Page 27

Hamish stared at her. Freya was a shy, quiet little thing, much more so than either of her sisters. He would have said the chit didn’t have a bit of fight in her, but she did have a few barbs on her tongue, after all.

She was a MacLeod, all right.

“We can’t remain here, Cat.” Freya reached for Cat’s hand and pressed it between hers. “It’s only a matter of time before someone gets hurt. I don’t like it any more than either of you do, but . . .” She glanced between her two sisters, swallowing. “We need to leave Castle Cairncross.”

Sorcha snorted. “Why, what a wonderful idea, Freya. There’s just the tiniest problem. We haven’t a penny to our names, and we don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“The Duffys will take us—”

“No.” Cat’s voice was quiet, but final. “We can’t ask that of them, Freya. It’s gone too far with the villagers for us to drag the Duffys into this mess. They’d never refuse us if we did ask, but they’d pay a price for helping us.”

“But there’s no other way, Cat.”

“Yes, there is.” Slowly, Catriona rose to her feet. “There is one other way.”

For a long moment, no one spoke. Sorcha and Freya looked at each other, their eyebrows raised, but Catriona wasn’t looking at either of them.

She was looking at him.

And he . . . God, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Had it only been yesterday he’d dismissed her as a tiny, insignificant thing when he’d seen her outside the window of Baird’s Pub?

She doesn’t look like she’s up to summoning so much as a butterfly . . .

Now, he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever been so blind.

The way she’d fought for her sisters tonight, and for her home, her cleverness and bravery, and that ingenious bit of trickery with the phosphorus paint. He’d known many ladies in his time, many of them beautiful, and many of them brilliant, but he’d never seen anything like Catriona MacLeod.

“Lord Ballantyne? You said earlier you believed we might be able to help each other.”

“I did, yes.” Was she considering it? Although he couldn’t say why, he found himself rising to his feet. “And I meant it, Miss MacLeod.”

“You said you think we want the same thing, my lord, and perhaps we do, or nearly so.” She eyed him, her lips pursed. “But given our earlier encounter, I’m hesitant to trust you.”

Well, he could hardly argue with that reasoning. He’d done nothing since he’d regained consciousness but make accusations and threats, and that was after he’d chased her through the woods.

He hadn’t precisely covered himself with glory, but perhaps it wasn’t too late to acquit himself as a gentleman ought to do.

“Our fathers were friends at one time, Miss MacLeod. This business with the treasure involves them both. I’m convinced the only way we’ll unravel this mystery is to confide in each other. ”

“I don’t relish the idea of confiding anything to you, my lord, but I don’t see any way out of this mess without your help. I’d like to propose a partnership of sorts, but—”

“A partnership, with him ?” Sorcha glared at him as if he were something unspeakable that she’d just scraped from the bottom of her boot. “For pity’s sake, Cat, he’s part of the problem!”

“He is, indeed, and I daresay a partnership between us will prove uncomfortable, but I have reason to think he’s right about our fathers. I think there was some sort of pact between them.”

“Oh? What made you change your mind, Miss MacLeod?” He drew closer to her and studied her face in the dim light.

“I, ah . . .” She hesitated for an instant, but then said in a rush, “I found something. Something unexpected.”

“Is that so?” He drew closer still, his heart beginning to hammer with anticipation in his chest. “Something like a treasure, here inside the castle? In the secret chamber behind those closed doors, perhaps?”

“Secret chamber? My, you do have a fanciful imagination. Or perhaps you’ve just been listening to village gossip. I’m sorry to disappoint you, my lord, but I already told you my father didn’t bring any treasure back to Castle Cairncross.”

She held his gaze steadily, not a hint of a lie hiding in those green depths, but even so, he wasn’t sure if he believed her. Her father had been a liar and a thief, after all, and she was a MacLeod, just as he’d been.

And, of course, she had every reason to lie.

But it no longer mattered. This was an ancient castle, and a large one, with endless nooks and crannies where three wily chits could tuck away a fortune in gold coins.

Even if the treasure was hidden here inside the castle—and he was no longer convinced it was—he might look forever, and never find it.

As for taking the castle apart piece by piece, the idea no longer appealed. He needed Catriona MacLeod, whether he liked it or not. “Then you know where the treasure is?”

“No. Not exactly. I didn’t believe there was a treasure at all, until . . .” She hesitated, biting her lip.

“Until?”

She let out a breath. “Until our conversation in the library this afternoon.”

Ah, now this was getting interesting. “Oh? And why is that, Miss MacLeod?”

Again, she hesitated, but then she gave a decisive little nod, as if making up her mind about something. She reached into the pocket of her cloak and withdrew the iron key. “Wait here, please. I’ll return in a moment.”

She marched to the doors set into the back wall of her workroom and fitted the key to the lock. The door opened with a groan, and she disappeared into the other room.

He glanced at Sorcha and Freya, but Freya avoided his eyes, and Sorcha only shrugged. “Don’t ask us. We haven’t the least idea what she’s up to. Cat has more secrets than a bawd in a Covent Garden brothel.”

A bawd ? God above.

“For pity’s sake, Sorcha!” Freya put her hand on her sister’s arm. “Hush, will you?”

Sorcha MacLeod was grinning like a madwoman, and there was no telling what she might have said next if Catriona hadn’t squeezed through the narrow opening of the door, then closed it with a thud, and locked it behind her.

