“I ken. Give me a moment.”
“Papa had to repair the binding all the time,” she chimed in. “Keep reading, if you please. You’re not even close to the ogre part, yet.”
Callum pulled his thumb free, opening the book to the back to try to push the binding back in place. Right at the edge, a smallCMwritten in black ink caught his attention.CM. For Callum MacCreath? It seemed far-fetched, especially if his brother had aimed it at him. Kentucky was nowhere near Inverness. And yet if Ian had repaired this book frequently… Glancing up at the sleepy face of his niece, he picked at the corner of thebinding. It lifted easily, revealing a small, folded piece of paper pressed against the leather cover.
God. Trying to stop the shaking of his fingers, he freed it and set the book onto the bed. “What is it?” Mags asked, clambering closer over the mountain of fluff.
“I dunnae have any idea,” he returned. “Did ye and yer da’ read any other books together?”
She shook her head, her loose, dark hair covering her blue eye. “No. I don’t think so. We always readMother Goose. Sometimes Mama read it with me, and Agnes once in a while, but mostly Papa.” Yawning again, she brushed her hair from her face.
And he was stalling. Shutting his eyes for a heartbeat, he opened them again and unfolded the missive. “Callum,” he read to himself, and his heart stammered again. “Callum, I hope if you’re reading this it’s because you’re here in Scotland and I showed it to you. If not, then I’m sorry. I should have listened to you. It began so slowly I didn’t even notice it, Dunncraigh tangling himself into the enterprise George and I began. Then I thought he was being helpful, or interested, or at worst, ambitious.
“Tonight I finally unraveled it. He’s been making large investments in our names, siphoning off profits to fund his own ventures. And now he’s hired solicitors—I’m not certain why, but I imagine it’s so he can wrench majority control from George. I have a ledger book, in the bottom drawer of my desk, where I noted several discrepancies. Find it, if you don’t already have custody. George and I need to meet and stop this.
“I hope again this is all old news to you, and we’ve already resolved it and are sharing a bottle of your Kentucky Hills whisky as I show this to you. I fear, though, that is not so and the trouble’s been dumped inyour lap. Keep my lasses safe, whatever comes. I know you will. And forgive me. Ian.”
“You don’t look very well,” Margaret said into the silence, startling him. “Are you going to be ill?”
“I might be,” he returned, standing. “Will ye go fetch Agnes and ask her to read with ye tonight, bug? I need a word with yer mama.”
“This is not how I like things, but very well,” the six-year-old said, and rolled off the bed. “Come along, pack.”
Armed with the half-disassembled book and with Waya and Reginald trotting behind her, she headed downstairs for the servants’ quarters. Pacing, Callum read the note again. He’d already searched the desk; no such ledger was there. The words swirled around him, accusations and apologies and worry and frustration. What if he’d read those letters Ian had sent him? Would he have known what his brother faced? Would he have had time to return home and prevent this disaster?
Growling, he left the room and strode up the hallway to the bedchamber Rebecca had taken for herself after he’d removed her from the master suite. Not bothering to knock, he shoved the door open and walked in, shutting it soundly behind him and turning the key which rested in the lock.
She sat up in bed, her blond hair disheveled and a sleeve of her night rail falling down one shoulder. “Callum? What—”
“I found it,” he interrupted, reminding himself that he needed to watch her—not because she looked lovely, but because if she had known any of this, he would see it in her face when she read the note. He held it out to her as he reached the side of the bed.
“You found what?” she asked, taking it. “Light a lamp, if you please.”
He did so, turning back in time to see her face drain of all color. Any guilt he felt at not preparing her for the note, though, he would keep to himself. It was more important—to him, and for Margaret—that he know for certain whether she’d had anything at all to do with Ian’s death. He more than suspected she hadn’t, but half of that was just as likely lust. Hewantedher to be innocent, because he wantedher.
“No,” she whispered, reading the missive. “No. It was an accident.” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “It was an accident! They were so kind to me, after…” She hurled the paper away from her, but it floated down to land on the foot of the bed. “It was an accident, Callum!”
Without thinking he sat on the bed, pulling her into his arms as she sobbed. He should have been kinder, gentler. For God’s sake, she’d fainted when he’d first walked into the house. If he hadn’t been so certain that because she’d broken his heart, she must have helped kill his brother, he would have seen that the losses of the past year had left her more fragile than he’d ever seen her.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered into her hair. “I’ve forgotten how to be kind.”
“No you haven’t,” she hiccupped between sobs. “You kept trying to tell me, and I wouldn’t listen. Where did you find this?”
“In the binding of thatMother Goosebook of Margaret’s. I found my initials in one corner and picked at it.”
She slumped against his chest. “Good heavens. He took that book from Margaret, just before he left.”
“Aye. So ye told me.”
“He knew it was her favorite. She would never part from it. When she left it behind earlier this week, Ithought I would have to send someone back for it, until Waya distracted her.”
“It was still a risky thing,” he commented, feeling her shoulders easing a little. “I reckon he wanted to keep ye safe, but needed to let someone else know.”
“He needed to letyouknow. Even after everything, he still trusted you. I should have, as well.”
“Becca, I didnae earn any trust. I should have read his damned letters. I might have—”
She straightened, putting a hand over his mouth. “Don’t do that to yourself, Callum. If you do, I’ll have to blame myself for being glad you were gone.”
