have to answer Alana’s question. To me,
the real quandary was not whether I was being taken seriously, but whether I was being
taken seriously as an assistant, or as a suspect.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I managed to make it down the terrace steps and out of the earshot of anyone listening
from the castle before rounding on Mr. Gage.
“What ungodly whim possessed you to tell my sister about my head injury?”
He threw up his hands in defense and paced a step away, his midnight-blue frock coat
bunching at the shoulders. “She overheard me telling her husband,” he defended, nodding
at Philip.
My brother-in-law was frowning at the ground, his shoulders slouched forward, and
I wondered again how fierce the argument between he and my sister had been that morning
over the issue of the Westlocks.
“Well now, it wasn’t very intelligent of you to hold such a conversation where Alana
might overhear it,” I scolded Gage, irritated that his carelessness had not only caused
my sister distress but also stirred up a fight between her and her husband.
“How was I to know Lady Cromarty had permission to enter his lordship’s study despite
the fact that the door was closed?” he remarked dryly.
I glanced at Philip out of the corner of my eye in time to see the tick on one side
of his jaw. So the Westlocks’ continued presence at Gairloch was not the only dispute
they had quarreled over this morning. Under the circumstances, I was impressed by
my brother-in-law’s discretion. Had the situation been reversed, I was certain Alana
would have embarrassed Philip by retorting that he, in fact, did
not
have permission to enter her study at all times, as I knew she did not have consent
to do so in this instance. However, Philip kept his mouth clamped tightly in a line
and his gaze on the wet grass at our feet.
At barely nine in the morning, the Highland sun had not yet burned away the dew and
lingering dampness of the night. I was grateful for the snug wrapping of my new walking
boots. My slippers would have been soaked through a mere ten steps from the stone
terrace.
Philip guided me across the stretch of lawn lying between the maze and the gardens
proper. It was there that his wolfhounds liked to run and play with him and his seven-year-old
son, Malcolm. Alana and I enjoyed watching their antics from the terrace, allowing
them to mistakenly believe their laughter and voices did not carry so far. But laughter
did not ring here today, only heavy silence. Even the birds seemed to have quieted
their songs.
Tension coursed through Philip’s body and into the stiff arm pressed against my own.
Though I could do nothing about his unease over our current task, I could relieve
him on one point. I squeezed his arm with my own. “She won’t do anything foolish,”
I murmured when he glanced down at me.
The tightness around his brown eyes eased a fraction, even if the tautness of his
mouth did not. He nodded once, telling me he understood what I was referring to. Alana
wouldn’t do anything rash. At least for the moment.
The entrance to the maze suddenly loomed before us, sending an unexpected quiver down
my spine. I took a steadying breath as Philip addressed the footman he had stationed
at the entrance to prevent anyone from entering. I wondered if he and Gage felt the
same sick swirling in their stomachs at the prospect of revisiting the site of such
a gruesome crime. Gage in particular seemed remarkably calm and unruffled. However,
I suspected he was just better at hiding his emotions. Philip pulled my arm in tighter
to his side and stepped inside the labyrinth. Gage followed close behind.
The maze was tucked into a corner of the wide cleared lawn on the eastern side of
the castle. Forest bordered the maze on two sides, its tall trees stretching their
long limbs over the hedges. In spring and summer, when the trees were lush and in
bloom, they spread a canopy over