The Highland Heist, page 22
“So what did you discover about our very favorite valet?” Grace asked, sending Frederick a brilliant smile, her eyes alight and beautiful.
Thank God Blake came.
Blake winced, as if the news was too scandalous to share in broad daylight. “Well, I’m sorry to say it aloud, my dear Lady Astley, but there is definite talk of”—he paused for effect, his voice dropping to a stage whisper—”matrimony.”
“Oh Frederick. Did you hear that?” Grace sent a look across Blake. “So when did he ask her? How?”
Blake raised a finger in mock warning. “Ah, but you misunderstand. He didn’t propose—she did. A rather bold move, though appropriate considering their … adjusted status.”
Frederick shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. Clearly, he needed Blake and Grace in his life on a regular basis. “So she swept Elliott off his feet, then?”
Blake turned toward him. “It would seem so, which, if you think about it isn’t all bad. Men are constantly expected to foot the proposal-bill, so to speak, where feet-sweeping is concerned, so it’s nice to hear that turnabout is fair play every once in a while. Let men know the exhilarating terror of being on the receiving end of a proposal.”
“What a wonderful story for our dear Elliott.” Grace sighed, embracing Frederick’s motley crew of friends, servants, and family as her own as only she would. “I’m so happy for them and the fact they’ll live close enough to visit us often.”
“Indeed.” Blake nodded sagely. “I’m quite keen on maintaining relationships with wealthy friends. They always provide the best accommodations. And I’d say this relationship is off to an excellent start. As they’re both former thieves, a mutual stealing of hearts seems an appropriate final crime.”
Frederick barked out a laugh just as Blake stopped in front of a magnificent Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Tourer, painted a striking blue. Of course Blake would be driving a car like this—effortlessly opulent, impeccably maintained. Even in Scotland, he managed to find the pinnacle of luxury.
“Thank you for admiring my beautiful Evangeline.” Blake patted the side of the car with affection. “And though the old girl”—who looked anything but old—”is large enough to carry us all, she’s not large enough to hold all of your luggage, so I’ve already made arrangements with the porters for the rest of your things to be delivered later.” Blake opened the car’s rear door with a dramatic flourish, bowing slightly. “Now, shall we head north before the weather turns sour? We are in Scotland, after all. The skies here are as unpredictable as the locals.”
As the engine purred to life, Blake glanced back at them with a gleam in his eye. “We’ve a long ride ahead, so do indulge me. I want to hear every detail: the mysterious inheritance, the resurrected Tony, and—oh, I can only hope—a possible damsel in distress?”
Frederick exchanged a look with Grace, who was already laughing at the prospect. For the first time in days, he felt the weight of their recent troubles lift, if only slightly. Whatever awaited them in the north, at least they had a quite capable friend on their side.
As the motorcar crested the final rise, Grace leaned forward eagerly, the wind tugging at her hat despite the car’s modest speed. It had been a long drive. So long, the day had waned into sunset, which meant they wouldn’t have any time to investigate the village or the castle today, but at least they could start afresh in the morning.
Below, nestled like a forgotten jewel among the verdant hills and pine-speckled slopes, lay Angloss. The village spilled toward the shimmering expanse of Loch Ness, which stretched out under the twilight like liquid silver, serene and otherworldly.
It was impossibly romantic.
She couldn’t help but smile at it. Just the view sent a sense of home through her in the strangest sort of way. She didn’t remember visiting Scotland, but it somehow felt like a memory borrowed from the stories her mother used to tell. The rolling hills and the smell of pine mingled with the faintest hint of peat smoke sent a wave of homesickness for the Blue Ridge Mountains she hadn’t felt in years.
The contrasting hues of sunset cast a golden glow across the landscape, enchanting every stone building and cobbled street with a halo, especially the two steeples bookending each side of the village. As if on cue, a church bell tolled faintly ahead, welcoming them—or perhaps warning them of what lay ahead.
A quaint cluster of stone cottages with slate roofs lined the road as they entered, reminding her so much of Astlynn Commons at Havensbrooke.
