I shrug, my game face well and truly fixed in place. “I’ll survive.”
And so would she.
The meeting disbands after further plans are made. Two people are elected to be the ones to slip onto the castle property and plant the device which will explode remotely. I manage to look bored, disinterested, but every word is stored in my brain.
These people are amateur fools. Their attempt at assassination wouldn’t work even if nothing was done to stop them. Lachlan wouldn’t become king any time soon. Flawed plans would fail.
The house becomes silent. I know there are seven people left in it, including my sister and her lover and another man who joins them because one would never be enough for Majjie. I could’ve slipped something into their drinks or food, but there’s no need. They’ve drank enough to make sure they sleep well or will be otherwise occupied.
A boat leaves the island at two in the morning. A fishing boat that’s never well-manned and usually captained by a drunk whose wife has just left him. He sails near to Arran, a mile away from land, a difficult swim in cold waters but I’ve done worse and survived.
I have no phone, no money and no available means, but there have been harder tasks.
At one twenty, I slip out of a window on the first floor and crouch in shadows, the tall trees providing some cover and it’s a moonless night. Clouds smother the stars. The boat is docked, a few people lurking, smoking a cigarette. Someone drinks from a hip flask. The boat is the easy bit, hidden away where I can jump from, low to the water so I go undetected. It’s a cold night but one that’s going to bring me closer to Blair and Isaac. Closer to home.
It’s around five in the morning when I slide into the sea. Everything’s dark and it would be easy to lose myself, except sense of direction has always been a strength and I know which way to head. The cold numbs me instantly and I block out the lack of feeling, instead concentrating on the strokes I need to take, the feel of the tide, the pull of moon on the water.
If I die here and now in the sea, no one will know.
It’s a dangerous thought.
Blair
Present Day
Elise sits with her legs crossed at the ankles and her back ballerina straight. Her hair is neatly pleated at the back and there’s just enough make-up to make her look like an innocent silver screen goddess.
I’m a mess.
I haven’t worn make-up for two days and I can’t actually be certain about the last time I brushed my hair let alone washed it. I don’t care if she’s judging. She can judge and say all she likes.
“Do you think it’s true? William is convinced it is.”
I clutch my hands together and look at the tartan rug that is the centrepiece for the room. The fire burns; Franklyn has made sure I’m warm because I probably wouldn’t. I don’t feel cold anymore. I don’t really feel anything.
“When did you decide to lose your Scottish accent?”
Elise huffs at my words and rolls her eyes – I glance up just in time to see. She’s lost weight; some of the curves she carried have gone and I wonder exactly why.
“Do you believe what they’re saying? I mean, have you gone through the evidence?” She ignores my question.
“It’s irrelevant.”
“How is it irrelevant? He arranged the assassination of my fiancé and your brother? How can you say that this is irrelevant? The media have reported that the shooter disclosed to his guard Benjamin Smith gave him exact details of what to do, where to be and what time on the day. You’re too wrapped up in that man to see what’s in front of you.” She stands up and walks closer to the fire. “You need help, Blair. What you’re doing is self-destructive.”
The flames lick and pulse in the fireplace. The surround is Victorian, wrought iron, and industrial. It’s where we hung stockings when I was a girl, large Christmas stockings with garish pictures of Santa Claus and Christmas trees with eyes.
I can’t dismiss what she says.
“If Ben was involved in arranging Lennox’s death, then it doesn’t matter because he’s dead.” I don’t look at her. I can’t. I don’t want to see the victory on her face.
“So you admit that Ben was involved? William is convinced of it.”
I feel it building, the tightness, the pull of my patience and I know before it happens that I’m going to snap.
“William is a fucking piece of shit, Elise, who’s using you.” My words don’t have the vitriol I expected. They’re calm and measured, not like how I feel.
“How can you say that…”
