His Lass Wears Tartan (10 page)

Rogue let out a clenched-teeth screech as Aunt Baillie popped up next to her. “Ya frightened the devil from me, Auntie.”

Everyone in the kitchen stopped to look at them.

“Nothing to see,” Aunt Baillie said, waving into the room. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you, Rogue, my bad.” She wrinkled her brows together. “Now what has got you two so jumpy? Marge, is everything all right? How can I help you?”

Grateful for her aunt’s presence, heart-stoppingly impulsive or not, Rogue wondered for a brief second how her aunt could remember everyone’s name with no problem. She caught Putney staring at them and tried keeping her face casual, her voice neutral. “Uh, Auntie, M-Marge here says her roommate is, uh, deceased.”

“Oh, Marge, are you sure? Sweet Miss Wallace? How awful for you.” Baillie wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulder.

“I was thinking maybe we should quietly go up and check for ourselves before we call the authorities or say anything to the others, Auntie.”

“Yes, good idea, Rogue. We don’t want panic unleashed.” She thought for a moment. “I know you don’t want to go back up there right now, but, Marge, I need you to help us for a few minutes more, answer a couple questions. All right?” The woman slumped her shoulders, leaning into Baillie’s embrace, and nodded.

The three slipped out of the kitchen, and Rogue led the way up the east wing stairs. They had put the two women together in the middle guest room, Marge being the younger in her fifties, the other closer to mid-sixties, if Rogue’s memory was correct. They had seemed quite compatible in the few times she’d noticed them together.

Rogue watched her aunt take the master keys out of her apron pocket and fumble a couple tries before unlocking the door. She stepped into the room first; the fireplace had only red embers of last night’s fire, but Marge had left the bedroom lights on. On the far side of the bed lay a large lump under the covers, facing away from the door.

Aunt Baillie walked around the king-size bed and bent down, putting her face close to the body.

“Is she really dead, Auntie?” Rogue whispered. Marge had her arm linked tightly inside hers. They watched Baillie move the covers away and place fingers on the woman’s neck.

“No pulse and her body’s cool. Poor Beatrice must have died quietly in her sleep.” Baillie pulled the sheet over the woman’s head. “I’ll call the inspector in town.” She picked up a dirty mug from the nightstand. After examining the inside, she took a sniff. “What’s this?”

Marge spoke up. “Some of the professor’s special soup. Beatrice had known Mr. Leatherton a long time, she said, so they stayed up talking late last night.”

Baillie set the cup down. “Rogue, take Marge into the kitchen and get her some tea and toast away from the others. I’ll have to let Jonathan and Mr. Leatherton know, of course, but not right this minute.”

As the solemn trio quietly filed out of the room, Baillie made sure the door was locked.

• • •

“Thank you, yes, I’ll let the staff know we’re expecting you soon.” Baillie hung up the office phone and stared out the window at the branches of the trees bending to a breeze.

Kai had kneaded his thumbs into Baillie’s stiff shoulders while she talked on the phone. Now that the conversation was over, he leaned down and placed his cool lips on her bare neck. “’Twas the woman’s time, sweet Annie. Dinna sound like there was anything you could have done to make her more comfortable.”

Leaning into his strong hands and soothing kisses, Baillie let go a long sigh. “Made me feel rather vulnerable seeing her lying there. The woman was, what, maybe ten years older than myself, if that? And now gone. And what about our own Putney and dear Robbie? They’re no spring chickens either. I can’t imagine life without them. I don’t want to think about the day those two aren’t with us anymore.”

A knock on the door made her sit up straight. “Please come in.”

Opening the door, Jonathan stood on the other side with an annoyed look on his face. “You wished to speak to me?”

A low-throated growl from Kai almost made Baillie grin, a horribly inappropriate response for the news she needed to say, and she nodded her head slightly. Her face tightened as Kai’s hands crushed her shoulders.

“Yes, please, come in and sit down, Jonathan. I know how busy your schedule is, but I’m sorry to say I have rather depressing news this morning.”

Jonathan checked out the antique chair on the other side of the desk, his hair neatly tucked into a man bun, and slid his body gracefully into the seat. Tugging on the cuffs of his unusually long jacket over his expensive white shirt, he stared directly at her, his blue eyes penetrating. “You are correct. I have a full schedule today, and one of our students is already late for class, which is completely unacceptable. Please get on with your announcement so I may take care of more pressing matters.”

