Page 53 of This Laird of Mine

“Do you recognize anything?” Jules held his lantern toward Penelope, casting both the young woman and Claire in a circle of yellow-gold light.

Penelope’s face was pale and taut. “Not yet.”

They continued on, winding their way toward the gated area that had been vacated only eight months before by the Covenanters who had been captured and held as prisoners after the Battle at Bothwell Bridge. David had been part of that battle, as had Jane’s brother and father. Neither of Jane’s relatives had returned.

At the gates, they paused, and Jules felt David’s tension shred the silence. “Do you want to go inside?” Jules asked, softly.

David nodded and pushed the gates open with a whining creak of sound. Noiselessly, they followed him inside. The large grassy area was lined with stones on either side, most likely monuments dedicated to those who had passed over to the other side of life years before, or the entrances to mausoleums that housed the generations of families from Edinburgh. But there was something else that lingered in the open space as well, something that had no form or substance. It was a feeling of pain and suffering, of violence and brutality.

Something horrific had happened here to the men who had once been prisoners of the Scottish government. Jules could feel his heart hammer in his chest in response to that anguish. Did the others feel it as well?

David’s face was pale as he walked through the area, his lantern lighting the dark stone, illuminating the carved figures of heavenly angels and grotesque skulls and skeletons, along with the faces of those who were buried within the graves.

David knelt beside a particularly gruesome representation of a skeleton with long hair and a crown upon its head. Beneath it was a long line of hash marks etched into the stone, as though one of the prisoners was keeping a tally of how many days they had been detained behind the bars.

Jules stood beside his friend. He counted one hundred and fifty-three marks. He closed his eyes against the agony that clenched his heart. He knew what that kind of confinement could do to a person. He fisted his hands at his side, trying to control the rage and the fear.

An unexpected touch made him jump. Claire stood beside him. She worked her fingers into his grip until he relaxed, and she enveloped his hand with her own.

“So much pain,” she whispered.

Whether she referred to the pain of the souls who had suffered here, or his own suffering, he wasn’t certain.

Push her away, his pride demanded. But he could not. Instead, he gripped her hand in return and stared at her, ached all the way to his bones for the comfort she was giving to him, the darkness she helped keep at bay.

“Dear God,” David’s voice cut through the moment.

“What is it?” Jules asked without taking his gaze from Claire.

“The one who carved these notches—he signed his name below.” David’s voice was strained, uncertain. “It can’t be . . .”

“Who?” Jules asked, pulling his gaze from Claire.

“Jacob Lennox.” The words pierced the silence. “Jane’s brother. He was here.”

“At least for a hundred and fifty-three days,” Jules said dully. “Come. We can do nothing for Jacob at present, but we can still help the girls.” He released Claire’s hand, snapping himself back to the present. “We must continue our search.”

Jules turned back to the open field. “Where’s Penelope?” Tension brought a tick to his jaw as he searched the shadows for some sign of the young woman. That was when he saw the lantern she had been holding in the distance, turned on its side and sputtering to stay lit. Outside the ring of light lay a dark figure.

Claire gasped beside him, and he knew she had seen Penelope’s body as well.

They bolted across the open field. “Penelope.” Claire knelt, cradling the girl’s still body, rocking her back and forth in an agony of sympathy.

Penelope shuddered. Her eyes fluttered open.

“Is it your hand?” Claire smoothed Penelope’s hair back from her face.

Penelope shook her head, then groaned.

“You are safe now. I’m here,” Claire soothed.

“What happened?” David asked, kneeling down beside the two women.

“Looks like she fainted,” Jules replied.

The young woman looked about her as though trying to remember where she was. She raised a trembling finger and pointed to the mausoleum in front of her. “This is the one,” she whispered. “This is where they brought me out before we headed to Kildare Manor.”

Jules studied the square edifice with two pillars that flanked the doorway and the arch that connected the two, forming an opening. The place looked like no one had disturbed it in the last hundred years, until he held his lantern over the gravel that covered the front entrance to reveal an impression left behind from the gate. It had been recently opened. A thousand emotions tore through Jules—fear, anger, but most of all, relief that they had found where the girls were being held.