Chapter Six

Even on her wedding day, even on the night she awaited her first clandestine lover, Etta hadn’t known excitement like this. She felt like a young, inexperienced girl, and yet her anticipation, her desires were anything but childish. She’d never encountered a whirlwind force like Rob Ogilvy before, nor a man who moved her so by his mere presence.

And now that he’d gone—where had he gone and why hadn’t he just stayed?—she had no idea how to fill her time until his return.

She paced restlessly between the rooms of the house, lost in dreams and possibilities. And then scolded herself when her thoughts tried to stray beyond this one night. God knew, the prospect of the night itself was enough to occupy her… Until she all but walked into the waiting, frowning figure of Mrs. Ross at the foot of the stairs.

“I can’t find Ross,” the housekeeper stated.

So lost was Etta in her own world that it took her a moment to register the meaning of the words, let alone the housekeeper’s unusual posture. Mrs. Ross was wringing her hands, frowning, a look of panic in her eyes that Etta had never seen before.

Mentally shaking herself into the present, Etta took her arm and led her toward the front parlor. “I’m sure he’ll be home in a few minutes,” she soothed. “When did you see him last?”

“First thing this morning. Archie took him your message, but I can’t find anyone who’s seen him since about ten or eleven o’clock. I don’t know what to do. He never vanishes like this.”

In the few days she’d been here, Etta had to agree with her. On the other hand, no doubt he had been on his best behavior. He could easily have relaxed and wandered into the local tavern. However, when Etta tactfully suggested this, Mrs. Ross shook her head impatiently.

“He wouldn’t do that, not just now when everyone’s guarding the house from those miscreants who broke in. It wouldn’t be right.”

It wouldn’t. A sliver of unease seeped into her mind.

“We have to find him,” she said decisively. “Write Mr. Ogilvy a note and send someone over to Lochgarron with it. We’ll send the others out to scour our own land for him—or his horse, though hopefully, they’re still together.”

“We can’t send all the men out,” Mrs. Ross objected. “We need to guard the house.”

“Then we and the servants from London shall guard it,” Etta said. “Although I’m sure we stand in no danger in broad daylight. The rest of the men shall search for Mr. Ross.”

There was some relief in making those arrangements, although Archie and the men who’d arrived from Lochgarron were, at first, reluctant to go, since their orders from “Himself” stated otherwise.

“Don’t be silly,” Etta said. “Your guard duty is for tonight. Right now, the most important thing is to discover Mr. Ross, who could be lying injured anywhere on the estate. Find him and bring him home before dark. Hurry!”

That done, Etta sent Mrs. Ross to supervise dinner, a meal she invited the privileged housekeeper to enjoy with her. It was while they were eating that they heard the knock at the front door.

Mrs. Ross paused with her fork half way to her mouth, her gaze flying to meet Etta’s.

Etta set down her glass. Their own men wouldn’t have knocked at the front door. Nor did she recognize the voice exchanging words with Harry, her London-born footman whom she’d brought to Ardbeag with her.

A few moments later, Morag hurried into the room. “M’lady, there’s a man at the door says he’s found Mr. Ross and needs help to carry him!”

Etta rose at once, hurrying to the door, a pace behind Mrs. Ross. Although she welcomed any news of the missing man, the arrival rang several warning bells in her mind, not least that Morag had said, “a man,” rather than giving the visitor’s name. That alone was unusual here.

“Mrs. Ross,” she said warningly, catching up with the older lady at the top of the stairs, from where Etta saw Harry below, still guarding the open front door with his considerable bulk. It struck her that she really might need the poker she’d joked about with Rob. “We don’t know—”

But Mrs. Ross either didn’t hear or didn’t care for whatever Etta had to say. “Let him in at once, Harry!”

Harry turned, perhaps to argue the point, or just to see if Etta concurred. Suddenly, he barreled backward into the house, attacked by whoever stood at the door. Another man ran past them into the hall—and he held a pistol in either hand. A third man entered at his heels and kicked the door shut. They dripped all over the well-polished floor.

“Oh God,” Mrs. Ross said in despair.

Below, Harry’s attacker sat on his waist, dodging his flailing fists until the armed man came closer and waved the pistol in Harry’s face. Harry subsided. The man on top of him yanked him up by his coat and pulled back his fist to punch.

“Unhand my servant this instant!” Etta commanded, sailing downstairs with all the pride she could muster. Her one, faint hope was to overawe them until help could come. Even then, “help” seemed to have Rob’s face.

Her strategy seemed to work. The villain let Harry go and rose to his feet, never taking his eyes off Etta.

He shook rain off like a dog. “You’ll be the lady of Ardbeag.”

“I am,” Etta said haughtily. She halted, half way down the staircase. “Who, pray, will you be, and what is the meaning of this intrusion?”

The man bowed with a mocking flourish, while his armed comrade kept one pistol aimed at Harry, who staggered to his feet. “Doesn’t matter who I am, does it? But aye, come down and we’ll tell you what it’s all about.”

“Don’t, ma’am,” Mrs. Ross pleaded. “They were lying about Ross. Come back, don’t go near them.”