Blake’s voice pulled her from her reverie. “Lovely little place, isn’t it? These villages always remind me of something out of a storybook. You half expect a talking fox to greet you at the pub.”
Grace laughed. “Or a huntsman offering directions to the nearest poisoned apple.”
As they rolled through the village, her eyes wandered over the modest shops and the cozy pub with its swinging sign: The Loch’s Rest. Flower boxes spilled over with blooms so bright they defied the somber stone facades. But her gaze was irresistibly drawn to the castle.
Mosslea Castle stood sentinel on a rocky promontory above the loch, its silhouette both regal and forbidding. The turrets reached skyward, their crenellated edges jagged against the dusk, while ivy climbed the weathered walls, as though nature was determined to reclaim its own.
Grace’s pulse quickened as they drew nearer, the details sharpening.
This was her ancestral home. Powerful lairds roamed those halls. Elegant ladies danced and made merry. Knights guarded the gates, and battles brimmed close enough to threaten the ancient structure.
She supposed. She didn’t really know for certain about the battles or knights, but one couldn’t think of a castle not featuring at least one battle or two. The faintest of lights appeared to flicker past one of the blackened windows and disappear.
Her breath caught. What was that? A night watchman?
A housekeeper?
“It truly is like something out of a novel,” Grace murmured, hardly aware she’d spoken aloud.
Frederick glanced over his shoulder from his place in the front seat, his lips crooked at a playful tilt. “Let me guess—Jane Eyre?”
She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the castle. “No, this is more gothic than Thornfield Hall. It’s … wilder. I can almost feel the stories pressing against its walls. Secrets and curses and—”
“Drafty halls and an appalling need for maintenance,” Blake interjected from the front seat, his eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror.
She shot him a look. “And romance. Mystery. Can’t you feel it? The air practically vibrates with it.”
“I think the air feels cold.” Zahra muttered, burrowing deeper into Grace’s side. “My bones feel it.”
In early July? Grace wrapped her arm around the little girl’s shoulders. There was certainly a dampness to the air that Zahra had probably never known. “I’m afraid this climate will take a bit of adjusting to, Zahra. It’s very different than Egypt, even in summer.”
“I do hope we can leave the drama and danger to a minimum at this point and just have a practical solution to the entire thing.” Tony voiced from beside her. “I’ve had my fill for a lifetime.”
“I’m afraid, Tony, you’ve signed on for it until we have sorted out Mr. Clark’s nefarious plan, secured our inheritance, and safely returned you to your wife,” Grace said, trying not to sound snippy at his gloomy tone. After all, the man had just started living again over the past few days. She patted his hand. “I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but you’re not alone in the adventure now. Neither is Lillias. You have us.”
His smile didn’t seem to spread as quickly as it ought for such a declaration.
“I see a hotel up ahead.” Blake announced. “Since I assume you all will not be staying the night in the castle for this evening?”
“Not until we have more information, I think.” Frederick answered, peering through the car window in the direction Blake gestured. “Yes, that should do. Rowan’s Roost, is it?”
“Indeed, and a quite encouraging name for our temporary abode, I might add.” Blake shot back. “Especially considering our current adventure.”
“What do you mean?” Grace leaned forward in the car, trying to look ahead too.
The wooden sign for the inn not only held its name but a symbol of a tree with what looked to be red berries. Two birds alighted on the tree.
“If my Scottish lore is on point, the rowan tree is said to ward off evil and protect heroes,” Blake explained, shooting a grin at Grace through the mirror. “Or heroines, as the case may be.”
“I like the sound of that.” Tony said. “I may just stay inside the hotel for the rest of the time we’re here once I find Lillias.”
Grace opened her mouth to respond, but her attention snagged on a pair of figures across the street from the hotel. A woman in a black mourning dress pushed a stroller, her blond hair catching the dim light.
“Stop the car.” Grace gasped. “Blake, stop! It’s Lillias.”
