“What makes you say that?”
Lachlan shrugged. “It’s always a woman when men seek my counsel. I’m glad you’ve sought me out though. I was on my way to come and speak with you.”
“Via the gaming pit?”
“Nothing wrong with teaching the youngsters we cronies can still play a game or two.” He lowered his voice. “Tongues are growing looser. Robin’s been letting his mouth off a little too loudly about the missing money.”
Jock swore under his breath. “He’s supposed to be investigating things quietly.”
“He’s threatened a few of the servants, told them to fess up or he’ll have them thrown in the dungeon.”
“Good God.”
“Aye, he’s not exactly subtle. He’ll find out nothing of use that way. I, on the other hand, have been making a few enquiries of my own.”
“And?”
“Buried in the bowels of the muniments room is something you should see for yourself.”
“Tell me. Enough with these riddles.”
“Your father’s signature is upon a deed of assignation. Dated only six months ago.”
“I dinnae believe you.”
“I told you, you need to see it for yourself.”
“To whom is it assigned?” Jock’s fists began to clench under the table. “Who’s conned my father in his dotage?”
“Robin.”
Jock shook his head. “There must be some mistake.”
Lachlan put his tankard down, leaning over the table. “It’s there in black and white. Robin has the legal rights to decide what happens to the entire clan fortune.”
“But my father is not in his right mind. He must not have known what he was signing. Not only that but he is no longer laird. His name is not enough in the eyes of the law.”
“It gets worse. Your signature is there beside his.”
“I have signed no document of that sort.”
“I thought you might say that. You ken what I’m going to say, don’t you?”
“A forgery.”
“Aye, that and you’re going to have to speak to your father. Make sure he hasn’t willingly signed away the clan’s fortune.”
Jock picked up his tankard and drained it in one go. As the ale flowed down his throat, he had a sudden urge to spit it onto the floor, the taste no better than ashes.
“What is Robin playing at?” he asked.
“Perhaps your father can answer that.”
Jock did not like the idea of having to ask his father about anything. Each conversation had been worse than the last for months. For a year his mind had been fading, his body weakening as his wife faded beside him.
It was hard to see the man who once ruled the clan with such strength marching slowly toward death. He would need to word his questions very carefully. The last thing the old man needed was more stress.
“Any word on where the money’s gone?” Jock asked, setting his empty tankard down on the table.