Baillie inhaled sharply, whether due to the irritating tone of his voice or the sharp squeeze of Kai’s hands was hard to say. “I assure you this is not a petty matter. The student you refer to, Beatrice Wallace, has ample reason for her absence in class, sir. We found she has passed away in her sleep.” Jonathan blinked once, his face cold and otherwise motionless. “I’ve contacted the local constables, and they will be here directly. I shall leave it up to you in advising the rest of your students.” The silence in the office deafened her ears. The man sat like a wax figure in some museum. Not a flicker of response.

Baillie cleared her throat. “I am grateful the classroom is far enough away from the front of the castle; they should not be aware of the proceedings or be interrupted unless the officials feel it necessary to question her roommate, Marge. In which case, I will let you know.”

Jonathan half closed his eyes. “I doubt there will be anything to question. I don’t see where death by natural causes will be of any further concern to my people. The gossip-mongering Marge will fill in adequate details to the rest of the students, I’m sure, but with all respect, they do not need the distraction.”

A distraction? A flush of anger washed through her. This young man had no heart, no compassion for people. How could one be so callous, so empty of any sympathetic emotion for a fellow human being?

“That is everything you wished to tell me, I presume?” Jonathan stood and posed in front of her desk like a granite statue, with his nose in the air. “I will leave you with the duties of the coroner or whatever they have in this rural country. I expect someone on your staff to pack up her things for shipping back to her relatives with utmost discretion.” He reached for the door handle. “Oh, and be sure further meals are set up for one less person. There will be enough idle blather chewing through the group without tasteless gestures such as an empty chair staring them in the face.” A slight bow and the man tromped out the door.

“Distant little cuss, but maybe he’s dealing with a level of Asperger’s; we shouldn’t judge.” Baillie started then winced. “Kai, let go of my shoulders. You’re crushing me.” Once he released his hands, she stood and faced the kilted lord.

“The lad is monstrous, I tell ye.” Kai’s eyes flashed. “A fine woman is dead, and he shows no scrap of feeling, no innathing about it. Not one compassionate bone in his bloody, spineless body.”

Baillie gave herself a moment to lean against Kai’s chest, a cool haven as he wrapped his arms around her. She imagined his heart pounding under her ear from anger, but his ghostly shell held nothing but silence. “I know.” She looked up into his chiseled face, covered in stress lines. “Come with me. I need to be ready by the front door. I’d rather not have Robbie doing more than necessary with this. He’s such a good man, and Putney is going to need him solidly by her side for a while. There have been too many deaths in this castle during their lifetimes, poor things.”

• • •

The morning sun warmed his heart, if not the inside of the damp truck, as Bruce made his way to the castle. The professor’s soup had arrived on the early delivery, and he mourned missing the excuse of an extra delivery tonight. Maybe Putney could help out. He’d leave the expensive package in the kitchen. Then when he returned in the evening, maybe Putney could warm it up for him when his highness requested it. You’d think there was gold in the soup, Bruce chuckled to himself. At the prices the man was paying him, it might as well be gold in his own pocket.

Various cars and police vehicles were parked on the gravel driveway near the front entrance. He parked in his usual spot on the side next to the wooden bridge for kitchen entries. What could all the commotion be? Perhaps one of the students had finally gathered his or her courage and punched the professor in his wrinkled, rude face, or even that stuffed-shirt character Olson. He laughed out loud. “Would serve them right.”

Shaking his head, he walked to the back of the truck, where he found the handles loose and the doors nearly open.
I’ll be needing to get the latches fixed here soon on these bloody doors.
He’d be losing his delivery cargo one of these days. The extra money from the professor would definitely come in handy for the needed maintenance on his da’s truck. Gold was fleeting in his pocket.

Lifting a box of food supplies on his shoulder, he grabbed the FedEx box with his free hand and marched across the bridge. Stomping his muddy feet at the threshold, he opened the door and a blast of heated air slapped him in the face. Putney had the kitchen in full gear.