Blake brought the car to an abrupt halt as Grace craned her neck, her pulse racing. It was Lillias—there could be no doubt. But the man beside her—
Tony’s growl shattered the quiet. “No. It can’t be. No.“
Frederick twisted in his seat, his brow furrowing. “What is it?”
But Grace already knew. Her heart sank even before Tony voiced the terrible truth.
“That’s him.” Tony’s voice was guttural, raw. “That’s the man who stabbed me. That’s Clark.”
Chapter 19
Frederick sent Blake a look as if for clarification.
Mr. Clark was walking with Lillias? Here in Angloss? Out in the open?
All the pieces began to converge in his mind.
Of course. If Mr. Clark wanted Mosslea and the wealth associated with its natural resources, and he’d learned of a new will, why wouldn’t he rush forward at the first availability in order to find it.
And in Scotland he wasn’t likely known for going around stabbing people. At least, from his appearance nonchalantly walking down the street of Angloss. So he could parade around as a typical Scot charming ladies and doing business.
Though, come to think of it, Frederick had known a few Scots who could stab someone before breakfast, then charm a roomful of ladies and down a pint by supper. That might actually be the very definition of a Scot.
Tony shifted toward the car door, his posture taut with purpose, but Blake was faster. The man leapt from the vehicle with a fluidity that suggested he was part foxhound. Tony barely had time to reach for the handle before Blake was leaning in, all business, his hand resting lightly against the car frame to block Tony’s view.
“Stay calm, Mr. Dixon. This is not the time for mindless heroics.”
“I won’t sit here and do nothing!” Tony’s voice cracked, and he shifted toward the door. “Lillias is out there with him. He’s dangerous.”
“He likely is.” Blake straightened slightly, his body shielding Tony’s movements from the pair now passing on the opposite side of the street. Lillias laughed at something Clark said, a sound that sent Tony lurching forward like a wound spring.
“She doesn’t know who he really is,” Tony ground out. “She’s walking into a trap.”
“And charging out there would only snap it,” Blake’s calm voice edged with steel. “If you reveal yourself now, he’ll bolt—or worse, he’ll use Lillias as a shield. You’ve already seen what he’s capable of, and I doubt we’ve met the limits of his cunning.”
“But arrogance is his weakness.” Frederick leaned forward, joining the fray. “Parading about the village like a peacock shows he thinks he’s untouchable.”
“Precisely.” Blake nodded in agreement. “That’s how we’ll beat him. But not if you turn this into a melodramatic reunion in the middle of Angloss. Right now, you’re our best card, and he doesn’t know you’re in the deck.”
Tony’s jaw tightened, but Frederick pressed on. “Clark doesn’t suspect you’re alive. That gives us a distinct advantage. He won’t act rashly while he believes he’s in control.”
“And if he’s befriending Lillias, it’s a very good sign,” Grace offered, her smile too bright for the fury on Tony’s brow. “It means he’s not found the will yet. He’d hardly waste time charming her if he’d already destroyed the evidence.”
Tony gaped at her. “Befriending my wife?”
Grace’s expression didn’t waver. “Yes. Frustrating as it may be, it’s a good sign.”
Tony’s gaze flicked toward the street again. Lillias tilted her head toward Clark, her laugh catching the breeze. Tony’s entire body tensed as if ready to spring from the car, but Grace’s hand on his arm held him in place.
“What would happen if you charged up there?” Grace’s voice softened, but her words landed with precision. “Besides nearly stopping Lillias’ heart when she sees her dead husband walking toward her?”
Grace’s unique phrasing of the scenario seemed to do the trick. Tony’s jaw slacked.
Grace continued. “Besides, we don’t have proof to secure Mr. Clark’s villainy.”
“Especially here in the Highlands,” Blake said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though someone from the village might be pressed against the car door with a glass to their ear. “Clark could be the local favorite son. Accusing him of attempted murder and destruction of property might be about as well-received as marching into a ceilidh wrapped in an English flag.”
