by Amy Vansant
Brochan followed in Gavin’s footsteps, hurrying as much as he could without sprinting across the room.
“Introduce me to your friends, Flora,” said Gavin to his sister as they arrived, Brochan a second behind his friend.
Flora flashed Gavin a knowing smile and glimpsed in Brochan’s direction, revealing to him that the brother-sister duo had already conspired to bring him to Fiona.
“Gavin, Brochan—ye ken Maid Kerr.”
The brown-haired lass to Flora’s left nodded and held out her hand to be received. Gavin bent to kiss it and Brochan followed suit.
“And this is Maid Jones, visiting us from America.”
Fiona held out her hand and looked away, as if trying not to giggle. Gavin took it first; and, realizing he’d missed his cue, Broch next kissed it.
“We’re serving food, ye dinnae hae tae eat her,” quipped Gavin.
Brochan felt his face flush and he released Fiona’s hand as if it had scalded him. He glowered at his friend, who ignored him. Leaning toward Gavin, he whispered in his ear. “Ah’m aff tae beat ye tae a pulp later.”
Gavin smiled. “Cheeky thing to say in her presence, dinnae ye ken?”
Horrified, Brochan glanced at Fiona to see her reaction. Her eyes were wide, but a smirk remained on her lips.
“No—he’s lying. Ah tellt him ah was aft tae kill him,” he insisted.
Gavin stepped in front of Brochan, put his hand on his own chest and addressed the ladies. “Ah, am, of course, Laird Logan, and ye can call this uncultured brute, Brochan.”
Without thinking, Brochan punched Gavin in the arm and his friend hooted with laughter, hopping away as he gripped his arm.
Broch fought the rising blush on his cheeks. “Ah apologize—”
He looked up and found only Fiona remaining.
He nodded to her, unable to find his voice.
She smiled. “Hello again. Let’s dance.”
“Whit?” Brochan felt panic rise in his chest. “Ah don’t dance.”
“Sure you do.”
“Na. Na ah dinnae.”
She waved her hand towards the dance floor, where men and woman swirled, hand in hand. “This is the waltz. It doesn’t get any easier. It’s just a box.”
She took his hands and pulled him towards the floor. An older woman nearby tsked with disapproval and Brochan turned in time to see her cover her mouth and scowl. He quickly strode ahead of Fiona to lead her to the dance floor.
“Where did that enthusiasm come from?” she asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.
“Ah coudnae hae that wummin think ill of ye.”
Fiona laughed. “I don’t care what that woman thinks of me.”
Broch grimaced and turned his attention to the waltz. He’d had some training with Gavin’s dance instructor, but didn’t feel confident. He felt his waistband tug and worried the housemaid’s stitch would give way, dropping his trousers to the floor.
“Ah’m nae sure ah kin move lik’ ah should. This is a borrowed suit.”
“Is it? It fits you beautifully.”
He began counting, doing his best to waltz. They glided past a large clock and Fiona glanced at it. The next time they passed it, her eyes darted again to the face.
“Why dae ye keep keekin’ at the clock?” he asked.
Fiona smiled. “Habit. My father is strict about time.”
“He’s expecting ye home soon?”
“He’s away tonight. Maid Logan sneaked me from the house for this ball. My father doesn’t know. He...he wouldn’t like it.”
She smiled, but Broch perceived true fear in her eyes.
The music ended and Broch huffed with relief, escorting Fiona from the floor. On the fringes of the dance floor, Fiona moved ahead of him and her hand fluttered to her shoulder to adjust her dress. He caught the flash of a dark bruise near her neck.
Broch touched her arm and she turned. As their eyes met, she saw his expression and her smile faded.
He took a breath to quell his growing ire. “That bruise. Yer father? Did he—”
“Don’t,” she said, looking away.
He held his tongue but did not move. After a moment, she sighed and turned back to him. “It’s complicated. My father and I lost someone. He hasn’t been the same.”
“Ah’m sorry tae hear that.”
