His lips curled. “Ye’re welcome. Go ahead, I’ll have to get these horses cleaned up and fed. I’ll join ye soon.”
Knowing that she would not see him as quickly as she would like, she still nodded. “Take care, Ethan, and try to nay worry about too much.”
His soft sigh told her he wouldn’t.
12
It felt like bricks made of compacted worry were being stacked on top of his chest, and they grew heavier and heavier with every day that passed by. His worry for not finding the woman was alleviated somewhat, but now that they might have to consider a third culprit might be involved in his brother’s murder, it was just that more troubling.
He was brushing down the second horse when his strength just failed, and he had to sit down. It was either that or crumble to the ground. The brush dangled in his hand as he stared at the floor scattered with straw. Bleakly, he counted his worries that sat atop his numbly throbbing sorrow for his brother.
He had to take on the lairdship, they had to find the O’Bachnon woman, then, hopefully, get a lead on the murderer and even consider a third party. His free hand rubbed his forehead. Almost as troubling—or possibly most troubling—were his feelings for Violet.
She had a heart and mind that fascinated him and bravery that stunned him. She was not like the rest of the women he’d known, and he was beginning to leave his reservations about her being different and getting to welcome it. If she had not been that way, so canny and resilient, they would have never found the keystone to this mystery.
Her body, slender with gentle curves in all the right places, had him clenching his eyes tight but that only made her image grow in sharper focus. Violet’s sparkling eyes were bright, and her smile was even brighter. When she had gazed on the druidic shrine, her lips had parted and to his shame, his eyes had dipped to her lips. Bitten and pink with that plumpness in her bottom lip that was so deeply distracting. He hated himself for even considering what it would feel to kiss her.
The reasons he had made himself consider many nights ago sprang up again—she was too young, she was innocent, she did not know this type of Highland life, and lastly, when they solved this case, she would be leaving— but the desire lingered.
A scrape from the door had him looking up and he saw a stable boy enter. He jerked to a stop and stammered, “M-Master MacFerson, I d-dinnae ken ye were here. Can I help ye with something?”
Standing, he handed the brush over to him, “Aye, finish brushing him down and get him some food. Thank ye.”
Heading off to the castle, he blinked when he realized it was deep in the evening. Had he spent all that time in stable castigating himself about Violet and juggling his worries as if they were balls? Entering the castle, he headed towards the kitchens then stopped. There was not even a twinge of hunger in his body, and with regret, turned back to the upper room.
The need to speak to his father was gnawing at him. The door to his father’s meeting room was cracked open, and after a brisk knock, he went in. His father was at his desk, sorting through sheets of paper on his desk. His face was expressionless and stoic like a slate of chiseled rock.
“Faither, may I speak with ye?”
His father shoved the papers away and gestured for him to come and sit in one of the two chairs before his desk. “Whatever ye have to say would be much better than what I’m reading. What is it, son?”
“We might have to consider that there might be another party concerning F-Finley’s murder.” His voice had nearly hitched at his brother’s name. “We still dinnae ken what happened between when the woman took him out the tavern and finding him dead. Yes, someone did kill him but we dinnae ken what the women really did. We dinnae ken if she had carried the sleeping draught for that purpose, or could it be that she had only had, er, relations with Finley and left, leaving someone else to give him the draught and frame her for it. Until we find her and get what she kens, there might be another party involved.”
The tight-knit of his father’s face had him grimacing too. Pinned under his father’s gaze, he was asked, “And was it ye or Miss O’Cain that came to this conclusion, eh?”
“Honestly, Faither, it was Miss O’Cain,” Ethan confessed. “We spoke about it on the way back from the loch.”
“Wise young lady, that one.” The Laird nodded before releasing a low breath. “And she’s right, until we find this woman and get her story, we dae have to ken a person or even more, people, would be involved.”
But who would want to kill Finley? That was the unspoken question. He and his father sat in thick, uneasy silence until his father broke it. “I dae hope Mister O’Cain found something that would—”
And as if summoned, the investigator appeared at their door. His coat was off, but he was plucking a hat off his head and asked, “May I, me Laird?”
“Please,” his father said and the light of hope that sprung to his father’s eyes, mirrored the one inside him. Sitting up in his chair, Ethan felt his fingers clutching on the arms of the seat. His gut was clenching and releasing with the heavy expectation that the investigation had found something.
The moment Mister O’Cain let out a breath, his expectation plummeted. “I went to Perth searching for this Gavina O’Bachnon, and aye, some people kent who she was, but the last time someone had seen her, had been three years ago.”
“That’s the same time her brother told me her husband had died,” Ethan said. His eyes shifted between Mister O’Cain and his father. “Perhaps she left? But if she met me brother that night, she had to be somewhere near.”