Frederick smothered a laugh behind his hand before turning to Tony. “You said it yourself—Clark doesn’t know you’re alive. That’s a rare advantage we can’t afford to waste. The moment he learns the truth, the game changes, and not in our favor.”
Tony raked his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up like the aftermath of a windstorm. “So what am I supposed to do?” he snapped, his frustration spilling over. “Sit here like some ghost while he plays games with my wife? Courts her?” His palm shot toward the direction Lillias and Clark had walked, his voice rising as he continued. “Probably feeding her lies about how he’s a decent human being and not some conniving, murderous—”
“I know it has to be hard, old bean, but for now we need to bide our time and outsmart him.” Blake leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “If Clark’s playing a game, we need to play smarter.”
“And he’s focused on the will,” Frederick added. “If we find it first, we take away his leverage. That’s the priority. Once we have it, we can deal with him on our terms.”
Tony hesitated, his eyes flicking from Blake to Frederick. Finally, he gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. But if I even think she’s in danger—”
“You’ll be the first one we send in, mate,” Blake interrupted, his grin returning with full force. He reached over and gave Tony’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “For now, though, patience. Clark’s arrogance is our greatest asset. We’ll let him think he’s ahead until we pull the rug out from under him.” Straightening, he nodded toward the road ahead. “Let’s get to the castle and start searching. If this all goes to plan, you’ll be the hero Lillias deserves.”
Tony muttered something unintelligible as Blake closed the car door.
“So, we’ll keep Tony hidden, gather clues, and hunt for a long-lost will in a centuries-old castle.” Grace’s grin spread enough to light her eyes as she met Frederick’s gaze. “Oh, that does sound like an absolutely marvelous adventure.”
Tony groaned and sank lower into his seat, his arms crossed in defiance of the world at large. Blake’s grin widened, as if he’d just won a particularly enjoyable round of cards. Zahra, their quiet observer, gave Grace her usual curious once-over, as though she were still trying to puzzle out how the woman’s mind worked. And Frederick simultaneously thanked God for his wife … and prayed for the safety of everyone when her fictional prowess somehow became much more real than it ought to be.
The little bell above the hotel door jingled as the group entered, the cozy interior of Rowan’s Rest wrapping them in a curious smoky scent. Grace tilted her head, trying to place it—peat, perhaps? She could identify the delicious aroma of baked bread well enough, and the combination created a homely charm. The intimacy of the surroundings wrapped around Grace like a hug.
A Scottish hug.
She liked it.
Zahra lingered close to Frederick’s side as they entered, her wide, grayish green eyes catching the lantern light. Grace wondered what the girl made of all this—a world of rugged hills and whispered legends, so far removed from the sunlit streets and sand of her homeland.
“Not very big, is it?” Tony grumbled, falling in behind them.
“It’s clean and tidy,” Blake replied, nodding appreciatively toward the room. “Both top marks on my list. And judging by the smell, the food promises to be excellent.” He stepped ahead, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “I sent a message ahead to reserve rooms, so they’re expecting us.”
“Blake is incredibly convenient to have around,” Grace whispered to Frederick, noting the way her husband was watching his cousin with that perpetual mix of admiration and skepticism.
“No argument here,” Frederick murmured, though his brows knit as if Blake were a particularly intriguing puzzle. “I’ve always known him to be efficient, but I’m starting to suspect he’s uncannily so.”
“Well, I’d rather have uncanny efficiency on our side than on Mr. Clark’s.”
“He has good eyes.” Since Zahra spoke so infrequently, her words always seemed to matter more.
“Good eyes?” Grace leaned down to listen. “Hazel?”
Zahra stared back, her expression unchanging. “Safe.”
The word pricked at something in Grace’s chest that she couldn’t quite define, but she placed her palm on Zahra’s head, pushing up a smile. Being a mother really entailed controlling ones emotions at so many levels. “Yes, I think he is very safe.”
A cheerful innkeeper bustled from behind the counter, her ruddy cheeks and bright smile suggesting that gossip was as much her currency as coin.