“Aye, there ya are, Bruce.” Putney wiped her damp hands on her apron and moved slowly toward him, her demeanor lackluster. Were they working the poor woman too hard? This hectic pace couldn’t be good for her health. “Such dire goings on today, it feels good to see ya making the delivery like normal.”

Bruce noticed her face was more flushed than usual, and he set everything on the counter. “Here now, that’s a fine greeting, but I did notice the traffic congestion out front.” He pulled a pencil out of his back pocket and his clipboard out of the box. Handing them both to Putney, her hands trembled when she took the items. “What is it has ya flustered so? Looks like half the town drove up here today.”

The story of the woman’s dead body rushed out of Putney like a broken dam, details and emotions hitting Bruce at full gale. “Is Rogue okay?” He scanned the busy area as the words slipped out before he could stop them.

“Aye, lad, she’s made of fine stock in handling responsibilities along with her aunt, but I’m still a little
udag
from it.”

A commotion coming from the hallway made Bruce and the cook turn sharply. Rogue glared at Jonathan as they stepped into the room and spat, “The authorities need to handle their business, sir. I will not allow you inside the room. The woman was a guest of our castle.”

“She is my client,” he retorted, his eyes practically flashing as he pointed a thin finger into the air. “I have every right to ensure the quality and safety of my writers by evaluating the scene of Miss Beatrice’s demise and seeing that adequate care is taken in packing her belongings.”

Bruce lunged toward the two, but Putney grabbed his shirtsleeves, her face set in a stonelike glare. “Let them be, lad. She can take him down a peg or two.”

Gripping the edges of her skirt with white knuckles, Rogue took in a deep breath. “If you have
any
questions or concerns about the safety of Castle Baillie, I suggest you wait until a copy of the police report is available, or discuss your concerns with the investigators when they are quite finished. And accusing my staff and myself of stealing the woman’s things is beyond insulting. You, sir, are not going in the room and that’s final.”

Bending down and bringing his face closer to hers, he said, “Fine, suit yourself, princess. We’ll let the authorities decide if there was negligence on your part in the death of such a well-known author. A cold room may very well have forced a heart attack.” He rose in a full, straight stance. “I have responsibilities to the rest of my writers and Mr. Leatherton.” His lips tight together, he spun around on his heels and left the kitchen.

Cook let go of Bruce’s sleeve, and he barged over to Rogue’s side. “I saw the cars outside and just heard the news from Putney. Are you all right?”

Bruce stared into her eyes, the dark pools of fury mixed with worry pulling him in deeper. He placed his hands on her arms, gently but firmly, noting she quivered like an arrow tight in a bow. What fire this woman unleashed at the idiot. This lass was made of spunk. Yet a confusing mixture of male ego and concern swirled through him, the need to protect. “Do not let that jackass cross you. You were in the right with what you told him.” Her head dropped onto his chest as she nodded. “Would you have me wait with you until the officials are finished?” He ushered her out of the kitchen, glancing back at Putney before they left. The nod from Cook let him know he was doing the right thing.

At the top of the stairs, Bruce followed Rogue to her aunt standing in the hallway.

“Rogue, Bruce, are you both doing okay?”

“Aunt Baillie, will it be much longer do you think? I’ve offered Marge my room to lie down and rest this afternoon should she need it.” Rogue put her hand on Baillie’s arm. Bruce watched her head flick back and forth from the activity in the room to her aunt.

“What a sweet thing to do.” Baillie leaned over and kissed the girl on her cheek. “I really don’t have a clue how long this will take, but it shouldn’t be much longer.” She looked at the young man. “And Bruce, how kind of you to keep our Rogue company this morning during such sad and stressful times.”

He felt his ears burn. “Not a problem, I, uh, have to wait for a break in the lessons to ensure Mr. Leatherton knows his package arrived early today.”

“Aw, yes, the infamous soup, such a brave or ignorant man, complaining about Cook’s food.” Baillie turned her head toward the room. “Though, oddly, I saw an empty cup in Beatrice’s room on the nightstand, showing dregs of soup. Marge said Beatrice told her she was a close friend of Leatherton’s and the two had stayed up most of the night talking.”

“Shouldn’t think the man would share his prized pricey potion, but then he does order it by the quart,” Bruce snorted, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. “I should be getting down toward the class and see if he’s available. Rogue, will ya be staying here with your aunt?”