When she stepped into the circle of light cast by the lantern, she had a small, green velvet pouch in her hand. She pulled the drawstring and turned the pouch over.

Three gold coins spilled out and landed on the worktable with a soft clink.

“Are those . . .” He raised his gaze to hers.

“Yes.”

He drew closer, his breath held, but he already knew what he was going to find.

And there they were, atop the scarred worktable, gleaming dull gold in the moonlight. He stared down at them, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

“Louis d’Or ten-pieces.”

“Louis d’Or ten-pieces, yes.” Catriona reached for the lantern on the worktable and turned up the wick. It flared to life, bathing the worktable in a bright glow. “Check the dates, my lord.”

He picked up one of the coins and held it up to the lamplight, and just as he’d suspected, it was identical to his father’s coin, with the year sixteen hundred forty proudly displayed in the bottom center of it, right under the carving of Louis XIII.

“Is that Father’s gold ten-piece?” Freya had abandoned her perch on the window seat, and now crowded closer to the worktable. “I don’t understand. He only has one coin, doesn’t he?”

Sorcha was staring down at the coins with a frown, as if she thought her father’s single coin had somehow spawned a second and third when she hadn’t been watching them. “Where did the other two come from?”

Catriona shook her head. “I’m not sure. I just discovered them tonight. I came upstairs to check the date on Father’s coin after Lord Ballantyne showed me his father’s Louis d’Or gold ten-piece in the library this afternoon.”

Freya gasped. “You mean there’s a fourth one?”

“Yes. Curious, isn’t it? Perhaps you’d be so good as to show your coin to my sisters, my lord.”

It was only fair. She’d shown him hers, after all. Hamish reached into his breeches pocket, withdrew his own coin, tossed it onto the table with the other three, then turned to Catriona and gestured to the coins on the table. “May I have a closer look, Miss MacLeod?”

She nodded. He picked them up one at a time and studied each one carefully. All four of the coins were identical, just as she’d said. “You do realize this can’t be a coincidence, do you not, Miss MacLeod?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, my lord.”

“But what does this mean?” Freya was staring down at the coin in her palm. “Someone must have brought the other two coins into the castle.”

“Yes. I’m not sure who, but I know where we can find out.”

Freya laid the coin on the worktable, and they stood there for some time in silence, looking at the four coins. They might have remained that way until the sun rose if the distant chiming of the grandfather clock hadn’t reached them in the workroom.

It was two o’clock in the morning.

Freya stirred. “We’d better rest now, while we can. Goodness only knows what challenges tomorrow will bring.” She took Sorcha’s elbow and led her to the door, but paused on the threshold, and glanced over her shoulder. She had the most curious expression on her face. “Goodnight, Cat. My lord.”

Then she and Sorcha were gone, leaving him alone with Catriona.

He opened his mouth to say . . . something. That they should retire to their beds, perhaps, or something similarly unnecessary, but he was strangely tongue-tied. So, he said nothing, but neither could he make himself look away from her.

There was a daub of phosphorescent paint on her face. Just a small one, a tiny glowing circle of white. If she’d been smiling, it would have been right at the place where the corner of her mouth met her cheek.

He’d never seen her smile. To be fair, she had little to smile about, but if a smile were to find its way to her lips, what would it look like? And how ridiculous was it that he was certain he’d dream of her smile tonight without having ever seen it before?

“I intend to pay a call on the Duffys tomorrow, my lord.”

He dragged his gaze away from her mouth, clearing his throat. “The, ah . . . the Duffys, Miss MacLeod?”

“Yes. Our former butler and housekeeper.” She didn’t look at him but busied herself picking up the coins still scattered across the table. “I assume you wish to accompany me?”

“Indeed, I do. If we’re to be partners, there can be no secrets between us.”

He expected her to argue, but she only nodded. “I’ll meet you in the entryway at nine o’clock tomorrow morning then, Lord Ballantyne.”

With that, she slid three of the coins into the green velvet pouch and held out the fourth one to him.

He took it, trapping it in his palm. The gold was still warm from her fingers.

She tucked the pouch into the palm of her hand and made her way to the door.

“Wait!” he called, just as she was about to disappear into the corridor.

She turned. “Yes?”

“Why did you decide on a truce between us? What made you change your mind?”

It was a foolish question. He already knew she’d say a truce with him was the last thing she wanted, and she’d only agreed because she had no other choice.

But he wanted to hear her say it, all the same, if for no other reason than it might shake him loose from this perplexing spell that had fallen over him.

But Catriona MacLeod was nothing if not surprising, and this was no exception.

She didn’t say that. She didn’t say anything at all, but just when he’d reconciled himself to yet another unanswered question, she murmured, “You helped us tonight, Lord Ballantyne.”

“Yes?” Had she imagined he’d stand by and let them be overrun by smugglers? What sort of monster did she take him—

“You didn’t have to.”

For an instant, he bristled, but the ill-tempered retort on his lips died when she met his eyes. What he read in those green depths . . . well, he understood her, then.

She wasn’t saying they hadn’t needed or wanted his help. She was pointing out that he’d had no obligation at all to help them, yet he’d done it anyway.

In her own oblique way, she was thanking him. It should have gratified him, but instead, it only emphasized once again how few people had lifted a finger to help the MacLeod sisters since this mess began.

“Nine o’clock, Lord Ballantyne.” She turned once again to the door. “Don’t keep me waiting.”