Chapter Forty
“Three hares, a bonxie, and a badger,” Leith said as they entered the kitchen. He laid them on Muira’s table.
“Where’s Alec?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“Isn’t he back yet?” Jock said. Muira stared in horror at the bodies littering her kitchen.
Jock grinned. “I know what ye’re thinking—not much meat for dinner, but when the Sassenachs stopped for a picnic, we had time to catch a few salmon and some trout for ye, Muira.” He set the creel next to the bonxie.
Jock glanced at Leith, who was slathering an oatcake with butter. “I saw Alec this morning with Megan, but she came back with us.”
Muira rang her hands, and Jock frowned. “What’s wrong, Muira? Ye’ve got that look. Last time I saw it, old Jeannie MacNair died the next afternoon.”
She held out her thumbs. “My thumbs prickle when evil is nigh,” she said. She plucked the oatcake out of Leith’s hand. “Ye’ve got to go and find him. Don’t come back until ye do.”
Jock knew better than to ignore one of Muira’s premonitions. “Are ye sure it’s Alec?”
“As sure as I’ve ever been. Go on with ye—there’s no time to waste.”
“I have it, Devorguilla,” Brodie muttered, and held out a blood-soaked scrap of cloth. “The proof.”
She stared at it in disdain. “What do you mean?”
“I found this in the woods. It’s blood, so he must be dead.” He broke into a wide grin, his handsome face shining. “I shot him right between the eyes.”
Devorguilla put a hand to her throat. She stared at the bloody rag, then looked at Brodie. “Truly?”
“Aye. So when can I wed Sophie?”
“Did you bring me his body?” Devorguilla asked. She wanted to see it herself, to look down at her stepson’s corpse and know that she’d won, that Glenlorne was hers at last.
“No, just this. Is tomorrow too soon for the wedding?” Brodie asked.
Devorguilla took the cloth in her hand. “This is a handkerchief, not a corpse. And there’s no telling if the blood is Alec’s or not. He might be downstairs right now, enjoying a tot of whisky.” He stood, regarding her blankly. “You fool!” she cursed him.
Brodie’s grin faded. “But what about Sophie?”
Devorguilla tossed the handkerchief into the fireplace and glared at him. “You won’t even get a sniff of her hem if you can’t make certain Alec is dead. You came back too soon.
Brodie shuffled his feet. “I can’t help it. I’m in love.”
Devorguilla looked at him, strong as an oak and as daft as a maypole.
She had trusted everything to an idiot. He’d dropped the poisoned chalice last night, and he couldn’t even manage a simple hunting accident.
“All you needed to do to win Sophie was to shoot him, Brodie MacNabb, and you couldn’t even do that right,” she said, wishing again she’d been born a man, a laird, capable of ruling.
He thrust out his lower lip in a mulish expression. “Ye’ve no proof I didn’t shoot him.”
“And there’s no proof you did either. We’d better go downstairs and see if he’s returned yet.”
“What if he’s there?” Brodie asked.
“Then we’ll need to try again.” She pushed him out the door.
There was no sign of Alec in the hall downstairs.
The ladies were enjoying tea, an English blend from Lady Charlotte’s personal stock, which traveled with her.
There were also cream cakes and tarts Muira had made from late strawberries.
The gentlemen stood by the fireplace sipping tankards of ale or tumblers of scotch and compared the hunting in Scotland to that in England, on their own estates.
Devorguilla forced herself to smile. “Did you have any luck today, my lords?” Devorguilla asked Viscount Speed and Lord Mandeville.
“Luck?” Viscount Speed paled.
“Yes. Did you make a kill?”
The viscount went paler still. “I believe we must have, Countess,” he murmured, his eyes flicking toward the door as if he were waiting for someone to walk in. He took a mournful swig of ale. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the obvious question when Megan spoke first.
“Has anyone seen Alec?”
“Why would I know where he is?” Speed cried, shooting to his feet.
Megan raised her brows. “Someone in our party must have seen him. I was with him for a little while when we set out, but I spent the rest of the afternoon with Jock and Leith.”
“The ghillies?” Devorguilla said, horrified. She despaired of ever making proper ladies of her daughters. The sooner she could take them to England, the better.
“He was in the woods,” Lord Mandeville blurted out.
“Probably stalking deer, then,” Megan said. “Or fishing. He’s probably just forgotten what time it is.”
“What if he’s dead?” Brodie asked, and every eye turned to stare at him. Devorguilla closed her fists in the folds of her skirts to keep from strangling him.
“Dead?” Lord Mandeville’s eyes burned like brands in his flushed face. “Whatever gave you that idea, my good fellow?”
Brodie shrugged. “He might be, mightn’t he?”
“The man is scarcely an hour overdue,” Somerson said, looking at his watch.
“He might have stopped in the village,” Alanna whispered, her eyes wide. “To take someone a fresh fish, or a rabbit or two. He’s a braw hunter.”
Devorguilla pasted on a smile that felt thin and stretched. “Perhaps someone should go out and see if he’s been injured. He might need help.” She sent Brodie a speaking glance. “Brodie, you could go.”
“Me? But I thought—” He glanced at Sophie.
“You,” she insisted, and his eyes swung back to her.
“Oh,” he said. “Me.”
“I’ll accompany you,” William Mears said, and rose.
“Oh, I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Devorguilla purred. “Brodie knows the land, where to look.”
“Then Speed and I shall accompany him. ’Tis nearly dark, and there may be wolves out there,” Lord Mandeville said. “I insist.”
“May I—” Megan asked, but Devorguilla sent her a quelling look.
Devorguilla smiled. “This is man’s work. You will stay here.”
“I shall scold Alec when he returns, for making us worry,” Sophie said. “I suppose we shall have to wait dinner for him.”
“Truly?” Countess Charlotte asked. She snatched the last cream bun off the plate and popped it into her mouth to stave off starvation.
“Are there more buns?” she asked hopefully.
Devorguilla smiled at her, and pictured her face when Alec’s body was carried into the hall and laid on the long table, another Laird of Glenlorne, dead.
She’d give him a glorious funeral. She’d even fake a few tears.
She smiled at the thought as she looked at the clock.
She could hardly wait.