That’s why the man appeared familiar. Looking from one MacKintosh to the other, Finn could see the vague resemblance.
“They’ve been trying to figure out how they’re related exactly.” A secret smile played on the woman’s lips as she, too, held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Brontë Hughes. Aila’s friend.”
Her accent was flat and foreign to him. Her forthright manner and bold gaze were not. “Aila’s friend from…?” He cocked his head with a quizzical look.
Her smile stretched into a grin. “Precisely. Finally told you, has she? I’m so glad. And so happy to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her eyes assessed him from head to toe. “She was right about you. Hot.”
“Och, lass,” Tris chided, and she laughed.
Finn had no idea at what. He wasn’t the least bit warm. “She spoke of me when she went back…home, I presume?”
Ian laughed. “It’s as though ye’re talking Greek. What did Aila tell ye, Finn? Did she leave to return to the distant land of the Orkneys?”
“It sounds Greek because ye’re blootered, my friend.” Finn clapped him on the shoulder in a far more friendly manner than he had Etteridge earlier. He’d wait for a sober moment to share what he’d found out. If he ever did. It would be a difficult story to sell. He looked back at Aila’s friend. “Have ye seen her about?”
“No, we were supposed to meet her in her room a while ago,” Brontë told him. “I will admit we got a little distracted by meeting Ian here. She’s got to be around somewhere.”
“Perhaps she took her beast for a walk then. She seems to enjoy doing so,” Ian said as he resumed his seat…and his drinking.
As with his greeting, his words were an echo of those he’d spoken earlier when Finn had similarly been looking for Aila. They made as much sense now as they had before. Had Rab needed to be taken out and he’d just missed her? Had it only been that morning? Finn found that hard to believe. The time since seemed like days instead of hours. Much had come to light since then and much had been explained. The presence of Aila’s friends had not.
“Why are ye here?” he asked Brontë as they sat. He positioned himself so that he would see Aila when she came in.
“We came to help distribute the medicine,” she told him then winced. “You know about all that, don’t you?”
“Aye, Aila told me. She said she’d brought medicine for my bairns as well?”
She nodded. “We’ve already taken it to them.”
“Good news. Thank ye, Mistress Hughes.”
“Please call me Brontë.” She was an engaging lass with a friendly open face and caring in her eyes. Aila had a good friend in her. “Anyway, that’s where we stumbled upon Ian here. We hit it off right away. I guess we should have come around to find you earlier. I wanted to make sure she had plenty of time to work things out with you. Did you?”
Tris chuckled at that. “Ye’ll need a bit of something to arm yerself with before my lass is done with ye, my friend. Drink?”
Not long ago, Finn had been desperate for one. Now he only wanted Aila. To see her, hold her. She’d said she’d be waiting for him when he returned. He wasn’t going to quibble over the needs of the dog versus his own. She’d be back soon.
“Aye, one while I wait for her.” Finn sipped the Scotch and watched the door.
“I can see you’re not going to answer that question. Let me ask another,” Brontë recalled his attention to the table. In truth, he hadn’t even registered a question in need of answering. “Was Aila able to discover anything at the mill? You know about that, I assume, since you’re aware of the medicine?”
“Aye, she told me the millstone had been poisoned.”
Ian looked up from his drink. “What’s this?”
“We thought as much.” Tris nodded. “Best burn it to the ground, I say. Better that than risk further effects.”
Finn didn’t disagree. He’d happily burn down the castle if that’s what it took to keep everyone safe. “She said ye had a suspect in the matter?”
“More of a suspicion.” Tris sipped from his glass with a grimace. “We figured once the treasure was exposed, confirmation would come soon enough. Aila thinks it was a man named Derne who’d been pestering the miller of late. Do ye know him?”
“Aye.” Finn scratched his jaw. “Truth is, I cannae see it. No’ that he isnae corrupt enough to unearth a treasure for his own gain. I can see that and more. The man’s an auld prick, but I cannae see him dirtying his hands like that. Alas, he’s far too high in the instep.”
“Poison is typically the weapon of those who dinnae want blood on their hands, would ye no’ agree?” Tris suggested.
He would allow that much. “Aye. Why no’ simply confront him?”
“If we can’t find the treasure and draw him out, we will,” Brontë told him. “Was Aila able to find where the key belonged?”
