Chapter Twenty

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Pulling himself from the warm bed and Rosa's embrace was the hardest thing McWilliam ever had to do. Cocooned in her room like this it was almost possible to forget the world outside existed. It was like they had created a place of their own, where nothing and nobody could get to them.

But it wasn't real. And there were things he still needed to do.

Murmuring half-words in her sleep, Rosa reached towards him as he pulled on his shoes. When she wasn't trying so desperately to avoid his touch, she was endearingly clingy. Like the first night they'd ever slept side by side in that English inn when Rosa had kept sliding onto his half of the bed.

He wanted nothing more than to climb back under the counterpane with her.

Forcing his legs into action, he hurried from the room without a backwards glance.

Every inch of his body remembered the feel of her against him. It was like her essence was now rooted so deep beneath his skin that he couldn't shake the feel of her even as he crossed the courtyard and started around the castle towards the village.

It was yet early—the sun still hung low in the sky—but ahead he could already see people gathering outside their houses, the men strapping on their shoes and tightening their belts ready for another long day searching. Looking for Rodd among the foothills was the last thing he wanted to be doing—he was beginning to give up hope that they'd find him hiding so close to home, but what else could he do while he waited for a message from London or Manchester or Laird Kyles? Besides, he'd made a promise to Rosa that he'd find her cousin, and he was making one to himself right now—he would do anything to keep her safe and in his arms. He sped up.

* * *

Rosa woke slowly. She was deliciously warm under the blankets and sunlight streamed in through the open shutters tickling her skin. It was the first truly sunny day she'd seen since arriving in Scotland.

Anndrais McWilliam wasn't in bed, though there was a slight hollow on his side as though he'd only just vacated. And there was a note waiting for her on his empty pillow.

Joined the search. Will return at nightfall.

Guilt washed over her. How dare she sleep in when Amelia was still in danger? Rosa should be out there searching for her like everyone else.

She shoved the counterpane aside, scrambling out of bed. Quickly washing, she pulled on yesterday's clothes, pinning her hair out of her face. She was a little sore, but it only served as a reminder of what had happened earlier this morning. That she'd let happen.

She didn't care anymore that she was a fallen woman. It didn't matter. What she did care about was that she'd let her time with McWilliam push all thoughts of Amelia temporarily from her mind. Her cousin had to be Rosa's first and only priority. She owed Amelia and Uncle Oliver that much, and she owed Emily more than she could ever repay.

The bedchamber door was locked but her laird had left the key on the bedside table where she could easily find it, and Rosa rushed out into the corridor. Then she paused—she didn't have a plan. It wasn't like she could run outside and start searching the fields and mountains for Amelia. The search parties were probably long gone, and she had no idea in which direction.

No, Rosa needed to focus on uncovering the identity of Rodd's coconspirator. If she could work out who'd helped capture Amelia, then she might be able to work out where Amelia was being held.

She ducked back into her room and collected the scrap of paper she'd found in Rhona's fireplace. Step 1: work out if this really was Rodd's handwriting. And if it was then... Step 2: work out if Rhona knew who'd written the note. Where had she snuck off to two days ago when she slipped out of her room? And why was she pretending her ankle was still sore when it had obviously healed days ago? If it had ever been injured in the first place. And why was she afraid of Cameron?

And if all of that came to naught... Step 3: work out when the mail coach back to London would be past again and make sure she was on it.

* * *

"McWilliam." Cameron clapped him on the back as he reached Gall. More people than at lunch yesterday had gathered in small clusters around the stone cottages, and he realized the two far-reaching search parties he'd sent out must have returned. They looked serious but still in pretty good spirits, which was more than he could have asked for. Several men were sharpening weapons, while others were heading towards a temporary communal breakfast table set up outside Mary's house. McWilliam felt a swell of pride. They all might just be shepherds and shearers, but his people were warriors too and knew how to pull their weight. It was that sense of community that kept them going, even after everything that had happened with his grandfather.

"Any news?" He started towards them, but Cameron rested a hand on his shoulder, stopping him just out of ear shot.

"Ye look exhausted," his uncle said. "Why don't you go back—"

"Everyone's tired." He pulled away from Cameron's outstretched arm, surveying the older man. There were dark shadows under his eyes and his lips were drawn tight. "Including you. How much sleep did you get last night?"

Cameron shrugged. "Enough."

"Right." McWilliam didn't believe him. "Maybe you should be the one to go back. We can handle the rest of the searching without you." And he stepped around his uncle, towards the group of men gathered outside Mary's house.

"Och nay." Cameron tried to grab his arm, but McWilliam shook him off.

"McWilliam." Mary smiled as he approached. She held a jug and was pouring beer into an array of mixed-matched cups while Fenella organized a couple of girls who were laying out the bowls of hot oatmeal porridge, warm bannocks and boiled eggs she'd brought down from the castle's kitchen.

"Did you hear the news? Glenn thinks he saw Rodd out by the old cairns."

"When?"

