He gave her a surprised look and then took hold of her hand. And asked what happened. “I will find him. My guess is that ’twas Richard’s work. We are almost at the manor house. I say let us finish this course and get to the governor’s house. I believe your father and possibly de Caleone will be there.”

  “Then let us be off!” Rose charged. Mary agreed and they ran for their horses.

  They met up with the others and rode through the trees toward the house. When they found it, they examined the perimeter and kept watch for any sign of the earl.

  “I can get in,” Tristan told them, eyeing the manor house.

  Rose looked up at the trees but none of them covered the house or even reached it.

  “How?” the captain asked. “All I see are guards! They are everywhere!”

  Tristan shrugged his shoulders, “I will get rid of a few.”

  “I will get rid of a few myself,” Mr. Jones agreed.

  “No one is going anywhere!” the captain shouted, “without me.”

  They all ended up going, even Rose and Mary. Rose wanted to make certain Emma wasn’t hurt.

  Suspecting a trap—a rather obvious one, they waited until night fell to breach to doors.

  The women would wait with the horses and when Tristan or the captain deemed it safe, they could enter the house.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The manor house was dark on the outside, as well as on the inside. It was perfect that no one could see them. They simply had to figure out a way to get in.

  There were no trees for Tristan to climb that were close enough to get into any windows he could see from where he stood.

  The only ways in that he could see were the front door or two side doors, which were both locked.

  He counted six guards patrolling the grounds, but the captain assured him there were more. They made quick and quiet work of the six and then Tristan left his friends. He followed a beam of moonlight to an open window on the second landing.

  Jones and Harper had followed him.

  “Up there!” he said, pointing to the window.

  “How will we get up there?” Jones asked him, looking a little worried.

  Tristan turned to him and shook his head. “We willna. I will.”

  Jones laughed then sputtered and gasped when he realized Tristan was serious.

  “I will get inside if I have to climb the wall,” Tristan assured him in an authoritative tone. He would listen to no arguments. “And then I will come down and open the doors for ye.”

  “You cannot do this alone, MacPherson!” Jones ignored his tone and argued anyway.

  “I willna be alone once I let ye in, Jones. Now quit jabberin’ and let me be aboot this.”

  Behind Jones, Captain Harper gave his back a shove. Finally, Jones was silenced.

  Tristan hurried to the eastern side of the house where there was a garden. In the garden was a trellis climbing half the wall. It looked to be made of wood and covered in ivy. He latched on and began to climb. He took his time and went slowly. He thought about the men and how obedient they were to their captain. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Tristan hadn’t figured Harper out yet. He seemed devoted to Rose, but Jones had told him the captain was fiercely loyal to no one but the earl. How far would Harper go to protect the earl—if he had to, of course.

  Tristan arrived at the top of the trellis. The ivy continued up, but the wood did not. The ivy alone couldn’t hold his weight. He had to climb the wall though and keep going up. Without thinking of it, he turned his leg and fit the side of his boot into a crevice in the stone. His fingers found the crack where two stones met. Right foot next, left hand up and up, slowly, carefully. This was nothing like climbing trees, but his agility, dexterity, and balance had been honed to near perfection.

  Finally, he reached the top and rested on the slanted roof. He was sweating and his breath came hard and fast. He never wanted to climb that way again, but he still had to go up another wall to reach the open window.

  He took a moment to rest and consider the earl. The more time Tristan spent around him, the less he trusted him. He couldn’t tell Rose. He couldn’t tell her that he had not a stitch of proof that her father was somehow caught up in Neill de Caleone’s story. There was much more than the earl let on. Why? What about de Caleone was he hiding?

  He crept along the edge of the roof, keeping his eyes on the window, but his thoughts flowed this way and that. He loved Rose but would he let a killer go on his merry way because of her?

  He didn’t have much more to climb. The window was closer than he initially estimated.

  With the silence of a cat, he padded through the window and saw a girl about Rose’s age—or younger if she was Rose’s cousin Emma. He stepped down onto the floor, covered here and there with piles of clothes.

  Tristan walked past them and reached the door when the girl awakened and heard him.

  “Who is there?” Her strained, anxious voice almost stopped him.

  “Stay in yer bed if ye want to live.” He rolled his eyes at himself in the dark, hating that the only way she would obey is if he threatened her.

  He opened the door and ran out into the hall, closing the door behind him. Where is the front door? He shouted in his head. It wasn’t completely dark in the halls. A quarter of the torches along the walls were lit. His eyes searched until he finally found the doors. He ran to them while the lass continued to scream, alerting the servants and, likely, the garrison.

  He opened the doors to his companions and their swords. “Only kill if ye must,” Tristan told them, not because he was suddenly possessed of mercy, but because he believed Richard Callanach had little to do with any of this, except for mayhap being the governor who’d paid Tristan to kill him. “No women. No children.”

  Harper and Jones agreed and spread through the manor house like the plague that was ravaging Europe. The governor’s men were running from the attached garrison to fight.

  Tristan drew his claymore and prepared himself. There were at least thirty men. Ten men for him, Jones, and Harper each. It shouldn’t be impossible. He’d seen Jones fight and Jones admired Harper, so they should be fine.

