The Secret Castle in the Highlands (Scottish Escapes #11)

Prologue

‘He killed her!’ thundered Blake Summers. ‘He killed my sister!’

Harris fought to restrain the young man, whose dark eyes were wild in his rough, handsome face.

Tethered by reins to a nearby oak tree was his horse. It was a fiery-looking steed, all shiny ebony flank. I took a step backwards as it snorted and tossed its head. There were trails of coarse breath streaming out of its wide nostrils.

Guilty tears pooled in my eyes. ‘I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.’

Blake Summers wriggled even more ferociously as Harris tightened his grip around the other man’s arms. Lizzie’s brother let out a growl.

‘Unhand him, please, Harris,’ I croaked, the snow crackling under our feet.

The sprawling gardens of the estate were wearing a thick cloak of white, the branches of the surrounding trees and banks of hedgerows drooping with layers of twinkling frost and ice.

I moved a little closer towards the devastated man and Harris released him. ‘Careful, madam.’

Blake Summers gave himself a shake and then angled his gaze towards the ground.

He must have been agonisingly cold in that thin, claret-coloured coat.

It was flapping open, revealing a glimpse of the thinnest off-white buttoned shirt I could ever recall seeing.

He was shuddering and turning his hands repeatedly over each other in a vain attempt to keep warm.

It was as though some of the fight had left him; the reality crushing him before my eyes.

I huddled further into my sweep of cream quilted cloak. My pale lace-up ankle boots crunched the snow underfoot. ‘I am truly sorry, Mr Summers, for the passing of Lizzie. She was a wonderful young woman and a loyal and trustworthy employee.’

Blake Summers continued to stare fixedly at the ground, apparently fascinated by the swirls of ice that gathered there.

I turned my attention to the sky, drinking in the glowering late afternoon. Darkness was beginning to seep through the puffs of cloud.

‘I have no issue with you, madam.’

His words made me blink at him, and I could see his tear-stained hazel eyes. ‘Lizzie often spoke of your kindness and generosity towards her.’ Then his lips curled back in a sneer. ‘It is your husband who is the murderer.’

‘Halt your tongue,’ barked Harris. ‘That’s no way to talk—’

‘Let him speak, Harris.’

Blake Summers’ burnished hair furled around his angular, unshaven face. He looked down at me, momentarily stunned.

‘You have more you wish to say, Mr Summers?’

From behind me, the carriage lights of The Hawthorns glowed like gold stars out of its many casement windows.

I swallowed as Blake Summers’ peppered jaw pulsed. ‘It is the master of the estate whom I seek revenge upon.’

I aimed an alarmed look at Harris.

‘My sister was a mere nineteen years of age and yet the doctor maintains she passed from the complications of exhaustion.’

Harris surveyed the distraught man. ‘I was informed that poor Lizzie passed on from pneumonia.’

‘That she did, but Dr Franklin is of the opinion that Lizzie’s delicate condition meant she was unable to fight her illness.’ Blake Summers’ gaze bore into me. ‘She was subjected to hard labour and allowed no time for rest. This was the doing of Augustus Lapley.’

I conjured up pictures of Lizzie Bishop; her white, slight face, surrounded by a cloud of tight, dark curls.

I had smuggled crusts of crumbly golden bread, hunks of amber cheddar cheese and shiny red apples out of our pantry for her, her husband and their infant son, ever since she had gained employment with us.

And I had argued with Augustus and overruled him, so that the young woman could attend her mother’s funeral only two months ago.

I had ushered her out of my husband’s way on various occasions. If he had experienced an unfavourable day in court, Augustus delighted in expressing his frustrations on the staff, especially an innocent, slightly built girl he knew was unable to retaliate.

I had even secreted additional shillings in my purse and pressed them into her palm when Augustus was not around to witness it. But evidently, my random acts of kindness towards Lizzie had accomplished nothing.

I had failed her.

As if he were reading my thoughts, Blake Summers addressed my burning guilt. ‘You have nothing to reproach yourself for, madam. You did everything in your power to help my sister.’

‘Not enough, it would seem.’

He appraised me. ‘No, it is your husband who is the murderer. When the opportunity presents itself to seek revenge on Augustus Lapley, I will take it.’

‘Now enough of that talk,’ Harris said loyally.

However, we were interrupted by a sudden rush of voices breaking through the damp chill. It was two of the groundsmen, armed with their yelping gun dogs.

I waved away Harris’s words with one of my berry-coloured gloves. ‘Let him leave, Harris.’

‘Madam?’

‘Please do as I ask, Harris. Allow Mr Summers to depart.’

Lizzie’s older brother fixed me with his impenetrable gaze. ‘Thank you, madam.’

I swung around to look over my shoulder. My breath was coiling like a ghost in the winter air. ‘Go! Go now! If they discover you, we will all be implicated.’

I watched as Blake Summers took off across the thick layer of snow. His scuffed dark boots skidded and slid, as he fought to make his way. He reached his horse and before he mounted, drew up sharply. ‘I am a man of my word, madam. Your husband will pay for the cruelty he showed my sister.’

And with that, he leaped into the saddle and took off, thrashing through the undergrowth and sending snow flurrying in every direction.