"Last night, when they were heading back. They can't be completely sure it was him because it was dark, and when they went to investigate, he'd disappeared."

McWilliam touched her shoulder in thanks. "Glenn," he called to a boy of only fifteen winters but who already had a beard that could intimidate any man twice his age. "As soon as you've finished eating, I want you to show me exactly where you think you saw Rodd."

If the murderer was out there, he wasn't going to leave any rock unturned.

"A-hunting we go," Glenn yelled, banging his cup against his fist so beer splashed into the air.

"Aye," McWilliam agreed darkly. "Hunting we go."

* * *

"What do you mean 'I'm not allowed out'?" Rosa asked the guard at the portcullis in her most governess-like tone. If she couldn't even get out of Fortress Doom then how was she ever going to make it to Rodd's house to search for a sample of his handwriting?

He glanced down at his shoes but didn't step out of her way. "I've got me orders. Ye are not allowed to leave."

"Whose orders?" Although she already knew the answer. McWilliam.

Memories of their time shared together threatened to surface, but she pushed them back. She didn't have time to focus on an overprotective Scotsman. She needed to find her cousin.

He opened his mouth to answer, but she held up a hand to stop him. "Did you know Rodd?"

"Aye. Everyone knows everyone."

Right. "Did he ever send you a letter?"

He shook his head with a bemused expression. "Why would he need to send me a letter? His cottage is right next to mine. Besides," he added. "Rodd couldn't write."

"He couldn't?" Her heart hammered against her chest. But that meant—

"Rodd wasn't really one for book learning."

"No." She backed up, not really paying any attention to where she was going. Whoever had written to Rosa threatening Amelia—the same person who'd written to Rhona—wasn't Rodd. Which mean that in her hand she held the handwriting of his co-conspirator. The man who had Amelia. Whoever that was.

New step 1: discover whose writing this really was and stop thinking about a certain too-sexy-for-his-own-good laird.

* * *

"He was right there," Glenn said, nodding towards a spot about three feet from where he stood. "At least, I think it was him. It was dark."

"I know." McWilliam ran a hand through his hair. The cairns were only about a half day's ride from the Uilleim Castle and they sat at the base of the last mountain for many miles. Nobody was sure who'd made them; there'd been there for longer than any of the backhouses scattered through his fields.

Of course, there were rumors the cairns were haunted. Over-cautious Cameron never ventured that far just in case there were ghosts and Fenella would swear to anyone who cared to listen that she'd once seen the light of a wisp bobbing between the mounds. McWilliam wasn't sure about that—his housekeeper had a tendency to over-exaggerate.

But he did know that there weren't many hiding places among the ancient dead, and, if Rodd was here, they'd find him.

"Spread out," he ordered Glenn and the three other men who'd accompanied them. "I want every inch of this place checked."

* * *

There was no possible way Rosa could work out whose handwriting this was without comparing it to the handwriting of very person on this estate. And that was only if Amelia's kidnapper was on this estate. If they were in London or Edinburgh or even Manchester it would be an impossible task.

Which meant there was only one thing left for her to do, the one thing she'd been putting off for days: confront Miss Rhona McWilliam.

As though her feet had known the answer before Rosa did, she found herself standing before Rhona's bedchamber without memory of taking the stairs.

She knocked, then let herself in.

Rhona was at the open window but glanced around when Rosa stepped inside "They're still looking for him," she said in lieu of a greeting. "Where do you think he is?"

Rosa shrugged, coming to stand beside Rhona so she could see out too. A couple of people were still systematically walking the sheep studded fields but otherwise everything looked quiet and still.

"Perhaps he went to Edinburgh," Rhona said, in answer to her own question. "I think he has some family that lives there. Or maybe they're all dead." She frowned, pressing a hand to her stomach.

"You feeling any better, my lady?"

"I just wish everything would return to normal. I wish none of this had ever happened."

"I wish I knew where Amelia was." It was at least twelve days since she'd been taken. Twelve days for which she'd probably been locked away in someone's musky cellar. She'd read an article about a woman who'd been abducted by her insane grandmother and locked in a barouche for three weeks before... She quickly purged the thought from her mind. All those newspapers had given her an overactive imagination.

Rhona moved back to the bed, not bothering to limp though she still wore a bandage on her ankle. Sitting on the edge, she put her pillow on her lap, clutching it to her stomach.

"Maybe you could read to me," she suggested. "Anything is better than silence."

"I actually wanted to talk with you." It was now or never.

Rhona stared down at her lap, nodding absentmindedly.

"About the scrap of paper I found in your fireplace the other day."

Rhona's attention snapped to Rosa's face. "What paper?" she asked suspiciously.

"This one." Rosa opened her fist to show Rhona the corner piece with the curly handwriting. "Who sent this to you, and why did you tear it up into the fire?"

"I have no idea what you're going on about."

"Miss Rhona, I know this letter is from the same person who's working with Rodd. And I know you sneaked out the other night, probably to meet up with them. And I also know that your ankle was never sprained because you didn't jump off the roof like you profess." She took a leap with the last deduction and was rewarded with a flush.

