Chapter 2

Jeb had been on the road nearly a week and had only a brief respite at the MacKinnon place, where he stopped to make his introduction and see first-hand the horseflesh the famed Scot might have for sale. It was part of his cover, and he knew better than to pretend he’d visited MacKinnon prior to reaching Langholm. These Scottish clans were tight as bark to a tree, and he couldn’t risk saying he’d visited the stud farm when he hadn’t.

In the end, it had proved to be a profitable visit. The man had stock that interested him greatly.

Jeb pulled Goliath to a halt and stretched his shoulders. He wanted to laugh. Although he’d never admit it to the other members of the Traitor’s Club, he’d grown soft from life in London.

There’d been a time during the war—as he and Caleb and Hugh and Ford were forging their bond—when riding for days on end wouldn’t have bothered him in the least. Now he was stiff and sore and would be glad when he reached Langholm Castle. Which should be in less than two hours if the directions Dunworthy gave him were accurate.

Jeb was eager to reach his destination and return to England with the jewels. The closer he got to Langholm, however, the more eyes he felt at his back. The more the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. By the time he reached the graveled path that led to the castle, he noticed that the grounds were more heavily guarded than the crown jewels of England. But of course, that’s exactly what they were guarding.

Jeb had been warned of the heavy presence of sentinels, and he had to admit that if part of his fortune in jewels had gone missing, he’d want them heavily guarded, too.

He walked Goliath at a leisurely pace, not wanting to give any of the guards a reason to think he might be there to cause trouble.

They allowed him entrance, and when he reached the castle, he dismounted. A stable lad rushed to take his horse, and Jeb handed Goliath over with instructions to feed and water his mount, then give him an extra ration of grain.

After tossing the lad a coin, Jeb stepped up to the massive front door.

Before he could reach for the brass knocker, the door opened, and Jeb faced a stern-looking butler whose demeanor was better suited to a jailer than a nobleman’s servant.

“Mr. Jeb Danvers. I’ve come on behalf of my father, the Earl of Stafford, to pay my respects to Laird Langholm.”

The butler stepped back to allow Jeb to enter. “I’ll see if the laird is receiving.”

Jeb stepped into a beautiful entryway, and the butler closed the door behind him. As soon as he disappeared, Jeb moved around the grand entry, letting his joints adjust and taking in the opulence clearly meant to impress.

The interior of Langholm Castle reminded him of a manor home in most any part of England. Both the design and furnishings were English. It was obvious MacFarlane’s wife had a strong affection for England that she’d incorporated into her grand Scottish home.

The house was well kept, the wood was well polished, and the windows shone as if they’d been cleaned that very day.

But among the traditional pieces were some rare and expensive trappings. It was obvious that MacFarlane appreciated the finer things in life as well and enjoyed showing them off. Most notable among them was his collection of intricately crafted whalebone ships. Masted rigs of all sizes were cleverly displayed on priceless parquetry tables along the massive entry hall, interspersed with cleverly framed collections of battle spurs and military finery.

Before Jeb could take it all in, the butler returned.

“Follow me.”

There was not a hint of hospitality in the man as he led Jeb to a receiving room. “The laird will be with you shortly.”

Jeb entered the room, and the door whispered closed behind him.

The furniture that populated the room was grand and overstated and spoke of wealth and influence.

Jeb went from window to window, studying the view of the Langholm grounds, spotting the sentries. The park was massive and so lush with shrubbery and trees that it was a challenge to see any activity. He was looking out a set of wide glass-paned double doors that led to a terrace and inviting garden when he heard the door behind him open.

Jeb turned and got his first look at the Langholm laird.

The man emanated a powerful presence and carried himself like someone accustomed to being in control. He was tall and broad shouldered and wore his height to an impressive advantage.

MacFarlane’s hair was graying, much as Jeb’s father’s was, but the laugh lines that were present on his father’s face were absent from MacFarlane’s. So was any hint of warmth in MacFarlane’s steel-gray eyes. Jeb sensed MacFarlane was a man of whom he should be wary.

“Mr. Danvers,” MacFarlane said, entering the room. “What a pleasure to meet you. There’s no doubt you are Winston’s son. You resemble your father a great deal.”

“I will take that as a compliment, MacFarlane. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well. My father sends his best regards.”

“Come, sit down. I look forward to hearing how your father has managed since we last saw one another.”

The laird’s demeanor took Jeb by surprise. The words he spoke were proper, cordial, welcoming. But his tone conveyed none of that. Jeb sat down in the chair MacFarlane indicated. Before they began their conversation, the door opened for a maid who entered with a tray of small sandwiches and cakes.

“Would you care for tea, or something stronger to banish the dust of the road?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer something stronger.”

MacFarlane laughed, then nodded to his butler to tend to the drinks.

Jeb took one of the glasses, grateful for the smooth, cool amber liquid. “Excellent,” he said. “Armenian?”

MacFarlane lifted his glass in toast to Jeb’s correct assumption. “I see you have Winston’s gift for recognizing fine brandy.”

“Another compliment,” Jeb said. “Yes, Father has always had august taste.”

“Then that hasn’t changed from our school days.” MacFarlane took a satisfying swallow, then lowered his glass. “So what brings you across the border? If I recall correctly, your family estate is far to the south.”

“Actually, I rode up from London. I have an interest in horseflesh and have just come from the MacKinnons.”

“Ah yes. MacKinnon has some of the finest broodmares in Scotland. Did you find anything that interested you?”

