"Who is that?" Mary asked, leaning up on an elbow to listen.
They were twined together beneath a sheet, and William stroked her hip. "It's one of the grooms. At Mayfair we used to always have an employee who could play, but it's not easy to find someone with that degree of skill. I like it."
"I do, too. There are many traditions that I'm growing to like more and more." She kissed his chest. "I think we should establish a few of our own. Such as retiring to our chamber each afternoon to watch the day disappear."
"Merely to watch the changes of the light?"
"And whatever else comes to mind." Mary kissed him again, then rested her head on his shoulder. The silence between them was comfortable, and together they listened to the last notes of the bagpiper's dirge.
William broke the silence. "I've been giving it some thought. Inheritance follows the first male heir. If I'm proven ineligible, for any reason, Kevin would stand next in line if he could support his claim."
"Then Erick?"
"Yes, and possibly then Eleanor. Her relationship is distant, but the great MacEachern clan has dwindled throughout the years. There may well be more relatives in America and Australia, but I have no idea of how to get in touch with them. And I don't even know if I should try."
"There's no reason now, William. You're fine. We'll uncover who's behind this, correct it, and then you and I can be married, just as we'd planned."
"And begin to repopulate the world with MacEacherns?"
"At least three or four of them." Mary laughed.
"That's a fair start."
"When we do have children, I want to see about a different kind of inheritance." Mary spoke slowly. "You were an only child. But if you'd been the second son, you would have gotten nothing. I don't want that for our children."
"We'll get a solicitor, just as soon as we're married. For now, we'd better make our plans."
"We need to be able to trick whoever is doing this out into the open."
"Exactly, but I'm not sure how to do that." William stretched, drawing her closer against him. "Given a choice, I'd rather stay here and figure out what exactly makes you make those interesting little noises."
Mary snuggled closer. "Given my preferences, I'd like exactly the same thing." She kissed his ear lightly. "What time are our guests coming?"
"For cocktails at seven, tomorrow." William sat up. "And we're going to have to think hard and fast before they get here. I've invited everyone who was here before, along with Erick, and Kevin's parents." William swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood. "I'm beginning to doubt everyone. Except you."
"Me, too," Mary answered ruefully. "Even my best friend."
"I want to go down to the kitchen and talk with Abby about the menu. I'm going to have her help me plan it, but then get it catered in. I don't want anyone on the staff except those who will be attending the dinner to be here. Everyone else will be hired from the outside."
Mary nodded. It was a good start.
"And how do you think we can flush out the culprit?"
William's eyes brightened. "Why don't we announce at the dinner that we're getting married right away? That we'll be leaving for our wedding trip in the morning."
"Yes!" Mary swung her legs out of bed and got up, grabbing for her clothes. "That's it. We have to take the initiative, and if our calculations are correct, this person doesn't want to hurt you. I mean, not really, or they could have poisoned you with arsenic or something."
William buttoned his shirt. "Right. They could have killed me instead of making me believe I was crazy."
"So if that's their goal, our marriage would be the worst thing that could happen. Even if you were institutionalized, if we were married and I produced an heir, Mayfair would be passed on to your child."
"Exactly my thinking."
The light of excitement and happiness dimmed slightly in Mary's face. "I wish I could ask Sophie to help me." She rolled her eyes at William and gave him a crooked smile. "It's just difficult. Sophie has been so much a part of my life…."
"By all means, involve her. If she's innocent, she'll have great fun helping you. If she's involved with Kevin somehow, then she'll pass our plans on to him."
Mary took a breath. "It's sort of deceitful to do this to her."
"If she's innocent, she'll never know. If she's guilty…"
"You're right." Mary tucked her shirt into her pants and slid into her boots. "Shall I help you talk to Abby about the meal?"
William's smile also dimmed. "No, I'll do this. Abby has been with the family since she was a young girl. This is hard on me, too. I'd never imagined how difficult it might be to suspect someone you loved and trusted."
Mary went to him and hugged him close. "We can only hope that it's Clarissa or Chancey. That way we won't feel too badly when we see them carted off to jail."
"Are you sure you wouldn't rather see them flogged in the square at Edinburgh?"
Mary knew he was teasing, but he'd struck a cord in her. She looked up at him, her green eyes suddenly brimming with tears. "I thought I was losing you, William. I thought something terrible was happening to you and there was no way I could help you, or even get close enough to give you comfort. If I can find who did this to you, to us, I'd be delighted to see them flogged. Publicly, privately, or any way I could manage it."
William kissed her nose. "You are a bloodthirsty little wench," he said. "Perhaps it's that fire in you that has brought Slaytor out in me."
"Perhaps," she said, thinking back to the savage and tender moments they'd shared. "We're both capable of great passion. And great tenderness."
"And great love," he said. "We're going to have a glorious future together, Mary."
"Why don't we really marry?" Mary's brain spun with the possibilities. "It isn't a bad idea at all."
William kissed her forehead, her nose and her chin. "Because I want a proper marriage here at Mayfair. I want you to be introduced as who you are— Lady MacEachern. I don't want to run away and marry in haste. I want to do it with all the pomp and dignity and splendor that you deserve."