She acknowledged his concern with a nod and a stiff smile.
They fell silent, and Brochan felt his own jaw tighten as he stewed over a situation he felt helpless to address.
Fiona rolled her eyes and laughed. “Look what I’ve done. You’re so serious all of a sudden.”
“Ah dinnae ken whit tae say tae ye.”
She touched his arm. “There’s nothing to say. I’m fine.”
Maid Kerr approached them.
“We need tae go,” she said to Fiona.
“So soon?”
“Mah father isn’t feeling well.” She cupped her hand beside her mouth and whispered. “He thinks the kippers aren’t sitting well.”
Fiona grimaced and looked at Brochan.
“It seems I have to leave early.”
He scowled. “Then ah assure ye, ah willnae be long ‘ere either.”
Maid Kerr began to walk away and then returned. “Ah almost fergot. Maid Curran has requested a ride home. We’ll take her first, if ye don’t mind?”
Fiona shrugged. “I don’t mind at all.” She held out her hand, her stormy blue eyes staring up at Brochan until he realized he’d forgotten to breathe.
“It was nice to meet you, Mr.—”
“Brochan. Call me Brochan.”
“Of course, Brochan. Man of mystery.”
He grinned. “Aye.”
Maid Kerr rolled her eyes. “Ah ken ye ken each other. Yer not fooling me.”
Fiona smiled and leaned towards Brochan. “Apparently, we’re not fooling anyone,” she said.
Brochan winked. “We’ll hae tae try harder.”
The girls trotted away and Brochan stationed himself against the wall, watching as the small group of guests gathered to leave. A man stood at the exit, bent over and pale, a pained look on his face. Broch assumed him to be Maid Kerr’s father.
He made a mental note not to eat the kippers and damned the fish for taking his lassie away from him.
Brochan studied the room until he spotted Gavin deep in conversation with another guest. He stared at him until his friend felt the weight of his attention and looked his way. A few moments later, Gavin approached.
“Sulking? Ah heard yer love had tae leave.”
Broch glared at his friend. “Ah barely ken her.”
“Och, bit ah haven’t seen ye that happy since—well—since never.”
Broch slapped Gavin’s arm.
“Ah’m goin’. Ah’ll leave yer da’s clothes in the library.”
Gavin nodded. “Farewell. It’s a miracle ah git ye tae come at all. Ah’ll count myself lucky fer mah time with ye.”
Broch slipped into the library and changed back into his own clothes.
There was no reason to stay any longer.
He left by a back entrance, opting not to request one of Gavin’s carriages. It would be a long walk home, but he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
His thoughts were much too happy to rush.
Chapter Twenty-One
Broch’s eyes opened. His head ached.
Something looked different about the ceiling.
He moved his arm and felt an unfamiliar silkiness against his skin.
Not mah sheets.
He tilted back his head to peer at the headboard.
Not mah bed.
He turned to investigate his left side. By the light of the moon shining through the long, ceiling-to-floor sheer curtains framing the bedroom window, he could see a head of dark hair on the pillow beside him.
Short dark hair.
Fiona.
He sat up and the room spun. Dropping his head into his hands he took slow, deep breaths, trying
his best not to hurl.
Think. Whit happened?
He couldn’t recall if Fiona had remembered him or not. Had they revealed themselves to one another as lovers from long ago? He didn’t remember feeling the answer, one way or the other.
He lifted the sheet laying over his body and found himself in the boxer briefs Catriona had bought for him.
Not naked.
Still. Not not naked.
He wasn’t sure what that meant.
In his mind’s eye flashed the image of Catriona staring at him, her expression a mixture of shock, anger and disappointment.
Had she been here with him and Fiona?
Another pain stabbed his brain and he pressed against his temple with his right hand.
Whit hae ah done?
Swinging his legs over the side, he searched for his jeans. They were nowhere to be found. He stepped on something smooth and, lifting his heel, discovered it was his phone. He retrieved it and tip-toed around the bed, taking a moment to put his face near the sleeping woman’s.
