Will knew he needed help. After Margaret had reluctantly left the stables, LaGrange informed Will that a contingent of Bothwell’s most trusted guards had departed Edinburgh an hour after Lysle and headed in the same direction as Lysle. This confirmed to Will that Bothwell was deeply involved in the plot and that all of them were out to neutralize Rose.
He couldn’t pull LaGrange or Tristan from their duties. Will knew what he needed to do but he still debated long and hard about it. His plan would take him south while Rose was going north. But if he wanted to save Rose, then he needed to fetch her brothers and father.
He pushed Tyche, riding hard to get to the border clan, nervous and anxious and fearful for Rose’s safety. About halfway there he was met up by a messenger sent by LaGrange.
The palace announced Turner to wed Lysle. On their way to Lysle’s estate. They will wed as soon as they arrive.
With a curse Will crumpled the note in his fist, paid the messenger and sent him back to the palace.
It was a well-thought-out ruse. Lysle would marry Rose per the queen’s directive then some terrible tragedy would befall Lysle’s new bride, making him a widower—again. The threat of Rose would be gone and Lysle would have done his duty to his queen and he would in some way be rewarded.
Will pushed Tyche harder toward Turner land.
He’d known the general vicinity in which to head but had to stop at a bothy to ask for directions.
It wasn’t surprising that as soon as he neared his destination he felt as if he were being watched. No doubt the Turners had been warned that a stranger was asking about them. An Englishman, no less.
Border clans were unpredictable and dangerous. They lived life just barely on the right side of the law most times. Other times they blatantly crossed that line with no remorse.
He approached the Turner fortification carefully, feeling as if crossbows and pistols were pointed at his back.
The only sounds he heard were the birds in the trees and the occasional rustle of an animal in the underbrush. He knew they were watching him from the narrow arrow slits of the upper level of the house. The lower level lodged the valuable livestock, drawn in to safety when he’d been spotted riding through their land.
He stopped a good distance from the house, far enough that no arrow or pistol ball could reach him. Hopefully close enough that they could hear him.
“Laird Turner. I’ve come about your daughter, Rose.”
Sensing the tension, Tyche shifted beneath him. Will put a staying hand on the horse’s neck and waited, studying the thick walls and slate roof. Impenetrable.
Rose’s father knew how to build a defensive structure.
Will waited for the better part of a quarter of an hour. He didn’t speak again, fairly certain that they’d heard him the first time. They were taking his measure now, evaluating him, discussing him. But bloody hell he wished they’d hurry and decide. Each moment that ticked by drew Rose farther and farther from him and farther into danger.
And then he appeared, a large older man. Wide shoulders, thick build, white hair, dark skin from so many hours in the sun. He might have been twice Will’s age but in no way was he Will’s inferior. The man could pop Will’s head off his shoulders with little effort.
“State your purpose,” the man said in a deep, gravelly voice. He stopped just outside the door to the lower level, his arms loose at his sides. Will’s gaze flickered to the sword clutched in one fist, then firmly kept his gaze locked on the man’s.
“Rose is in danger. I came for your help.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, possibly trying to decide if this was a trick.
“Speak,” he said.
A man of few words.
“I don’t want to shout it across the yard,” Will said. He highly doubted anyone had followed him but he wasn’t taking chances.
Rose’s father seemed to consider Will for a long time. Will didn’t see the man so much as twitch but the outer ladder came down and two others descended. They had the same red hair as Rose, the same tilt of their nose but they had the build of their father.
They stood next to the older man in the exact same stance. Will was apprehensive about facing three armed men who would break him before they asked a question, but for Rose he slid off his mount and walked forward until he was standing before them.
“I come in peace and only because I can’t save Rose alone.”
Three sets of green eyes contemplated him, looking over his clothes, his weapon, then his horse.
They spoke low, in a language that Will did not recognize. Gaelic, maybe, possibly their own language used for their reiving. In any case they conversed among themselves, then they laughed.
Will could feel heat suffuse his face but he didn’t move.
“Come,” the older man finally said.
Will climbed the ladder first, knowing full well that more Turner men were waiting for him up top. They obviously didn’t think him too much of a threat to invite him up to their home.
He was very surprised when he entered the living spaces to find a lone woman, but not a defenseless woman. She was exactly what he pictured Rose would look like twenty years from now. Rose had inherited her father’s eyes, but everything else came from her mother. It was almost disconcerting to look at this woman because all he saw was an older version of Rose.
An older version of Rose who was wielding a dagger.
The rest of the men entered and stood around him in a silent half circle.
Despite the outward appearance of the home being more a defensive structure built for sieges and war, the inside was rather comfortable with a cheery fire burning in the fireplace and a well-worn table with benches. But what surprised Will the most—and probably shouldn’t considering the Turners’ business—were the solid silver candlesticks on the mantel and the fine china on the dinner table. Expensive rugs were scattered about as well as heavy oak furniture. There were trunks stacked against one wall and Will had no doubt that there were more riches to be found in there. Pilfered? Earned? Will didn’t speculate.
Normally Will was a master at waiting out his opponent—even while being outnumbered—but this drawn out, pregnant silence unnerved him and he kept thinking of Rose traveling north while he was gawking at her family home. He began talking. He told them everything, from Rose overhearing the lords, to speaking to Queen Mary. Of course he left out his relationship with Rose, if one could even call it a relationship.
“You’re English,” the father said after Will had finished.
“I am,” Will said, a bit irritated that the elder Turner focused on that small bit rather than the fact that his daughter had been taken to be forced into marriage and most probably killed after that.
“What’s an Englishman doing in the queen’s court?” the man asked suspiciously.
Will hesitated, not knowing how they would react to the news that he was acquainted with Darnley. But he decided that he couldn’t hold back now.
“I was visiting an old schoolmate. Lord Darnley.”
A heavy silence followed that proclamation until the mother spoke.
“And what is your relationship with my daughter?”
Will shifted his attention to her, realizing his mistake in not thinking her the biggest threat in the room.