Robert was still here in Scotland, trying to discover her direction. He’d never find it, though. She was always thorough in hiding her trail.
She tugged her hood over her head, hiding her face in the shadows, and paused on a corner to squint into the mist. She’d already gotten lost once; she couldn’t afford to do so again.
From an alleyway came the sound of raucous, drunken laughter as two men stumbled into the street. One of them noticed her and made a comment that sent his companion into guffaws of laughter. She ignored them and hurried on, her head down.
She turned a corner and pulled her cloak tighter as she stepped around a ragged figure crumpled on the ground, reeking of gin and unwashed flesh. She paused and looked at the poor figure. Did the man or woman— it was difficult to tell among the rags and matted hair— need assistance? Had they been attacked and perhaps left for dead? There were thieves and worse about.
She slipped her hand to the small pistol strapped to her waist under her cloak. It was a lovely pistol with delicate scrolling etched along the grip, the barrel slender and short. The pistol was so small that it was of use at only very close range. Still, she was more than proficient in its use and had found it more than sufficient for protection. With a careful glance into the shadows, Moira bent to shake the bony shoulder.
The figure stirred, revealing a woman’s dirty face.
Moira knelt beside her. “Are you well, missus?”
The woman blinked rapidly and then coughed loudly. “Och, I jus’ falled.” She waved Moira on, as if annoyed to have been awakened, then tucked herself into a tighter ball in the middle of the walk.
Moira returned her pistol to its sheath and continued on her way. As she reached the corner, the huge clock that overshadowed the square tolled, deep and melodious.
I’m late! God, no! Her heart thudded sickly in her throat as she dashed down the street to the churchyard. Beside the low iron gate sat a large black coach, malevolent in the mist. Moira pressed a hand to her chest, her heart beating with a lonely, deep ache.
I must be calm. I must control this situation and stay strong.
Hands fisted at her sides, she walked across the courtyard. As she approached the coach, she pushed back her hood and smoothed her hair. The mist parted and the coachman yelled for her to halt.
The crest seemed to leer down at her, a red sun overlaid by a stag wearing a circlet of white heather. She hated that crest, yet longed to see it with all of her heart.
The coachman climbed down from his seat past two burly footmen, and went to the door. He knocked briskly upon the curtained panel. A moment later, it swung open and a man stepped out.
George Aniston was dressed like the veriest dandy; his blond locks combed just so, his cravat an impressive size and set with a glittering ruby, his knitted trousers striped in the current fashion.
His petulant scowl made him look half his age. “You’re late.”
“The mist confused me. If I could have come by carriage—”
“You know the rules.” His voice was as youthful as his figure, his face as smooth as a schoolboy’s. When she’d first met him, she’d made the mistake of thinking him weak, foolish, and lacking in capabilities.
She’d only made that mistake once.
“So the box wasn’t there, was it?” he asked.
“You don’t look surprised.” Of course, he already knew it wasn’t there. She hid the bite of disappointment. Knowledge was power, but with Aniston she could never get ahead. He always knew. It was one of the things that made him so dangerous.
“After you left town, I received word that the artifact I seek was sold to a collector in the highlands.”
“So Bancroft never had it.” Anger simmered through her. “You sent me on a wild-goose chase.”
He shrugged. “I can send you on any sort of a chase I wish. I own you.”
No, you don’t. No one owns me. Ever. She burned to rage at him, but there was more at stake than her pride. She said in a tight voice, “I could have done more good elsewhere.”
“Perhaps. I sent you to fetch a different onyx box almost a month ago. If I remember correctly, you failed at that small service, too.”
He called making her an accessory to blackmail a “small service,” and she feared that to him, it was nothing more.
She met his gaze evenly. “Don’t blame me for that. You didn’t tell me Miss Beauchamp had William Hurst with her.”
The heavy lids drooped over the icy blue eyes. “I didn’t expect that development. Still, I would have thought that for someone with your . . . skills, a little surprise like that wouldn’t have been insurmountable. And then there was the time you told me that you’d found one of the boxes in a collection in Edinburgh, but then found you were mistaken.” His gaze narrowed. “I still find that tale difficult to believe.”
“It wasn’t the same style of box. It was gold and onyx, but far too large.” She met his gaze steadily though it cost her dearly. She hadn’t dared tell him the truth– that she’d had one of his precious boxes in her grasp and it had disappeared from her lodgings. Of course, now she knew what had happened, but at the time she’d had no good explanation as to why the box had gone missing and couldn’t risk him thinking that she’d sold it, or worse, and so she’d lied. “Do you or do you not wish to end this debt between us?”
“Debt?” Her voice was sharp and bitter. “You stole from me; I don’t owe you anything!”
His mouth tightened and before she could say another word, he was before her, his words hissing through his teeth. “Don’t you ever speak to me like that again. I own you, worthless fool that you are, and I won’t take such disrespectful behavior!”
She yearned to use her pistol but she dared not. Not only because of the footmen, who were obviously just paid thugs, but also because Aniston was right. She was completely at his mercy. She couldn’t afford to allow her emotions to lead her into making a mistake. The man was mad and seemed to be sliding further and further into it.
