He frowned at the picture. “This fellow looks oddly familiar.”
“Because he’s Cait’s brother and looks like Cait.”
“Makes sense.” Ford looked back and forth between the man and the small oval portrait. Though his clothing was less flamboyant, the gentleman in question did indeed share the same wheaten hair and hazel eyes as the man in the painting. “Could be,” he mused. The features weren’t exactly the same, but close. Perhaps the artist wasn’t very talented.
“Go back outside,” Kendra said. “I’ll bring him.”
“We can’t. It’s about to begin—”
The music had changed to a sedate march, and the groom was taking his place, but Ford’s protest was futile. Kendra was already down the aisle and tapping Cait’s brother on the shoulder.
When he looked over, startled, she leaned close to whisper. “May I speak with you a moment?”
Looking confused, he nodded and rose to follow the twins outdoors.
They’d barely reached the steps when Kendra turned to him and began babbling. “I realize you don’t know who we are, but your sister is—”
“I don’t have a sister,” the young man interrupted.
Kendra and Ford looked at each other. Ford handed him the miniature. “Are you not Adam Leslie?”
“Nay.” The man stared at it, then looked up. “Where did you get this? Adam is dead.”
Kendra gasped. “Adam is dead?”
“I’m his cousin, Cameron Leslie.” Cameron stuck out a hand. “And you are…?”
Ford grasped and shook it. “Ford and Kendra Chase. We got the portrait from Adam’s sister, Caithren. Our brother has gone after her. She meant to come here to find Adam, but she was—”
“—delayed,” Kendra finished for him. No sense alarming the fellow right off.
“I received word of Adam’s death and came to fetch my cousin back home.” Cameron’s hazel eyes filled with concern. “Wore out four horses getting here, because she said he would be at this wedding today, and it’s the only place in England I knew for certain I could find her.”
“If she doesn’t make it here for the ceremony, she’ll be at the reception.” Kendra reached to touch him on the arm. “My brother will make sure of it.”
SIXTY-NINE
CAITHREN ROSE again and walked slowly around the chamber, pacing off her nervous energy.
“Sit down, wench,” Wat growled from the front room.
She sat back at the table.
She shouldn’t be surprised that Jason wasn’t coming for her. He’d ridden halfway across the country chasing after Gothard, and he was determined to find him. Saving Scarborough’s life also figured into the equation. Of course those goals were more important to him than she was.
Well, if he didn’t come, at least he couldn’t be detained—or worse, shot—by Wat. Though if he did show up, he could probably defend himself against this sorry fellow. Wat was definitely missing something upstairs.
That weakness of Wat’s should be a boon to her as well. She took a deep breath. He was still in the other room and didn’t seem to be watching. Now was as good a time as any.
Slowly she stood, sliding the pewter plate off the table as quietly as possible. Hiding it behind her skirts, she drifted to the window, reached out and turned the latch, pushed it partway open—
“What the deuce do you think you’re doing?” In a flash of fury, Wat came up behind her. She whirled and raised the heavy pewter plate, smashing him atop the head with all the strength she could dredge from her body. The spoon went flying, along with putrid bits of dried meat and gravy that rained down on them both.
Wat yowled, but he didn’t go down. Evidently he was dim and hard-headed.
Red with rage, he came after her. She scooped the spoon from the floor and aimed its handle for his face, hoping to get him in the eye. She missed, grazing his sunburned cheek. Bright blood beaded up in a ragged line.
With a growl, he wrested the pistol from his waistband.
Dim-witted or not, he could shoot her dead. She was already braced to bring up her knee when she heard the click of the flintlock being cocked. Icy fear gripped her heart. She shifted, thrusting both hands to force Wat’s arm toward the ceiling.
As she tried to wrestle the gun from him and bring it butt-down on top of his hard skull, a blast tore through the air. Her ears ringing, she felt his body go limp and slump to the floor.
Panic rose in her throat as she stood there, the pistol in her hands, watching blood well from a neat round hole in Walter Gothard’s head.
“THEY’VE GOT to be here,” Ford said. “Criminy, there are just too many people.”
The wedding celebration was in full swing. Lord Darnley’s house was lit with hundreds of candles. Wine and other spirits flowed freely, and the resulting raucous laughter rang through the halls, the ballroom, and into his garden beyond.
“They?” Cameron asked. “I thought we came here to find Cait.”
“We also need to find the Earl of Scarborough.” Kendra’s gaze scanned the glittering room before she turned back to Cameron and frowned. “But we don’t know what he looks like.”
“And two other men,” Ford added, his words directed into the milling throng. “My brother accidentally killed someone, and we don’t know who he was. These two men were witnesses. I’ve seen them and think I remember what they look like, but I’ve yet to spot them here. A serving maid in a tavern told me one of them might be named Balmforth.”
“Balmforth?” The blood drained from Cameron’s face.
“Yes.” Ford craned his neck, still looking.
Kendra’s gaze was riveted to Caithren’s cousin. “Whatever is wrong?” she asked.
“Balmforth—”
“There they are!” Ford took off, threading his way through the crowd of revelers.
“Are you all right?” Kendra stared at Cameron. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Nay. It’s only—” His mouth opened, but no more words came out.
She gestured toward the silk-upholstered chairs
