“You cannae guess?”
She shook her head. “Not in my wildest dreams.”
“And if I remind you Scots are canny?”
“Not in my wildest Scottish dreams,” she amended, smiling. “Lady Clarice came here with a seemingly impeccable past. No one anywhere spoke poorly of her. Not even in London.”
“Did she ever return to Brighton in all those years?”
“No.” Melissa again shook her head. “She said the resort held too many sad memories.”
“No’ a lie,” he agreed, his eyes twinkling.
“You still haven’t answered me.”
He lifted a brow. “Will you believe me if I tell you the truth?”
“Of course.”
“Right, then.” He released her and stepped back, drew a long breath. “It was her. Our very own old Scottish woman her black boots and red plaid shoelaces.”
Melissa’s eyes rounded. “You can’t be serious?”
He nodded. “I am. ‘Tis true as I’m standing here.”
“But how?” She frowned, trying to understand. “Where did you see her?”
“Out on the bog at Hampstead Heath,” he told her. “I’d ridden away from Steckles’ Frogbottom and was about halfway back to the Spaniards Inn when I spotted an old, black-garbed woman hobbling along the side of the track. She was a good way ahead of me. It’d been raining and the ground was slick so I worried she’d slip and hurt herself. I spurred my horse, hurrying to catch up with her.
“She kept on, apparently not aware I was chasing her.” He paused to rub his chin. “It was the strangest thing. There I was racing after a tiny, slow-footed crone, and yet the distance between us didn’t diminish. I couldn’t figure that out, until-”
“You saw her boots’ laces?” Melissa guessed, the chills racing through her, telling her that was way of it.
“So it was, aye.” He lowered his hand, a look of wonder in his eyes. “A strong wind came up out of nowhere to tear at her skirts and – lo! – for a beat, I glimpsed her little black boots with the red plaid laces.”
“And then she disappeared?”
“She did.” He closed his eyes for a moment, shook his head. “In all honesty, she could have nipped off the path, vanishing into the mist. When the sudden wind settled, a thick bog mist rolled in out of nowhere. Such fog is frequent on the heath, so who knows? Either way, she was gone, and I did search for her.”
“But you didn’t find her?”
He shook his head. “No’ even her tracks in the mud along the edge of the road.”
“Oh, my.” Melissa shivered.
Lucian shrugged. “There are stranger things in this world than man can e’er explain, lass.”
“So it seems.” She rubbed her arms against the chills. “But how does seeing her have anything to do with my stepmother?”
“Therein lies the magic, sweetness.” He smoothed his knuckles down her cheek. “As I kept on through the ever-thickening mist, I felt the most persistent urge to turn back and question Steckles about your father and his wife. It was an overpowering sensation that only grew in intensity the farther I rode from Frogbottom.
“More than that,” he concluded, “once I started back, everything you heard simply ‘appeared’ in my mind. I just knew it all, and I did because I heard the crone’s voice telling me so.”
Melissa looked at him, not doubting a word. “Alan Steckles confirmed everything, didn’t he?”
“He did.”
“Oh, my…” She put a hand to her cheek. “Was there really a letter from my father?”
