Robbie gave him a direct look, the topic not comfortable for either of them but needing to be addressed. “Whatever convinced Julia that you murdered her father came from Therese Gibbons. My wife mentioned it but wouldn’t elaborate.”
“Therese has been particularly friendly toward Julia this past year. I thought it was just because she was trying to ease her loss and give comfort.”
Robbie doubted that—more like she was trying to manipulate the situation to suit her plan. He said coolly, “My guess is that once she discovered Randal would never marry her, the lady was forced to adjust her focus, and you became her new target. The trouble was, you stood to inherit if your cousin also turned up dead, but you were already engaged to Julia. Therefore she needed to discredit you in the eyes of your fiancée, and she apparently succeeded very well. Whatever the evidence is, Julia will not say, at a guess because she holds enough affection for you still that she does not care to see you hang.”
Shoving a shaking hand into his thick hair, Cameron snarled his response. “If what you say is true, I’ll kill Therese with my bare hands.”
“I doubt we have enough evidence for a magistrate to actually consider arresting either of them,” Robbie mused, rubbing his jaw.
“Randal is still missing,” Hexham said bitterly, his expression bleak. “If they killed him, I want to know where his body is to at least give him a decent burial.”
“It would help Julia, also, to know what happened,” Robbie agreed.
Adain said in terse decisiveness, “Maybe the best course is for me to talk to Edward. He is not an assertive man and will probably break under direct accusation, if done properly, with my sword at his throat.”
John Hexham jumped to his feet. “I’ll go with you.”
If there was one thing Robbie preferred it was action over patience. “We’ll all go. Let’s not forget that one man is dead and another most likely murdered as well. If we want to intimidate the earl into a confession, the more of us the better.”
Adain gave a brusque nod. “It will take us two hours. Let’s ride.”
Chapter 8
J
ulia picked at her meal, too restless to have an appetite. Her husband’s impetuous departure with her cousin and Randal’s friend was disturbing, since all three men had jumped on their horses and left without warning. It had been almost dark, which certainly seemed an odd time to leave, and Robbie had explained nothing beyond giving a quick promise that he would be back before dawn.
They’d been armed, and certainly not lighthearted.
What the devil is going on?
Toying with her wineglass, she frowned.
“That scowl does nothing for your pretty face.” Mrs. Dunbar chuckled as she bustled into the dining room, shaking her head and clucking her tongue. “As a new bride I suppose you are allowed to miss your husband, but face it, lassie, it has only been a few hours.”
“I don’t miss him,” Julia protested, biting her lower lip. “I’m just curious about where they all went in such a hurry.”
“Robert McCray isn’t a man to explain his actions, as far as I can tell. That bonny lad is a law unto himself.”
The fond look in the older woman’s eyes was inexplicably irritating. “You certainly seem to have fallen under his spell quickly enough,” Julia muttered.
“I like a man who knows how to smile at a woman and look like he means it.” The housekeeper gave Julia’s uneaten food a knowing look. “And I’m not the only one under the spell of young Robbie. Whyever you went haring off to Edinburgh to marry a stranger, it’s a fact that you didn’t make a bad decision. Though Adain loves you, the truth is, he’s not the right man for you. Ever since you were a little girl, there’s been a taste for adventure in your nature. Robbie McCray will be an adventure your whole life. And not just in the bedroom,” she added with a twinkle of amusement, “should the two of you ever choose to leave it for more than a few minutes.”
Julia felt a blush climb up her neck to heat her cheeks. “That’s his fault.”
“Is it? A girl should have such troubles.” Whisking away the full plate, Mrs. Dunbar left the room.
As she sipped her wine, Julia couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it was true—if tragedy had never struck and she had married Adain as planned, would she have been discontented?
“My lady? This just came for you.”
She saw one of the maids holding a small folded piece of vellum. “Thank you, Cilla.” Taking it, she cracked the plain seal and quickly read the contents.
A feeling of dread pooled in the pit of her stomach, making her glad she hadn’t eaten her dinner. She got to her feet with alacrity, tossed aside her napkin, and told the waiting girl, “I’m going out for a short walk. Tell Mrs. Dunbar I’ll be back in a little while.”
