The sound of my name, then a strong grip on my arm pulled me back from the horror of that memory.
Munro cursed. “Are ye all right?”
His strong hand closed around my cold one. And then a somewhat less brilliant comment.
“Ye should have worn a coat.”
I heard the disapproval in his voice and would have told him to leave off, if not for the tightness at my throat. The cold inside me had nothing to do with the weather.
“We are finished here,” he announced and waved down a coachman.
He gave the driver instructions, then climbed inside. As we departed, I could have sworn that I glimpsed the shadow of a crow as it suddenly winged over the top of the coach.
“Ye’ve no more sense than a wayward chit!”I was certain he would say as much, as I had heard it before. Still, the coach was oddly silent except for the sounds from the street as the driver set off.
Munro reached across the aisle and took hold of my hand. “Ye’ve bloodied yerself.”
I frowned as I opened my clenched fist and discovered that I had cut my hand, no doubt from holding the charm so tight.
“Do ye have a cloth? A handkerchief?”
I slowly shook my head. Something else I did not have. He would undoubtedly lecture me over that as well.
We had been at odds for some time. He had a habit of being overbearing, as if I was no more than a carefree child.
Was I ever, I thought now?
I braced myself for the criticism, perhaps even a lecture. Surprisingly, there was none, although the frown of disapproval was there as he simply replied, “Aye.”
He untied his black neck scarf, folded it, then wrapped it about my hand. When he had finished binding it, I pulled my hand from his.
“We must go back,” I informed him. “Arrangements must be made.”
Although, I had no idea what that might include. A casket, headstone, burial...obviously. Could that be taken care of through the police? Or possibly a private mortuary?
I refused to leave Dory lying there, wrapped in a sheet, and then...
I’d heard stories about what happened to unclaimed bodies years before from the ladies atThe Church. They made a joke of it with comments about being found naked sitting at a bench at the park, or propped up dead as a gutter rat at the gates of Greyfriar’s kirkyard.
“Please tell the driver to return,” I insisted.
“It’s been taken care of,” Munro replied as the coach slowed, then stopped, and the driver called down and announced that we had arrived at the destination he’d given him.
“I don’t understand...”
“It has been taken care of,” Munro repeated. “Ye can attend to the specific details later as best suits ye.”
He opened the door of the coach and stepped down, then held out a hand to me. I reluctantly accepted it.
That dark blue gaze briefly met mine.
“There was no need for argument over the matter that would surely have occurred in front of the surgeon and Inspector Landry.”
He paid the driver, then escorted me across the cobbled street into the warmth of Tollbooth Tavern. Then to a table and motioned to the woman who delivered drinks to customers, even though it was barely past morning.
“Mr. Munro,” she greeted him with a friendly smile. “Wot brings ye back so soon? Business, is it? I’ll let Mr. Eaves know that yer here,” she added with a jerk of her chin toward the man behind the bar.
“No business today, Sorcha.” He looked over at me.
