie and the drawing, and noticed that it was the same as all the others—a castle, a tower. And by the time she returned, the figure of a captive princess would have appeared.

With another heavy sigh, Ellen picked up the beastie and left.

She wandered through the market and onto Magdalene Street, but she met with precious little luck. Unfortunately, two shops had closed, and the one shopkeeper she spoke to recoiled at the sight of the beastie. “An unusual piece of art, madam,” he said, his distaste clearly evident. “But I daresay most are looking for something a little less… peacockish.”

“But isn’t there anyone who might want it? After all, it’s made of gold, and the rubies certainly could be removed and used in a stunning piece of jewelry.”

The man laid a finger next to his nose, grimacing at the thing. “I can think of no one.”

A lump of tears burned in her throat.

“Unless…I hardly know what he’s apt to buy, but there is a proprietor, Mr. Charles Stanley, who rather prides himself on unusual pieces. He’s on High Street, just near the university,” he said, smiling, apparently relieved for having thought of it.

Ellen hurried to High Street and the establishment of Stanley and Son.

The shop was small, darkly lit, and cluttered with a shocking variety of knickknacks, antiquities, and ornaments. A musty smell permeated everything and the little shop was so crowded, it was difficult to maneuver about the many tables and shelves. There was only one other customer that Ellen could see—a rather large, portly woman with a bonnet so ornate and so big that it defied logic by managing to skirt the cluttered contents of the shop without touching anything.

Ellen made her way to the back of the shop, where a tall, thin man, wearing shirtsleeves held up by arm garters in addition to his visor, was busily working on what looked like a music box. Ellen stood politely for a moment. But when he didn’t raise his head, she carefully cleared her throat.

“Yes, yes, just give me a moment, will you?” he snapped, finished what he was doing, then looked up and peered at her closely, squinting. “Yes?”

“If you please, sir, I have an item I thought you might be interested in— ”

“Not in the market,” he said abruptly, and bent over his music box again.

That was it? Not in the market? He would not even do her the honor of looking at her item? Oh, no, no, no—he was in the market, all right, or she’d climb across the counter and shove the thing down his long skinny throat. “Pardon, sir, but if you would be so kind to indulge me but a moment—”

“Madam.” He looked up and sighed at the ceiling before meeting her gaze. “I am well overstocked, if that is not painfully obvious to you. I’ve no room for your trinkets! I suggest you try Parker—”

“I have been to Parker, and he assures me that my object is so unusual and unique that it could only be of interest to you, sir.”

That gained his attention; he looked at her with all due suspicion over the tops of his spectacles. “He did, did he? Well? What is it, then?”

“A beastie,” she said eagerly, moving to unwrap it.

“A beastie? What nonsense is that?”

“It’s really a rather remarkable story. It comes from Scotland, you see, commissioned by the lover of a doomed adulteress hundreds of years ago. It apparently meant something to the two of them, and he had it caste in gold and rubies. But then her adultery was discovered, and she was sentenced to death, and she gave the statue to her daughter. It has been passed…ah, passed to, um, me …through my, uh…Scottish cousin. However, I find it does not combine well with my decor, but as it is cast in gold, I thought perhaps that I might sell it—”

“In debt, are you?” he sneered, watching her unwrap the beastie. “That’s a woman for you, no appreciation for even a farthing.”

Ellen did not respond to that, just took the last fold of plaid from the beastie .

“Dear God!” the proprietor gasped, taking a small step backward. “What a hideously ugly piece!”

“Indeed it is. But as you can see, it is made of gold, and the eyes, they are rubies—”

“Rather ornate for such an ugly thing, isn’t it? I couldn’t sell that if my life depended on it. No, madam, you may take your hideous little beastie elsewhere.”

“But…but can’t you melt it down? Use the gold for something else?”

“If that is what you want, you should acquaint yourself with a goldsmith. I am not a goldsmith; I am a purveyor of fine goods.” With that, he turned back to his music box.

The conversation apparently over, Ellen gaped at his back, paralyzed by a new wave of fear and indecision. “I think it is quite remarkable.”

The woman’s voice startled her; Ellen whirled about, saw the huge bonnet looking down at her, underneath which was a plump face with a kind smile.

“Lady Battenkirk,” the woman said, inclining her head.

“Miss Farnsworth,” Ellen muttered, her gaze falling to the bright red boa the woman was wearing with her walking gown.

“I’m rather a connoisseur of art, really. I take a keen interest in history, too. I find it all so engaging. Did I hear you say that this wonderful little thing is from Scotland?” she asked as her chubby fingers caressed the beastie.

“Ah…yes. Yes, from Scotland,” Ellen said, trying to take in the celery green gown embroidered with yellow. Her bonnet, however, was black, adorned with blue and purple feathers. That, along with the red boa, made for quite a strange combination. But Lady Battenkirk didn’t seem to notice her perusal, as she was far too interested in the god-awful beastie .

“It’s marvelous,” she said appreciatively. “Oh, I do so wish my friend Amelia was here!” She sighed, then looked at Ellen with a sly smile. “Amelia does not care for travel, says there is really little reason to leave London at all, and she thinks me gone quite round the bend for traipsing off to all the little villages.”

“Oh?”

“She doesn’t understand in the least, does she?” Lady Battenkirk exclaimed, waving a thick hand at her. “As it happens, I’ve been slowly working my way from the very northern tip of England all the way to the southern tip, and I’m determined to take in every little town I might. And do you see my reward? I’m destined to find such treasures as this!”

“This?” Ellen asked, confused, pointing at the beastie.

“Yes, this!” she said again, and clasping her chubby hands together, rested them atop her ample belly. “Did I hear you correctly, then, my dear? You are in the market to sell it?”

“Yes,” Ellen said, far too quickly. “It…it hardly fits with my decor, for I am certain I have nothing quite as spectacular as the art you’ve managed to collect in your travels. But it’s…it’s all gold, and the eyes, they are rubies. The mouth, too. And the tail—”

“I should like to give it to Amelia, I think. I would offer you five hundred pounds cash!” Lady Battenkirk announced with cheerful amplification.

The proprietor looked up, shook his head, muttered under his breath.

“Five hundred?” Ellen said weakly. It was not, obviously, what Liam had thought it would bring. But at that moment it sounded like a veritable fortune and she feared if she didn’t take it, she’d never find a buyer. “All right,” she said weakly, feeling a little ill.

Lady Battenkirk beamed. “How splendid! Wait until Amelia sees what I have brought her from Cambridge! I avow she’ll be all atwitter to accompany me to York next month, then, won’t she? And how fortuitous that I am to London today? I’ll present it to her over supper, I think. Now, what of that lovely plaid?”

“The plaid?”

“Quite nice, that. Beautiful craftsmanship. How much would you like for it?” she asked, fingering Liam’s kilt.

Not Liam’s kilt. Not his kilt. That seemed to be even more egregious than selling the beastie. “But…but that has been cut, and it’s really not so useful—”

“Nonsense! It will make for a divine collar,” she said authoritatively. “I’ll add twenty pounds for it.”

“Done,” Ellen said, and felt the last thread holding her heart aloft snap clean.