“Then come with me in the morning, and we’ll take a look at George’s papers.”
This was all leading somewhere she wasn’t certain she had the courage to go. “There’s a difference between knowing that Ian suspected something and someone actually taking his life because of some investments.”
“So ye’d rather I sit on my arse and let things go on as they are? I cannae do that, Rebecca. I willnae.”
This would end up with him dead. Abruptly she knew it, as well as she knew anything. “I want to see proof,” she said, keeping her voice as level as she could. “I want something we could, if we needed to, present to the magistrate.”
“The magistrate,” he snarled. “Dunncraigh owns the courts.”
“No he doesn’t. Two years ago he was forced to payreparations to the Duke of Lattimer for attempting to devalue the Lattimer property. Through sabotage, according to the newspaper. Dunncraigh said that he’d decided not to contest the decision because it would only cost him more time and money, but as I consider it now, he seems to want things that other people own on a fairly regular basis.”
“Rebecca, if ye’re trying to make me change my course ye’re doing a poor job of it.”
“I’m trying to tell you that he doesn’t own the courts. And that he’s annoyed enough of his own people that some of them might be willing to listen to you.”
“The courts. Giving him over to someone else to judge doesnae sit well with me. I gave my word that I’d end him. Nae that I’d see he gets a fair trial and a chance to squirm out from under his actions.”
Of course it didn’t sit well with him. He saw and then he acted—whichwasa change from his youth, when he hadn’t bothered to find a reason or an explanation before he set his course. This Callum, well, of course he disliked the idea of courts and trials, but at least he hadn’t told her no. “I said I would help you once you convinced me. You’ve convinced me. His Grace—Dunncraigh—hurt… oh, heavens, killed, my husband.” She took a breath. “And yes. I also would like to know why he would do this. And I’d truly like to look him in the eye while he tells me.”
His grim smile unsettled her even further. “I’d wager I can arrange that for ye.” He turned onto his side, facing her. “But ye leave this to me. Ye’ve Margaret relying on ye. Stay well away from Stapp and Dunncraigh.”
Touching his cheek with her palm, she smiled. “I said I would help you, Callum. I’ve sat behind my walls and let the world go by as it chose for far too long.”
“Ye had every reason to do so, lass.”
She wanted to ask him what came next for them, what he thought tonight meant. For her it had been a release, the answer to a question she’d asked back before she’d truly known what her desire to be constantly around him meant. Since then she’d learned the futility of wishes, but she couldn’t help but make one more: she wanted Callum MacCreath to remain in her life.
How much of a life did he have remaining, though, if he went after Dunncraigh? Even if he succeeded in killing the bastard, the Maxwell headed a very large clan. How long would it be until some nephew or cousin decided that murdering the man who’d murdered their chief would elevate his own position? How long until she found herself alone again?
“Ye look very serious,” he murmured, sliding closer and kissing her again.
Flinging her arms around him, she kissed him back. Worry could wait until morning.
Chapter Eleven
“Ye’re certain of this?” Callum asked, knocking on the roof of the coach.
“I’m certain,” Rebecca answered, straightening her spine. “And stop asking me as if you think I’ll turn tail and flee.”
A delicious grin danced across his mouth. “I reckon I know ye better than that. But it did take three tries to get ye into that fine dress.”
She glanced down at the soft gray and black muslin. “Because you kept taking it off me.”
“Aye, and I’d do it again if the ride was longer.”
With a deep breath that trembled a little at the end, she pushed open the coach’s door herself when they rolled to a halt. If not for the nerves beating like bats in her chest, she would almost have thought herself still dreaming. Last night—and this morning—had been… a revelation. An exhausting, eye-opening, shivery revelation.
Once the driver flipped down the steps she emerged, fixing her black bonnet against the stiff morning breeze. How could the world feel so different today? The only circumstance that had truly altered was her ownknowledge. And now she’d agreed to help prove that the men on whom she’d most closely relied for the past horrid year were very likely the ones who’d put her in that situation in the first place.
All that left her thoughts again as Callum stepped to the ground. Two of her circumstances had altered since yesterday. And this one was… magnificent. He rolled his shoulders as if the coach had been too small to contain him, then offered his arm. Across the street Lord and Lady Hannick emerged from a shop, both of them stopping to ogle. Well, good. They wanted witnesses.
“Is that Molly MacKenzie?” Callum muttered.
Wrapping her hand around his forearm, she nodded. “Countess Hannick, now.” A thought occurred to her, and she hid an abrupt frown. “Did you know her?”
“I recall feathers, but that could be one of several things,” he returned. “I’m a wee bit hazy about most of that time.”
It was very likely he was lying, but she appreciated that he’d gone to the trouble of doing so. “Mm-hm.”
