He watched her work for a moment, gathering his thoughts, letting the slide and clack of the shuttle and frame soothe him before he approached. He didn’t have much time and might never get another chance to speak with her. He dared not let the desperation within him show, not if he hoped to find out who had killed Netta and bring them to justice.
But after hearing what Meg had to say, he knew the odds were not in his favor. The murderer might well have died at Flodden, along with so many others.
“I’m looking for Annie?” he said softly, pitching his voice as a question to pose as little threat as possible.
The lass—young woman, really—whirled in her seat to face him. “Ach, ye startled me. I didna hear ye come in.”
He was a scout. Of course, she did not hear him come in. Not until he wanted her to be aware of his presence. “My apologies. I didna mean to interrupt yer work. But Meg sent me to ye.” He approached the loom and fingered the cloth forming on it. “Ye weave a tight pattern, Annie. Ye are Annie?”
“Aye, and thank ye. Ye’re one of the Lathans, aye? ’Tis my specialty. The better to keep off the rain, ye ken.”
“I do. ’Tis a useful skill ye have.” He pulled the comb from inside his shirt. “Meg said ye gave her this comb, and I would like to speak to the person who carved it. ’Tis the sort of work I’d like to make use of.”
But Annie was already shaking her head, eyes wide.
Jamie kept his expression placid. Did he see fear in her eyes? Did she know how the comb had come to MacGregor?
“I…I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I dinna ken.”
He covered the comb with his other hand, since the sight of it seemed to disturb her. “Meg recalled yer husband might have gifted it to ye. But if ye dinna ken, he must no’ be the carver. The work is extraordinary. Do ye have any idea—”
“Meg is mistaken,” Annie broke in. “My da gave it to me mum, years ago. She never liked it and never wore it, and so when she passed, I kept it for a bit, but one day Meggie needed something to keep her hair out of her eyes, so I gave it to her.”
Given the tension in her voice, she hadn’t kept it for long, Jamie thought. “Ye are a good friend. And yer da?”
Annie pursed her lips. “Gone. At Flodden.”
“Ach. Yer husband, too, Meg said. Both parents? I’m sorry for that. Then ye dinna ken where yer da got it?”
“Nay, but he often left the keep with the auld laird, so it couldha been anywhere.”
“What did he do, yer da?”
“Ah, ye wouldna ken that, being a guest. He was the auld laird’s hunting master.”
Bile rose in Jamie’s throat. Hunting, indeed. He swallowed and nodded amiably. “Really? That must’ve been quite a responsibility, caring for the laird and his sons on a hunt.”
“Nay, the two oldest, God rest their souls, were skilled, though that didna save them when they fought for the king. The present laird was a lad then—his da kept him close.” Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, as if she’d said too much, then fluttered back to her lap. “Always ready to charge into battle, that one. So they said.”
“Well, thank ye, Annie. I suppose I’ll never ken who did the carving. I mean this one as a gift for a lady, of course, but one never kens when more gifts will be required.”
“I’m sorry I couldna help ye.”
“But ye did, Annie. Please, go back to yer work. I willna disturb ye any longer.”
On the face of it, Jamie thought as he left her, Annie had been a dead end, yet in her words he found a link that seemed plausible. He’d wager Annie knew more than she’d said, but he didn’t think he needed more. The auld laird’s hunting master likely got the comb from the auld laird. In fact, he might have been on hand that day, either as an observer or a participant in Netta’s torture and death. And Alasdair surely was there.His da kept him close.Alasdair had not killed Jamie’s sister. But what he’d seen that day had taught him what he’d done with the tavern whores in St. Andrews. He’d bet a cask of MacKyrie’s best whisky on that. It explained why he was so rough with Caitrin. Neither time nor age had softened his aggression or his impulsiveness. He was as violent now as he’d been in his youth—perhaps more so. Still ready to charge into battle. Jamie had the proof in his shirt.
****
He made his way back to his chamber without incident and gathered his belongings. They’d kept most of the travel gear with the horses, so Jamie had little to conceal on his person. In moments, he was out the door. But something nagged at him. Was Caitrin truly on her way to the stables? He’d better make certain. When he saw Kyle still at her door, he frowned as disquiet sent a chill down his back.
“Has Lady MacGregor come to speak to Caitrin yet?”
“Aye, she’s in there now.”
Jamie breathed a sigh of relief and rapped on the door, then opened it without waiting for leave to do so.
Madeleine tucked something into a pocket of Caitrin’s dress while Caitrin reached for her travel cloak. “We’re ready,” Madeleine said. “By now, Fletcher will be in the hall, waiting for me.”
