Alec’s long strides easily caught up to Fergus. He grabbed the man’s arm and spun him around. “I thought you said she wasn’t hurt.”
Fergus’s lips pinched together tightly, but he made no attempt to try to remove Alec’s hand. “She isn’t,” he replied. “But my doctor is coming to assess her mental state. After what’s occurred, it might well be best if she were placed into an asylum for treatment.”
“She’s not insane, Fergus.”
“You haven’t seen my brother’s body,” Fergus countered. “Whoever did that to him was not of sound mind.”
Damn it, all it would take would be for the other doctor to assess Connie as being mentally unstable and he could order her to be sent to an institution for treatment. And there wouldn’t be a thing Alec could do to stop it, as his own English medical license held no weight or authority under the Scottish medical system.
Releasing his grip against Fergus’s arm, Alec motioned him to continue. The sooner he got to see and speak with Connie, the better.
Alec kept a slight distance from Fergus as he followed him through the castle, until they came to a curving staircase, which presumably led up to the north tower. There was a man positioned at the bottom of the stairs with a key chain hooked to his belt.
“Take Dr. McGuiness up to see the duchess,” Fergus said. He turned back to Alec. “You have ten minutes, and my guard will stay in the room the entire time.” Then, without another word, Fergus turned on his heel and strode back the way they’d come.
Alec looked at the guard, who appeared somewhat confused, before he shrugged and motioned for Alec to follow him up the curving stairway. They climbed to the second level before walking down the corridor toward a door at the end.
The guard unlocked and then pushed open the heavy oak door. The hinges creaked slightly, and Alec had to adjust his eyes to the shaft of light streaming in through the turret window on the far-right side of the room.
He scanned the space until his eyes came to rest on Connie, who was sitting on the window bench and staring down into the bailey below, appearing almost ethereal as the sunlight bathed her in a soft glow. Alec felt his breath hitch slightly, and for a moment he was annoyed with himself for the attraction he felt. But then, as she raised her head and glanced over to them, he could see the fear she was valiantly trying to disguise in the blue depths of her gaze.
All Alec wanted to do in that moment was stride over to her and hold her tight. But he couldn’t. Instead, he asked her, “Are you all right?” The words sounded trivial after what she’d obviously been through.
She slowly stood and began walking across the room toward them, her eyes fatigued but with a quiet strength to her bearing that had been absent last night.
“As well as can be, under the circumstances,” she replied before turning toward the guard. “Trevor, I would like five minutes alone with Dr. McGuiness, please.”
Trevor blinked. “Well…I don’t know about that, your grace; you see Lord Fergus, um, the new duke I suppose, told me to stay here.”
Connie smiled gently. “He’ll never know, and I would consider it a personal favor if you did.”
The guard nodded, a look of adoration in his eyes. “Very well, your grace, five minutes.” The man was like butter in her hands, and Alec could understand why. When she bestowed that particular smile of hers on him, a combination of sincerity and goodness, any person would be hard-pressed to refuse.
As the guard bowed and left the room, the door closing solidly behind him, Alec’s eyes stayed firmly fixed on Connie. She glanced over to him and her smile vanished, only to be replaced by a look of stark terror.
She was very good at disguising her emotions when she wanted to. It reminded him of Elise, the woman he’d once thought he’d loved but who had betrayed him. He pushed such thoughts to the side, as he had no time or inclination to dredge them up.
“I’m in trouble, Alec,” she began. “Terrible trouble.”
Chapter Seven
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Connie said, her lips trembling slightly. “Well, at least I don’t think I did…”
“What do you mean, you don’t think you did?” Alec ran a hand roughly through his hair. As a doctor he was used to having to jump into action immediately and had often been called in by Scotland Yard detectives to consult on some of their more troubling murder scenes, to give a medical opinion about the death. But that had been the limit of his involvement—he’d never had to deal with potentially having to investigate a murder before. And not when someone he’d known for years appeared to be the prime suspect.
“I don’t remember.” Connie shook her head. “I woke up groggily, to find myself covered in blood and Duncan lying next to me, dead. His chest was a—a mess… It was horrible. Like someone had…had gone crazy…” She glanced first to her hands and then up at him. There was a stricken look in her gaze. “Oh God. What if I did kill him? He’s hur— Well, let’s just say that I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought of killing him.” She breathed in deeply, her eyes heavy with unshed tears and guilt. “I’ve even had many dreams where I heard a whisper to kill him. Maybe I couldn’t control myself? Perhaps that’s why I can’t remember… Because I don’t want to.”
Alec strode over and gently placed his hands on either side of her face, but she flinched from his touch. Immediately, he dropped his hands. He felt sick knowing she’d been hurt by her husband.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized, a stricken look in her gaze. “Your touch startled me… I suppose I’m not used to any man touching me with gentleness.”
“You have no need to apologize,” Alec affirmed. “I should not have been so bold in attempting to show you that you’re not alone in this mess.”
She took in a steadying breath. “I’m scared, Alec, so scared.” Tentatively, she reached her hand out toward his. “But knowing you’re here does give me comfort. And it would seem I have no issues with touching you.” A hint of a smile crested the corners of her lips as she squeezed his hand softly before letting it go.