  There was no point in trying to know which man was Richard Callanach, if he was even here.

  Tristan lifted his claymore to take his first man down.

  “Stop!” came a thunderous voice at the top of the stairs. “Who is your leader?”

  “I am,” Tristan called out by habit while slicing his blade across a man’s hairy throat. The man disobeyed his lord and had come at Tristan with his blade out. If there was one, there might be others. Tristan held his sword ready for the next man.

  “If I am disobeyed again, there will be dire consequences,” the governor roared.

  Tristan hoped Captain Harper stood with him.

  “I call off my men,” the older man cried out. “Tell me why you are attacking my home in the darkness of night!”

  It wasn’t good that he sounded so sincere about knowing nothing.

  Tristan saw the lass from the bed peeking down the stairs at the crowded foyer. She started to scream again but the governor hurried to her and put his arms around her. “There now. There now. No one else is fighting.”

  “Where is the earl, Callanach?” the captain demanded.

  “What earl?” The governor narrowed his eyes in the dimly lit hall. “Captain Harper?”

  Tristan’s doubts about Richard Callanach…and about Thomas began to grow. Whose side was de Caleone on?

  “The Earl of Dumfries,” Jones blurted out, “your brother, whom you took whilst he was taking a piss tonight.”

  The governor scrunched up his face and looked sincerely astonished. “What on earth are you talking about? Did someone kidnap Thomas?” He didn’t look or sound troubled.

  “Aye, someone kidnapped him,” said Tristan. “So tell us where he is, and we might let ye live.”

  “I was asleep!” the governor shouted. “Do I look like I was out of bed absconding my brother?”

  Tristan didn’t blame him for shouting. Even as his threat left his own lips, Tristan’s didn’t believe it. Why should the governor? Tristan’s threat didn’t hold up because he believed this man. He hadn’t been the one who’d taken the earl.

  “We know about your association with the killer—” Jones again, but this time the governor held up his hand to cut him off.

  “I confess to hiring MacPherson to…to…kill my brother—”

  Tristan stared at him. Aye, he thought so. The earl’s brother was the man who’d paid four hundred pounds to have the earl killed. Why?

  “But you must understand,” the governor continued. “Thomas is a murderous madman. He had his servant burn down his house to try to kill his wife. The plan went awry though, and poor Rose was the only one burned in Neill’s blaze. Six years later, he enlisted Neill’s help to kill his wife again. This time, he succeeded.”

  Aye, Tristan thought, this explanation made more sense than the others. Had Neill been trying to tell them?

  “How could you, Uncle Richard?”

  They all turned at the sound of Rose’s voice coming from the doorway.

  When he saw her, her uncle turned pale white for a moment and then his eyes filled up with tears. “You lived. I’m so happy that you lived, Niece.”

  “Rose!” the girl from the bed shouted with joy in her voice.

  Rose entered the manor house like royalty, in her breeches and dirty léine. Her dark hair tumbled loose over her shoulder, with a rebellious lock falling over her eye.

  Her uncle’s gaze returned to Tristan. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Tristan MacPherson.”

  The full weight of comprehension rattled the governor’s knees and he had to back up and sit on a step with his daughter.

  “So,” he finally managed, “you saved the life of the daughter of the man I sent you to kill.”

  Tristan nodded. “I have taken her as my wife.” Just saying it made him want to go to her and hold her, shield her ears from hearing anything more.

  Her uncle smiled or sneered. It was difficult to tell with the light farther above him now that he was sitting. “My brother will never allow it.”

  “He already knows and gave his blessin’,” Tristan let him know.

  “He will kill you.” The governor set his gaze on Rose. “You are a fool to believe anything else.”

  She said nothing. She didn’t argue with him but looked down at her dirty boots.

  “You know ’tis true, Niece.”

  “Leave her be,” Tristan warned. There was nothing worse than this truth for her. Tristan was filled with empathy for her. Waves of it for her. Perhaps all the compassion and empathy he had built up over the years was coming out now. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to learn her father was a madman who had his wife killed and his house set on fire. Her father was guilty. Guilty of it all. Tristan believed it. It all rang true, but even if it wasn’t, it was devastating for Rose to hear.

  “Why should I believe a word you say?” she demanded. “You sent a killer after my father.”

  “Aye, to get you away from him. I knew he would not come to Hamilton. He’s terrified of running into Neill.”

  What if Neill had taken the earl? Rose seemed to be sharing his thoughts. Why? Why did Neill wish to cause him such harm?

  “My Rose,” her uncle lamented softly. “I wish that your father had told you all this years ago.”

  “Told me what?” she asked, moving closer to Tristan.

  He took her hand, having a feeling that whatever her uncle told her now would be difficult.

  “Uncle Richard, what should my father have told me? As it is, I am having a difficult time believing you.”

  “Very well, then.” He sat up straighter on the stair. “Before you were born, before he was even married, your father was in love with a serving girl named Eunice. She was lovely, I will admit. Long waves of pale golden locks, eyes as blue as summer sky. They had a child—”

  “No,” Rose covered her mouth to keep silent.

  “—a boy.”

