The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (41 page)

However, the shelter remained deceptively out of reach. He wove his way through yet another overflowing berm before he entered the narrow valley below the rocky ledge. A marshy moor flanked by thick heather awaited him, and Wickham urged his horse cautiously forward. “Easy,” he said calmly, although he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be free of the constant downpour. He wanted dry clothes. He wanted to escape Scotland, his past, and Darcy's revenge.

The horse stepped gingerly. A sucking noise following each release of its hoofs. “Not much farther,” he said as he stroked the animal's mane, while encouraging it forward with his knees. “There is bound to be a lean-to.”

One step. Then two. Step by step closer to a few minutes of dry shelter and the opportunity to weigh his options. Where to go next? What to do about Lydia? How to avoid Darcy's retribution? All his choices remained out of his reach—nearly as elusive as the cottage's shelter. With regret, he had watched Darcy and the clergyman from a distance. Briefly, he had envied the camaraderie between his former friend and the man with whom Darcy had shared a mid-afternoon meal. It had reminded Wickham of the hastily made sandwiches he and Darcy would pilfer from the Pemberley kitchen before they would head off to the nearest stream or lake to fish or to sail the cork-bottomed miniature boats Wickham's father had carved for them. The allure had drawn him closer, but Darcy's and the clergyman's conversation had proven that he had lost that opportunity for normalcy. For a devoted wife and children and an honest income.

He could have turned away at that point. Could have ridden toward the Scottish coast or back to Carlisle and Lydia. Could have started over and made a new future. Yet, something in the way Darcy had moved had brought back the memory of his once-upon-a-time friend's dismissals: first at Cambridge, then with Georgiana, again with his buyout of the Kymptom living, and later with Darcy's insistence that Wickham marry Lydia Bennet. It was nothing more than the characteristic lift of Darcy's chin. A look of disdain toward the waiting road. As if the man had expected the dusty Scottish roadway to bend to his wishes. Something in Wickham snapped, and he had found himself reaching for the gun he had strapped to his saddle. Sighting his target along the line of his shoulder, he fired.

It had been one of his most ill-conceived moments. A disaster in the making, but he could not alter the course he had chosen.

Deep in thought, he had not seen the snake until the last second—unfortunately, several seconds after the Fitzwilliam-owned stallion did. The horse reared up on its hind legs…iron shoes clawed the air in fright, and Wickham felt himself sliding backwards over the strapped-on supplies. He tightened his grip, but again he was several heartbeats too slow in his reaction time. In the next instant, Wickham's backside slammed into the marshy bog. The wetland had been surprisingly hard, knocking the breath from his lungs.

With a “whoosh” of air and a “quish” of water, he found himself lying spread eagle. The rain pelted his face and clothing on the front, while the standing water of the bog seeped into his coat and breeches. A curse passed through his lips as the stallion skittered away. Rolling to his side, he groaned, “Christ!” as the pain shot through his chest.

Munro replayed in his head the encounter with Dolina. “What be her design?” he asked himself as he leisurely rode along Normanna's pike road. “Dolina not be deliverin' no hindquarters and flanks to the butcher. McCullough's be the other direction.” Reasoning it out, Munro turned his head to glance back the way he had come. Then the answer hit him. “Damnation!” he cursed. “She cannae be doin' what I think she does!”

With the slightest hand gesture, Edward motioned the Alpin men into position, and when the Scotsman turned his head to look behind him, he and Darcy led his recently recruited “warriors” forward. They burst from their wooded cover and surrounded their prey. Edward leveled his gun on the man. “We do not mean you harm, but we require information, and you will provide it if you know what is best.”

The Scotsman paled, but he did not appear surprised by their presence on the Normanna land. He automatically raised his hands in surrender. Edward eyed him cautiously. “Take the man's reins, Darcy,” he said without lowering his gun. “Weir, you three follow us,” he instructed the Alpin men. “Keep your weapons on him.” To his new prisoner, he said, “We will take the gentleman to the nearest inn. We will eat and drink and speak honestly. Is that understood?”