Edward Gibbons wiped his nose with the back of his hand, his pale face beaded with sweat. Though he stank of cheap wine, he’d sobered up with remarkable haste when the three of them had burst into his house and interrupted his dinner—which looked decidedly unappetizing, Robbie decided sardonically, so perhaps they were doing him a favor.
The Earl of Larkin cowered in his chair and didn’t even bother to ask them for an explanation for why they had barged into his house, a fact that was both damning and chilling. “It was Therese’s idea,” he said in a wobbly voice. “By God, Adain, you’ve known me all your life. I despise violence.”
Both hands on the table, Robbie leaned forward deliberately. “I don’t. So unless you want to test me, Gibbons, keep talking. Spilling your blood holds definite appeal at this moment. Why waste a magistrate’s time when I could administer justice myself and save us all the trouble of a trial?”
Edward’s watery eyes widened and he whined, “I have no quarrel with you, McCray.”
Adain Cameron’s silver eyes were bleak with betrayal. “How could you kill Rufus and Randal, Edward? They were fine men and your friends. By God, I defended you when McCray first suggested you and Therese could be involved!”
“I didn’t kill Randal.
She
did.” The protest was petulant, like a sullen child who was not actually repentant over the act, but more over being caught.
Robbie pulled Gibbons up by his stained shirtfront, half lifting him from the chair, not bothering to hide the disgust in his expression. “If you admit to strangling an old man, you sniveling bit of refuse, you aren’t any better than your scheming, amoral sister.”
“She made me!” Edward shrieked the words, squirming to get free. “She’s insane . . . always babbling about Castle Cameron and how unfair it is that we were left this house and not something grander. She covets your fortune”—he shot Adain a desperate look—“and means to have it by fair means or foul. If Randal had just agreed to marry her, he would still be alive.”
“You bastard.” John Hexham said it without hiding his raw emotion, his thin face ashen. “What did she do to him? Where is he?”
When Edward didn’t answer at once, Robbie gave him an encouraging shake.
Gibbons gasped. “McCray . . . you’re half a head taller than me and stones heavier—”
“Don’t forget damned furious and repulsed by being this close to you, you damnable coward.” Robbie made his tone as lethal as possible. “I’d squash you like an insect and not blink an eye, Larkin, so answer the man’s question. Now.”
“The cliff!” Edward babbled out the confession. “She followed Randal to the cliff by the loch, where he liked to sit and write his wretched poetry. There she pushed him off, right onto the rocks below. The water must have taken his body, because I went the next day and it was gone.”
“No.” John Hexham said the word as a single protest of pain.
“Damn you to hell, Edward.” Adain also looked sick at heart, his face reflecting sorrow and lost hope. “He never hurt anyone in his life. Why didn’t you stop her?”
“I couldn’t. . . . She’s out of control. Anyone with an ounce of sense is afraid to cross her; ask the servants.” A low sob escaped the earl’s throat, tears beginning to stream down his unshaven cheeks. “It’s getting worse. . . . Now she wants to kill Julia. I pleaded with her to abandon the notion, knowing we would eventually be suspected if she follows this mad course, but she is determined.”
Robbie felt as if someone had slapped him across the face. “What?” he hissed, tightening his grip and lifting Gibbons completely free of the chair. “Kill Julia? Why?”
“She’s envious and afraid Adain will not forget her easily. If Julia is out of the way, she speculates it will be easier to capture his attention.”
Adain shared Robbie’s sudden fear. It was evident in his voice when he asked hoarsely, “Where is she, Edward? Where’s Therese now?”
“The cliff.” Dangling helplessly in Robbie’s grip, the earl sniffled. “It worked so well with Randal, she said she was going to lure Julia to the cliff.”
Thin moonlight helped illuminate the grassy slope, giving the landscape a surreal feel. The night was warm for the time of year, which was pleasant, but that special tang that came only in autumn filled the air. Julia walked with purpose, finding that her heart beat rapidly in both excitement and apprehension.
Meet me at Loch Cam in an hour and tell no one about this. I’m frightened for you—you may be in danger. You do not know whom you can trust. I know what happened to your brother.