  Neill, Tristan thought, glancing at his wife. She was engrossed in his tale, though she wore a horrified look on her face while she listened.

  “He was a peculiar boy,” the governor continued. “He liked to burn things.”

  “Oh,” was the only thing Rose could utter before she covered her face in her hands and burst into tears.

  “Neill,” she wept. “Neill is my brother. All these years, I considered him one of my closest friends.” She threw herself into Tristan’s arms and sobbed against his chest.

  Tristan wasn’t angry with her uncle for telling her. She wanted to hear it. But it was difficult for her. He could understand. He expected that being told that the monster that robbed her of so much was her brother, and he was doing her father’s bidding, was a hefty weight to bear. He could do nothing but hold her, so that is what he did.

  Everyone was silent while she wept. Then she looked up and slipped away. Her dark eyes seared into Captain Harper. He looked away when she reached him.

  “You knew?” she asked, giving him a way out. But he refused it.

  He nodded and clenched his jaw, still not looking at her.

  She drew back her hand and slapped him hard across the face.

  Harper moved his head back to its original position, looking down at his boot tips.

  “Is all that my uncle says true, Captain?”

  “Aye, Lady.” He spoke on the barest of whispers and nodded again.

  Her eyes glimmered with tears in the dim light. “Then you are loyal to a monster.”

  “Rose, I would have you know I never took part in any of these things. I did not know for certain—”

  She said nothing more but turned away toward Tristan. She stopped short of reaching him though, and looked him in the eyes. “You have your answer then. My father is guilty.”

  Tristan shook his head. “I willna kill him, Rose.”

  He was happy to see her relax a little. He turned to the governor next. “Most of yer money will be returned to ye before I leave here tonight. The rest I will get to ye.”

  “Finish your story, Uncle Richard.”

  “Rose, if you—”

  “Finish please.”

  Her uncle drew out a long, deep sigh. “When Neill was a young man of seventeen, Thomas asked him to burn his house down. He’s arranged it to happen on a night he was not home. He’d also convinced you that you wanted to sleep in the servants’ quarters with Jonetta. But the girl grew ill and her mother brought you back home. Your mother left you there alone to go tend to Jonetta. It was to be just for a moment. Neill did not know. He thought your mother was inside the house.

  “After that, Neill killed for your father, again including killing your mother.” He told her the rest, how Rose’s father shut the gates to Callanach Castle.

  When he was done, Rose leaned against the wall and pressed her hands to her head. “So, everything…everything in my life has been a lie.”

  “No, Rose,” the lass from the bed said, hurrying to her. “We love you. We mourned you. That man with the plague fell on you. What was my father to do?”

  Rose gave her an understanding smile. Tristan remembered her telling him she understood her uncle’s decision. He caught her eyes now and winked at her.

  Her cousin must have seen the warmth in her gaze for she turned around and saw Tristan looking back. She paled and returned her attention to Rose again.

  “Do not hate us,” Tristan heard her say before she hurried back to her father.

  “Yer life will never be a lie again,” Tristan promised her, drawing her closer. He wanted to protect her from everyone and everything. Starting with her father and her brother.

  “Men,” he called out to Harper and Jones, “’tis over here. I have business with the governor and then we will leave—if we all agree?”

  Harper nodded as did Jones.

  “You kept the truth from me, also,” Rose let her uncle know while Tristan paid him.

  “For your sake, Rose. I did not want his name and ours to be soiled by letting you know of his atrocities when you could do nothing to change any of it. I sent MacPherson and got you out of the way. My hope was to give you back your life here in Hamilton. I ask your forgiveness but if you do not give it, I understand.”

  She nodded. “I give it,” she said soft softly. “I love my father, but my mother deserves justice. ’Tis overdue.”

  “Daughter, I’m disappointed in you.” The earl’s voice filled the large hall.

  Every eye turned to the unguarded doors and the earl entering the manor house with Neill and Mary, the captain’s wife held by a man Tristan had seen practicing at Callanach Castle the day Neill attacked.

  He held Mary with his knife pointing at her heart.

  “Sadly,” the earl announced, looking around at everyone, “only one of you will be leaving here tonight, and it will not be her.”

  There was no time to think. In the time it took for her captor to move his hand and stab her hard enough to reach her heart, Tristan plucked a dagger from his belt and hurled it at Mary’s captor. The blade went through the man’s shoulder, separating muscles and tendons. He screamed and wailed in agony and dropped the blade from his useless fingers.

  Tristan motioned for Mary to go to Rose, then said, “Captain, he is one of yer men?”

  “Aye,” Harper said through clenched teeth. “Watley.”

  Tristan nodded. “He is yers to bring before the—”

  “I will bring him before no one,” Harper promised on a deadly growl, and wasted no time killing him.

  “Who is next?” Tristan called out to Neill and the earl. He held his blade ready and motioned for them to come to him.

  “I am!” Neill shouted back.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The earl stepped forward, stopping any fighting for the moment.

  “As eager as I am to see you dead, MacPherson, I will give you a few more moments to live if you tell me what you just handed to my brother.”

  “’Tis money I paid him to kill you,” the governor admitted boldly.