“Not for long,” Rose told her. “Tristan will kill him.”
“Well, let us make certain we are still alive to see our husbands again, aye?”
“Aye,” Rose agreed, and they began running again. When her lungs began to burn and she was sure she could not take one more step, she ran straight into Tristan’s arms.
She was so happy to see him, she wanted to leap for joy.
“Oh, thank the Lord,” she pushed out. “Tristan, someone took my father!”
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