It was foolish, perhaps, to go meet the mysterious person who had written the note, but since both Adain and Robbie were gone, she had little choice, she reminded herself. If she ignored it, and ignored the warning to keep it to herself, would she lose the only opportunity that had surfaced in the past year to learn about Randal’s disappearance?
Casting an uneasy glance at the shadowed woods to her left, Julia skirted a small knoll and started up the path to the top, where there was a glorious view of the water.
Randal had loved it here.
He had been a friend as well as a brother, and she missed him terribly.
The breeze was soft as she neared the rocky summit over the lake, tugging at her hair.
“You came.” The voice from nearby made Julia nearly trip over her own feet.
Casting around, she stopped, and felt sudden relief as Therese stepped into view from a shadowed niche between two boulders. Julia’s hand went to her heart and she gasped. “Good heavens, you scared me nigh unto death. What are you doing here? Did you also get a note?”
Clad in a dark cloak, her friend incongruously carried a pistol, which she extended in front of her body. Therese said coolly, “Get a note? Like the one I sent you?”
Julia shook her head, staring in disbelief at the gun pointed at her chest. “What do you mean? You . . . you sent a note?”
“Not a note
, the
note. The one you just received. Getting you alone was a definite challenge, but I decided if I offered up information on Randal’s death, you’d come running along without your attentive husband. His departure earlier was a boon.”
In the pale illumination, Therese’s face looked foreign and frightening, her teeth bared in a sneer that made Julia stare. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Do you want the information or not?”
“You have information on what happened to Randal?” Julia was almost lightheaded from confusion and fear. “If so, why haven’t you told me before?”
“Because I suspected that if you knew I killed him, you wouldn’t exactly be ecstatic to hear it.”
Thoroughly shocked at the open confession, Julia took a wobbly step backward. “What?” she asked her friend incredulously. “
You
killed my brother?”
“He was never going to marry me.” Therese followed, the weapon in her hand extended in a way that left little doubt she would use it. “In case you didn’t know, women are not his preference.”
That remark was mystifying enough that Julia’s mind simply rejected it. “Where is he?” she cried, starting to tremble, backing toward where the lip of the promontory stuck out over the rippling water. “What did you do?”
Therese gestured carelessly with the gun toward the loch. “He’s there, I suppose.”
“Or maybe not.”
The sound of the male voice made them both freeze. Julia felt the slide of the familiar cadence along her skin like a touch, while Therese’s face went rigid. As she watched, the woman she’d thought to be her friend stared at something behind her, turning as white in the pouring moonlight as bleached bone. Therese gasped. “No.”
Whirling around, Julia saw her brother standing there, thin and ethereal, his eyes like dark holes in a pale face. She wasn’t one to believe in ghosts, but at this moment . . .
She whispered, “Randal?”
“Julia . . . move away.”
Not certain whether she was dreaming, she stumbled a few feet to the side. Her brother looked the same, tall and dark haired, but there was a ferocity in his expression that was frightening. He said slowly, “You killed me, Therese. Pushed me off ”—his hand lifted and slowly pointed—“there.”
“Yes . . . yes, I killed you.” Therese seemed to have trouble keeping hold of the gun, and it wobbled. “You’re . . . dead. Dead. Go away.”
“I don’t think you can kill me twice.” Slowly, he began an inexorable walk forward. “Don’t even try.”
Backing up, clumsy and tripping, Therese tried to both keep the gun trained on Randal’s advancing form and control her obvious fear. Frantically, her gaze swung to the rocks behind her, and then back to what she clearly thought was a ghostly apparition.
Now that the first shock had passed, Julia wasn’t quite so sure. He was thinner than she remembered, and dressed differently, in plain clothes suited to someone shorter and broader. Would a specter change his clothes in the afterlife?
Would a ghost also bother to wrestle away a gun from a potential assailant? Even as she watched, her brother caught Therese’s arm and twisted, eliciting a low cry of pain accompanied by the clattering of the weapon falling on the stones of the cliff. Though it was difficult to feel sorry for her, Therese’s eerie screams rang out with increasing volume and the two of them staggered toward the edge.