“Thank you,” Charity looked at him.
“Thank me by nae reading the thing alone next time if another arrives,” Malcolm said. “It’s easier to deal with when folk is speaking plain.”
“You can go now,” Duncan gave him a look.
“I was going anyway,” Malcolm replied, and then he left them.
The door shut, and Charity stood there with the letter in her hand and felt something difficult settle in her chest. It was shame and relief together. Shame that Duncan had to deal with this. Relief that he had chosen to tell her immediately and had not kept it from her in the name of protection.
She looked at him again, and the words came before she could overthink them.
“Thank you for telling me,” Charity said, and her voice was steadier now. “I know that sounds small compared to everything else, but it matters to me that you did not hide it.”
“I said I would not do that again if it concerned you directly.” Duncan looked at her for a moment and then nodded once.
“You were furious when you read it.”
“I am still furious,” Duncan said, and there was no effort to hide it. “He writes as if he still has the right to speak into your life, and I would like five minutes in a room with him to correct that impression.”
Charity should have been alarmed by the way he said it, but instead she felt a strange and immediate warmth low in her chest, followed by guilt for feeling it at all while holding a threatening letter.
“You should not have to deal with this,” Charity said quietly.
Duncan’s expression hardened again, but not at her. “I will deal with what comes to my door.”
She nodded, folded the letter carefully, and handed it back. “Then I am grateful.”
He took the letter, and his eyes stayed on her face for a second longer than necessary.
“Good. Is there anything in it that needs a formal reply through a solicitor?” Duncan asked, taking the letter back from her and unfolding it again on the desk, “or is he doing what he has done before and saying just enough to threaten you while leaving himself room to deny it later?”
Charity stepped closer to look at the page again, even though she had already read enough to feel sick of it.
“It is the same pattern as before, and that is what makes it so difficult to answer properly, since he is careful with the wording when he wants to be, and he knows exactly how far he can go without writing something openly actionable.”
“So he wants the effect of a threat without the inconvenience of being held to it,” Duncan said.
“Yes,” Charity said, “He wants me frightened and unsettled, I suppose.”
Duncan looked up at her then, and there was open anger in his expression.
“I have no intention of wasting time on his games, but I do intend to respond where it matters, and if he thinks he can keep writing into this house without consequence, he is mistaken.”
“What do you want me to do?” Charity swallowed and folded her hands together so he would not see them shake.
“For now, I want you to tell me whether there is any name, place, or detail in this one that is new,” Duncan said, tapping the page with one finger. “Anything at all that he has not mentioned before, even if it seems small, since small details are often the only useful part of letters like this.”
Charity read over the lines again, slower this time, forcing herself to focus.
“He mentions the wedding date more directly than he did before, and he refers to guests, which means he either knows the date already or is guessing based on what he has heard, and I do not know which is worse.”
“He knows enough, then, and that is enough for me to act on.”
He set the letter down and reached for another paper on the desk.
“I have already spoken to the steward,” Duncan said, and his tone shifted into practical command. “I want two men watching the road in the days before the wedding, not only at the gate but far enough out to see who is coming before they reach the house, and I want the gate instructions repeated so no one is admitted without being announced, no matter what name they give.”
Charity looked at him carefully. “You have already arranged all that?”
