“There is no physical evidence of what I claim.”
But there is.
The letter Duncan had mentioned must be somewhere in the castle. Adair had been the one to clear his father’s desks. He had sifted only through the documents that looked important and then stored the rest in a folder in the library. It would take time to find it—damn ye, Fergus—but if the folder was still there, he would find it.
Then there was Malcolm Scott. Malcolm could be triggered. If the right buttons were pushed, he would admit to his crimes.
Adair knew just how to do that.
He slid another blank sheet across the desk. “Write a letter to yer faither. I shall tell ye the exact words.”
17
“Good mornin’, me Laird,” Emily heard Mrs. Donnelly greet with a curtsy and turned her head to check if Adair had come to see her in the Great Hall.
Seeing the unfamiliar face staring at her in shock, she furrowed her brow. But then understanding clicked. He must be Laird Scott, Lady Isla’s father.
“Forgive me manners, me Laird,” she said, rising to her feet. “I didnae recognize ye sooner.” She hiked up her skirts and curtsied.
When he remained silent, she tried not to let her unease show.
“Who…” He cleared his throat. “Who are ye?”
“She is the Laird’s betrothed, me Laird,” Mrs. Donnelly answered. “Laird Scott, may I present Lady Emily?”
Emily curtsied again, but when she looked at the Laird, his face had gone pale.
“Is everything alright, me Laird?” she asked.
“Aye,” he answered, clearing his throat. “I am well. I just—” He broke off when Elize bumped into him from behind. He stumbled but caught himself in time.
“Forgive me, me Laird,” she offered.
“Elize, why are ye so clumsy!” Emily chided, rushing to her side. “Do forgive me sister, me Laird. Apologize properly, Elize.”
“Pardon me, me Laird,” Elize muttered, looking somewhat repentant. “I was in too much of a hurry.”
Laird Scott looked even more shocked, sweat beading on his forehead. His eyes darted between them, and Emily stepped forward in a bid to steady him, but he stopped her with a raised hand.
“Mrs. Donnelly, please, can ye help the Laird?” she instructed worriedly.
It wouldn’t look good if she didn’t at least attempt to help him when he looked ill. Perhaps he had caught a chill on the ride to the castle.
“Aye, me Lady,” Mrs. Donnelly said, stepping forward.
“There is no need,” Laird Scott insisted. “I just need some air, and I will be fine. If ye will excuse me.”
With that, he turned on his heel and bolted out of the Great Hall.
Emily’s face creased with worry. What if she had offended him and he reported her conduct to Adair? She didn’t want to disappoint Adair, not when he had been so kind to her.
She turned to Elize with a frown on her face. “What was so important that ye had to run?” she asked. “I certainly hope ye havenae offended Laird Scott. I need to find him now so I can apologize again.”
“Daenae worry, me Lady,” Mrs. Donnelly interjected. “I am sure he hasnae taken offense.”
“I surely hope so,” Emily sighed. “I must find a way to appease him.”
“Daeanae fret,” Mrs. Donnelly assured her. “I will go see if I can talk to his men and find out what he likes to have for supper.”