Definitely Fiona.
Her eyes remained closed, her breathing steady and smelling of vinegar.
He walked into the hall and fumbled with his phone, attempting to invoke the flashlight Catriona had showed him it could be. The light appeared and he used it to navigate down the stairs, intending to fetch himself a glass of water and have a think.
As he reached the kitchen, a wave of nausea washed over him.
Air. Ah need air.
He jogged to the large French doors leading to the back yard and slipped outside. Bending, hands on his knees, he fought the urge to throw up.
He lost.
Taking one long stride into the grass, he vomited. He tasted Scotch, and recalled drinking when he’d arrived.
He fought the good fight and lost once more, foamy bile bubbling from his lips. The third calling, he managed to squelch his illness.
Squatting on the back of his heels, he spat and wiped his mouth. He’d never thrown up after drinking in his life. Something had to be very different and very wrong about twenty-first century Scotch—
“Help.”
A faint voice reached Broch’s ears and he cocked his head, listening for more.
“Help me.”
He stood and moved toward the left side of the fenced yard.
“Help.”
The voice seemed to emanate from the pink shed in the corner of the yard. Broch walked to it and put his ear next to the door.
“Hello?” he called.
Something hit the door and it shuddered. Broch stepped back.
“Help me!” said the high-pitched voice again, this time with more urgency.
Broch pulled the handle and found the door padlocked. He grabbed the lock and twisted it until the plate it was bolted to splintered from the wood. He flung open the door.
“Toby?”
A boy lay on the ground just inside the shed. By the glow of the back light, Broch could see the child’s face, pale beneath a layer of red dust. Broch scooped him into his arms and the boy burst into weak sobs.
Broch held the boy away from his chest to peer into his face. “Whit are ye doin’ in there, laddie? Who are ye? Are ye Toby?”
The child nodded and reached to wrap his arms around Broch’s neck. The Highlander could feel the boy’s hot tears ping against his chest. He held him tighter, hoping to convey that he was safe from harm now.
Broch peered up at Fiona’s bedroom window. He couldn’t explain how the kidnapped boy had come to be in her possession.
For that matter, he couldn’t explain how he had come to be in her possession.
Broch spotted the flashlight of his phone still burning on the patio. He walked to it and, shifting the boy to one arm, grabbed it.
The time glowed at him.
Three forty-two a.m.
He looked down at his boxer briefs.
Och.
Groaning, he dialed Catriona.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sean sat in his studio office, sipping coffee from an oversized mug. On the sofa against the wall sat Luther, staring at Broch with doleful eyes. Catriona and Broch sat in chairs facing Sean’s desk.
“Let me get this from the top. You got a call from Broch in the middle of the night that he’d found Toby in Fiona’s shed?”
Catriona nodded. “About quarter to four in the morning to be exact.” She watched Sean appraise her scowl before turning his attention to Broch. She could tell he was trying hard not to react to the implication of the timing.
“And you... You were at Fiona’s house—”
“At three forty-five a.m.,” interjected Catriona.
Sean shot her a glare and continued. “You were at Fiona’s house when you heard Toby calling?”
“Did I mention he was wearing only his underpants?” asked Catriona.
Luther clucked his tongue. “Mm-mm. That sounds like trouble.”
“Amen,” said Catriona.
Sean hung his head. “Okay. Enough out of you two. Let the boy speak.”
Catriona crossed her arms against her chest and slumped in her chair, glaring straight ahead.
Broch cleared his throat. “Aye. Ah had tae talk tae Fiona about...a personal matter...and ah had a drink or tae and—”
“And he woke up in her bed,” said Catriona.
“Story old as time,” muttered Luther, raising his morning paper.
Sean wiped his hand down and over his face. “I thought Fiona and Owen—”
“Fiona said they had a falling out,” said Catriona.
Sean’s brow knit. “You spoke to her?”
“Not as the cops were dragging her away. She video-called me, earlier in the evening, from her bed, to give me the news and ask for an update on Toby. It was really more of a group video chat though, because, wasn’t that you in the background, Broch?” Catriona turned to the Highlander.
