Isaac tried to contain the jolt of panic coursing through his veins and attempted to hide the shock in his eyes. Isaac’s mouth moved faster than he thought possible, for he feared prison. “I’m sorry. I was expecting my valet.”
“I need to have a word with ye.” Nigel’s tone was deep and serious but held no anger; maybe it was worry.
Looking down, he hoped he did a good job of pretending he cared about his appearance. “I haven’t dressed yet. Give me a moment. If you find us a table in the parlor, I’ll be down shortly.”
Nigel nodded without another word, the twinkle in his eyes from yesterday gone. The watchman turned to walk back toward the steps. Closing the door gently, then leaning against it, he glanced over at the disheveled Highland lass and breathed again.
Donning his breeches, stockings, and Hessians, he glanced over to see Flora hadn’t moved. Deep concern was etched in his chest, but he couldn’t do anything else to help her until he’d taken care of the man of the law. If she were caught in his room in the shape she was currently in, the loss of his family’s fortune would no longer be the worst of his troubles.
Grabbing his jacket, he moved toward the door, and his eyes darted one more time to the sleeping figure. His insides twisted with worry. As he closed the door and locked it, he remembered Fredrick. Stopping at his valet’s room, he knocked lightly. The door opened straight away, and he dropped his room key into the older man’s hand.
“I don’t have time to answer questions. There is a woman in my room. I’ve secured the lock, but I need you to stay on guard outside my door. I’ll explain when I return.”
Fredrick’s head bobbed, but questions swirled in the too curious depths of the valet’s gaze. Isaac didn’t have time to waste, so he started down the hall, but stopped, glanced back over his shoulder. The chit had fooled him before. What if she were faking?
“Do not enter the room and be careful. The lass may find a way out. She could be dangerous,” he instructed.
His old friend nodded and moved straight for the room. Isaac remembered he’d left the knife on the table, and he was glad he’d instructed the man to stay outside the door.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward what could be the first knot on the rope of a noose he’d tied for himself when he’d taken matters into his own hands and tracked Flora down.
Sliding into the chair across from the Scottish watchman, Isaac started straight away with, “Did you find the thief and my box?”
“Nae and the lass is missing.”
Isaac hoped to throw the man off before the Scot could ask the next question, which he was certain would be, “Have ye seen her?” Doing his best to sound outraged, he chimed in with, “Where is she then?”
“I dinnae ken, and her family is worried about her. If ye ken anything, ye should speak up, because William Douglas is no’ a man to cross.” The man looked even paler than yesterday, and the lines in his face had deepened.
“Who is William Douglas?”
Did the lass have a husband?
“He’s the leader of the group of them,” Nigel asserted as if that should make it all clear.
“You aren’t making sense. Group of them?’”
“Aye, William took ’em all in when they lost their parents. He’s a good man, even if his ways go above the law. Flora takes care of them all like they’re a real family.”
“What do you mean, she takes care of them?”
“Most of them are younger, and she makes sure they’re all fed and educated. William couldn’t handle ’em without ’er. That’s why we have to find ’er.”
Hoping to divert suspension from himself, he tried to remember the time he’d lost his dog and put that worry into his words. “Can I help?”
Apparently, it was the right emotion to pull from because the man didn’t seem to suspect him at all.
“Nae, best ye stay out of it. If William thinks ye have anything to do with her disappearance, ye’d have better luck with Satan after ye.”
A tall, lanky fellow he recognized as the innkeeper appeared at their sides.
“Nigel.” The dark-haired man smiled a familiar greeting.
The watchman bobbed his head in return.
The innkeeper turned his attention on Isaac. “Would ye like something to break yer fast, sir?”
Remembering the cause of all his problems upstairs, Isaac nodded, “I’ll take whatever you’re serving, for two. Can you have it brought up to my valet’s room?”
“Aye, I can do that, sir. Nigel, do ye want anything?”
“Nae, thank ye.”
The innkeeper moved back towards the kitchen, and Isaac turned his attention to the man who had come here to question him.
“I’ll do what I can to help because my family’s livelihood depends on getting my possessions back. Would this William know anything about where my box is?”
