“Yes, in a silk-lined suite of rooms, with nine personal servants to see to your every whim.”
He rubbed his chin, scratching at the itchy stubble. “The rooms were quite nice, but I couldn’t even go outside without guards escorting me with muskets.”
“Please note that you were given nine servants after I performed that dance.” She shot him a laughing look, her brown eyes sparkling. “Admit I was good.”
“I will admit no such thing.” He’d been beyond shocked when Jane had offered to perform the dance usually done by one of the sulfi’s many wives. She’d been quite horrible at it, too, and the sulfi had been reduced to chuckles, but still, there was no disguising the man’s interest in Jane after that. Michael had been outraged and furious, though there had been precious little he could do about it.
Jane smiled serenely, ignoring his glower. “It was all part of my master plan to make him forget that we were his prisoners and see us as guests instead. In his country, dancing doesn’t have scandalous intentions the way our culture might see it. It’s merely a way to show appreciation for—”
“Balderdash. The only thing that dance expressed was that you needed a good talking to. And don’t tell me that it didn’t complicate things. When my brother arrived to rescue us, the sulfi refused to give you up, and I then had to rescue you, which was a pain in the ass.”
She waved an airy hand. “Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy storming the castle. You loved every minute. Your face was positively aglow as you ran through the courtyard firing your pistol in the air.” She sent him a look of approval, which surprised him. “I never met a man who liked storming a castle better.”
“It’s in my blood. The Hursts are a dangerous mixture of royal Norman stock and brutal Scottish blood.”
“You sound invincible.”
He showed his teeth in a smile. “You’d do well to remember that.”
“Humph. Be that as it may, I didn’t need your help—dramatic as it was—to win my freedom from the sulfi; I’d already found a way to escape and was just biding my time.”
He gave her a flat stare. “Normally, you’re a sane woman. But I think being shut up for those long months disturbed your brain in some way. I—”
Footsteps in the hallway announced the arrival of the landlady with a tray bearing glasses, a bottle of amber liquid, a plate of bread and cheese, and two bowls of fragrantly steaming stew.
Jane rose and went to the table where Mrs. Farquhar was spreading out the fare. The two conversed for a few moments in low tones and then the landlady left. Jane took her seat before a bowl of stew. “You should eat while it’s hot.”
The wondrous scent of the stew made his stomach growl, so he reluctantly rose from his chair and went to join her at the table.
Jane picked up her spoon and then said, “Mrs. Farquhar believes her nephew has access to a boat large enough to carry us to Barra. She’s going outside now to talk to the coachman and give him her nephew’s name.”
“Good.” He hungrily dug into the stew. The delicious flavor spread through his mouth and instantly eased his ill temper. The savory broth was rich with carrots and onions and large bits of meat and a mixture of spices that made the stew the best he’d ever had.
Across the table, Jane peeped at him from beneath her lashes, noting with satisfaction the look of bliss on his face. Though they’d eaten almost every meal together since their disagreement, he’d been distant and chilly. She’d replied in kind, although it had weighed down her spirits far more than it should have.
It was odd how one missed something only when it was gone. Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she counted upon their leisurely conversations while traveling or over the dinner table. But she had missed them dreadfully this last week.
It was unfortunate that Michael was right; their kiss had indeed changed things. Not from her end, of course, but from his. After the kiss, he’d been so different, so distant. He was an intense man who did things his own way, with a passion and fervor that was unmatched. It was the trait that made him so successful. It was also the trait that demanded that their relationship stay professional and nothing else.
She watched as Michael picked up the bread and tore a crusty piece from the loaf, which he immediately held out to her. She smiled as she took it, the scent a pleasing complement to the stew.
That was one of the things she’d always liked about him; though he could be notoriously rude in the things he said, he possessed an old-style courtesy, which she attributed to being raised by a very forceful mother as well as being among a large number of siblings.
She tasted the stew and was pleased that it was as good as Michael’s expression had indicated. As she ate she watched him surreptitiously, noting how his dark hair was falling over his brow and into his eyes. He was due for a trim soon and a shave as well. She wished he’d allow her free rein with her shears, for she’d like to see him far more neatly shorn.
Not that it really made any difference: long hair or short hair, stubble chinned or not, Michael Hurst was a devastatingly attractive man. He lifted a spoonful of stew to his lips, unaware of her attention. What made him so much more than other men? Was it his coloring—the brilliant blue eyes and black hair? Or the way his mouth was so masculine and sensual? Or the way his—
His gaze locked with hers.
Her face burned at being caught staring and she hurried to say, “We should look at the map here, before we go to the island.”
He placed his spoon in his empty bowl. “Why?”
“I’m not sure what sort of accommodations we’ll find once we’re on the island. There used to be an inn on the southern end, but I’m not sure it’s still open after all of these years. We might be forced to make do with our tents.”
“That’s unfortunate.” He cocked a brow at her. “I assume you brought our tents?”
“Of course. So while we have the chance, we should make use of this fine table and the excellent lamplight.”
He looked about the small room, which was now quite cozy, thanks to the crackling fire. “I hope that inn is still open.”
