Chapter Twenty-five

Maxwell slowly came to consciousness as light leaked into the room. His sated calmness faded. Bryn’s warm, lithe body wasn’t tucked into his. He sat up. She wasn’t in the room. Worry rose even as logical reasons for her absence scrolled.

He rolled out of bed and pulled his breeches on.

A breathy exclamation came from the door. Maxwell grabbed his shirt and pulled it on before turning.

“I’m sorry, sir. I have Miss Bryn’s water.” Gertie stood in the doorway, her expression half-fearful, half-scandalized.

“Is Miss Bryn not already up and downstairs?”

“No, sir. No one has stirred.” Her gaze darted from the rumpled bed to him and back again. “Where is she?”

Maxwell had neither the time nor ability to soothe the little maid as his own worry morphed into terror. After rousing Mrs. Soames and Henry to search the house from top to bottom, it was clear Bryn had disappeared like a wraith. The only explanation chilled his soul. Somehow Armstrong and Sutherland had managed to snatch her. He called for his horse. The ride to Sutherland’s was swift along deserted streets.

Maxwell roused a stable boy and tossed him Primrose’s reins. He pounded on the entry door. As he was contemplating ripping it off its hinges, a butler in a night wrapper opened it and peeked out of a narrow crack. It was ungodly early for a call, but social niceties didn’t concern Maxwell.

“Where’s Sutherland?”

“He’s not to be disturbed, sir.”

Maxwell pushed by him and strode toward the study. If he wasn’t there, then Maxwell would rouse him from bed. The butler begged ineffectually for him to stop.

“Sutherland!” In the resulting silence, Maxwell tried the door. It was locked. “Open the door, man, or it’s coming down.”

Not even the rustle of movement came from the other side. The scenarios flashing through his head sent him into a berserk frenzy. Was Bryn helpless and hurting on the other side? Maxwell slammed his shoulder against the door a handful of times before it surrendered with a splintering sound.

Ready to do battle, he tore into the room with a yell. Bryn was nowhere in sight. Shock replaced his fury.

“’Tis the devil’s work,” the butler said with a mirroring shock.

“Fetch the magistrate. Immediately.”

Maxwell stepped gingerly, careful not to touch the two bodies or the assortment of weapons on the floor. Having seen his share of bodies, Maxwell guessed the two men had been dead for hours.

A cord circled Sutherland’s neck, his eyes bugged and his tongue so swollen his mouth couldn’t close. The cord was wrapped around the handle to the wardrobe he and Bryn had hidden inside. He was sitting up with his legs sprawled in front of him, his breeches open. A gun hung loosely from his hand.

The other man in the grisly tableau was Dugan Armstrong. He was naked and on his back. His legs crossed Sutherland’s, forming two X’s, and indicated how close they must have been when the shot was fired. Dugan’s stomach was a mass of tissue and darkened blood. Maxwell’s stomach churned, the scene casting him back to battlefields.

This wasn’t two enemies coming together but two lovers exploring forbidden practices. With the shock came relief. It was over. He and Bryn were free.

Except he didn’t have the slightest inkling where Bryn was. Had she left on her own? But why? The magistrate would arrive soon with questions to be answered. Maxwell closed the study door behind him. The house stirred. Was news of their master’s demise already spreading? He stopped a scullery maid. “Miss, I’m looking for a new footman named Pendleton. Do you know if he’s about?”

“He’s still abed, sir.”

“Wake him. Tell him Mr. Drake is downstairs on urgent business.” Maxwell pressed a coin into her hand, and she left with a curtsy. All these servants would soon be out of a job during the heart of winter.

Maxwell paced outside the corridor that led to the servants’ stairs. The clomp of boots didn’t take long. Penny ducked under the low doorframe, eyes red-rimmed and his clothes rumpled. “What the devil, Drake?”

Maxwell shushed him and motioned him to follow. Not saying a word, he pushed the study door open with his foot.

“Bloody hell,” Penny muttered, treading closer. “I’ve heard of such practices, but something went terribly wrong.”

“An understatement. The magistrate is on his way. As I found them, he’ll require me to make a statement. And if I leave, suspicion will fall upon me.” Asking for help was uncomfortable, but finding Bryn trumped everything. “I need your help.”

“Anything,” Penny said without hesitation.

“Miss McCann’s gone, and I have to find her. Ensure her safety.” It came out in a rush of words. “That’s why I’m here. I thought…” He gestured toward the study.