“Aye,” his father said. “I agree, and if she has the child we’re told about, I ken she would have left the child with someone. Perhaps we should be looking for the child, too. Nay mother would be far from her child—”
“—boy, Faither,” Ethan said.
“A boy child, for too long,” his father ended. “Could it be that the child died?”
“I dinnae ken so,” Mister O’Cain shook his head. “Nay one said anything about the boy’s death. Her husband, Logan Garrow did die, aye, I saw his grave but there was none for his son. And one more thing, I ken there might be another aspect to this murder. There might be someone else than the woman and the murder in between this.”
Ethan and his father shared a look and as the Laird turned his eyes back to the investigator, his chest felt fluttery. Violet had proven herself again, and he was sure that her father had not even spoken to her about it.
God, she is exceptional.
“I agree,” his father nodded. “But we only had a hold on this woman and we have to find her. If ye need me to, I’ll send out me men to all the villages. I’d imagine thirty or fifty men would do a better time scouring the countryside than one man.”
“It could work, but ye would have to do it at once,” Mister O’Cain said, sagging in his seat. “She might hear and run. Send the men out on the morrow.”
Slapping the table, his father nodded, “Will dae. Have ye eaten, Mister O’Cain? I suspect that ye just came off yer horse and came to report.”
“I havenae.” He rubbed his crinkled forehead. “I’ll go in a moment, but have ye seen Violet today?”
“Aye,” Ethan said, “I took her down to the loch today and we took a sail.”
“Thank ye for distracting her again,” Mister O’Cain breathed. “I fear that she might launch herself into this investigation and get herself into trouble. I apologize for taking up yer days, Master MacFerson, but ye are doing a great thing for me, and her too.”
He shrugged, trying to not give the investigator any visible sign that Violet had been in the investigation as long as he was. “It’s nay problem, yer daughter is a very lovely person, with some very intriguing stories too.”
“Eh,” he chuckled, “has she told ye about the time she posed as a gentleman’s daughter to save the real gentleman’s daughter from a man who had vowed to kidnap her, or the time she posed as an assistant at a circus to find who was killing the animals?”
“Ask her,” her father smiled genially. “I’m sure she will dae a much better recollection than I would and with more vivid words too.”
“Faither, will ye let me go with the soldiers?” he asked.
His lips tightened. “I cannae tell ye now.”
Which was a polite way of saying no. But Ethan was not miffed about it. Perhaps he was stopping him from going to start his induction into the lairdship. “Mister O’Cain would ye mind sharing a meal with me? I stayed away for a while, too.”
“Much obliged,” the man said while heaving himself up from the chair. “Good evening, Me Laird.”
“Ye too, Mister O’Cain,” his father dipped his head, “and ye, Ethan.”
With the older man in step with him, they made it to the kitchens and shared the very same table he and Violet shared many times. Sitting, he called for what was the rest of the clan’s dinner.
The man looked faintly tired, so he dared to ask, “Mister O’Cain, I was truthful when I said that I loved spending time with yer daughter and yer words make me want to ask, how was she as a child?”
“Believe it or nay, she was very quiet,” the man began. “Violet could melt into the background and ye would never ken she was there if ye dinnae look for her or she spoke up. A gift that she probably used to her sometime very reckless activities.”
The servant came and deposited a bowl of beef stew and a piece of bread before them. After thanking her, Mister O’Cain dug in. “I ken that I am at fault for doing so as she stuck to me side for years, listening in to me when I took on me cases. I have a bad habit of speaking to meself, kenning out loud, speculating on what the culprit might have done and why he or she had done it.”
“She?” Ethan asked, breaking his roll of bread. “There are women culprits?”
Nodding, the man laughed, “Ye wouldnae believe it, but women are some of the sneakier perpetrators to dae a lot of heinous acts and are the hardest to track down. We’ve built a manuscript of how they act and how they dae, and found that they use poisons as their medium to kill. A case of a barren woman came to mind. She used poison to kill her sister to inherit their father’s wealth and her husband-to-be.”
Ethan’s felt his stomach roil. “And…and what part did Violet play?”
“She figured the lady was using poison because of her skin tone; it was pale, from lead cosmetics,” he said. “She would mix it with vinegar to make a paste that smoothed out her face. When concentrated, it is lethal and that is how we found the source of the poisoning.”
Shaking his head, Ethan smiled, “I’m just amazed how intuitive she is. Sometimes I feel that she can see right through me at times.”
“If she is anything like her maither, I’d nae be surprised.” Mister O’Cain snorted. “Her maither would see through me, too, and call me to task when I failed to dae the right thing, like spend more time with me work than with them.”
A quick memory of Violet fully grown flashed through his mind. He shook his head and went back to his meal. “I can see that.”
“She’s going to be a very strong woman, which scares me to be truthful,” her father said. “Such independence might alarm the man who might marry her.”
