The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

“Lord, no. We’re sailing along the South Coast. We’ll drop anchor for a couple of hours while we take on … cargo, then we’ll be on our way.” Mackenzie drew his hand down his beard. “Rest here now. I’ll lock the door for your own safety. The master will be none too pleased if you tumble overboard.”

“Will your master—”

“Now is not the time for questions. I’ll return when it’s safe to come up on deck.”

The Scot left the room. The heavy clunk of a key confirmed he’d locked the door.

Lillian spent an hour looking through the books on the shelf while she ate. Her captor read Latin, studied Socrates and Plato. From the music sheets, he had a fondness for Haydn. After a poor attempt at striking a tune on the fiddle, she settled back on the bed and let sleep take her.

Hours passed. She woke to a room bathed in moonlight.

Grabbing the burgundy coverlet from the bed, she draped it over her shoulders and padded to the door. She pressed her ear to the thin gap between the frame and the jamb but heard nothing in the corridor beyond. The glint of a brass key in the lock caught her eye. Mackenzie must have returned. She turned it and eased open the door, relieved to find there were no guards keeping watch.

Lillian crept along the narrow corridor and up a flight of steps leading to the deck. The chill in the air stole her breath, as did the giant moon casting an eerie silver-green sheen over the sea. The wind whipped strands of hair loose from her dishevelled coiffure and, despite her dire circumstances, for a moment she felt free.

The men going about their work paid her no heed, and so she wandered over to the wooden rail and peered at the inky depths below.

Did they imagine she lacked the courage to jump?

“The water is icy cold tonight, lass.” The Scot’s deep voice startled her. “Stiff muscles are a hindrance when it comes to swimming. You’d be lucky to last thirty seconds in there.”

Lillian did not turn to acknowledge him but stared out at the horizon. He came to stand beside her. Neither of them spoke. His heavy breathing left puffs of white mist in the chilly night air. Soon the silence became deafening.

“Were you with the man who stopped the carriage outside my window?”

“Aye.”

Lillian cast him a sidelong glance and studied his face. With soft blue eyes, full cheeks and a red beard tinged with white flecks, the Scot’s countenance suggested his heart was as large as his frame.

“Am I here because of my brother?” It wouldn’t be the first time a man had used her to exact his revenge.

“Aye. It’s not for me to explain the details, but know you’re in no danger, lass. We'll not harm a hair on your head. Master’s orders.”

Truth echoed in his words. Indeed, she should have been terrified out of her wits, and yet she felt a strange form of peace.

“Who is your master?” She looked the Scot in the eye. “Do I know him?”

The Scot’s mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile. “Happen you do. I have it on good authority he’s a friend.”

Lillian had no friends.

“Aren’t friends supposed to extend an invitation when they seek your company?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but a loud cry from the crow’s nest drew their attention to the black mass of land in the distance.

“Not long to wait now.” The Scot inclined his head. “Should you need anything during your stay at the castle, just ask for Mackenzie.” He patted his chest so there was no mistaking who he meant.

The castle? This whole debacle was like something one read about in the gothic novels of Ann Radcliffe and the like. “Thank you, Mackenzie. I only hope your master shows me the same care and consideration you have.”

“Have no doubt. The master is a gentleman despite what others might say. Now, I’d best attend to my duties.”

Mackenzie strode away.

Wrapping the coverlet tightly around her shoulders, Lillian stood and watched as they drew closer to the shore. Mackenzie returned, thrust a telescope into her hand and left without saying a word. It was difficult to see in the dark, but she spotted the tall brazier emitting an amber glow from the top of the castle’s keep.

Someone shouted about dropping a temporary anchor, and she soon found herself bundled into a small boat. Mackenzie and another man rowed to the sandy cove. They led her up the steep stone path to the castle on the clifftop, escorted her through the gatehouse and the bailey, before coming to an abrupt halt outside studded oak doors.

“The master is waiting for you in the great hall.” Mackenzie offered her a reassuring grin. “You’re on your own from here.”