“It makes me wonder,” she said, not certain she should say anything that could potentially make him even angrier. “Has anything that’s ever gone wrong here been an accident?”
“That’s a very good question, Fiona. I have several others, myself.” Gabriel looked around the clearing, at the dozens of people, mostly men now, who stood surveying what little remained of the mill and attached cottage. “I want to take a quick look here, before anything can be moved. Or removed.”
“If it makes a difference, Niall said the sound of a shot woke them up in time for them to escape the hoose.”
“It makes a difference if our arsonist wanted mayhem but balked at murder.” He tilted his head, his expression easing as he gazed at her. “Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” he murmured.
“I ken I do,” she returned, doing her best not to smile in the midst of the destruction, “because I’m near to tackling ye to the ground and having my way with ye. Ye look very fine with yer shirt untucked and soot smudged on yer face.”
His brief, precise smile made her forget how tired, cold, and dirty she was. When he reached out and hooked her forefinger with his, she didn’t even care if anyone else saw them.
“I love you, Fiona Blackstock,” he said quietly, then released her hand to return to the smoking pile of timber and stone.
For a long moment she simply stood there, seeing her own breath as she exhaled in the dawn light. Whoever had said words had less impact than sticks or rocks had no idea. This morning she could fly. All she needed to do was jump, and her feet would never touch the ground again.He loved her. It didn’t matter whether that altered anything or not, because in her heart it changed everything.
“Are ye ready to head back, Miss Fiona?” Oscar Ritchie asked, as he walked up to her. “I reckon Niall’s bairns could use some breakfast.”
She shook herself. Contemplating everything those three words meant to her could wait for a more opportune moment. Four of her kinsmen had just lost both their home and their means of earning a living. “Aye. I could use some of the duke’s American coffee, myself. I reckon he could part with two cups, if ye’ll join me.”
The head groom grinned, then dropped the expression as they reached the wagon where the Garretsons waited. “Aye, miss,” he returned, handing her up and then clambering onto the seat beside her. “Ye’ve persuaded me, if ye think the laird willnae mind.”
Oh, she didn’t think he would mind at all. And as for him being convinced that no one would ever see him as the laird of MacKittrick, he wouldn’t mind being wrong about that, either. It made for an unexpectedly fine morning despite the troubles of the night, at least as far as she was concerned.
***
Gabriel stomped into the house, trying to get the last of the soot and mud off his shoes so he wouldn’t track it through Lattimer. Fleming had found time to dress in his proper livery, though the dark circles under the butler’s eyes told their own tale of a sleepless night.
“We found two adjoining bedchambers fer Niall and Mrs. Garretson and the wee lasses,” the butler said, taking Gabriel’s filthy coat with two careful fingers. The rest of him likely reeked of smoke, as well. Apparently he could be as hard on civilian clothes as he could his uniform. “Those girls said they’d nae seen such a grand bed in all their lives.”
“Make certain they have whatever they need,” Gabriel returned. “No one unexpected came calling while we were away?”
“Nae, m’laird.”
“Good.” As much as he wanted a hint or two about who might be sabotaging Lattimer, they’d had enough damned excitement for one day. “Where’s Miss Blackstock?”
“In her office. She asked to see ye after ye had a chance to eat and clean yerself up.”
“Thank you, Fleming.”
Eating and changing his clothes could wait. Trudging up the stairs, he pushed the half-closed office door open. She sat at the desk with an open ledger beside her as she scribbled madly on another sheet of paper. She’d bathed and changed into clean clothes, but had left her hair down but for a loose ribbon holding the mass back from her face. It was quite possibly the most enchanting sight he’d ever seen. That in itself proved either that he’d gone mad, or that he was in love. And he’d told her so. Seeing her at the mill with her singed dess and the wreckage all around them, not telling her how he felt would have been absurd.
The scent of coffee touched him, and he narrowed one eye. “That smells suspiciously like my coffee,” he said aloud, indicating the cup at her elbow.
Fiona looked up. “However can ye tell, over the smoke smell ye’ve got aboot ye?”
“A man can tell.” Wearily he sank down onto one of the straight-backed chairs opposite her. Sitting seemed like something he hadn’t done in a year.
“Then I confess. Itiscoffee,” she returned, setting down the pencil. “And I offered Oscar a cup, as well. He blessed ye fer it.”
“Well, I can always use a blessing.”
She eyed him for a moment, then picked up the pencil again and began doodling. “Did ye find anything?”
“Kelgrove and I poked through the mill’s ruins as best we could, with it still smoking. I could smell a trace of kerosene, but there was no sign of a lamp, broken or otherwise.”
Her lips pressed together tightly enough to turn them white. “Niall’s been running that mill fer fifteen years,” she returned. “I’ve nae known him to be careless aboot it.”
“At this point I would be happy to hear that itwasan accident,” he returned, dragging a hand through his hair.