“It will be all right,” he said, hoping his words, at least, would provide her with some reassurance, and that there was truth in them. Seeing her so confused and distressed was tying his stomach into a knot. “Just tell me exactly what happened, starting from when I left you in the library last night.”
Connie nodded and went on to describe how after he’d gone, she’d spoken to Mrs. Morgan before returning to the ball. Then, once she’d been sure Duncan was well and truly foxed and wouldn’t remember anything from that point on, she’d retired to her room. Her maid had helped her out of her ball gown and into her night clothes and then poured her a cup of tea, which Connie had enjoyed, before retiring to bed. “And that is truly the last thing I remember before waking up.”
“Do you normally sleep so soundly?” He couldn’t imagine anyone sleeping through what sounded like a violent murder. Not without some help, most likely in the form of a drug. And he wouldn’t blame her if she’d resorted to taking laudanum over the years, to help her sleep soundly and forget what she had to endure.
“No. Normally I sleep poorly, awaking at the slightest noise.” She paused for a minute and stared out the window. “It’s a habit I’ve developed over the last few years, in an effort to try to protect myself and not be caught unawares if Duncan entered my room.” She returned her gaze back to his.
It appeared as if she wanted to say something else but stopped short of doing so.
“Do you take anything to help you sleep?” Alec asked. “Many do in fearful and unhappy situations, and no one would blame you if you did.”
Her brow furrowed, and she placed her hands on her hips. “Are you suggesting I’m an opium addict?”
Alec nearly smiled at the expression of abject fury crossing her pert features. He’d never seen anyone look so adorable while outraged, an
d he was glad it had replaced her fear-stricken gaze from a moment ago.
But then he frowned. He had no business thinking she looked adorable. What in God’s name was wrong with him? “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t suggesting you were an addict by any means. But I need to know if you took anything or have a regular habit of doing so.”
Connie crossed her hands over her chest. “Well, it certainly seemed you were suggesting that I was.” She shook her head. “But it doesn’t matter anyway, for I didn’t take anything. Well, not knowingly, in any event. And no, I am not in any habit of taking something. Like I said, I prefer to keep my wits about me. But Fergus was observed throwing away a bottle of liquid.”
“What do you mean?”
Connie explained what Mrs. Morgan had told her. “Do you think he might have drugged me?”
Alec mulled over the idea for a moment. Fergus certainly had a lot to gain from Duncan’s death, and he’d mentioned something along the lines of his frustration at being the younger brother the night before. But murdering one’s own brother was extreme, regardless of the provocation, and he didn’t particularly see Fergus as having the actual nerve to carry it out, in all truth.
“Did you have an unusual aftertaste or dry mouth at all? A headache perhaps? Blurry vision?” he asked.
Connie slowly nodded. “Yes. The headache, and my mouth was dry.”
“You could have been drugged,” Alec replied. “I’m going to need to see the bottle, and Duncan’s body, then I will be able to formulate a better picture of what occurred.”
“Mrs. Morgan still has the bottle in her office belowstairs,” Connie said. “Fergus has guards outside the bedroom where Duncan’s body is.”
“I’m going to go and see what I can find out,” Alec said. “I’d be lying if I said I’m not worried about where all this is heading. And if Fergus is the killer, then you might be in danger.”
“I doubt that,” Connie replied. “If I was drugged, Fergus would have had plenty of time to kill me after killing Duncan. It wouldn’t make sense to kill me now.”
“It does if he needed to deflect any suspicion off himself initially and find a scapegoat, and now that you’re a suspect, it would be much more convenient to get rid of you before a proper investigation was launched.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
Alec had, and the idea was churning him up inside. “Be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice.”
“Leave?” Connie questioned. “What do you mean leave? I’m under house arrest. I simply can’t leave, unless I try to escape.”
“That might well be what needs to happen. Be ready.” He turned on his heel and strode over to the door, but he paused before opening it. “Stay away from the windows, too, especially if Fergus or one of his men come to see you.”
“Why?” There was a look of confusion in her eyes.
“Because if you were thrown out the window and broke your neck, it would be too easy to suggest that you couldn’t live with the guilt of murdering Duncan, so you took your own life.” His gaze remained steadfast on her own. “We cannot let that happen.”
“Very well,” she said, though there was a hesitancy to her words.
Striding back over to her, Alec went to take her hands in his own but stopped himself in time. It was hard not to offer her some sort of physical comfort, but he didn’t ever want to see her flinch from his touch again. “Don’t do anything rash, all right?”
She arched one of her eyebrows, a familiar look he remembered from times past, one she’d often employed to berate him without having to say a word. “I have no intention of jumping, if that’s what you are thinking.”
He had been thinking it, but her demeanor was enough to satisfy himself that she wouldn’t. Connie was nothing if not made of steel, even if she had forgotten that about herself. “Stay alert, and be ready,” he reminded her, and before he could do something he might regret, like kiss her, he strode from the room.
He had much to organize.
…
Ten minutes later, Alec stood staring down at death.
