The Heiress Bride (Sherbrooke Brides 3)

It was Jamie, the youngest of the crofter lads, who slipped into the side door off the kitchen, the infamous doorway Sophie swore was the one used by the murderer to get into the castle. He was only one of a dozen small boys who’d been stationed around the castle in a wide perimeter, well hidden, waiting and watching.

Colin was waiting there, seated at the kitchen table, a mug of thick black coffee in his hand.

“ ’Tis a man, milor’. ’Tis yer cousin, th’ giant wi’ all th’ red hair. MacDuff ye calls him.”

Colin paled. Ryder’s hand came down on his shoulder.

“Who is this MacDuff, Colin?”

“My cousin. Douglas met him in London. Dear God, Ryder, why? I don’t understand any of it.”

Ryder gave Jamie a guinea. Jamie, mouth agape, gasped and said, “Thank ye, milor’, thank ye! Me ma’ll bless yer soul, aye, she will.”

Colin rose. “Now, Jamie, take us to the place you saw him.”

Douglas slipped through that side door off the kitchen an hour later. His eyes glittered with ill-suppressed excitement. He looked up to see the same look in his wife’s eyes. “We’re two of a kind, aren’t we?”

“Oh yes. And soon we’ll have MacDuff. Remember him, Douglas? He was the very nice giant of a man who came to see Colin in London. Colin was knocked off kilter. He doesn’t understand why MacDuff would do this.”

“Dear God.”

“I know. It’s a shock. Colin and Ryder went with the lad who saw him to the place he is hiding.”

“Soon we’ll have Arleth’s murderer as well as Fiona’s. I do wo

nder what his motive was.”

Alex just shook her head. “I don’t know, Douglas. Neither does Colin. Ofcourse, Sophie is claiming she would have suspected him instantly if only she’d been in London with us to meet him.”

Douglas laughed.

When Douglas rode back to Vere Castle at seven o’clock that night, he knew MacDuff was watching him and from what vantage point. He was careful to keep his face averted from that dense copse of fir trees. He was careful to ensure that MacDuff got a good look at the bulging packet fastened to his saddle. He hoped MacDuff wouldn’t notice that Gulliver wasn’t sweating from his hard ride. Indeed, Gulliver had been running only about ten minutes. He was a terror, Douglas thought, wondering if Colin would sell him the horse.

Thirty minutes later, Philpot retrieved the letter that had been left on the front steps. He opened it and read it. He smiled.

MacDuff was whistling as he pulled his horse to a stop in front of the deserted croft that huddled beneath some low-lying fir branches just short of the eastern edge of the Cowal Swamp. It was a damp, utterly dreadful place, redolent with rotted vegetation and stagnant water. The croft itself was on the verge of collapse. Supposedly an old hermit had lived there for years upon years. It was said that he’d just walked into the swamp one night during a mighty storm, singing to heaven that he was on his way. There was one window, long since stolen and now boarded up, but even the boards were sagging and loose, one constantly swinging by its rusty nail. He pulled off his gloves and strode into the one room. There was a packed dirt floor, one narrow rope bed, one table, and two chairs. Sinjun was tied securely to one of them. He’d brought the table and chairs. He didn’t fancy sitting on the dirt floor to eat his meals. There were rats to eat the remains. He imagined that they’d kept Sinjun excellent company whilst he’d been gone.

Sinjun eyed the huge man when he walked through the door. His head barely missed the frame. He looked very pleased with himself, damn him. She closed her eyes a moment, picturing Colin and her brothers. They would find her. She didn’t doubt it for a moment. On the other hand, it would never have occurred to her not to try to escape. She was nearly ready.

“Not long now,” MacDuff said as he sat down on one of the chairs and rubbed his large hands together. The chair creaked ominously under his weight. He cracked his knuckles, a ripping sound in the silence. He opened a brown bag and pulled out a loaf of bread. He tore off a huge chunk and began to eat. “No,” he said, his mouth full, “not long. I saw Colin riding back from Edinburgh just a while ago. I left the letter on the front steps. No sense waiting until morning. Perhaps he wants you back alive, my dear. Who can say?”

“He is very honorable,” Sinjun said, her voice carefully neutral. She wasn’t stupid. She was afraid of MacDuff.

MacDuff grunted and swallowed the bread. He ate steadily until the entire loaf was gone. Sinjun felt her stomach knotting with hunger. The bastard didn’t care if she starved.

In that moment she found herself wondering if he truly intended to let her go as he’d promised.

“I’m hungry,” she said, eyeing the other brown bag.

“A pity. I’m a big man and there just isn’t enough for you. Maybe a bit for the rats, but not for you. Yes, a pity.”

She watched him eat until both bags were empty. He wadded them up and threw them into the far corner. The air was redolent with the smells of sausage and bread. “If the rats want the crumbs, they’ll have to eat through the bags.” He laughed at that.

Nearly free, she thought. Nearly there. He rose then and stretched. With his arms over his head, they touched the sagging roof of the croft.

“Perhaps you’d tell me now why you’re doing this?”

He looked at the bruise on her jaw where he’d struck her the previous afternoon. “I was tempted to strike you again when you asked me that last night.” He made a fist and rubbed it against his open hand. “You don’t look like such a lady now, my dear countess of Ashburnham. You have more the look of a frowsy slut from Soho.”