So she would do anything, say anything, pretend anything, steal anything that he asked. But in the end, she would win.
She nodded. “I’m sorry. I was irritated at being sent on a pointless mission.”
He eyed her narrowly but finally nodded, satisfied with her contrite expression. “That’s better. You seem to forget that I hold what’s most precious to you in the palm of my hand.” He held out his bare hand, the skin eerily white in the mist. “Do you want me to finish this?” He closed his hand tightly, as if crushing the very air.
She swallowed convulsively. “I want to finish this so that we’re both satisfied. But you must understand this: the loss of the onyx box was not my fault. I did what I said I would do. But not only was Captain Hurst there, but his brother as well and—”
“Hold. His brother? Which one?”
She cursed her slip of tongue. This is why I mustn’t get angry. I lose my concentration and make mistakes. “Robert Hurst. It seems that every time you send me to fetch an onyx box, I run into him.”
Aniston appeared intrigued. “Ah! He was at Bancroft’s sale, too?”
“Of course he was there; some of the artifacts were quite impressive.”
“Did he mention the onyx box?”
“Yes. He was hoping to find another there, as were we.”
Aniston nodded slowly. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
“I was most unhappy to see him. He is a significant force.”
Aniston murmured, “Yes, he is.” He rubbed his chin. “So the Hursts are still pursuing the onyx boxes.”
“It seems so. Just how many are there?”
“Three.”
Damn it. He always knows. She wet her dry lips. “So Hurst has one, and this unknown buyer has the other. Where’s the third?”
“I haven’t found it yet, but I will.”
Ah ha! He doesn’t know that the Hursts have already recovered it. Though she wasn’t certain how the information was useful, it soothed her to kn
ow that Aniston wasn’t as all- powerful as she’d thought him to be.
Aniston turned his cool gaze upon her now. “Leave the final box to me. I will discover its location soon enough. Meanwhile, you will fetch the one that was recently purchased by this buyer.”
“So you know who has it?”
“Sir Lachlan Ross. I have a carriage waiting to take you first thing in the morn—”
“No.”
Aniston’s mouth tightened and Moira hurried to add, “Please. I just returned and it’s been weeks since I—” Her hands curled into fists. “Aniston, you promised I could see her when I returned.”
Aniston’s gaze narrowed. “But you were not successful.”
“You know it wasn’t my fault.”
He pursed his lips but then gestured toward his coach. “Fine. You may see her.”
Moira’s heart thudded hard. “She— she’s here?”
He nodded to his coachman, who rapped upon the door panel. It opened and a sharp- faced woman climbed from the carriage, pausing to say sharply to someone inside, “I said put that down and come!”
Moira’s world spun slowly, the beat of her heart so loud it drowned out all thoughts. A small foot appeared in the doorway, followed by a tousle- headed child of five years of age. The girl had long dark hair and blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes. She had a cherubic face, round with rosy lips and a snub nose.
The child’s expression darkened on seeing Aniston. But when her gaze flickered past him to Moira, it was as if the sun had broken through the clouds.
“Mama!” The small child jerked her hand free from the nurse’s as she ran forward.
“Och!” the nurse exclaimed, stomping forward. “You little brat, come back here!”
But Moira was faster. With a sob, she reached Rowena and scooped her little body up, enveloping the child in her arms.
Aniston lifted an indifferent hand to the nurse. “Let them have their moment. After all, they get so few.”
Moira buried her face in the girl’s neck as the child burst into tears and wailed, “I-I w-want t-to g-go h-home!”
“So do I, sweetheart.” Moira held her daughter close, rubbing her cheek against the child’s silky hair and kissing every inch of the dear, dear face.
She would have given her life to take Rowena home with her right now, and for a wild moment, she thought about picking up the child and running into the mist. But she’d tried that once, and she— and Rowena— had paid horribly.
Moira caught Aniston’s cold gaze over Rowena’s head and realized that the coachman was standing to one side, pistol already drawn.
Swallowing hard, Moira set the child back on the ground and stooped before her. The little face was tear streaked, the eyes red-rimmed as she hic-cupped “M-Mama, p-please t-take m-me with y-you.”
Moira’s heart ached even more. But she couldn’t afford weakness right now. These few moments may be all she has to support her until I can come for her. Moira brushed Rowena’s hair from her forehead and said in a calm voice, “Not this time, sweetheart, but soon. Very soon.”
“B-b-but I d-d-on’t want to go b-b-back! Miss Kimble hitted me and—”
Moira pulled the child closer, looking over her head at the nurse. “You hit her?”
The nurse looked uneasy and glanced at Aniston. He shrugged and dusted imaginary lint from his sleeve.
Seeing him so unmoved, the nurse sniffed and said in a cocky voice, “I dinna hit the lass when she’s quiet, but some days she’s whiny and willna listen weel, so I pop her upon the head and—”
Moira straightened.
The nurse squeaked and took two hurried steps behind Aniston.
He frowned and tugged his cloak closer. “Pray watch where you’re walking, foolish woman. I don’t want your dirt upon my good cloak.”
“She had better watch more than that,” Moira said furiously. Rowena’s thin body trembled, her small hands clinging so tightly around Moira’s leg that she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to.
