A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,103

had come to see someone who knew something, perhaps unwittingly. That only made him more on edge, prowling the streets, trying to plan for a number of possibilities.

Finally he turned back toward the inn, riding his new brown gelding and leading another on a rope. He missed his own horse, but he’d pushed that animal to the limit riding back to Edinburgh from Fort George, covering two hundred miles of bad road in six days. At the same time, the close confines of the carriage yesterday had made his skin crawl. He couldn’t see anything or anyone from inside a carriage.

He left the horses at the inn. Ilsa hadn’t returned, and restlessly he walked out again. Her plan was mad, whatever it was. Either Fletcher was hiding here, stupidly lingering within a day’s ride of Edinburgh while the rewards for his capture were spread all over Scotland, or he’d left already, and Ilsa would have only made the sheriff more suspicious of her.

He was terribly afraid for her. If she knew how to find her father, then she’d lied to the sheriff. Under Drew’s midnight badgering, the procurator’s deputy admitted that they thought she already had. They knew Ilsa had gone straight to her father after a gossipy friend of her aunt revealed that someone had come forward for the pardon, and that Deacon Fletcher had fled town the next morning. David MacGill told Sheriff Cockburn that Fletcher had sent him a letter for his daughter, which he had delivered to her. Cockburn had gone to see Ilsa at once, and thought the letter was very nearly a confession. Ilsa had claimed it wasn’t her father’s handwriting, suggesting Mr. MacGill had written it himself, but Cockburn didn’t believe that. They were sure she knew something and was hiding it.

Drew cursed as he paced the road toward town. He’d argued to the deputy for two hours that night that Ilsa couldn’t have anything to do with the robberies. She’d been with him in Perth during the worst run of them, where he and Felix Duncan could attest that she’d neither sent nor received communication from Edinburgh. What’s more, she had no reason to steal, having a handsome fortune and—unlike her father—no known penchant for gambling or unsavory companions. Her only possible crime, Drew had insisted, was loyal devotion to her parent, which was not illegal no matter the state of that parent’s soul. Did they really mean to arrest a woman without evidence of any kind?

The deputy had said of course not, but that if she had any information, Drew should strongly encourage her to bring it to him. For her own sake.

Instead Drew had gone with her when he couldn’t persuade her to stay. He’d known he would all along. Whatever the truth of her actions, he couldn’t stop thinking of Ilsa saying that she was used to going alone, being alone, doing things alone. He didn’t want her to do this alone. Especially not when he suspected the sheriff would have men following her, to see if she led them to Fletcher.

Which was why he hadn’t told the sheriff.

Or his family.

Or the Duchess of Carlyle.

He was already far beyond when he’d promised to return to Carlyle. As the weeks slipped by, he had put off his letter to Mr. Edwards again and again. It still lay in the desk in Duncan’s spare room, barely begun, containing nothing of import except David MacGill’s unsuitability. And now there was no way to finish it—he had no idea where he was going or when he would return, or if he was inadvertently helping a wanted man escape the King’s justice, all because he had lost his heart to a bewitching, exuberant Scotswoman with a loyal, loving spirit who wanted nothing to do with his English title.

And that woman had been gone a long time. He hesitated, not wanting to risk her trust again but unable to shake off the feeling of unease. Damn it, he thought, and lengthened his stride toward Dunbar.

Ilsa meant to stay only a little while, but once Mary started talking, it was hard to leave. After the horror of the last fortnight, it was such a relief and a pleasure to speak fondly of Papa with another person who believed him innocent.

Her head was full as she walked briskly back toward the inn. It was a splendidly beautiful day and she filled her lungs, heartened not only by her visit with Cousin Mary but by the exercise and