“So do I, but it’s been a long time since I was there, so . . .” She shrugged.
He poured some whiskey into a glass, the liquid swirling in glowing gold as his dark blue gaze locked on hers once more. “How long has it been since you were on Barra?”
“Fourteen years.”
“So you were—” He frowned. “How old are you now?”
She placed her spoon into her bowl and pushed it away. “That’s no question to ask a lady.”
“You aren’t a lady.” He took a drink of the Scotch and grinned.
“And you are no gentleman,” she retorted. “No gentleman I know would ever ask a woman such a rude question.”
“I never said I was a gentleman.” He appeared quite pleased about it, too, his blue eyes mischievous in the lamplight.
“And I never said that I was a lady, so we’re at an impasse. Again.” She hid a grin when she noted his smile fading. “Hurst, pray pour me some of that wonderful Scotch. In return I’ll fetch the map.”
“How do you know the Scotch is wonderful?”
“The same way I knew the stew would be good: I saw your face when you tasted it. You have a very expressive face and it reveals your every thought.”
“Balderdash. Go get that damned map and let’s see what we can make of this adventure.”
She arose and brought back the satchel. She opened it and pulled out the three onyx boxes, then dropped the satchel on the bench tucked under the table. In a very short time, she’d removed the onyx boxes from their velvet sheaths and had them unfolded and locked in place.
Jane placed the assembled map on the table between them, took the seat beside his, and pulled the lamp closer. “I can’t believe I didn’t realize this was the Isle of Barra. It’s so clear now.”
“You should give yourself credit for realizing it was a portion of this country at all. At one time, I was cer
tain it was part of Constantinople.”
“It took me a while to realize it, but this”—she touched a faint word etched below the map—“is an ancient term for island. And then this symbol”—she traced an odd etching beside what they’d assumed was a river—“has been used in ancient texts to indicate what we now call the British Isles.”
“Both are still correct, even with the new interpretation of the map.”
“Yes, but I was on the wrong side of the country. Whoever put the words upside down to hide the true orientation of the map was very clever.” She made a wry face. “I was so certain that the amulet was hidden in some rocky outcropping in the bay near Dover. I’d have bet gold on it.”
“You were supposed to think that. Our mapmaker was very skilled in hiding his intent, which only confirms to me that he was hiding something very valuable.”
“The Hurst Amulet.”
“It must be.”
She noted how Michael’s brow lowered as he looked at the map. Since the first day she’d met him, he’d made no secret that finding the lost family heirloom was of immense importance to him. And he’d worked tirelessly to track the long-lost amulet, too.
He stirred restlessly. “It didn’t help our cause that the map doesn’t show the entire island, but only a portion of it, so that it was even easier to be led astray.”
“True,” she said. “Otherwise we could have simply looked for a coastline that matches.”
He nodded his agreement and then traced his fingers over the etched surface of the map. “Someone tried very, very hard to be as obscure as possible, and they succeeded.”
She sighed. “Still, I grew up on Barra and I should have recognized it. It’s a very small island and I’ve ridden over every inch, time and again. I know every cove, every curve of the shoreline, every glassy loch and grass-covered hillock, and yet—” She shook her head.
Michael’s gaze lifted from the map to rest upon her face. “You miss it?”
“I miss being that young.” As she pulled the lamp closer so that the golden pool of light spilled over the etched metal, she tried not to notice how it reflected across Michael’s face and made his blue eyes glow. “I thought anything was possible if you only wanted it enough, which was stupid. As an adult, I now know that just wanting something won’t make it so. You must also have opportunity and luck on your side. A few casks of gold aren’t amiss, either.”
He rubbed his chin, his gaze still locked on her. “Interesting. In all of the time we’ve worked together, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you utter such a pessimistic sentiment.”
“It’s not pessimistic to admit a universal truth.” She took an absent sip of her whiskey and allowed the warmth to spread through her. “But back to the map . . . I recognize some aspects of the island, now that I know the map for what it is. For example, the shoreline is a bit different.” She touched a small bay in the southern part of the isle. “This is Castle Bay, and it’s much deeper now than depicted here; no doubt it has been eroded by storms and whatnot over the centuries. There’s a town now, too.”
“Where?”
“Here.” She touched the edge of the bay. “The town’s name is Castlebay.”
“And the name of the bay is Castle Bay?”
“It is.”
“That’s original.”
She chuckled. “So it is.”
Humor warmed his blue gaze. “What else has changed?”
She pointed at a squiggled line. “That’s not a river as we’d thought, but the western shore of the island.”
“So this represents the sea.” Michael touched upon a row of upside-down v’s, his fingertips tracing the raised portion of the etching. “Not mountains as we’d thought.” He couldn’t help but feel a certain appreciation for the long-gone cartographer who so cleverly hid his meanings while still offering up a trove of clues. “We need to compare the old map to a new one. I bought one before we left London.”
Her glance was warm with approval. “Well done, Hurst.”
He found the satchel beside their bench and pulled out a small tube. He removed a number of maps, paging through them. Finally he found the one he wanted. He handed it to Jane, who spread it on the table beside the map made by the boxes and bent over it, her brown hair set to a golden gleam by the lamplight.
