Page 52 of This Laird of Mine

David moved to kneel in front of the chair. He took Penelope’s small hands in his own. “Do you remember anything about where they took you?”

She shook her head. “I woke up in a small room. It was dark and musty.”

“That’s good,” David said. “Tell us about the scent.”

Penelope’s brows drew together in concentration. “During the day it smelled like sulfur and rotting flesh. At night it was cold and I could feel . . . this will sound as though I am mad . . . but I felt surrounded by a tragic sea of souls.”

“What about when your captors took you out of there to transport you to Argyll?” David asked.

Penelope paled. “It was night, but I thought I saw dark stone—headstones perhaps?”

David turned to Jules, his eyes wide. “Could it be they are hidden in a kirkyard somewhere?”

“Perhaps,” Jules replied with a scowl. “But which one? There are many.”

“St. Giles’, Greyfriars, Canongate, St. Cuthbert’s . . . it could take us a week to explore them all.” Claire pulled away from the warmth of Jules’s hands and knelt beside Penelope. “Do you remember anything else? Noises, smells, anything at all that might help us narrow our search?”

She stared off and to the right, as though searching her memory. “A wall. I believe we passed through Flodden Wall.” She released a long sigh. “I would know the place if I saw it.”

“Greyfriars. Flodden Wall is closest to that kirkyard.”

“Let us go,” Claire said, standing.

Jules glanced at her face, and through the muted light met her gaze. “The cemetery at night can be a dangerous place.”

David frowned. “I am not afraid of ghosts.”

“It is not the ghosts that concern me,” he replied, as a tick came to his jaw. “Whomever planned this whole charade is clever. We need to progress slowly, make certain we are not walking into a trap.”

“Usually, I would agree with you.” David’s brow furrowed. “But I think we need to strike now, before they know we are here.”

“You could be right,” Jules agreed.

Claire could see the indecision on his face, felt his tension as though it were a palpable thing. He turned to her. The look on his face chilled her. “Is there any way I could get you and Penelope to remain here while David and I scout the area?”

“No,” she said, despite the fact that she had an ominous feeling about what would happen that night.

He nodded. “Then gather cloaks and as many lanterns as you have. David and I will need a little time to prepare.”

Claire did as he asked. With Penelope’s help she found four cloaks and three lanterns. They returned to the studio in time to watch Jules secure his scabbard and sword at his side and drop a dagger into each of his boots. A shiver went down her spine at the blatant reminder of the dangers the night could hold.

“Ready?” Jules asked.

With her heart hammering in her chest, Claire nodded. She lit the lanterns, handing one to David, then one to Jules. On a fortifying breath, she took Penelope’s cool hand in her own, and together they stepped into the night.

In the shadows near the coaching inn, the woman drew her hood closer to her face, shielding her identity from the four little lambs who walked right past her. They paid her no heed. And while that was the goal, rage coiled her fingers around the fabric she held.

Patience.

At the reminder, she eased her grip. Soon she would have her revenge on Jules MacIntyre for always failing to see what was right in front of him, for refusing to take what she had offered.

Paradise denied would soon bring only desperation and pain. Her hand crept down to her side, to the belt that carried the means to her revenge—a whip, a dagger, and a third weapon that just passed her by.

Penelope.

She was the oldest of the three girls she had kidnapped, and the one who would eventually remember all that she had wanted her to. The girl would lead them into her trap, into the darkness, from which there would be no return.

Flickering lantern light curled golden fingers around the headstones as Jules led the way through Greyfriars kirkyard. The heat from the day had cooled, but because of the rain a few nights ago, mist hovered just above the ground, giving the cemetery an even more surrealistic feel. They should have waited until daylight. Yet if anything happened to those girls because they had waited . . . They were doing the right thing, exploring the graveyard at night.