The Mad, Bad Duke (Nvengaria #2)(102)
Julius hauled himself out of the carriage and handed her down. Meagan hurried toward the house and nearly cried with relief when she saw the large kilted form of Egan MacDonald striding out from the flagstone hall. “Egan, thank heavens.”
“Now that is a greeting I more like to hear.” Egan seized Meagan’s hand and pulled her into the house, growling back over his shoulder at Myn. “About bloody time you got here.”
Myn replied in flowing Nvengarian, and Egan gave a reluctant nod. “He said he couldnae travel too fast with you, and he is right. But it’s me stuck here with His Bloody Grace, isn’t it? Begging your pardon, love.”
Egan had discarded ballroom finery for an old kilt and scarred boots, a threadbare coat slung on against the cold. Egan was laird of a vast Highland estate in Scotland, from what Meagan understood, and had plenty of personal money, but he was far from dandified. He ought to be a Highlander of old, fighting with claymore and knife on the hills of Scotland for the freedom of his country.
Meagan hung on to Egan’s hand as though it were a lifeline. “Egan, you must teach me Nvengarian.”
Egan looked at her in feigned surprise. “What, now?”
“They could not tell me what happened, and I am maddened to distraction. Where is my husband? Take me to him, I beg you.”
Egan’s tone softened. “’Tis not that simple, lass. Myn has the idea that only you can help him, but I think he’s crazed.”
Meagan’s heartbeat sped. “Please tell me, Egan. If you do not, I will … oh, I don’t know what I’ll do. I am tired of crying. Screaming or swooning seems ineffectual, but I will do it if I must.”
Egan put his arm around her, as gently as if she were his sister, and walked her into a sitting room lit by a huge fireplace. “Come in and warm yourself, lass. You’re shaking all over.”
Meagan’s dazed stare swept the room’s comfortable furnishings. “I don’t understand. Whose house is this? Yours?”
“Alexander’s,” Egan answered. “Did ye not know? He hired it to woo reluctant diplomats with fishing or walks in the very English countryside. A quiet place to ply them with wine and country air and make them do as he pleases.”
It sounded like something Alexander would think of. Meagan imagined him in this house, playing gracious host and watching with keen blue eyes for the right moment to move in for the diplomatic kill. “And Alexander is here?”
“In a manner of speaking. Sit down, love.”
Meagan balled her fists. “No. I will not sit down or be mollified until I know what has happened. Or must I begin with the screaming?”
“Now, lass, me head’s not up to that. What happened is this—Alexander found Herr von Hohenzahl, fancy Austrian gent, and the assassins in a house not many miles from here, arguing amongst themselves. Well then, Alexander charges in and starts wreaking havoc with the pleasant drawing room, and von Hohenzahl calls in about a dozen men to truss up Alexander and capture him.”
Meagan’s eyes widened. “And he has Alexander?”
“No.” Egan’s expression grew troubled. “This is von Hohenzahl’s story, ye must know, and he wasn’t terribly coherent with the broken jaw your dear husband gave him. Alexander went a little mad, von Hohenzahl said. We found von Hohenzahl’s house strewn with bleeding Austrian thugs, most of them groaning piteously. Alexander, by that time, was far away.”
“Far away where?” Meagan demanded, eyes round.
“Far away here. He’d come to this house, maybe sensing that this was a place to rest, rather like a horse knows where its stable yard is.”
“Sensing?” Meagan exclaimed. “What the devil do you mean? Why wouldn’t he know?”
Egan chewed his lip and gave her a sideways look. “Now, promise you will nae go hysterical on me. The thing is, Alexander turned himself into the logosh beastie, and a logosh beastie he’s staying. None of us can get near him. He doesn’t know us or where he is, and I’m willing to wager he doesn’t know who he is himself.”
In a wave a fear, Meagan pushed past Egan and out of the room. “Where is he?”
Egan stopped her with a firm hand. “In the woods still. We’ve got him cornered at least, but dinnea go rushing out there. Myn believes you can calm him down, but me, I’m not so sure.”
“At least let me see him.”
Egan hesitated. “He’s in a bad way, lass.”
Meagan swung on him, putting on the most imperious Grand Duchess voice she could muster. “He is my husband and the Grand Duke of Nvengaria. I want to see him now.”
Egan hovered another moment, wanting to argue, then he sighed. “Very well, Your Grace. Never say I did nae warn ye.”
He led her down the massive main hall and through a door that gave out into yawning darkness. Egan’s broad hand on Meagan’s elbow guided her down stone steps and along a path through a well-kept garden. At the end of this they passed through a gate to uncultivated lands beyond.
Julius and Myn met them in the woods and walked with them, Myn moving almost noiselessly through the trees. The path wound onward, Egan’s steadying hand keeping Meagan from tripping over rocks and tree roots hidden by the darkness.
Meagan heard the snarling before she reached the ring of men with lanterns and swords. A huge black panther circled restlessly between them, teeth bared. Every once in a while, the panther would lunge at a man, who’d thrust his sword forward with skill, driving the animal back.