He decided that he liked that particular shade of hair color; it was rich and shimmered with red and gold lights. Oddly enough, his fingers itched to touch her silken hair. Which is ridiculous, he told himself, focusing on returning the other maps to the tube.
Her brow suddenly lowered. “Hurst, this map is dated 1812, and yet it is missing some very significant features.”
“You said it had been a while since you’d been to Barra.”
“Yes, but an entire castle?”
“There’s a castle?”
She sent him an impatient look. “Why else would they call it Castle Bay?”
“Ah, yes. This is Scotland, too. You can’t swing a dead cat in this country without hitting a fortification of some kind.”
“That’s because of the warriorlike nature of earlier times.”
“And by ‘warriorlike nature’ you’re talking about the Scots themselves.”
Her eyes sparkled. “I’m talking about most earlier societies. They were all more given to violence.”
“Some, I’ll grant you, but your people have been a contentious lot since the beginning. Far more than most.”
“I prefer to think of the Scots as strong-minded.”
“I daresay you do, seeing as how you’re one yourself. However, I’ve read hundreds of histories about ancient societies, and with the exception of the Spartans, I believe the Scots are the most contentious society to ever walk the earth.”
Her gaze narrowed behind her spectacles. “Are you done?”
He grinned and pulled out his own spectacles. “For the moment.” He slid his spectacles in place and then leaned forward, his shoulder touching hers. “So the new map isn’t accurate?”
“Apparently not. Kisimul Castle is represented on the ancient map, just not the current one. See?”
He glanced to where her finger touched beside a crudely represented castle etched in the metal map and then to the blank space on the newer version. He shrugged. “Perhaps the newer cartographer didn’t mark dwellings.”
“So I’d think, but they’ve drawn several dwellings—two, in fact, neither of which I know.” She placed her finger on the northern side of the isle and murmured, as if to herself, “This one is drawn especially large, as if it were a manse of some sort. Who would build a house here, one large enough to be placed upon the map? It could only be— But no. That would be a waste when . . .” She frowned and fell silent.
“What would be a waste?”
“Nothing.” Her gaze lifted to his, though her expression gave away none of her thoughts. “I was just thinking aloud.” She ran her finger over a line that appeared on both the maps. “This is the main road. It circles the entire island and hasn’t changed at all, so navigating will be simple.”
He’d leaned forward when she’d traced the road and now her scent tickled his nose: light lavender and something else . . . a hint of rose, perhaps? He had to fight the urge to bend down and run his cheek along the delicate line of her neck and soak in the scent. She’d just thawed after their last physical encounter; he wasn’t about to allow her to retreat again. Just one kiss, and she and I were uncomfortable for almost two weeks. I will not allow that to happen again.
He returned his attention to the maps. “The caves are marked on the southwestern shore, but . . . what’s this?” He pointed to another symbol on the ancient map, this one an upside-down triangle. “What’s here? It’s too obviously placed not to be of some importance.”
“That’s a glen.” Her expression softened a moment. “A very beautiful glen at that. When I was a child, I used to ride my horse through there. There’s a loch, a ruin, and some delightful fishing, if you like that sort of
thing.”
He lifted his brows. “Did you fish?”
“I still do, when I have the chance. I am very good at it, too.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” He leaned back in his chair. “If we reach the isle this evening, as we hope, then in the morning we’ll search that glen.”
“And the caves?”
“We’ll ride by them and get an idea of the lay of the land. You said they’re available only at low tide, so it will take more planning to investigate them.”
“That makes sense.” She pursed her lips, the soft bottom one glistening with moisture.
The innocent gesture instantly made Michael’s body react. He was so drawn to her, so interested. He couldn’t seem to stop watching her, wanting by turns to touch her, taste her, feel her—
He scowled. Stop it. I must control these urges. They’ll only make things miserable for the two of us. He forced himself to smile and say lightly, “The caves must hold the final clue to the—”
“Pardon me, sir.” Ammon stood in the doorway. At his side, her eyes wide, her mouth open, was Mrs. Farquhar.
Jane stood and crossed to the landlady. “Ah! I see you’ve met Ammon.”
The landlady nodded mutely, her gaze still glued to the tall servant, her fingers moving across her cheek, as if she were tracing the path of the servant’s scars on her own skin.
Jane smiled up at Ammon. “Did you perchance find a boat to hire?”
Ammon inclined his head, ignoring how the landlady’s gaze followed his every move. “Mrs. Farquhar’s nephew possesses one that is well suited for our task. I hired it and trust it will be sufficiently large to carry us all, as well as the trunks. He will return for the horses.”
Jane turned to the landlady. “Thank you so much for recommending your nephew’s boat.”
The landlady nodded, her gaze still glued to Ammon, her mouth still hanging open.
Ammon sighed, though he never gave her so much as a glance. “Mr. Hurst, if it pleases you, we’re to leave in three hours with the tide. The pier’s not far from here, so we’ve no need to hurry. We’re to sail down the Sound of Mull and then to Castle Bay on the Isle of Barra.”