Unfortunately, this was used as a storage room now, and there were about a dozen wooden crates where someone could have hidden things, so they silently set to work.
When he heard the door slam, Robert jumped, startled.
He should have propped it open, probably. It was an old door, heavy and wooden, and this castle had so many drafts that it wasn’t uncommon for doors or windows to shift. He went to the door to do just that, and panic sliced through him when he pushed and nothing happened.
He tried again. It wouldn’t even budge.
“Ian,” he said. His voice came out wrong. Too soft.
The other man immediately stopped what he was doing.
“The door is stuck.”
Cameron appeared at his side, and together they both pushed on the door. And nothing happened. Cameron frowned. “It must be jammed.”
“Jammed?” Robert repeated, like it was a foreign word.
“It will be fine,” Ian said. “Your sister will look for ye, won’t she? If she comes back and can’t find you?”
Robert nodded. Yes, of course she would. She knew why he and Ian had stayed behind. She would look for him if he didn’t appear once she returned. Though he didn’t know how long that would take.
“We probably just need more people to move it.”
Robert stared at the oil lamp sitting in the corner. He wondered how much light they had left—it was an Argand lamp, which burned much brighter than a candle, but it burned out faster than a candle, too.
His mind, as was its habit, jumped to the worst possible outcome—if Georgina didn’t search for them, or if she searched for them too late, and it took too long to find them, and the door couldn’t be unjammed and she had to go somewhere to get an ax to break it down…how long would that take? How long could someone survive without water—three days? Four?
Ian followed his gaze. “Robert.”
“What?”
“Help me look through the crates. We might as well, as long as we’re here.”
Robert nodded and took a deep breath. Something about Ian’s calmness helped calm him in return. And he was right, of course. There was no point being stuck down there if they didn’t finish looking through the crates. For the next few minutes they searched in silence, and they found plenty of things in the boxes—druggets to cover the carpets, old porcelain, damaged paintings, a rug that looked like it could use a good sweeping—but no bracelets or gloves or handkerchiefs.
Robert sighed, sinking to the floor with his back against one of the crates. That had taken all of twenty minutes. And this time, with the darkness and the stone surrounding him, he felt more defeated than he had before. Maybe he should just give up. He was about as good at this crime-solving business as the bumbling Constable Whitley.
And maybe Worthington was bluffing. Maybe if Robert said, “Go to the sheriff and be damned,” he wouldn’t actually do a thing.
But still, it was the principle of the matter. Worthington had accused their servants, and Robert knew none of them were thieves, and he felt a little guilty for letting doubt creep into his mind for even an instant. He wanted to prove Worthington wrong.
More than that, he wanted to prove him wrong and be able to point to Worthington’s family, because if one of them hadn’t caused this mischief on purpose, Robert would eat his hat. And maybe Ian was right about him—he did want to feel needed. He wanted to feel like his family and his brother’s servants could depend on him in Theo’s absence and not have their faith misplaced.
He shrugged off his coat and tugged at his cravat to loosen it. The air down here was damp and cool, but he felt overheated. It was the low ceiling, he thought. It felt like it might crush him at any moment.
“I think it was growing up with such extraordinary siblings,” he said as Ian sat down a few feet away. He was talking just to talk, because he didn’t want to focus on the tight, fearful feeling in his chest. His voice wasn’t entirely steady. “Even when we were children, Theo was the glue that held us together, determined and headstrong. Eleanor was calm and scientific and brilliant. Georgina…well, she could adapt anywhere and still somehow be true to herself. And there I was, with no special talents to recommend me, so I…filled a niche, I suppose. I was the one who made quips and was helpful, and I suppose I did like that I was needed for that if for nothing else.”
Ian was silent. Robert stared down at his boots instead of looking at the other man.
“But I worry that they don’t even need me for that anymore. Which is selfish. Because they’re happy. And I want their happiness, too.”
“You worry a lot, don’t ye?”
Ian’s voice was soft but strong, and Robert’s head shot up.
“You just don’t let it show.”
“No one wants to be around someone who worries about every little thing, do they?”
“I don’t mind.”
Something in Robert’s heart lifted. And he suddenly laughed. “That’s because you have nerves of steel. We’re more or less in a coffin, and you don’t seem bothered at all.”
In the dim light, Ian’s mouth twitched. “It’s slightly bigger than a coffin.”
“Only just.”
“I’m fine as long as there aren’t…” He suddenly trailed off, gaze darting around the shadowy corners of the stone floor.
Robert leaned forward, interested. “As long as there aren’t…”
Suddenly—more quickly than Robert had thought Cameron capable—the man shot to his feet. He moved closer to Robert but didn’t sit down.
Robert stared up at him. “What is it?”
“Spider,” Ian said gruffly.
This was interesting. “You’re scared of spiders?”
“I’m not scared,” he snapped. “I just don’t like them.”
“Stay away from the corners and you’ll probably be fine. I assume they don’t like you, either.”
Ian glared down at him.
Robert was, against his will, charmed. He was scared of them. Of all the fears Ian Cameron could have, he shied away from something as inconsequential as spiders. “My sister would be extremely disappointed in you. She would have no qualms about picking up a spider with her bare hands if it wasn’t venomous.”
“Your sister is a madwoman,” Ian said.
“She’s a scientist,” Robert said loftily.
“Is there much difference?” Ian asked, which made Robert laugh in spite of himself.
“Sit down. I’ll stomp any that come close.”
Ian hesitated. One beat. Two. Finally, he sat, and now their shoulders were nearly brushing. Robert tried to ignore the heat. Tried to ignore the scents that clung subtly to Ian’s clothes, or maybe it was his skin—peat smoke and brine from the sea—as though he were a part of the moor and not a separate entity.
Robert wondered what he smelled like. He didn’t usually wear scents like some other men did, preferring to bathe every day instead, even if it was just at the washstand—but he wished he had now. Cool sweat still touched his skin from when he’d realized they were trapped.
“Do you swim in the sea?” Robert asked suddenly, still thinking about the smell of salt. The incredulous way Ian stared at him made him wish he hadn’t asked at all.
“It’s too cold for that.” An awkward pause threatened to descend until Cameron spoke again. “If it’s a really hot day—which doesna happen often, anyway—I might jump in the sea loch, but only for a minute.”
Robert decided not to think too much about whether Cameron stripped when he did this. Though it was difficult when they were so close to each other. He shifted, trying to move a little farther away, and inadvertently pressed his shoulder against Cameron’s upper arm. He stilled, that one point of contact blazing through him like fire, and then, once a few seconds had ticked by and he remained frozen, he didn’t know if it would draw more attention to pull away or to stay.
But Cameron spoke, distracting him. “Maybe you’re the glue.”
“What?” he asked.
“Ye said your brother was the glue, but he was gone for some time, wasn’t he? And you were there, instead. Maybe you’re the glue.”
“I…” The feeling flooding his chest was swift and heavy. A sweet ache. He didn’t know if it was true, but it was nice of Cameron to say. “I thought you weren’t kind.”
“I’m not.”