“Nay if she chooses the right man, one who understands and appreciates her,” Ethan rebutted quickly, only to earn himself a queer look from Mister O’Cain, who stared at him with an unflinching gaze.
He began to shift under the older man’s look. His food sat uneasily in his stomach until Mister O’Cain tore his look away with a secret smile that made him even more uneasy. When the man went back to his food, Ethan grabbed at his goblet of water and chugged as if he had just come in from a desert.
“Ye’re right,” Mister O’Cain said. “The right one will not turn her away or slight her for her achievements.”
And the bizarre feeling that was between them began to crawl over his skin. He was fully uncomfortable and felt that he might have given the man some signs that could be construed in very different ways, with assumptions he instantly shied away from even considering.
His appetite dwindled to almost nothing, but he forced himself to eat the rest of his meal. With a little prodding, Mister O’Cain began to divulge more about Violet and how she had been after her mother died. His recollection matched up with the ones Violet had told him about how she had acted after her mother had passed away. The trenchers were cleared away but he sat, listening to Mister O’Cain recalling tales of Violet’s past.
He was recalling a case where a canny crook had used an elaborate relay of crows to scare people into thinking a spirit was the one murdering men in a small town near the borderlands when Violet’s voice cut in.
“Did ye get to the part where I sat in the town’s lighthouse for a full night to see where the crows came from?” she asked gaily.
“Nay,” her father’s lips twitched. “Now that ye are here, I ken it would be best for ye to finish the tale.”
“Are ye sure?” Violet came to stand by Ethan’s side. “I dae so love hearing the recollection of how ye scolded me when I threatened to chain meself to the tower if ye dared move me from it.”
He chuckled, stood and kissed her forehead. “I ken that now up to ye. It’s late, and I have had a good few hours of travel. Me bed is singing to me like a siren. Good night, Violet, and ye too, Master MacFerson.”
Both watched him leave, then Violet took the vacant seat. He tried to look everywhere except towards her. But his attempts failed and she was waiting silently by his side. “I spoke to Faither about what we discussed and then soon later, yer faither came in and said the same thing ye said about a third party in the murder. Ye two are uncannily similar.”
She snickered. “Well, he is me faither, in case ye havenae realized by now.”
Her dry humor evoked a laugh from him, too, but while looking around the dark kitchen he felt it was ill-fitting for what he wanted to talk to her about and stood. “I ken a change of scenery would be good, eh? Care to take a turn with me around the garden?”
“I would like that, aye,” she said, and he held his hand out and she took it.
With her close, he led her out into the main garden as this one was larger than the one he had taken her before, there was more legroom to walk. This one had many crushed gravel walkways and trimmed hedges. Not a word passed between them but a calm quietness that felt like a warm blanket had them coming closer. His fingers were laced with hers and her shoulder brushed him softly.
“Have ye been avoiding me?” she asked quietly. “I havenae seen ye since the stables.”
“Nay intentionally,” he replied quietly. “I just… felt overburdened by all that was happening. All of it felt like a horse unleashed, one running pell-mell without any direction. I dinnae feel any measure of calm until yer faither began to tell me stories of yer past.”
“Ethan, I—”
“I ken ye dinnae want me to worry, I daenae want to worry but it’s always there, lingering in the back of me mind. When all this tangled web sorts itself out, I’ll be here, grabbling with making the lairdship half as successful as I kent Finley would have made it,” he blurted then grimaced. “I’m sorry, Violet, that wasnae right of me.”
They were near a bench and she sat first, then he joined her, only to lean his elbows on his knees. “I’m scared, Violet. I’m so very scared.”
“We all have things to worry about,” she said quietly. “Like me, I’m worried that what I dae and who I am will never draw a man near to me. In many aspects, I am the opposite of what would appeal to a prospective husband. I face the fact that I might be alone for the rest or me life or settle for someone who willnae appreciate me.”
Again, Ethan was thrown by the similarities between the father and the daughter. Shaking his head wry he sighed, “And ye fai
ther might have mentioned that too, but from a concerned parent’s perspective, mind ye.”
“And I believe what yer faither said that ye will find yer own footing,” she injected. “Ye have a caring, loving heart, Ethan, one that I cannae ever see people rejecting because ye’re nay the one they were expecting.”
He leaned back, nearly trembling from the sincerity of her words. He knew she was right, just as he knew his father was right and the disembodied voice of his brother whispering in his soul told him he was right, but the doubt still lingered.
“And I cannae see why any man fortunate enough to see ye would reject ye for living a different life than they expected,” he said. “Whoever rejects ye is a fool.”
“Remind me to call ye up when that happens so ye can say it to their face,” Violet smiled. “But what about ye? I’d imagine yer faither would want ye to get married one day.”
The Highlander's Captured Bride (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance) Page 11