"And that the people of Mayfair expect?" She was teasing him, but she didn't really mind. It was so like William to want to meet the expectations of those he cared for. And in doing so, to firmly establish her role in his life.
"They do expect it, and I want them to know you are my bride, my love, my wife. With nothing to hide or hurry."
"Ah," she said. "I'd forgotten that. A hasty wedding might signal a match made of necessity."
"To those with hard spirits, it would, and I don't want that for us. But no matter, the illusion of a speedy wedding will serve our purposes for the moment."
"Go and make your plans," she said, "and I'll involve Sophie. It won't be long before it will be all over Mayfair what we're planning to do."
"That's exactly what I'm counting on," William said as he kissed her one last time before heading to the kitchen to seek out Abby.
* * *
A PLAN! At last, they have a plan. After Mary has been knocked on the head at least once, and William has gone into fits a number of times. Just let me point out that if a cat had suffered such abuse, a plan would have been conceived a long time ago. But then, humans have never been as nimble-witted as a cat. I shouldn't be so critical. After all, they're just rather large, lovable animals who have to be trained to meet a cat's needs.
Case in point. I've sniffed around this room and discovered where I'm certain there's a hidden passage. Both Mary and William, in the throes of passion, have forgotten to look for the way someone sneaked into her room and stole her evidence.
I, the ever vigilant detective cat, have continued my sleuthing, immune to lust or weariness or…Well, I did take a little break for some broiled chicken livers Abby made just for me. But it was only for a few brief moments, and now I'm back on the trail.
Look at Mary. She's sitting on the bed all starry-eyed and dreamy, thinking about her wedding and her future. She is a bea
utiful sight. It does even my jaded old cat heart good to see such love.
Too bad I have to interrupt her daydreams for a little business, but I need someone to trigger this door, and then I need to figure out where this passage goes. It's a blow to my ego to admit that I need a human's help, but…
Here goes, a little meow and a dig with the claws!
* * *
"FAMILIAR." Mary jumped up. The cat had planted all of his claws in the top of her foot. She looked down. He hadn't drawn blood, but his tail was twitching as if he intended another attack. "You'd better not."
The words were hardly out of her mouth before Familiar sprang forward, swatted his sheathed claws across her toes, and darted back.
"Why, you little devil, you're wanting to play." Familiar darted behind a sofa. Mary followed. She found him digging frantically at the wall.
"What is it?"
"Meow."
She knelt beside him and began to press where he was digging. In a moment there was a soft grinding sound and the wall in front of her began to slide in, revealing another passage.
"So that's how he stole my port and the pestle," she said aloud.
"Meow." This time Familiar answered with a definite note of impatience in his voice.
"Let me get a light and we'll find out where this goes." Mary's voice was filled with excitement. She hurried to her bedside table and found the flashlight. The beam was good and strong, and she darted back into the passage before she thought to prop the door open. The soft grinding noise sounded much more ominous as the door closed behind her.
In the total darkness of the passage, Mary felt faint with sudden fear. The light picked out the narrow stone walls and floor, and the two golden eyes that let her know Familiar was with her.
"Boy, am I glad you're here," she whispered as she slowly worked her way along the narrow tunnel, following the black cat.
* * *
"NO, NO. I insist that you and John and Kevin join us." William gently pushed Abby into a chair at the kitchen table. His heart twisted at the expression on her face, one of doubt and apprehension. When his mother had been too busy with social engagements, it had always been Abby who'd sat with him while he ate his cookies and told stories. Often Kevin would be sitting right beside him, just a baby, but so much a part of the warmth of the kitchen and the woman who now sat in front of him.
"At least let me cook," Abby said. "This must be an important occasion. It wouldn't do to have strangers prepare the meal."
Her choice of words startled William. That was exactly what he was after— strangers preparing his food. The idea was wounding. To both of them.
"You've worked too hard. This is a party, Abby. Mary and I have an announcement to make. I want you and John to be my guests. And Kevin, of course. Mayfair wouldn't be Mayfair without Kevin."
Abby looked up at him, her light eyes clear and questioning. "What are you saying?"
"Only that Kevin is part of Mayfair. A large part."
Abby's indrawn breath gave her away. William saw she knew that he was alluding to Kevin's parentage.
"It wouldn't be proper." She tried to rise, but William was standing so close that she couldn't do so without creating even more awkwardness. She resumed her seat, but looked away from William.
"It's proper if I say so, Abby. You and John and Kevin will be my guests, just like the other members of the community. Erick will be there. And Chancey."
Abby's smile was tremulous. "I suppose someone should be in the room to keep that snake cornered."
William chuckled. "There's no love lost on Chancey, is there?"
"None." Abby's smile was stronger. "If she can't have you as a husband, she'll be after Erick. Or my Kevin. She's determined to get as close to you and Mayfair as she can."
Abby's observation was interesting, and William was also growing more and more certain of one thing— if Abby was involved, it was through ignorance. If she was somehow putting something in his food, and she did have the easiest access, then it was done without knowledge of what she was doing.