“I understand. Since she’s not here, any other idea where she may have gone and why?”

Maxwell shoved his hand through his hair. Pain seared at her defection. Last night had been perfect. The start of their life together. Why had she left him?

Rejection squat in the background of his thoughts. A familiar misery. Where would she go? Whom did she know? “Perhaps to Molly’s or mayhap to her grandmother in Kinross.”

“Molly’s is a brothel, Mr. Drake.”

“Bryn is old friends with Molly’s man.” Whether it was an earl, a whore, a street urchin, or even a vicar, Bryn managed to collect friends along the path of her life. Unlike Maxwell.

Penny patted Maxwell’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’ll send word as soon as I find her, sir.”

A clatter of footsteps on the main staircase interrupted them. Penny inclined his head and disappeared back up the servants’ stairs. Mary’s shrill voice echoed above the lower tones of her husband. Maxwell closed the study up again as best as he could and blocked access to the hallway.

Mary wore a long-sleeved, winter dressing gown sashed round her waist. A vee exposed a long sliver of her bosom. “My maid was chattering about the magistrate and an accident. What have you done, Maxwell?”

“We should discuss this someplace private.” Maxwell tried to usher them into the drawing room.

Mary pushed by him, and this time Maxwell let her go. She gave a little scream and covered her mouth. Craddock joined her at the study door, his already pasty face going gray.

Mary turned toward him. “I’ll see you hanged, Maxwell. You and my sister.” The threat lacked her usual vitriol. Whatever dreams and plans she had nurtured withered in the middle of Sutherland’s hallway.

“The magistrate will be arriving soon.” Maxwell gestured toward the drawing room, and this time they docilely preceded him.

“Sutherland was exposed and Dugan was…” She swallowed, emotion squeaking her voice.

“Did you know about Sutherland and Armstrong?” Maxwell asked Craddock.

“I suspected,” Craddock whispered.

Mary turned with a gasp. “What did you suspect?”

“Sutherland’s proclivities are well known. Dugan enjoyed women on occasion, although boyish ones. It’s why he pursued Brynmore. But I caught him with a stable boy once.”

Mary fiddled with her sash. “Knowing Dugan preferred men, you pushed marriage to my sister?”

Craddock shrugged. “Their betrothal had nothing to do with sex or love.”

“Was it all Bryn’s inheritance and control of the vote?” Maxwell asked.

“How did you know about that?” Mary clutched her dressing gown together as if secrets were hiding in her cleavage.

“Bryn’s grandmother is still alive, you know, and hired me to see to her estate. It didn’t take a huge leap in intelligence to piece it together. Your schemes were confirmed by the marriage contract Sutherland kept in his study.”

Maxwell relished the look of utter stupefaction on their faces. They’d been bested by the poor bastard of Cragian.

A grim-looking magistrate arrived. Sutherland was a powerful member of Edinburgh society. The shockwaves of his death would resonate through all areas and strata of the city—from his business partners to the apprentice gangs that roamed the night. New powers would rise and fill the vacuum, for better or worse.

Maxwell glanced at the door and prayed Penny was making some headway in finding Bryn.

* * * * *

Bryn stomped her feet and pounded on the door to Molly’s. The sun had long ago risen. She had been wandering the city for hours, her memory failing her. Only when the city woke did she find someone to point her in the right direction.

But as the city stirred, Molly’s shut down. She slapped the door again. “Hello? Anyone?”

Finally a coarse middle-aged woman cracked the door open. “Whatcha want then? Molly’s not in the market for new whores.”

Bryn clutched the handle of her bag tighter. “I’m not looking for work, Mrs.…”

“Easterly. Just Easterly.”

Bryn tried to smile, but she was so cold her lips were stiff. “I’m friends with Thomas Kennedy, Molly’s betrothed and—”

“They’s married now.”

“Oh how wonderful. Thomas and Molly told me if I ever needed help to call on them.”

Easterly narrowed her eyes. Bryn was ready to drop to her knees to beg sanctuary when the old woman swung the door wide. “Well, in with you then. You look ’bout frozen through. There’s a fire in the kitchen. I’ll rouse the missus.”

Easterly pointed her down a set of stairs, and Bryn followed her nose to where two girls rolled dough and gossiped. The scene reminded her of the hours she and Sarah had passed in the kitchens of the manor house growing up. How things had changed since then.

They stopped, but Bryn waved them back to their work with a stiff smile. “It’s bitter cold outside.”