“They’ll only follow us wherever we go,” Etta said, far more calmly than she felt. She continued her descent to the foot of the stairs. “Besides, I am insatiably curious.”

“So’re your people, by the looks of things,” said the third ruffian, gazing toward the kitchen door. “Oblige us and tell your servants we’ll shoot you if they don’t come out here quietly.”

Her people obviously heard because Francis, her other footman, emerged slowly and unthreateningly from the kitchen door, followed by her abigail and cook and the kitchen maid behind them.

“You unharmed, m’lady?” Francis asked anxiously.

“Quite,” Etta said, as though indifferent. “Though, you might look after Harry. Now, my man,” she addressed the chief intruder, “what in the name of goodness is all this about?”

“Prince Charlie’s gold,” came the inevitable reply. “In there,” he commanded, directing everyone toward the front parlor.

The man with the pistols kept one pointed at Henrietta. She walked into the parlor as if she didn’t notice and sat in the arm chair by the fireplace. She wanted to ask Mrs. Ross to sit too before she fell, but the trembling housekeeper entered last, and cowered against the wall by the door with Morag. One of the intruders remained near the door, too, though he didn’t pay much attention to the two women.

Etta folded her hands in her lap in an effort to control their shaking and waited. She refused to show fear, either to her servants or to those who threatened them. Through the open curtains, daylight was fading. The men would return soon, with or without Ross. And Rob would come.

Her stomach twisted with fresh anxiety. She had the feeling Rob would do something rash to save her. If he were to be hurt, if he were to die…

“The gold,” said the chief intruder. “Tell us where it is and we’ll be gone. No one needs to be hurt.”

“Gold?” Etta repeated. “The only gold I have is in what few pieces of jewelry I brought with me. If you must, you can have it, but I’m afraid it’s so recognizable that you’ll get only a fraction of its worth when you try to sell it. And probably arrested into the bargain.”

“Not that kind of gold,” the villain with the pistols said impatiently.

“You mean money? I have some notes in my desk. You missed that the last time you were here.”

The pistol man came closer. “We weren’t looking for them, or your pathetic jewelry. We don’t want scraps. We want the treasure. Prince Charlie’s treasure.”

“Have you considered asking his descendants?” Etta asked. “In Russia, Count Roehenstart—”

“We know it’s here,” he interrupted. “Everyone says so.”

Etta met the gaze of the chief villain. “Look. It doesn’t matter what anyone says. Rumor doesn’t make a thing true. For myself, I have no idea what the truth is. If there was ever treasure here, I believe it to be long gone. If it is here, I have no idea where. The house has been practically rebuilt twice since the Rebellion.”

“Then the treasure must have been rehidden,” he said stubbornly. “Where?”

“I wouldn’t know that even if it were true,” Etta said, allowing a hint of impatience into her voice. “I was never here in my life before I arrived at Ardbeag last week.”

“Then your family must have told you.” The chief intruder cast what was surely a wary glance at his accomplices. He’d led them on this wild goose chase and needed them to believe in it. He needed to believe in it himself, presumably because his life was otherwise so hopeless.

Etta said gently, “My husband, from whom I inherited Ardbeag, was never here either, so far as I know. He never mentioned even rumors of treasure to me. Nor did his father.”

“I don’t believe you! I think that’s why you came here. You’ve either found it already or you know exactly where it is.”

“Who’s that?” the armed man said suddenly, raising the right-hand pistol from Etta to the window.

Jerking her head around, Etta was in time to see a female figure, ghostly pale in the gathering dusk, sprint from the front door and run like a hare for the drive.

“It’s the old woman!” the chief intruder exclaimed. “How’d she get out there? Nicol, for God’s sake—!”

Etta’s quick, startled glance toward the parlor door was enough to prove that her eyes did not deceive her. Mrs. Ross had indeed slipped out the door and was running from the house as fast as her legs could carry her. But the armed man was taking aim through the window and Etta’s mouth suddenly dried with fear.

From instinct, she leapt to her feet. “Wait!”

Both pistols swung back to her. “Sit,” the owner growled.

Etta held up both palms placatingly. “Of course.” She sat slowly, giving Mrs. Ross time to get farther away. The greater the distance between them, surely, the less certain the gunman’s aim. “It just struck me, we might have a way out of this situation. Why do you want this treasure? To improve the lot of your families?”

“Of course,” the chief robber said loftily.

More likely, he’d got into some drunken boast and was now determined to see it through or lose face before his equally fat-witted friends. But she nodded sympathetically. “Then I have to tell you, the money in my library desk will do you all much more good than any imagined treasure. Even if the treasure were real, you’d surely all be taken up by the law for selling something so prominent—which must belong to the government, I’m sure—and what use would you be to your families then? Take the money as a gift, and salvage something from this fiasco.”

The chief scowled at her, looking for the catch.

“She’s got a point, Tam,” said the man who’d failed to stop Mrs. Ross’s escape. Nicol, the leader had called him.

“Aye?” said the man with the pistols in disbelief. “And what’s to stop her accusing us of stealing the money and sending the law after us?”

