Page 94 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

“And yer sure that Marcas here is the killer,” the laird’s hazel-colored eyes scanned their faces intently.

“Absolutely,” spoke Neacal, stepping forwards. He proffered the laird the letter and also the vial from his pocket.

He was about to press forward the silver sgian dubh which had been discovered at Marcas’s house, but at the last minute, held back, unsure how to present such a weapon to the laird.

“What’s this?” the laird asked, unfurling the paper. Teasag and Neacal watched carefully as he read through the note—quite slowly— and then frowned.

“So, he killed them to set ye up, an’ profit from their deaths,” he said. “But wi’ the last one, Duncan, it turns out that he was killed because…?”

The laird’s voice trailed off as he studied the letter again. The note the spy had written to Marcas had proven to be a useful source of information.

But the last revelation, about Duncan’s death, had been most surprising.

“Because he discovered what Marcas had done,” prompted Neacal, patiently. “Discovered or guessed… an’ his spy, Ruaidhrí, found out where he was for Marcas to strike…”

“That’s when we think he was poisoned, an’ perhaps there was a struggle as well,” added Teasag. “Because no-one can understand how he drowned otherwise…”

“I see, an’ where is this Ruaidhrí named in the letter?” the laird asked, abrasively.

From behind, the guards holding Marcas struggled with their captive. All this time, he had been subdued, shackled, and blindfolded by the laird’s men. Now, for the first time, he tried to break through his muffle and speak.

“Ye cannae believe anything this man says. He’s a killer!” he hissed. And then, he came eye to eye with Neacal. “An’ that sniveling wretch Ruaidhrí kens it. That’s why he chose to help me…Ye slew my brother!” Marcas spat the words out, as if they were poison, his eyes flashing hotly at Neacal. “

For half a moment, Teasag felt sorry for him. Then she remembered.

“Guards take him away an’ teach him civility!” thundered the laird, his booming voice cutting across the chambers of the castle and echoing all around.

Teasag watched, breathlessly, as Marcas was dragged away, snarling and kicking. Inside, her heart quickened in pace.

As ever, Neacal was not far from her side. Ever since they had left Marcas’s house, he had not left her.

Anxiously, Teasag watched his eyes. Neacal’s hand caressed her own, sending an unexpected bolt all the way through her. Inside, she physically buzzed from his touch.

The laird cleared his throat, reminding them both that he had asked a question.

“An’ Ruaidhrí?”

Getting back to the laird’s question, Neacal stepped forwards.

“We dinnae ken, the last thing we kent was he had left,” he said simply.

Inside, Teasag burned. Although she had barely known Ruaidhrí, his betrayal stung.

“I couldnae help but wonder how Marcas kent to find Duncan at the lake that day,” said Neacal slowly, as if he was sharing her thought. “Then, when we found this, it all made sense…”

He trailed off thoughtfully, and then, after an eternity of seeming to think about it, lifted the sword to the laird. “I also found this in Marcas’s home,” he said, solemnly presenting the sgian dubh. “Duncan’s…”

“I ken what it is,” said the laird, taking the silver sword and inspecting it carefully. “I gave it to him!”

Neacal glanced at Teasag in a manner that told her he hadn’t been expecting that.

Then, there was a tense silence as the laird lapsed into thoughtfulness. For what felt like ages, neither of them dared think what was going to happen.

Tentatively, Teasag glanced at Neacal, her anxious mind racing about what was going to happen.

“Hm,” mused the laird. Inside, Teasag felt the knotty twists of anxiety form in her stomach. Brodie was not known for his decisiveness.

Neacal clenched the inside of her palm and smiled. Teasag looked at him in wonder. Coming to the laird’s castle had been taking a chance. There were still no guarantees that he would believe him, much less let him go.