“Aye, Sir. I be requirin' a spot of ale.” Their captive lowered his hands slowly and repositioned his grip on the saddle horn and the horse's mane.

“Move out,” Edward ordered.

Munro, had, at first, thought to fight when the men had charged at him, but in the next instant, he had welcomed their approach. If he left with the strangers, he would not have to face Dolina's close
scrutiny upon her return. The realization of the evil his aunt had practiced clung heavily upon his heart. He had lost his desire to be anywhere near Dolina MacBethan.

His captors, at least, the military man and the one called “Darcy,” were English. Likely, they had traveled from Galloway. If his memory served him well, the three who followed behind wore the colors of the Alpin livery. The Englishmen had come for Lady Esme. Munro held no doubt of that fact, and with that knowledge, he saw an opportunity to bargain for his freedom.

If he engaged the Englishmen with honesty, he could probably earn a reward—maybe one large enough for the Crieff property. He sat easily in the saddle. Although the military man brandished a gun, Munro experienced less fear than he had earlier with Dolina. Coll MacBethan's widow's pure contempt for all that was holy made her a dangerous opponent. Despite the Scotsman's natural dislike for anything English, Munro would gladly take his chances with his southern foes.

“I will see to the rooms,” Darcy said as he dismounted. His cousin remained in the saddle; Edward masked the gun he carried in his coat's fold.

“You sit upon a horse reportedly stolen from my family's estate,” Edward had hoarsely whispered to the man. “I may be English, but I am an earl's son. My word will go far even in a Scottish court. You do understand the implications?”

“Aye, Sir.” The man had glanced anxiously toward Darcy. He had nodded his encouragement while keeping his countenance stern. In all honesty, something about Edward's intensity bothered Darcy. His cousin was normally the sensible one. When Darcy had wanted to tar Wickham for his perfidy against Georgiana, it had been
Edward who had stopped Darcy from doing the man bodily harm. When Darcy had lost all form of reason after Elizabeth Bennet had refused his honest proposal, Edward had counseled Darcy through weeks of desperation and despair.

Now, his cousin possessed a singular thought: recover Georgiana. Of course, he, too, wanted to secure his sister's safety. Yet, Edward's time on the battlefield had hardened the major general. His cousin required time to leave the horrors behind. Instead, Edward had remained in the midst of the carnage while seeing to his aide's healing. “In order to protect our dear Anne and to prove myself worthy of Captain Southland's devotion,” Edward had stated his reasons for remaining so long on the Continent. And now, his cousin fought the nightmare of Georgiana's disappearance. Darcy worried for the man's mental state.

Within a few minutes, he returned with room keys. “Everything is settled,” he said softly. He motioned a waiting hostler to take the major general's and the Scotsman's horses.

“You lead the way, Darcy,” Edward said ominously. “I have Weir and Jasper standing by in the common room in case we need them.”

Darcy responded with a mere tilt of his head. They had learned long ago to converse without words. As they entered the darkened room, Darcy paused briefly for his eyes to adjust to the smoky lighting, and then he turned toward the narrow staircase.

“Munro!” One of those lounging in the open room called, and their captive stumbled to a halt. “Come share a pint and some cards.”

The Scotsman flushed with color, but Darcy was certain that no one enjoying the comfort of the open room would notice. They waited in shadows. The man known now to them as “Munro” turned easily to his friend. “Got me some business with these gentlemen,” he said evenly. “I be down a bit later to take yer money, Cairn.”

The man lifted his mug in a polite salute. “Ye be tryin'.”

Munro nodded agreeably and followed Darcy toward the waiting room.

“Nicely done,” Darcy heard Edward whisper as they ascended the stairs.

“I may be a Scotsman,” Munro declared in hushed tones, “but that donnae make me an ignorant bumbler. I know the danger of wot we do.”

Darcy opened the door and motioned Munro through. Edward followed closely on the Scotsman's heels. “I have ordered a meal sent up and refreshments for the Alpin men. I thought this might take some time.”

Edward's mien appeared bleak. “If I have my way, there will be no delay in our guest's telling us what we require.”