“Would you like a bun, miss? They’s still hot.”

“That would be most appreciated. It smells lovely in here and feels even better.” Bryn planted herself on a small stool by the fire and ate the bun in three bites. She pressed a hand to her throbbing belly.

The ache in her womb had woken her. It had always happened to her like this. A few hours of belly pain before the blood flowed.

Still wrapped in Maxwell’s arms with his scent marking her, a decision had loomed. Selfishly stay and let Maxwell bind himself to her out of some misguided need to protect her, or leave him free to find a woman he could truly love. She loved him enough to want happiness for him. Anyway, she wasn’t alone anymore. She had a grandmother in Kinross.

She would survive the loss of him. Surviving is what she did.

The heat from the fire settled in her bones. Would Maxwell go in search of her? She’d ask Thomas to send a boy around with a note so Maxwell wouldn’t worry. What a relief that would be for him.

Thomas strolled into the kitchen, and she popped off the stool. “Brynmore, what the devil? Tell me you didn’t walk all the way from Drake’s? What was he thinking letting you out on the streets in this cold? You could catch your death or worse.”

Thomas towered over her, berating her just as Maxwell would have done, worry in his eyes and a frown on his face. She tried to swallow, but a sob tore from her throat. Her strength of will had been weakened by the warm fire and the kindness of her welcome at Molly’s. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the heels of her hands.

Thomas looked as disconcerted as any man would be in such a situation. Molly rounded the corner, looking younger without her rouge and with her hair in a plait.

“What did you say to her, Thomas Kennedy, you brute?” Molly wrapped an arm around Bryn’s shoulders and led her to the table. A thin gold band winked on Molly’s finger. “How about fixing us a cuppa, girls?”

Bryn was crying all over the newlyweds. She took a deep, shuddery breath and regained a semblance of control. “Con-congratulations. On your marriage. I’m so happy for you.”

“Yes, you’re obviously thrilled,” Molly said dryly but with twinkling eyes.

“I really am. I’m not normally a watering pot, it’s just… Maxwell.”

Thomas propped a foot onto the bench behind Molly and loomed over them like a bear. “What’s the blighter done? Do I need to kill him?”

“No, he hasn’t done anything. Not really.” He had turned Bryn’s childhood infatuation into love, but he didn’t love her back. If he had, he would have admitted it last night. It was hardly his fault though. No woman would have been immune to him. “I love him, but… but…”

Molly took Bryn’s hand. “My dear girl, do you find yourself with child?”

Thomas slammed a fist on the table, rattling the teacups the kitchen maid had set in front of Bryn and Molly. “Bloody hell, I’ll have him here within the hour by his bollocks to marry you, Brynmore. I promise you that.”

“I’m not with child, but Maxwell planned to marry me anyway. That’s why I left.”

“I’ll—what?” Thomas deflated. “I don’t understand. Drake wants to marry you, but you determined you’re not with child, so you ran away? You said you loved him.”

“I do. I love him so much.” Bryn pressed a hand over her chest where her heart should be. She was empty inside. “He doesn’t love me.”

“I understand,” Molly whispered. In Molly’s eyes, the same pain Bryn faced was reflected. The fact Molly had found happiness with Thomas slivered a needlelike feeling of hope into Bryn.

“I’m glad one of us does,” Thomas said darkly. “You sure I don’t need to go smash some heads?”

“Miss Bryn would be quite distressed if you smashed poor Mr. Drake’s head.” Molly poured the tea and dropped a lump of sugar in each cup. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want. Thomas and I will make sure no one bothers you.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I discovered I have a grandmother in Kinross. Do you have a horse I could borrow or know of a supply cart headed in that direction? My grandmother will be able to pay on my arrival.” Bryn hoped she spoke the truth. She’d posted her letter with the vague promise to visit only a day before.

Thomas squatted down on his haunches so he could look her in the eye. “Brynmore McCann, after what you did for my family, it would be a small favor to ask and one gladly given on my part.”

Tears welled behind her smile. “Thank you.”

“Have your tea, then go lie down for a bit while I get everything fixed for your journey,” he said roughly.

After sharing tea, Molly led her to a dark little room in the back. “No one will bother you here. Rest for a bit if you can. It will be a long trip to Kinross.”

Molly tucked her under a quilt and smoothed her hair back like a big sister. The late night and early morning caught up with her quickly, and she drifted into a dreamless sleep.