Grace made an involuntary sound that was a cross between a squeak and a laugh. She lurched from the chair. “Please, help yourselves. My head… is aching.”
She fled the room. Halfway to her own chamber, she veered towards her father’s study. It would be hard for her to confront the place where he had spent much time, but the situation was dire. Grace locked the door behind her, afraid that she might be seen by Mr. Williams or Ethan. She had to confirm the facts on her own.
Grace knew that her father’s testament was hidden in a locked drawer, since he had told her about it in case she ever needed it. At the time, Grace had not liked the way her father talked about his death, but she could see now that he had just been looking out for her. The key was hidden inside her father's favorite book, the one he read to her before bed.
Grace’s heart sank as she read the will. In it, her father made it clear that his fortune and properties would be passed on to Grace’s husband after his death, emphasizing the need for her to marry soon so she would be taken care of. In case he died before the marriage, her inheritance would be administered by a man of his utmost trust, Mr. Williams. Grace knew about the will, but she never would have thought he had harbored such plans. She felt trapped by the situation and even worse knowing she would never be able to discuss it with her father. Grace forced herself not to cry again because she had to think clearly. She had to come up with a plan of her own.
In her room, Grace made a beeline to the chest of clothing in the corner, then the wardrobe. Her mind refused to fully understand what had just transpired among her and Ethan. Her father had loved her more than anyone else in the world, of that, she was beyond certain. So she could not understand why he would agree to give her hand in marriage without telling her.
With everything happening, a wedding was the least of her concerns. The killer pervaded her mind, leaving room for little else. Her father should have trusted her capabilities instead of giving her away in such a manner.
Weren’t her knees scraped and her hands calloused from all the training she had received from him? He taught her to be independent, to fight with a sword, ride hard and fast, and more than anything to have her own damned mind. He cherished every single breath she took. Her father’s doting was the very reason why she had to avenge his death. Grace was determined. She would devise a plan that would help her escape the wedding to find the killer.
The sky outside her window had gone dark by the time her attire was complete. She wore a white blouse with puffed sleeves and a wide neckline, a plaid corset, flaring out to a full blue skirt. Her hair was brushed out and cascaded down her back, in luxurious waves.
At a glance, she resembled a highlander lass. From all the books she’d read, blending into their culture would be… well it would have to be like a second skin, which was rather impossible. But she would do her best to fit in, until she found that bastard.Under the dark sky, Grace picked her way through the familiar grounds. As her feet led her toward the stables, Grace’s heart bled. Despite her conviction regarding this forlorn mission, she wept in silence for the home she was deserting.
She hoped her father would understandandforgive if he could see her. At the stables, she reached into her pocket, finding the carrot she’d hidden there. She fed her horse Minnie while keeping a look out for the stablemaster. At this time, he was usually passed out drunk, but one of the hands could come. After Minnie had chewed the last piece, Grace hurried to saddle her. She also hid the money she’d managed to pilfer.
She led her from the stall. Once the fresh air hit her face, a voice floated in with it. “Where are you going?”
Grace jumped, her spirit nearly fleeing from her body in fright. Ensuring that her bag was hidden atop Minnie, she turned to Harris. In the reflection of a full moon, his usual warm smile was missing. She’d grown up without biological siblings, but thanks to Harris she had never felt the absence.
How many times had she and Harris, Mr. William’s son, snuck around enjoying a fun childhood, playing outside with the horses? They had grown up like siblings and yet, she could not count on his help this time.
“Oh bollocks! Harris, you gave me a good fright. Out for a ride, what else? Why areyouskulking about? B-back from the station already?”
“My father was worried you’d do something rash.” He looked at her horse, then her odd dress. “Appears he was right.”
“Well, he’s wrong. Did he tell you about the will? I’m to be married to Mr. Smith,” she rushed on without waiting for his reply. “I just need some air. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Concern flickered in his gaze, “I could come with you.”
“Please,” Grace scoffed, waving her arm. “I have a steadier hand than you. I’m fine. Be back before you know it.” She stepped on the saddle and heaved herself up to the seat.
“I just let you think that you have a steadier hand than mine.” He cocked his head to the side, scanning her appearance closely. “Grace, what are you wearing then?” Exasperation filling his voice.
Grace reddened. He might really follow and in turn foil her plans. “My father just died. I don’t want pitying glances and attention. This perfectly conceals who I am.” She forced a jolly tone. “Don’t you think?” She jiggled her shoulders. A hesitant smile lifted Harris’s thin lips. He took a step back.
He nodded once, “In that case, I will wait here until your return. Please don’t be late or I would be forced to follow you.”
Relief flooded Grace as she took a last glance at her dearest friend. She flashed a smile then gave Minnie a light kick. She rode hard into the field separating her home from the road. In afew minutes, it was swallowed by the woods surrounding it. She had one goal. To avenge her father’s death.
CHAPTER TWO
“Ican walk, goddammit!” Craig snapped, attempting to shrug out of Duncan’s hold. “Only me arm’s wounded. Ye dinnae have tae carry me!”
Duncan ignored his complaints and casually tightened his hold. Craig’s right arm was held up with a cloth which was hung over his neck. A few hours ago, this stubborn goat had been surrounded by three English soldiers. Beyond exhausted from an earlier attack, Craig could hardly fend them off.
“Then ye shouldnae have stood there tae fight,” Duncan grunted. Craig made another attempt at escape by tugging his arms.
“I won, dinnae I?” he growled. Duncan felt him relax and followed suit. In all truth, such horror had struck him when he had seen Craig was on the ground, barely capable of speaking as the three English men fled . Hours had passed but Duncan was still assailed by the image.
“Within an inch of yer stupid life. If I’d nae arrived, they wouldnae have fled.”
“Ye should let me go, if yer jus’ goin’ tae cuss.”
“Foolish man. Stop naggin’.” Duncan said, with a ghost of a smile tinging his lips. Craig grunted something that sounded like a curse. A sidelong glance at him told Duncan the man was far from recovered. His face was whiter than snow. When he was not speaking, his teeth were clamped, the hand Duncan grasped was clenched into a tight fist. He was clinging on with the dignity of a warrior.
