“He is well and resting.”
“He is here?”
“Indeed. He is always here, as am I.” Lord Livingstone sipped at his cup. “Were he up for visitors, I would bring him down now. The lad is quite old enough to sit with his elders and partake of strong drink. I did so at his age. My grandfather brought me into the presence of visitors by the time I was—”
“Your son has been in Northumberland at Sharottewood Manor. You deny this?”
“Yes. I deny it.” Lord Livingstone thudded his wine cup to the mahogany stand, his cheeks blazing as red as the liquid. “My son is fourteen years old and has been ill since birth. You may invade upon his private chamber, if you wish to see for yourself.”
Confusion swept through William’s brain. Fourteen? Ill? Had he more than one son?
“I do not understand.” Edward stood. “I met your son in London and welcomed him into—”
“You welcomed Robert Digby, I imagine, not my son. Do not defame the Livingstone name with the deeds of that devil.”
Devil.The word burrowed into William’s consciousness and quickened his blood flow. He too stood. “Who is Robert Digby?”
“The son of a tavern drunkard. The boy I once hired to feed my sheep.” Lord Livingstone pulled a handkerchief from his coat and wiped his face. “And undeniably, the man who has ruined my life.”
“If you knew he was imposing upon your son’s identity, why did you do nothing?” asked William.
“Very simple.” Lord Livingstone leaned back in his chair, eyes heavy and cheeks sagging. He fixated his gaze upon some unknown object across the room. “I once witnessed Robert’s father beat him so badly he could not stand to his feet. The child was twelve. After that, I brought young Robert here to Wetherbell Hall and employed him as a servant to assist my shepherds. Trouble followed the lad, but I could never see the justice in sending him back to such brutality.” His eyelids half closed. “I wish now I had.”
Dread burned through William as he braced the side of his chair. “And then?”
“I suppose when a boy has nothing, he longs to reach for everything. That was the way it was with Robert. Anything he desired, he set his entire attention upon until it was his. First it was but petty matters. An envied coat. A better chamber in the servants’ quarters. A position within the house and then …”
William swallowed. “And then what?”
The man hung his head. “I should have realized before it happened, but he spent so much time in the village with his ruffians, I had no idea she … that a servant could possibly …” More color blotched his cheeks. “Over a year ago, Robert and his village cohorts raided my house and fled into the highlands. My daughter went with them. I have not seen her since.”
“Why did you not go after her?” asked Edward.
“Digby has chosen his fortress well. He has enough men to defend himself, and anyone climbing the mountain could be spotted and cut down before they ever reached the top.”
Silence filled the drawing room, the only sound from the wretched clock marking the seconds and the slow drip of wine to the floor.
Lord Livingstone stood, looking as old and dead as all the ancient paintings he mimicked. “So you see, gentlemen, that is the reason I continue permitting such an impostor to deprecate the Livingstone name. If I have any hope of ever seeing my daughter again, I have no choice.”
Edward growled. “But surely—”
“Robert Digby has vowed that he shall kill my daughter if I do not comply, and I do not doubt him. I underestimated him once.” The old and stricken eyes grew moist. “I shall not do it again.”
Every step drew her muscles into knots of pain.Keep walking.She could survive if she followed her own commands.Do not cry. Do not despair.Rocks cut through her stockings, numbing her feet.Keep walking.
Evening had fallen, darkening the world around them, until it was increasingly difficult to see the trail they followed. Hours ago, at Lord Livingstone’s command, they had dismounted to climb the rocky mountain afoot. Where was this place? Why was he taking her here?
“Miss Gresham.” Breathing hard, Lord Livingstone took her arm in his hand. “I trust our little stroll is not too strenuous?”
She ground her teeth into her bottom lip. She tasted blood, but it did not matter. The pain distracted her from his breaths panting in her ear and his cold fingers curled around her flesh.
“Do not be unhappy. We shall arrive presently. In fact”—he quickened his pace—“are those not lights I see, Pike?”
“That they be.”
“ ‘Stars, hide your fires; let not light see my black and deep desires.’ ” Murmuring more poetry, Lord Livingstone dragged her back up when she hit the ground with her knees. “Come now. Must not give out yet.”
Keep walking.The darkness blinded her. She could no longer see and no longer avoid the sharp rocks jabbing her feet or the boulders tripping her legs. Farther and farther, they climbed. She stumbled again. Then again.