“Jesus,” Nicol said. “She’ll do that anyway, whether we have it away with a few pounds or weighed down by a ton of bloody gold! With just notes we can at least run faster!”

“No one’s running anywhere!” Tam, the leader, snapped. “We’re going to get the treasure and leave on her ladyship’s horses.”

“Well, that’s another thing,” Etta said apologetically. She wanted to draw out the conversation, to make possible some kind of situation where the intruders could be overpowered, or, at least, got rid of without anyone being hurt. A slim, desperate hope, but one she had to hold on to.

“What is?” Tam demanded.

“There are no horses in the stable, apart from my mare, and I doubt she’d take the weight of one of you, let alone all three of you, supplemented by treasure or not.”

“You’ve got more than one horse!” Nicol scoffed.

“Oh yes, but my men took them, looking for my missing estate manager.”

The three men exchanged glances. Etta’s throat closed up with fear for Mr. Ross. She suspected they’d seen there was no one guarding the house. They may even have seen the men leave. Perhaps they hadn’t thought ahead, or just believed the resources of the comparatively wealthy to be limitless.

“They’ll be back very soon, before it’s completely dark,” Etta warned. “So I’d advise you to conclude your business quickly and be gone.”

“We’re not afraid,” Tam retorted. “Why should we be when our pistols point at you?”

She laughed. “My good man, I’m of no value to anyone. I am a stranger here.”

Nicol and the gunman exchanged worried glances.

“She’s gulling you,” Tam said. “She’s trying to convince us she knows nothing about the treasure. Which means she does. Very well, missus, two minutes, and then he shoots—”

“Me,” Etta finished for him. “I understand, though sadly, I will not then be in a position to tell you anything.”

“Which is why we won’t shoot you,” Tam said triumphantly, striding across the room. “We’ll shoot…her.” He seized Morag by the arm and dragged her to the middle of the floor so that the gunman could point one of his pistols at her while the other remained on Etta. “How many servants are you prepared to see die before you tell us?”

Up until then, Etta had been acting and talking on blind instinct, some inner voice assuring her that she could control the situation if she stayed calm and talked, that she would not let anything happen to her people. But at that moment, the reality hit home with enough force to make her dizzy. Blood drained from her face and, for an instant, her vision blurred. She could not reason with these men because they couldn’t afford to believe the truth. And she could not stop them shooting whomever they wished. She didn’t have the information they wanted.

Her vision cleared, leaving her staring into Tam’s flat, hard eyes.

And then someone knocked on the front door. A loud, sudden banging that made everyone jump and exchange glances.

Tam and Nicol strode to the window and peered toward the front door.

“I can’t see anyone,” Nicol said.

“Well the door didn’t knock itself,” Tam retorted. “They’ll be standing too close in for us to see, so there can only be one of them, two at most. It’s not her men back.” He chewed his lip. “Answer it. Bring whoever it is in here.”

Nicol nodded without enthusiasm and went to obey.

“Not a sound,” Tam warned everyone. “And you,” he added to Etta, “need to start thinking about your choices. How many lives is your treasure worth?”

“None,” she whispered.

The tension in the room was strung as tight as a bow. Even straining her ears, Etta could hear no conversation from the front door or the hall. No footsteps.

And then, very slowly, Mrs. Ross walked into the room, carrying a large, covered box. Behind her, came her husband.

“Mr. Ross!” Etta exclaimed, jumping to her feet, for his face was bruised and his upper lip swollen.

“Sit down, my lady,” he said sternly, and Etta was so surprised that she did.

“What the…?” Tam began.

Mrs. Ross set the apparently heavy box down at Tam’s feet. It was covered by nothing more exotic than a rather grubby coat. She stepped aside. “I’ve brought you the treasure. Now take it and go.”

“Good God,” Etta uttered. “There really was treasure.”

All eyes rivetted on the box as Tam bent and twitched the coat away.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

Mr. Ross thudded his joined hands onto Tam’s shoulders, flattening him. At the same time, the window exploded. A man leapt through the hail of shattered glass and hurled himself across the floor into the stunned gunman.

“Rob,” Etta whispered in sudden, fresh terror. Mrs. Ross clutched her, and the room seemed to fill with men. Archie was one of them.

Etta found herself staring at the box of “treasure,” which contained a ham, two loaves, a jar of pickles and several fat cabbages. The box had only ever been a distraction. Hysterical laughter threatened. She wrenched her eyes free of the box and searched frantically for Rob.

On one knee, he held one of the gunman’s pistol’s in his left hand, while his right fist crashed into the man’s jaw. A complete stranger to her caught the second pistol. Rob rose to his feet, soaking wet from the rain, and spun around until his eyes locked with Etta’s.

She drew in a shuddering breath. All her people were still standing. The pistols had never fired, and the man who’d wielded them lay unconscious on the carpet at Rob’s feet. Tam and Nicol stood captives, each held by two men.

She swallowed. “Light the candles in the drawing room, Morag, it’s cold and dark in here.”

Rob began to laugh.