Recovering a little of her composure with lightning speed, Rhona stood up and raised both hands before her chest as though to create a barrier between Rosa and herself. "I really don't know what you're talking about. I think you should leave."

"Miss Rhona, please." Rosa stepped towards her. "This is my cousin's life we're talking about. If you know anything, you must tell me."

Rhona shook her head, glancing towards the door. "I don't know anything. I don't know where your cousin is."

"Who wrote this letter?" She held up the torn corner.

"Please..." Rhona ducked around the bed, backing up.

"I know something is going on. I know you're somehow involved."

"Did you tell my brother? Did you show him the page?"

"No. I didn't think he would believe me."

"And you're right," Cameron said, snatching the paper from between her fingers. "He would never believe ye over his own flesh and blood."

Rhona stepped behind her uncle.

Rosa crossed her arms. "Rhona and I were just talking—"

"I heard ye, " Cameron interrupted. "I know exactly what ye were doing, Sassenach."

"I just asked—"

"Ye just wanted to frame my poor niece for the theft ye committed."

"No!" Rosa shook her head.

Cameron glowered at her. "You're a liar and a cheat and a harlequin. I know you're trying to seduce my nephew. That's the only reason he thinks you're innocent. It isn't his brain that doing the thinking, it's his cock!"

Rhona gasped. Her hands jumping to her mouth.

"Did ye know they're sleeping together?" he denounced to Rhona over his shoulder.

"We're..." She couldn't deny it. "Miss Rhona, I'm not trying to frame you," she said instead. "I just want to know if you can help me find Amelia."

"Ye probably don't even have a cousin," Cameron snapped. "Ye and Rodd were in on this together the whole time."

"Rodd didn't—" Rhona began, but she snapped her mouth shut with a murderous look from Cameron.

"Rodd didn't what?" Rosa demanded, ignoring Cameron. She wasn't going to let anyone's uncle get in her way.

"Nothing." Rhona vigorously shook her head.

"Rodd didn't what?" Rosa demanded in her governess tone. "Tell me, Miss Rhona."

"Rodd didn't kill Duncan. He couldn't have. He wasn't like that. He was nice and kind and—"

Rosa's mouth dropped open as realization hit. "You're not—"

"Out!" Cameron yelled, shoving Rosa toward the door. "I don't want you near my niece ever again."

Rosa had no option but to obey. He slammed the door in her face, and she let out a shaky breath.

Oh, sweet, glorious heaven. How was she supposed to tell McWilliam that his very much beloved and cherished younger sister was with child? And that the father was Rodd?

She paced the corridor, tapping her forehead. This could not be happening. Rhona wasn't married. She was young and innocent and, without a doubt, expecting.

Morning sickness certainly explained all the times Rhona had been ill. And two nights ago when she'd snuck out of the tower house she'd probably been looking for Rodd. That was before anyone knew he'd stolen the money and before he'd killed Duncan.

Duncan! That was probably why Rodd had killed the physician. Duncan was supposed to come to the castle to check Rhona over. He would instantly have recognized all the signs of pregnancy. Rodd had panicked and killed him to stop anyone finding out.

Rosa had to tell McWilliam. But she couldn't. Rhona was his sister and this mess wasn't any of her business.

Cameron should tell him. Or Rhona.

Not Rosa.

But he deserved to know. He loved Rhona, and Rosa knew he'd never hurt his sister, no matter what she'd got herself into.

Oh heaven. She'd read about multiple cases of women been dragged before the magistrate by the parish overseers and forced on oath to name the father. It was humiliating, and no woman's reputation could survive such a display.

Then again, she thought, desperate for a kinder solution, even though Scotland was under English control, it still retained most of its own laws. Perhaps there wasn't a Bastardy Act in this country. She certainly prayed so. She couldn't see McWilliam letting Rhona be pulled before the magistrate, and then he too would be breaking the law.

"Rosa!" McWilliam bounded up the last few steps. He was so very pale. "I thought...but you're safe." He pulled her into a tight embrace.

"He didn't hurt me, just yelled a bit," she said, struggling to free herself. But he would have none of it and kept a firm hold around her waist, his face buried in her hair. "Have you found anything? It's not nightfall yet."

"Wait. Who yelled?"

She frowned. "Your uncle. What are you doing back?"

"Nay," he shook his head, loosening his grip just a fraction so he could see her face. "I'm talking about Rodd?"

"What about Rodd? Did you find him?"

"Aye, wee lass, we found him. He's dead."

"But..." her mouth fell open, all other thoughts extinguished.

"He was murdered."

"By who?"

"I don't know." Worry darkened his voice.

"What?" she asked, dread filling her insides. She gripped his shirt in her fists. "What else did you find?"

He grimaced. "This." And with his free hand he pulled out of a sheet from a fold in his kilt. "It was pinned to what was left of his shirt."

The page was stained with blood, but the words were still clearly legible in that same cursive hand that Rosa had come to dread.

Go to Leeds before I kill you and your cousin.

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