“Still, it must bring in quite the revenue for the village?”
“Tourism is a huge industry here in Scotland, but I can think of no other village that sees the kind of business we do during the summer. Everywhere is booked months in advance. A traveler comes through on the off chance, looking for a place to stay, they’d be shit out of luck.”
“The people here must love you.”
“My family has been here for centuries. We had a good relationship with the villagers before I launched the club.”
“Well, that’s not strictly true, is it?” She glanced up at him before returning her gaze to the path.
Irritated by the insinuation the villagers didn’t like the Adairs, he growled, “What does that mean?”
“Oh, don’t take offense, Adair.” She threw him an exasperated look. “I’m talking about McCulloch.”
Understanding dawned. “You’ve been reading Mac’s notes.”
“Yeah. But I want you to tell me why McCulloch is on Mac’s list of possible suspects. Though, he’s too tall to be the man who stabbed him.”
“Mac has him on the list for a reason.” He thought of that bitter old man and his hatred of Lachlan’s family.
“What happened there?”
“Ask anyone in the village and they’ll tell you.”
“I’m asking you.”
“It’s not a long story. In fact, it’s a tale as old as time. McCulloch was raised to believe that my great-great-great-great-grandfather stole McCulloch land and incorporated it into Adair land. He says there was nothing his ancestor could do against the might of the Adair family. The Adairs had wealth and social standing, were landed gentry. In fact, my great-great-great-grandfather’s sister married the younger brother of the Duke of Sutherland.”
“Is it true? That your family stole the land?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “My father looked into it, and there’s no documented evidence that McCulloch is right. But McCulloch has never let it go. It didn’t help that my father had an affair with McCulloch’s sister and broke it off when he met my mother.” The story was not a happy one. Certainly not for McCulloch. And what had happened afterward had left a wound in his dad Lachlan knew scarred over but never faded. “McCulloch’s sister killed herself a few weeks later. He found her hanging in one of the barns.”
“Oh my God,” Robyn gasped, her expression tight with sadness.
“McCulloch blamed my father, but we all know there had to be more to his sister’s decision than a broken heart. McCulloch has never let it go, which only added to my father’s guilt. As I said, a tale as old as time. Love and land. It’s always the thing people go to war over, isn’t it?”
“It’s a sad story. And fascinating too.” Robyn frowned at the path. “But what of this housekeeper, Sarah? Why would Mac list McCulloch’s granddaughter as a suspect?”
Discomfort moved through him at the thought of Sarah. “It was a surprise that she wanted to work here or that McCulloch would allow it. At first, I was wary. In case he’d lost the plot and was actually sending her in as a spy—”
“A bit dramatic, no?”
“And what would you call the events of the last eight weeks?”
“Point taken,” she conceded easily. “So, Sarah?”
He grimaced. “She has a very obvious crush on me. And I’ve found her coming out of my suite outside housekeeping hours.”
Robyn stopped on the path to face him, obviously surprised. “Well, that’s damning.”
Shaking his head, he sighed. “You haven’t met her, Robyn. This is a young woman who can barely say boo to a goose.”
“You mean a ghost?”
“I mean a goose.”
“Why would you say boo to a goose?”
“Because that’s the saying.”
“The saying is boo to a ghost.”
“Goose. Google it.”
“I think I will.” She turned away, that chin in the air again.
“Fuck, but you’re stubborn.”
“Uh, Pot meet Kettle.” She threw his words from yesterday back at him but with a sultry smile.
Lachlan shook his head but continued as they neared the castle. “Sarah is timid. I can’t imagine her being a part of all this.”
“That may be, but I’d like a chance to talk with her. In a way that she has no idea I’m investigating, of course.”
“Of course.”
Robyn raised an eyebrow at his sarcastic tone.
“How are we supposed to manufacture that meeting?”
“I’ll think of something,” she insisted.
Silence fell between them as gravel crunched underfoot. They strolled around the outside of the castle toward the front entrance.
“So,” she asked, her tone softer than before, “your mom passed away a few years before your dad, right?”
The question destroyed any humor or warmth that may have crept between them. He rounded the castle and saw her SUV waiting at the entrance.
At his silence, Robyn sighed. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Lachlan.”
Her use of his name cut through the cold. He was acting like a bastard. He nodded at her. “Thank you.”
“That’s why I’m here, you know.” She stepped toward him. He could feel her heat, and she hadn’t even touched him. “I know you look on me as some kind of outsider—maybe even an enemy—because I don’t understand the trials and tribulations of the rich and famous. But I’m not here to hurt or exploit anyone.” Her expression suddenly grew unguarded in a way Lachlan hadn’t expected. Those extraordinary eyes were green, gray, blue, and brown all at once, and filled with feeling. “I just don’t want to get a phone call one day telling me my dad died and then I’d have to bury him along with all my regrets. That’s why I’m here. For him. For him and me. The possibility of it.”