"What shall we cook for the occasion?" Abby was already concentrating on the menu.
"I know. For the dinner, do you think you might be able to provide the caterers with that wonderful egg custard you made last week?"
"Egg custard?" Abby was taken aback. "I would think you'd want something a little…fancier."
"It was wonderful, Abby. Even Familiar thought so."
"Where is that rascal?" Abby asked. "He hasn't been in the kitchen but once. Devoured an entire pan of chicken livers I broiled for him." She shook her head. "I swear, it does a body good to watch that cat enjoy his food."
"He's up in Mary's room, I believe. Don't worry. In about another hour, when his stomach alerts him, he'll be back down here to con you out of some other delicacy."
"He will at that. He's a charmer, that one. Now, about that custard." She frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Positive."
"Then I could make it ahead of time and leave it for the caterers."
"No, you'll have the whole day tomorrow to relax so you can be fresh for the party. Just tell me what's in it."
When Abby started to rise this time, William stepped back, giving her room. She went to the shelves and drew down a large cookbook stuffed with recipes old and new.
"I've collected these things for years, and my mother before me. She cooked here, though I know you don't remember her. She was retired by the time you were born."
"I remember stories about her." William watched the cook riffle through the pages of the book, looking up the recipe he'd requested. Her eyes traveled over the battered cookbook with genuine love. He wanted to tell her that he would look into Kevin's birth claim, but he couldn't. If Abby was someone's foil, he needed her to remain that. If it was Kevin, then better to learn it now than later.
"Here it is." She took the book to the table and began to copy the recipe on a card for him.
"Do you have any exotic recipes?"
"You should know the answer to that." Her handwriting was slow and proper.
"I mean, something that requires unusual spices."
"Sure, Scotland isn't the tropics. Any of the Caribbean dishes call for spices some might consider exotic. There's that lime and cayenne fish you like so much."
"Wonderful. How do you go about getting the correct herbs?"
"I can buy them now. There was a time when I had to special order and then grind my own. Everything is so much easier to come by."
"It seems I remember you standing at the counter, mixing up something like a powder. Crushing it, I suppose."
"Plenty was the time when I did that, but almost everything comes crushed or chopped. I still grate a few of my own spices, but not like I used to." She snapped her fingers. "Everything is instant now. Truth is, I miss some of the old ways. But that's progress for you. I have little enough time for my work as it is. I can't see me crushing peppers or grinding ginger into powder. Those days are gone."
"I suppose they are," William answered, but his tone was absent as his eyes roved the shelves. "You haven't noticed anything amiss in your kitchen, have you?"
"Why do you ask?" Abby was suddenly very still. She put her pen down and pushed the recipe toward him.
"Mary thought someone was prowling around the kitchen one night when she came down for some tea. She was badly frightened, so she didn't investigate. I was just wondering if anything has gone amiss."
"Strange, but I am missing one thing, an old pestle and mortar that I used to grind spices. I don't have much call for it, but it is very old. Probably very valuable. I was hoping maybe you'd removed it."
William held her gaze. "No, I didn't. It's a strange item for someone to take, isn't it?"
"Very strange," Abby said.
"It would take a thief who knew the value of antiques. Or one who had a use for such a device."
Abby closed the cookbook. "I hadn't thought of it before, but Kevin has used it in the past to grin
d up some medicines for the horses. Those big tablets, for their aches. He puts it in their feed, all crushed. Maybe he's borrowed it and taken it to the barn. If that's the case, I'm sure it's safe and sound and will be returned."
William turned away from the sudden concern in the cook's face.
Chapter Sixteen
Mary's knees were throbbing from her position on the cold stone floor. She pressed again and again at the stones that Familiar indicated, but the exit to the passage would not open. She'd found the end— to no avail. She'd been unable to open the door. Now she was back at the point where she'd begun, and she could not manage to force that door open, either.
Familiar circled her feet, his anxiety showing in his restless pacing.
"We'll get it open," Mary assured him. They had to. No one knew where she'd gone— or even where to begin looking. William had no inkling that there was a passage in her room.
Panic bloomed like a deadly flower, and Mary forced her thoughts back to the moment. The air in the passage was dank, musty and unpleasant, but she did not feel as if she would suffocate.
"Let's try the other opening again," she said to the cat. Her fingers were sore and bleeding from pulling, tugging and clawing at the stones near the base of the opening to her room.
Step-by-step, they traveled the passage again. At times Mary felt as if they were definitely going up an incline, but there was no way to really tell. In the dark and twisting passage, she'd lost all sense of direction.
Finally reaching the end, she felt her heart pound. It was a solid stone wall. As far as she could tell by shining the light up and down the length of it, there might never have been another opening.
Familiar flopped on his side and began frantically digging near the base. It was the same area that triggered the door in her room, Mary knew. But no matter how she pressed and pushed, it seemed to have no effect. Not on either end of the tunnel. Why hadn't she been smart enough to block the opening with something? Or even left William a note saying where she'd gone? Why hadn't she taken a few simple precautions? Now it was too late. She and Familiar could figure a way out of the tunnel, or they could die in there of dehydration.
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