Moira fixed her gaze on the nurse. “If this child comes to any harm under your care, there is no one in this world who will protect you. Not this cretin”— she jerked her head toward Aniston— “not the constable, not the devil himself.”
The nurse paled and glanced at Aniston, who said in an amused voice, “She is most likely telling the truth about that. She has certain abilities.” His cruel gaze then narrowed on Moira. “Of course, she can’t do anything right now, can she?”
Moira met his gaze steadily. “We two are almost finished.”
“We will end this when I say so, and not before.”
There was nothing more to be said. Heart heavy, Moira gave Rowena a hug and then gently disentangled the child’s arms. “Ah, sweetling, I am so glad to see you.” She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her daughter’s face. “Are you well?”
Rowena nodded, hiccupping. “I-I am learning to read.”
Moira’s heart ached. She’d wished to teach the child to read; it was yet another thing stolen from them. “Who is teaching you to read?”
“Mrs. Kimble. When she’s not mad, she likes a good story.”
Surprised, Moira looked at the nurse, who turned red and mumbled, “She’s a bright ’un and takes to readin’ faster than me own bairns ever did.”
“Thank you,” Moira said quietly. “Thank you very much.”
After a surprised moment, the woman’s hard face softened. “Ye’re welcome. I will make sure I dinna smack her head, but ’twasn’t done in spite.”
“I appreciate that, but ’tis best if it isn’t done at all.” Moira kissed Rowena’s cheek. “We will be together soon. I promise.”
“But you said last time—”
“I know. Something changed, sweetheart. I need to leave just one more time—”
“Noooo!” Tears spilled down her cheeks again, but Rowena’s face was set with determination. “Please, Mama, take me with you. I will be good and I won’t make any noise and—”
Moira swooped the girl to her. “Sweetling, you are a good child. I can’t take you with me because it will be much too dangerous. But I promise that this will be the last time.” She met Aniston’s gaze. “I swear it.”
Aniston’s cold smile did nothing to ease her fear.
Collecting herself, Moira stood, Rowena held tightly against her. At her movement, the coachman cocked his pistol.
She turned her full scorn upon him. “Put that down. It could accidentally go off, and then where would your master be? God knows I wouldn’t do his bidding unless forced.”
Aniston flicked a finger and the coachman, red with anger, disarmed the pistol.
“I’ve had enough drama for one day,” Aniston said. “It’s time for Rowena to leave now.” He turned to the nurse. “Take her.”
The nurse gingerly approached Moira. “I’ll put her in the coach now, mistress.”
Moira bent down and hugged her daughter once more. “Be very brave,” she whispered in Rowena’s ear. “And read well for Mrs. Kimble. The next time I see you, you can show me all you’ve learned.”
Through sniffles, Rowena nodded.
It took every ounce of strength Moira had to make herself reach down and peel her daughter’s fingers from her own. With the release of each small finger, Moira’s heart broke a bit more.
She gently pressed Rowena’s hand into the nurse’s with a beseeching look. “Treat her well,” she whispered. “If you do, you will be compensated beyond your wildest dreams.”
The nurse’s face lit up and she said in a low voice, “I’ll treat her as if she were me own bairn.”
“No, you will treat her like my daughter, something you will never forget.”
The woman said in a grudging tone, “Fine, then. I’ll no’ hit her.”
It wasn’t much of a promise, but it was all Moira had. She watched as Rowena was placed back into the carriage, the nurse following.
Moira turned to Aniston. “This is the final errand I run for
you,” she snapped. “Once this is done, I want Rowena back. If you don’t—”
“Pray don’t bother me with your empty threats. I decide when this is over, not you. Find the box, Moira, and I will consider letting that be your final task.” Aniston’s gaze flickered over her. “My carriage will fetch you in the morning to begin the journey.”
“How am I to get this box from Ross?”
Aniston looked amused. “You are the expert on procuring things, not I. You’ll find a way to get the box. I’m sure of it.”
“Then I need more information. Who this man is, where he lives, how to reach him—”
“The coachman will know the route to Balnagown Castle. It’s in the highlands. It will take a week and a half to reach there, perhaps longer. What else do you need to know?”
“Why did Ross purchase the box? Does he know its value?”
“I don’t think so. He bought it for his private collection. He has a very large one, from what I’ve heard, and fancies himself an expert.”
“Is he?”
“He thinks so, but I don’t believe you’d consider him so. You know so much more about antiquities than other people.” There was grudging respect in Aniston’s voice.
“What more do you know of him?”
“He’s wealthy, unmarried, and childless. They say he has a very fine stable. And he’s been in two duels in the last year.” Aniston shrugged. “I know nothing else.”
Moira frowned. “Two duels? What were they over? Gaming debts?”
“Other men’s wives.”
“Both times?”
“Yes.”
Finally, something she could use. “I’ll leave in the morning. I’m staying at the George.”
“I know where you’re staying,” he returned coolly before he turned and walked toward the carriage. As one of the footmen opened the door, Aniston paused. “One more thing: if you fail to bring me the box this time, I won’t be as patient as I’ve been in the past.”