Broch grimaced and put his hand on Catriona’s arm. “Ah dinnae mind any of that. Ah dinnae gae tae her hoose tae end up in her kip—”
“What’s her kip?” asked Luther, dropping his paper and appearing alarmed.
Catriona jerked her hand from the arm of her chair so Broch could no longer reach her. His expression grew pained and he looked away.
Ashamed by her childish reaction, she took a deep breath.
Grow up, Catriona.
“Let’s get on with this. Can we please talk about Toby now?” she asked.
Sean nodded and turned to Broch. “Please. So, the boy was in the shed. How did you know?”
“Ah went outside tae be sick.”
Catriona scoffed and all gazes turned to her.
Great. Acting like an adult lasted a good three seconds.
She raised a hand in an expression of mea culpa. “Sorry. Continue.”
“The laddie was calling fer help. He wis bolted in, so ah tore aff the lock and called my Catriona—uh—Catriona.”
Catriona swiveled her head to face Broch.
My Catriona?
Her attention darted to Sean and he shook his head. She understood.
Right. Concentrate on the case.
“Pick up from there,” said Sean to her.
She nodded. “When I arrived, I could see Toby was weak and dehydrated. He wouldn’t have lasted much longer if Broch hadn’t heard him. I called the hospital and the police. One took the boy, the other took Fiona.”
Sean looked at Broch. “It’s lucky you were there.”
He glanced at Catriona and offered a stiff nod.
“Do you have news on Fiona?” asked Catriona.
Sean took another sip from his mug before answering. “They took her in, asked the usual questions. She claims she has no idea how Toby ended up in her shed. So far, they don’t have enough to charge her.”
Catriona rolled her eyes. “They found a kid locked in her shed. That isn’t enough?”
“She says she’s as shocked as anyone.”
“Of course that’s what s
he said. What’s she supposed to say? oh yeah, I totally forgot I left the kid I kidnapped in there?”
“They haven’t found anything else that says she’s responsible. She claims she didn’t keep the shed locked and doesn’t know where the lock came from.”
“So Toby hasn’t identified her as his kidnapper?”
Sean shook his head. “He hasn’t said she took him, no. He remembers a big man and a woman whose face he didn’t see.”
Catriona dropped her hands into her lap. “It has to be Fiona. She had access, motive—”
“What’s her motive?” asked Sean.
“To sever ties between Owen and Amber and ensure Amber remained an ex. You know those two – they break-up to make-up. It was only a matter of time with that kid tying them together.”
Sean put down his mug. “But why would she invite Broch in when she knows Toby’s locked in her back yard?” He turned his attention to Broch. “She didn’t say anything to you that sounded suspicious, did she? Maybe something that sounds different now, that you found Toby?”
Broch shook his head, appearing forlorn. “Na. Ah dinnae mind anything.”
Catriona noted that, relatively speaking, Kilty looked terrible. He appeared as if he’d been awake with the flu all night. The dull, gray pallor of his complexion did little to draw attention from the dark bags beneath his eyes.
“How much did you drink last night?” she asked.
Broch scowled. “Ah dinnae ken. Not enough tae feel lik’ this.”
Sean cocked his head. “Broch, when you were at the police station for questioning, did they ask you to pee into a cup or give blood?”
“Aye. They made me—uh—in a cup. Ah thought that awfy streenge.”
Sean picked up his desk phone. “I’m going to call the police and ask them to run it for everything. Maybe Fiona slipped you something.”
“And here I thought he slipped her something,” muttered Catriona.
Luther guffawed.
“Ye think she poisoned me?” asked Broch.
Catriona couldn’t tell if he had missed her joke or chosen to ignore it.
Sean, on the other hand, had clearly chosen to ignore her comment and continued. “There are medicines—drugs—that can make you sleep or feel drunk. The police can test your urine to see if those substances are present.” He waved at Catriona and Broch. “You two can go. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.”
