When Annie stood before her father and four brothers, attempting to explain why a Lord of Parliament none of them had ever met should be regarded with grave suspicion, her stomach quaked. She hadn’t felt this nervous with the MacPhersons since she was a wee lassie.
“Ye saw him at the inn with Glenscannadoo,” Angus said with a glower. “Were other men present, as well?”
Nodding, Annie squeezed John’s hand and laced their fingers together. His firm grip gave her comfort. “A few. But if ye’d seen the way Lockhart handled his sister, Da—I cannae explain it. He looked pleased with himself.”
Campbell and Rannoch, both standing with their arms crossed near the parlor fireplace, shot each other a look.
Reading their skepticism, Annie frowned. “Doubt me if ye like, but the fact is Lockhart was here in the glen last September visitin’ the laird for a hunt. His sister, too. I saw them both in the square.”
Alexander, sprawled beside Broderick on the sofa, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “Broderick doesnae ken him, Annie. None of us do. What reason would Lockhart have to want him dead?”
It was an answer she simply didn’t have. She was about to say as much when her husband spoke. “Whatever it is, you may be assured Annie’s instincts are correct. She would not accuse someone without cause.” Warm, hazel eyes found hers before shifting back to the MacPhersons. “Lockhart is well positioned in Edinburgh society, and his movements fit with what we know about Skene’s backer. He was here in September. He was at the inn. He’s exhibited cruel behavior toward his sister.”
“Are we certain his sister didnae make a fuss over naught?” Alexander asked.
Annie glared. “Would ye handle me in such a fashion, Alexander MacPherson?”
“Nah.” He grinned at her. “I’d fash about bein’ brained with an iron pot.”
“Quite right,” she retorted. “I ken rough treatment when I see it.”
John squeezed her hand. “The man who targeted Broderick wants him to suffer; his hatred burns hot, so it is very likely of a personal nature. Jealousy over a woman, perhaps. Or a transaction Lockhart regards as a personal slight. I’ve no doubt the blackguard will make another attempt.”
“I never met Lockhart,” Broderick said, his voice stronger than it had been a week ago, though still graveled. “Skene was the only name ever mentioned in the Bridewell.”
“And we’ve laid a proper trap for the rat,” Rannoch said. “Only a matter of time before he takes the bait.”
Indeed, Campbell had explained how they’d stored Skene’s cognac in a warehouse near Inverness, planted rumors among the rat’s disbanded gang, and set men to watch for him. It was a sound plan, provided he behaved as predicted.
“Mayhap we should wait until we have Skene in hand, sister,” Campbell suggested.
Annie looked to Angus. “Da?”
Angus glanced at each of his sons, lingering on Broderick. Then, he looked at John and finally came back to Annie. “Nothin’ is certain. We havenae any proof.”
Her heart began to shrivel.
“But if Annie believes him a threat, he’s a threat.”
And, just like that, her heart filled past its capacity. The first time Angus MacPherson had scooped her up and carried her into the kirk, she’d felt the same. Safe. Loved.
“Thank ye, Da,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Sadly, we cannae take action against a lord without evidence of his crimes. We’ll need proof.”
John spoke up. “We have an idea about that. But first, we must ensure he comes here.” John explained the plan he and Annie had discussed on the way home from Inverness. First, John would approach Laird Glenscannadoo to ensure he invited Lockhart to the Glenscannadoo Gathering. Then, Annie would write to Sabella Lockhart to encourage her and her brother to attend.
“If Lockhart is the man I think he is,” Annie said softly, catching Broderick’s gaze. “He’ll want to see the damage he’s wrought.”
Half of Broderick’s face consisted of a patched eye and a mass of raised scars. His mouth pulled tight at the corner, slashing down in a permanent scowl. His nose was flattened along the bridge and crooked in the middle. The other half of his face was also scarred, with long slashes through his brow and cheek and strong, square jaw. His good eye had returned to normal—dark and beautiful with thick lashes. She only wished her brother still lived there. Instead, the look in that eye broke her heart more than the scarring ever could.
He seemed to sense what she was going to ask before she spoke, for that eye smoldered with violence.
“I wouldnae ask it of ye—”
“I’ll do it,” he uttered, low and hoarse.
She swallowed. Nodded.
Sensing her distress, John pulled her tighter against his side. “First things first,” he said calmly. “Let’s get the blackguard here. Then, we’ll see how a devil enjoys being caught in a trap of his own making.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
TlU
Annie curtsied to Mrs. Baird a fourth time, wondering why it was so much harder than it looked. “Yer grace,” she said, keeping her voice soft and dignified. “It is an honor to make yer acquaintance.”
“Very good, Annie. Much better.”
Annie shot her a wry grin. “Aye. At least this time, I didnae topple.”
“Yer tone was perfect, as well.” Mrs. Baird’s bonnie yellow hair glistened in the light from the parlor window. “Respectful without subservience. Excellent.”
Laughing, Annie blew upward to scatter the fringe of hair from her eyes. “Good thing subservience isnae required, else our Lady Lessons would be over before they’d begun.”
For the past three Sundays, Mrs. Baird—or Eleanora, as she’d encouraged Annie to call her—had kindly traveled from Inverness to MacPherson House to give Annie lessons in everything from tea pouring to letter writing. She’d shown Annie how to curtsy without losing her balance, how to prioritize guest greetings, how to set a table with the proper number of spoons, and how to plan entertainments that wouldn’t be spoiled by a wee bit of rain. She’d advised Annie on her hair and posture and speech. She’d explained the mysteries of polite conversation, offering such sage advice as, “If the topic is a body part ye’d ordinarily cover with clothing or a bodily function ye’d object to performin’ in the market square, best ye consider it unmentionable.” That ruled out so many things. But at least it was straightforward.
Annie appreciated straightforward. There were far too many rules. The jumble made her dizzy.
Mrs. Baird reached out to fuss with Annie’s hair in a motherly fashion. “Remember, ye might have a lower rank, but ye aren’t inferior. One day, ye’ll be a countess. Won’t that be grand?”
“Nah,” Annie said, her stomach churning. “I wouldnae say grand. Though I do thank ye for yer kindness, Mrs. Baird.”
“Eleanora,” she corrected again. “Or simply Nora, if ye like.”