“Then if the daughter is dead, Hereford would have noclaim on Kirkland Park. If he believes his daughter dead ... why is he still at Kirkland Park?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. I swear I know nothing more.”
“Should we believe her?” Angus asked. No one could be sure that Hereford would exchange Jamie, much less for a daughter most thought dead.
“Bluidy damned Sassenach,” someone murmured. “Tucker is as English as Hereford. If the girl is alive, all he has to do is claim she was a foundling left on his doorstep. Who would believe us?”
“Where is Tucker now?” Ruark asked Mrs. Fortier.
“I saw him five days ago. He came to my cottage to tell me that ’twas no longer safe to remain in England. That he had arranged for me to leave ...”
“Then he must know about the letter,” Angus said.
“Do you have anywhere to go, Mrs. Fortier?” Ruark asked.
She shook her head. He looked at the man standing behind the woman. “See that Mary gives her a place to stay here at Stonehaven if she chooses to stay. I do not know how safe it is for her to return to Carlisle.”
After the woman was taken from the room, no one spoke. Reality momentarily subdued the initial excitement of those sitting around the table.
Duncan sat on a bench with his elbows on his knees and his head down, and spoke first. “I say, if Tucker does no’ cooperate, then his fate should be the same as Hereford’s.”
“Tucker is no coward,” Ruark said. “I have no want to murder a priest when he decides not to cooperate. I will take six men. No more. Give me a week to return with the girl.”
“A week,” Duncan said. “If you do no’ return?”
“Thenyou ride.”
“Miss Rose?”
Startling at the small sound of Jack’s voice, Rose straightened and stretched to loosen the muscles at her back. She turned her head to see him leaning against the paddock fence looking over the rail at her. Loki stirred beneath her hand. She had been checking for heat and swelling.
The torchlight on the wall of the stable cast Jack’s face in an otherworldly orange glow. He could have passed for one of the ghosts that allegedly haunted the crypts. She warmed at the sight of him. “Whatever are you doing awake so late?”
He shrugged, unusually quiet. She had not seen him at supper.
She stood and brushed the dirt off her hands. “What is it?”
He picked up the sorcerer’s box she had set on the workbench while waiting for the moon to make an appearance. For five days she had been awaiting the skies to clear. “Is this the magic puzzle box, Miss Rose?”
She latched the stall and approached. “Aye.”
And something pulled inside her. Something that pulled constantly at her thoughts waking her up in the night. So powerful that even now, she could feel the low hum in her veins. “This box is part of an Arthurian legend connected in some way to Excalibur. Have you ever heard of Merlin?”
Jack shook his head.
“He was a sorcerer.” Edging her thumb along a row of symbols, she held the box out to Jack. “Do you see thesemarkings? The ring inside this box grants its wearer a wish. I intend to find the secret that opens this box. If the moon would ever make an appearance.”
“Then what will ye do, Miss Rose?”
She brushed a lock of his stringy blond hair behind one ear. “Then I will close my eyes and make my wish.”
“Do ye want to be a king like Arthur?”
She laughed. “Maybe.”
“Don’t ye want to be rich?”
Who did not wish to be rich? “Sometimes the greatest wealth is not found in your purse, Jack,” she said quietly. “I want the freedom to make my own choices. You understand that, don’t you?”
