Suddenly a visit from the dressmaker was no longer akin to subjecting herself to the inquisition. She may not know the difference between a day dress and morning gown, but she could certainly learn.
To find she was still capable of an honest fight, even if the antagonist was herself, restored some measure of equanimity to her disposition.
Anaya entered carrying her robe. She looked over Rose’s shoulder outside. “Poor wee fatherless lad,” she said. “Sometimes ’tis simple to forget he is not yet thirteen.”
Not yet thirteen . . .
A sick feeling twisted her insides. She suddenly knew what was bothering her ... what had been bothering her since her conversation this morning with Kathleen.
Drawing on her robe, she left her chambers. She padded barefoot along the shadowed corridor through the narrow gallery, where centuries of Kerrs stared down at her as she passed. Downstairs, she found the library.
Moonlight spilled through the windows. She looked at the rich paneled walls and ornate bookcases. Her gaze paused on a rostrum. The family Bible sat on that stand. Kathleen had said that all marriages, births, and deaths were recorded in the family Bible.
Rose found a tinderbox in the desk drawer and lit a candle. She brought the heavy leather-bound book carefully to the desk. She flipped the ornate cover open and peeled back page after page. She ran her fingernail down the list of inscribed names and stopped when she saw hers, surprised to see that her marriage to Ruark had already been entered. Her finger paused over her name. Pushing the Bible closer to the light, she recognized the penmanship as similar to that on her marriage documents. Ruark must have made the entry.
She flipped the faded pages backward to see when Ruark’s parents were married, then his birth, May 10, 1725. He had only recently reached his thirtieth birthday. She had not even known his age, she realized. For some reason, she had thought him older. His mam had passed when he was six, just two days before another entry and death, an infant brother, was recorded. His mam had died in childbirth. His father had remained unmarried for eleven years when Julia’s name was listed, then James Marcus Kerr was born eight and half months later.Eight and a half months.
A fist went to her stomach. She thought she would be sick.
Rose closed the Bible. Back when she had first come to Stonehaven, McBain had told her that Ruark and Julia had run away together. Today, Duncan had said they had been lovers.
After a moment, Rose returned the Bible to its place. It was a long time before she could sleep.
Chapter 20
Ruark sat outside the Lusty Mermaid at one of four trestle tables that looked out on the Solway Sea, a treacherous body of water that eventually became the headway for the River Eden. A thin layer of mist had formed on the water and was now drifting inland, and encapsulated the sounds from sea: the faint sound of a ship watch bell, the lap of water on the beach. Two black-and-white mongrels milled at Ruark’s feet, supping on scraps he had fed them earlier from the trencher the little barmaid had set in front of him.
Colum sat at the table behind him. “Do ye think Hereford will attempt to kill ye now or later?” he asked.
A soft chuckle conveyed Ruark’s response as he had just been thinking that very thing. Lounging with his legs stretched in front of him, a mug of ale in his gloved hand, he and Colum were watching the progress up the street of Hereford and his entourage. The warden had rumbled into this small seaside hamlet with forty heavily armed men and attempted to find space in the narrowly confined square for all the horses and men.
After leaving his solicitor in Hawick, Ruark had traveled more than a week to get here. Fifty other men from his ship were also with him, though a person would be hard-pressed to spot the infiltrators among the scruffy-looking residents of the village. They looked busy, moving casks and hogsheads of rum from offloaded flats on the beach a short distance away and flirting with prostitutes, casting lots on a blanket spread near the street.
Out on the water, stark masts bobbed in the cove, a sixteen gun-privateer, brigantine, and a sloop, all sharing the inlet waters of Solway Firth, where coasters could unload their cargo. Goods landed here would be carted inland into Carlisle and from there, dispersed. Her silhouette visible against the sunset burning into the sea, theBlack Dragonpulled against her anchor chains.
With its raised quarterdeck and forecastle, and carrying thirty-six guns—which had now been removed—the frigate was a substantial vessel, too large to come into the shallower waters except during higher tides. This was smugglers’ country and Ruark knew the waters well.
Hereford scanned the thatch-roofed buildings up and down the street before fastening his eyes on the lopsided placard bearing the inn’s name and the carved image of a buxom mermaid. Nothing of his dark attire caught a gleam of the fading sunlight that glinted off the glass behind him.
Ruark hadn’t shaved for today’s meeting. He’d clubbed back his hair, but little else about his appearance would pass for civilized. Hereford looked at him and chuckled. “You look at home with every other cutthroat present.”
Ruark lazily sipped his ale, noting the dozen men standing near the warden. Hereford was a leader at ease with his perception of power.
Hereford turned and looked out at theBlack Dragonfloating languidly on the calm surface of the sea. “Aye, she’s a beauty, Roxburghe.” His gaze went to the packet of papers lying next to Ruark’s elbow and he smiled, anunsubtle gloat. “You brought the papers, I see.”
Hereford sat and snapped his fingers for the barmaid. She hurried to him with ale. He sent her off for vittles. “Don’t mind if I celebrate this occasion with supper and drink.” He tossed his gloves on the table and reached for the packet of papers.
Ruark dropped his hand over the bundle, preventing Hereford’s taking possession of it. “One question,” he said, disinclined to engage in small talk with the bastard. “We both know Roxburghe Shipping has profited from certain illegal enterprise. What I do not understand is how my father could have been in league with you.”
A minute change in Hereford’s eyes betrayed his surprise and Ruark wondered if it was at the question asked or more so because of what Ruark had not asked: Had Hereford killed Ruark’s father?
The chair creaked as Hereford sat back and relaxed his weight. “Roxburghe was a man who understood politics,” he said with a bored air. “Yourfatheroutwardly supported Scotland’s independence whilst secretly supplying the king’s armies with the weapons to fight against the Jacobites at Culloden. I know this because I supplied him with the firearms.”
It was all Ruark could do not to stand and grab Hereford by the throat. Ruark’s father was many things, but his loyalty to Scotland had never been in doubt. “Is that right?”
“The Roxburghe ships now carry a dominant share of Scotland’s trade because ofmyhelp. In exchange, I would give him a tax-free cargo of which to dispose and he would give me the enormous profits. And in so doing, I kept my family name clean. A business arrangement that benefited us both. But not once in all those years did we meet. He had an emissary. Why would I kill yourfather? For all that he owed me, I should haveownedthe Roxburghe fleet of ships.”
Ruark studied the mug of ale. “Who was the emissary?”