“Perhaps. If we can come to an understanding as to what he’s willing to accept and I’m willing to offer.”

MacFarlane chuckled. “MacKinnon drives a hard bargain.” The laird swirled the liquid in his glass. “Now tell me. How is your father faring?”

“He’s well. He and Mother have settled into a quiet routine. They seem to enjoy more time in the country with their grandchildren gathered around them than in previous years, but they still go to London each Season. Father has his seat in the House, which occupies a great deal of his time.”

“Yes, I remember he was always interested in politics. Quite vocal on certain issues.”

“Then you would find him quite unchanged,” Jeb said with a chuckle.

There was a rap on the door, and without announcement a young woman of breathtaking beauty stepped into the room.

Jeb rose without taking his gaze from her charming face. Her hair was gold in color, with tendrils of light and dark that twisted in perfect harmony among her curls. She was delicately built, yet not fragile, and her skin was surprisingly earthy compared to the lily-white complexions of the London elite.

She stood poised just inside the doorway, waiting for MacFarlane to command her forward.

“You wished to see me, Father?”

Her lyrical Scottish burr captivated him. But what Jeb found most puzzling was the interaction between father and daughter. There was little warmth in MacFarlane’s eyes when he looked upon his daughter. And the hint of tenderness Jeb expected to see when the lady looked at her father was closely guarded.

“Mariah, we have a visitor. Allow me to present Mr. Jeb Danvers, son of the Earl of Stafford who was an old friend from my school days. I’m sure you remember my mentioning him. Mr. Danvers, my daughter, Mariah.”

“My lady,” Jeb said, bowing in return to the graceful curtsy Mariah executed.

“Come in, Mariah. We were just discussing Mr. Danvers’ family.”

MacFarlane’s daughter stepped into the room but didn’t sit next to her father. Instead, she took a chair between Jeb and MacFarlane. Whether it was a gesture of unease in her father’s presence or simple independence wasn’t clear.

“I was about to ask about your family,” MacFarlane said. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“Yes,” Jeb answered. “I have one brother and two sisters. All are married and together have provided nearly a dozen grandchildren for my mother and father to dote upon.”

“And do they?” Miss Mariah asked. “Dote upon them, as you say?”

“Heavens, yes,” Jeb answered with a laugh. “I only wish Father were as permissive with the four of us when we were young as he is with his grandchildren.”

“He was harsh?” she asked with a raised brow.

“No,” Jeb was quick to answer. “Not harsh at all. We merely had rules to follow, and he expected us to adhere to them. As I’m sure your father did as well, my lady.”

“Yes, there are rules.” She turned an almost bitter gaze to her father. “Aren’t there, Father?”

“Yes, Mariah. Rules are necessary.”

The chill between father and daughter caused uncomfortable pauses in the conversation. Jeb found himself intrigued to know the cause of their coolness toward one another.

With a sharp turn of his head, MacFarlane looked away from his daughter and focused on Jeb. “You will stay the night, Mr. Danvers. Our home is open to you.”

“I don’t wish to impose,” Jeb said. “I passed an inn not far from here. I’m more than willing to take lodging there.”

“Your father would never forgive me if I didn’t show you the courtesy of my home.”

“Then I thank you. It will just be for a few days.”

“Mariah, show Mr. Danvers to a room.”

“If you’ll follow me,” Mariah MacFarlane said as she rose.

Jeb stood to follow, but MacFarlane’s voice stopped him. “I look forward to seeing you at dinner. Perhaps we might discuss the political atmosphere in England. Like your father, I’ve always had an interest in what our neighbor to the south is doing.”

“I’d enjoy nothing more,” Jeb said, then followed MacFarlane’s daughter from the room. She was silent as they made their way up the winding staircase, then down a hallway that overlooked the expansive foyer. She stopped at the third door on the right and stood aside, indicating he should open it.

“Thank you,” Jeb said, then stepped into the room. He was surprised when Miss MacFarlane stopped him from closing the door. Their gazes locked, and the expression on her face turned serious.

“My father is always interested in gaining any information he can concerning affairs in England,” she said in a soft voice. “Guard what you tell him.”

She stepped away from the door. “Let one of the staff know if you require anything, Mr. Danvers,” she said in a louder voice laced with hospitality. With a smile, she turned and hurried back the way they’d come.

Jeb stared at the wooden door for several moments after she was gone. The hostility he’d felt between father and daughter was almost palpable. There seemed to be little love between them, even a bitterness that was unmistakable. Then there was her warning. What did she mean by it? And what did she imagine he might know that would require concealment?

He went to the chair beneath the window and sat.

Guard what you tell him. Was she worried he’d say something about the jewels to her father? If so, she needn’t worry. He visualized her pretty face bathed in concern as she issued her warning. Perhaps he need look no further to discover who had sent the jewel to his queen. But why? What did she have to gain by handing over the jewels—except to wreak havoc for her father?

Jeb pushed out of the chair and walked to a side table that held a bottle and two glasses. He poured some of the liquor into a glass and tasted it. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. MacFarlane had expensive tastes. Even down to the liquor he provided his guests.

A valet appeared to unpack Jeb’s valise, leaving him free to stretch out on the bed. He crossed his arms beneath his head and stared at the ceiling.

Instinct told him he had two days to find out who had the jewels and wanted them returned to the Queen.

Staying longer than that would draw suspicion.

But from whom?