“Nae, no one saw her after ye yesterday. ’Tis no’ like her to miss the evening meal. She didn’t even stop by the baker’s last night, and ’tis no’ normal.”
“I’m sorry, sir, you have me confused again. What does food have to do with anything?”
Nigel bit his lip and pinned him with a curious glare as if trying to decide if he should let him in on a secret. Somehow, he passed the test. “The baker normally gives her what he can no longer sell to help feed the rest of them.”
“Well, I’m not going anywhere until my belongings are found. Keep me updated and let me know if I can help.”
“I’ll let ye ken when we find ’er, but if ye see anything, let me ken.”
“I will.” Standing, he crossed the room with Nigel, but they split at the stairs. He strained to take each step one at a time and not look overly eager to return to his room.
Flora allowed herself a few minutes to snuggle into the warmth of the covers, letting the breath she’d been holding whoosh from her lungs. Afraid to wait too long, she climbed from under the pile of blankets the Sassenach had put on top of her. She’d heard the lock click, but still, she ran for the door and attempted to turn the knob. It turned, but when she pushed, the solid door remained on guard.
She was trapped.
While she hoped that the man who held her captive wouldn’t truly harm her, she panicked now because she had recognized the voice. The man had been to see Nigel, and if he let the watchman ken she was here, he’d probably follow through on his threat to lock her up.
She wouldn’t be able to save Bran if she were in prison.
Racing toward the open window, she stopped short. People were milling about, but if she yelled out to them, they would alert the men downstairs to her presence. She stuck her head out the window and glanced from side to side to see if there was a ledge she could climb onto or an easy way out. There were small protruding stones down the side of the building, but she wasn’t as sure-footed as Ian, her brother, who was akin to a monkey. She would fall to her death if she tried it.
She turned back to the room and she scanned it for options. Her gaze landed on the knife that rested on the table. It hadn’t worked so well last time, and she didn’t think she could physically harm the ruffled Sassenach. He’d so far treated her more fairly than she deserved. But she could use the knife for other things. Running over, she snatched it up but then turned to the closed trunk in the corner.
Maybe he had something she could use to pry open the lock. If she had Bran’s tools, it would be simple to slide them into the keyhole and pick it, but she doubted Isaac had any use for such instruments. She knelt, setting the knife down on the floor beside her, and flinging open the lid. She froze.
A miniature lay on top in a gilded frame. Words were etched on the frame, and her fingers traced the lettering reverently, but then pulled back as if they would burn her. On closer inspection of the image, she realized the man in the photo was related to Ruffles, with the same strong chin and full rounded cheekbones, but this man wore a smile and appeared to be missing the reserved stuffy quality of her capture.
It reminded her of the talisman she kept around her neck, the one her priggish English captor now had on his finger. If she could get out of here, she’d have to leave it behind. Her gut twisted as she thought about abandoning the tie to her past. It was the only possession she had to remind her of her real family.
On the day when she and her parents had been forced to leave their home and everything behind, she’d been so frightened as they departed that she’d sat crying on her mother’s lap. Her father had held up the ring, which had been his father’s. She didn’t remember much of her parents, but she could still hear him say, “Family isn’t a place. It’s who we hold in our hearts,” as he tied it on a string around her neck.
The ring was no longer a token of the family she barely knew. It was what reminded her that she had people depending on her. She wouldn’t abandon them as she had been. She shook the memory aside and glanced down at the object she still held in her hand.
Tossing the frame aside, she continued rifling through the box but only found clothing and letters, which she wouldn’t be able to read. There had never been the time or money for her to learn to read or write. Closing the lid, she drummed her fingers on the surface as she continued to scan the room.
Jumping up, she rushed to the dressing table to find a box of shaving instruments, a hairbrush, and a book. Och, did the man no’ have anything useful? Her gaze twirled, resting on a coat hanging near the door. She rushed over to check the pockets. The outside ones yielded nothing.
She slid her hand into the same pocket she’d snipped the box from when they’d met. Her fingers skimmed onto a wooden handle that led to cold metal. A pistol. She flinched as panic knifed into her chest.
The lock clicked on the door.