Fiona nodded. “She reads and writes the letters. She doesn’t realize it, but she sends and receives all of the Dagger’s orders. I’m sure the spy knows as much.”
Miss Sollier must be the key, the only person in the chain of information who didn’t know her brother’s words must be kept secret. A conspirator by accident, for Alasdair couldn’t fathom her deliberately passing along information. Or… He looked Fiona up and down, assessing the likelihood she was a traitor. The simplest way to find out was to employ her.
“I will arrange to accompany Miss Sollier on an outing tomorrow morning. You will go ahead and scout our destination. If the spy is close to the family, they should already know where we’re going and may lurk in wait, so take care. If they’re not, they’ll follow, so be in position to see us arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” Fiona said eagerly. “But how are you so sure they’ll watch you, and where is your destination?”
The second was a good question. “They will watch us because I am an unknown and may be luring her somewhere for a purpose. If you didn’t know I was sent, and I arrived here as I have, wouldn’t you follow?”
Fiona nodded. “I would.”
“There is fishing nearby?” he asked.
To her credit, she hid her surprise almost too quickly for him to read it. “There is a bend on Abhainn Nis, where the water runs deep beside the park. Men fish there.”
He gave a sharp nod. “That will be our destination.”
“But how can you know you and Miss Sollier will go fishing tomorrow morning? I’ve never once seen her fish.”
“Whether the lady fishes or not, we’re going.” And Alex White had remained closeted with a maid for far too long already. “You have your orders.”
Fiona nodded. “I’ll leave that way.” She gestured toward the other end of the room. A massive tapestry depicting a long-ago battle adorned the far wall. He’d no doubt a servants’ door hid behind the thickly-woven fabric.
He nodded again. The door beside him opened. Alasdair raised his hands to his cravat and turned toward the sound as if startled.
Miss Sollier stared into the room with green eyes that rapidly shifted from wide surprise to narrow suspicion. “What is going on here?”
How those eyes flashed. He hid a smile, adopting a frustrated expression instead.
“This young lady was trying to tie my cravat for dinner.” He pawed at the starched cloth as he spoke, disheveling it before Miss Sollier could notice it had been tied. “Thought I could manage, you see, without my servants, but the damnable thing won’t—” He broke off into irritated muttering.
Miss Sollier looked to Fiona.
“I don’t know how to tie it, Miss,” the girl said. “I tried, but I think I only made it worse. My da doesnae wear a cravat.”
Miss Sollier closed her eyes in silent supplication. “Fiona, you’re needed in the dinner parlor.”
“Yes, Miss.” Fiona hurried toward the far end of the room. To her credit, she didn’t so much as glance at Alasdair.
“Stop that before you ruin it completely,” Miss Sollier ordered. She left the door open and moved to stand before him. She batted his hands away. “Stand still.”
Alasdair went still. With sure movements, she set to work on his bedraggled cravat. She’d changed for dinner and now wore an unfashionably high-necked gown, as if mere fabric could conceal her womanliness. Her gilded locks were pulled into a tight, unforgiving bun. Even in the dim light of the dining room, her skin was luminous, like the finest saltwater pearl.
She’d removed the sprig of jasmine, but the elusive scent, mingled with sweet citrus, lingered. He inhaled deeply, quietly, mindful she didn’t hear. It took a disturbing amount of will not to lean toward her. He was assailed by the desire to bury his face in her hair and drink in that scent.
“There,” she said as she stepped back. She raised still-suspicious eyes from his cravat to his face. “In the future, Mister White, please come to me with any such concerns. Do not closet yourself with our maids.”
“Closet?” He made a wide gesture, deliberately knocking his arm against one of the heavy oak chairs. It struck the table with a loud thunk. “This is the dining hall. I was waiting for everyone to come to dinner.”
“We’re not dining here,” Miss Sollier said. “There are but three of us.”
“Oh.” He affected a look of dismay. “I fancy this room. Like we’re kings of old.” He strode to a set of crossed swords. “Why, look at all this history. I don’t have anything like this at my home in Inverness.” He reached for a blade.
As he’d hoped, she jumped forward and grabbed his hand. If was unfair of him, perhaps even unwise, but he wished to see if her skin was as soft as it appeared.
It was softer.
He realized she wasn’t issuing a reprimand and looked down at her. Her cheeks were flushed. Her pulse fluttered in her slender neck. He slid his thumb along the back of her hand, captivated by those beguiling eyes.
