Mrs. Rossmoran, while not as wealthy as the Terrells, was a daughter of Scotland, whose family, according to Hamish, had been in this area longer than anyone. Juliana would be sure to visit her among the first as well.
When she finished breakfast she went in search of Hamish again. She had no luck finding him until she went down the flagstone passage, calling his name.
He popped out of the kitchen, looking worried, but Hamish generally looked worried, so Juliana thought nothing of it at first. “Hamish, please spread the word that builders are desperately needed. Any kind of builder, plumbers, glaziers, and drapers. They may begin assembling here today, and Mr. McBride will speak to them.”
Hamish listened in all seriousness then said, “Aye. If we can find him.”
Juliana stopped. “If you can find who? Mr. McBride?”
“Aye.” Hamish nodded, his worried look becoming more pronounced. “He’s gone, m’lady, and there’s no trace of him.”
Chapter 11
“What do you mean, no trace of him?” Juliana stared at Hamish, cold fear wiping out any plans of calls or house rebuilding. “He likely went for a walk. He and Mr. McGregor did imbibe fairly heavily last night, and Mr. McBride no doubt needs to clear his head.”
“No, m’lady. We thought of that, but he’s not gone for a walk. Mahindar says he’s gone into hiding.”
“Into hiding? What on earth does that mean?”
“Mahindar says that sometimes, when it all gets too much for him, he disappears. Mahindar says he sometimes can’t find Mr. McBride for days. But he says he hasn’t done it in a long time now.”
“Where is Mahindar?” Juliana demanded. “I want to speak to him.”
“He’s out looking. He and his wife and Nandita and the little girl are all hunting high and low for Himself. I was too, except you called me.”
What did Elliot fear? This was the Highlands, his home. He was safe here.
Juliana pushed past Hamish and dashed to the kitchen, never mind her strictures of the lady of the house never entering the servants’ quarters. “Mahindar?”
Mahindar popped out of a darkened corner so quickly that Juliana squeaked. He began an apology, but Juliana cut through it. “Have you found him?”
“No, memsahib. But we are looking. You should go out and make your visits. I will find him. I always do. Eventually.”
“Don’t be silly. I cannot tamely sip tea and talk of the weather while wondering if Elliot is all right. He might be hurt. I’m not leaving until we know he’s safe.”
Mahindar spread his hands. “Very well, but it might be days.”
“Days?” Her heart squeezed. “I don’t understand. Why should he do this? This is his home.”
Hamish loomed at her shoulder. “Because he’s a madman, ain’t he?”
Juliana swung on him. “Hamish McIver, don’t you ever say that again. If you do I’ll…I will speak to your mother about it. Mr. McBride is not mad. He was held for a long time against his will, and that is hard on people, isn’t it? It stands to reason he still has bad dreams about it.”
“But he’s awake now.”
Hamish had a point, and Juliana hardly understood it at all. But she thought of some of the things Elliot had told her: I drift in and out…Sometimes I can’t remember the things I’ve said or not said…
“The lad is right,” Mahindar said. “The sahib is a bit mad now. He never quite recovered from his imprisonment, the poor man.”
“Stop,” Juliana said in a loud voice. “No more talk of madness. My husband is not mad. But we must find him.”
Both started at her tone and scurried away to resume the search.
They hunted everywhere. Mr. McGregor joined in, for once not arguing, scolding, or shouting, despite his obvious fragile condition from imbibing the night before.
The man put a bony hand on Juliana’s arm. “There is a place he could be. I used to go there when I was a lad, pretending there were ghosts.”
Hamish paled at the word ghosts, his freckles standing out on his white skin.
“This house is too new for ghosts,” Juliana said briskly, even as she let McGregor lead her away.
“But it was built over the old castle,” McGregor said. “Which was th’ McGregor stronghold for six hundred years. Before that, it was a keep to defend this little valley against all comers.” He climbed down the stairs from the scullery and led her along the passage to the boiler room, where they’d found Nandita cowering the morning before. “There’s still a way to get to the old McGregor castle—the ruined cellars below it, anyway. Found it when I was a boy.”
Mr. McGregor moved to the other side of the boiler room and pried a piece of grimy paneling from the wall. Behind this was a narrow niche that looked like a broom cupboard, empty and unused. McGregor shone the candle lantern he’d snatched up onto the flagstone floor.
“Trapdoor,” he said.
“Where?” Juliana stared at the floor but saw nothing that looked like a trapdoor.
McGregor chuckled. “My nanny and tutors could never find it either.” He set down his lantern, dug his fingers under at what looked like a haphazard crack in the floor, and pulled.
The entire piece of flagstone came up and away, revealing a hole into dank blackness.
“Come on,” McGregor said cheerfully. “It’s not deep. A sturdy Highland lass like yourself will find it no trouble.”
He dropped through the hole and landed on hard-packed earth five or so feet down, enough room for the small-statured McGregor to stand upright. A tall man like Elliot, though, would find it a tight fit.
McGregor helped Juliana down then reached back up for his lantern.
“I thought these were the dungeons, when I was a lad,” he said, flashing the light on the irregular walls, the old, old stones still a solid foundation for the house above. “But they were the wine cellars. I found a plan of the whole place once.”
The darkness was vast, the many walls forming a maze. Juliana crept close behind McGregor, hoping his memory for the place hadn’t failed him.
She heard a noise. Movement.
McGregor heard it too and stopped, shining his light into a corner of two thick walls. The lantern caught on something that glittered. Eyes.
A powerful form lunged out of the darkness. McGregor’s lantern went flying, and the candle extinguished as the lantern clattered to the floor. McGregor cried out, then Juliana heard the thump of a body slammed against stone.
She ran toward the sound and found the hard-muscled figure of her husband kneeling on the floor, McGregor kicking and flailing under him. McGregor’s breath grated, and any words he tried to form were incoherent.
“Elliot!” Juliana shouted as loud as she could. She grabbed Elliot’s shoulders and tried to pull him away.
Elliot resisted, twisting to loosen her grasp while keeping hold of McGregor, but Juliana clung fast. She put her lips to his ear and begged, “Elliot. Stop.”
He didn’t respond. Juliana wrapped her arms all the way around him, tears filling her eyes, her voice breaking on a sob. “Please.” She kissed the line of his hair.
Elliot froze. All movement ceased, Elliot’s body becoming immobile as a marble statue. Beneath him, McGregor coughed.
“Juliana,” Elliot whispered, bewildered, uncertain.