Connie had been correct. Duncan’s chest was a mess of stab wounds and blood. Though the longer he actually observed the wounds, he’d hazard that Duncan had been stabbed perhaps six or seven times. And though he knew he couldn’t touch the dagger, from the positioning of it and the blood on its handle, he wouldn’t be surprised if the blade itself had become stuck in Duncan’s sternum, with whomever had been stabbing him unable to pull it back out.
But the stab wounds beforehand had already been enough to do their intended job of ending the man’s life. He glanced back around to where Fergus stood, well away from the body.
Originally, Fergus had refused to let Alec anywhere near the room, let alone visually examine the body. But after Alec had mentioned it would appear to others that Fergus could be hiding something by refusing to simply let him see what had occurred, Fergus had reluctantly relented, on the proviso he would supervise Alec at all times.
A condition that suited Alec just fine, as he actually wanted to scrutinize Fergus right back as he neared the body. In Alec’s occasional experience in consulting for Scotland Yard, he’d come to realize that rarely would the actual perpetrator of a murder react when confronted with the gruesome scene of the crime for which they were responsible. However, those usually innocent of the crime tended to become emotional and couldn’t deal well with the visual carnage death brought with it.
Alec wanted to see which category Fergus fit into.
At this point, though, it was hard to tell. Fergus’s skin appeared rather gray around the edges, and he was continually looking anywhere but at the body. Though Alec had caught him briefly glancing across to where his brother lay before hastily averting his eyes.
Behavior that didn’t exactly implicate Fergus, nor did it exonerate him either.
“How drunk was the duke when he eventually retired last night?” Alec asked, wandering over to the empty side of the bed, where he assumed Connie would have been lying when she discovered the grim sight.
“He usually gets himself completely foxed,” Fergus answered. “I doubt last night was any different. Though I wouldn’t know for certain.”
“You left the ball early?” Alec paused and looked back over his shoulder to Fergus.
Fergus pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at some sweat that had beaded on his forehead. “I did. I had the pleasure of Lady Tarlington to keep me entertained for the evening. We both retired early to enjoy each other’s company. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“So, you have an alibi for the night,” Alec returned to surveying the blood splatters on the bedsheets. “That’s convenient.”
He could almost feel Fergus bristling behind him. “Are you daring to suggest that I murdered my brother?”
Alec raised his head and locked his eyes with Fergus’s. “Did you?” he asked him point-blank.
He had to give it to the man. The look of shock and then outrage that flashed across Fergus’s expression certainly seemed authentic. But Alec had dealt with liars many times before, and there were some who were exceptionally good at it.
“No, I did not!” Fergus enunciated each word with force, a red flush slowly creeping up his neck. “And I take great offense to you suggesting so. Might I remind you, I was not the one found trying to flee, with my brother’s dried blood still on her hands! That honor belongs solely to Constance.”
Shrugging, Alec broke eye contact and returned to visually examining the room. “If she did kill him, it was a bit silly to do so in her own bed, don’t you think?” He picked up the teacup that was on her side table and smelled the cold dregs of the liquid in its bottom. There was a slightly odd odor to the brew. He replaced the cup back onto the saucer and then lifted the lid of the teapot. Small specks of a dried crust of white powder were sticking to
the rim of the lid. Interesting.
Fergus sighed heavily. “What you probably don’t realize is that Connie had a very good reason to kill him.”
“Did she?” It would be interesting to see how Fergus tried to spin the tale.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Fergus said. “As ashamed as I am to admit it, my brother treated her poorly indeed. He liked to take out his frustrations and anger on her.”
“He hit her?” Alec asked. Though he knew the answer, already his rage was rising, particularly as Fergus had clearly known what was going on but had done nothing to stop it. Behavior that was nearly as bad as the abuse itself, in Alec’s opinion. “You knew this, yet did nothing?”
Fergus walked over to the window, his back now facing Alec. “I’m not proud of it, but Duncan was my brother, and Connie was his wife. According to the law, he could do whatever he pleased to her, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it.”
“That’s absolute bollocks, and you know it.” Alec’s voice had gotten dangerously soft, and he knew he was close to throttling the man. “You should have stood up to him and helped her. To not do so was cowardly.”
There was complete silence for a moment, as Alec’s words reverberated around the room.
“I know,” Fergus whispered. “She endured so much, and I imagine has had a mental breakdown because of it, killing Duncan in the process and then remembering nothing of it.” He turned around to face Alec. “She clearly needs help.”
The man had his act down pat. Sincerity shone from every pore on his face. But Alec wasn’t buying it. “And you intend to help her by either getting the police to cart her to prison or your doctor to declare she’s insane?”
“An asylum would mean she wasn’t facing the gallows, at least.” Fergus smoothed down his jacket again.
“And would ensure the estate still received her monthly dowry.” Alec saw his suspicions confirmed in the flash of knowledge and guilt in Fergus’s expression. A brilliant plan actually, if Fergus had killed Duncan. Deflect suspicion from himself onto Connie, have her declared insane, so no one would believe anything she said, and yet still receive the benefit of her dowry.
The Sinful Scot Page 5
