Reluctantly she stepped up to the front of the carriage. “He was driving through the wind and rain, Callum. A tree branch might have hit him. Perhaps that’s what spooked the horses.” It made sense; something had caused this, after all.
“And did ye find any downed trees by the loch? Any broken branches?”
“No, but—”
“Answer me this, then. Where was he going in the dark and the wind and the rain in a phaeton? Why didnae he have himself driven in the closed coach?”
“I have no idea. He didn’t tell me. Perhaps he was in a hurry to meet my father.”
“Did he receive a note from yer father?”
She dug her fingers into the hard metal of the dash rail as she glared up at him. “No. At least Papa said he hadn’t sent anything to Ian that day. Perhaps he needed a new contract signed, or to go over some figures.”
“But he didnae have anything in his pockets, ye said. Did he leave with anything in his hands?”
“I’m going to begin throwing things at you,” she snapped. “Stop it. There isn’t anything to find. You’re looking for trouble to justify hating Dunncraigh, and there just isn’t any.”
Callum held her gaze. “Did he have anything in his hands when he left the house?” he repeated evenly. “Or did he drive out into the middle of the night for nae reason at all?”
Rebecca shut her eyes, trying to remember. It had been just any other night, up until the point that it hadn’t been. Yes, he’d been quiet, and a little short with his words, and he’d snapped at Margaret when she’d scampered into his office begging for him to read to her. Then he’d gone striding about, back and forth, opening and slamming his desk drawers, and then he’d shoved some papers into a leather pouch and—
“Yes,” she said aloud, opening her eyes again, to find Callum watching her intently. “He had a leather pouch with some papers in it. I didn’t see what they were, but he was… annoyed—upset—about something, to thepoint that he snatched Margaret’s favorite book away from her when she asked him to read it to her, when he did so regularly. That… surprised me. He put the pouch in his inside breast pocket. On the left.”
“And it wasnae with him when he was found the next morning.”
A chill, slow and dark, trailed down her spine. “I don’t recall anyone with it. The farmers, Mr. Landry and Mr. MacKendrik, were the ones who found the phaeton. They pulled him from the water.”
“I know them,” he returned. “Or I did. Good men, both of them.” He hopped down to the grass again.
“The papers might have simply floated away and sunk somewhere,” she proffered. “And he frequently found bits of his business annoying. You haven’t proven anything.”
“Nae. But it’s a start. I’ll find more. Enough to prove it to ye.”
“And to a court.”
Callum sent her another glance before he strode around to reclaim Jupiter, no doubt so he could call on Mr. Landry and Mr. MacKendrick. Rebecca felt another chill. She knew why he hadn’t replied to her. Because once he’d proven to her and to himself that Ian had been murdered, he didn’t mean to take his accusations to court.
Men had, on occasion, attempted to kill the Duke of Dunncraigh. He kept kinsmen about him at all times for just that reason; a man who burned out his own cotters had enemies. But none of those enemies had been Callum MacCreath. And she was very soon going to have to decide on whose side she wanted to stand.
Chapter Nine
Callum closed his satchel and fastened it, then did the same with the portmanteau he’d liberated from the attic. His luggage had doubled in a matter of ten days, despite his best efforts. He’d forgotten how many clothes being in Society required; Kentucky had been much simpler.
And here, at Geiry Hall, was simpler than Inverness. A good portion of him wanted to stay, to spend his days riding his land, watching his niece grow up, and figuring out what the devil lay between him and Rebecca. Something remained; he felt it every time she entered the room. And he wanted to know how far it went, where it might lead. All that, without knowing for certain he could trust her.
He felt that he could. Waya didn’t sense anything nefarious about his former sister-in-law. He couldn’t explain how she did it, but the wolf could smell a liar—and evidently they stank, because Waya didn’t like them anywhere near her.
Or perhaps hewantedto trust her, because he wanted her so badly he even dreamed about her at night, now. And he hadn’t done that in years. The—
“Uncle Callum,” Margaret said from the doorway, “I’m willing to return to MacCreath House, but I think Daffodil should come with us. I didn’t even have a chance to go riding more than two times, and that makes her very sad.”
“Yer mama told ye nae, I wager, and ye’re here now to twist me about yer wee finger,” he returned, grinning.
The lass pranced forward, flinging her arms about his waist and tilting her head back to give him a hopeful smile. “Please?”
“Good God, ye’re shameless.” And she was already the reason they’d stayed for three days longer than strictly necessary. Callum tapped the end of her nose with his forefinger. “Nae. But I’ll go riding with ye every morning the next time we come down here. And that’ll be soon. I swear it on Waya.”
“You aren’t supposed to swear, but very well. Can Waya at least sleep in my bedchamber with me at MacCreath House?”
