The Dream Catcher by Marie Laval Page B

village fisheries. She’d been murdered, and Rose feared it was all her fault.
    She turned away from the window. She had no more tears to cry. Shock and sorrow made her chest ache. Her head spun with questions. What had happened after that last evening when they argued in her hotel room in Algiers? How did Malika end up here, in the far north of Scotland? Who had killed her and thrown her body into the sea?
    Shivering in her damp clothes, she undressed, hung her gown and undergarments to dry near the fireplace and searched through her bag. Discarding the only other dress she had packed for her stay at Wrath Lodge, she pulled out her favourite clothes: a fine white-linen shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, a short black velvet jacket embroidered with gold and silver patterns and a pair of purple pantaloons.
    Before putting on the shirt she couldn’t resist burying her face in the folds of the fabric to breathe in the fragrance of her oasis, a mixture of lush, sweet vegetation and earth and dry heat. It was where she and Malika had grown up. It was home, a home so far away it felt unreal, like a mirage shimmering over the scorched Saharan plains. A home her friend would never see again.
    She put the shirt down and straightened up. Now wasn’t the time for tears and homesickness. Now was the time to plead with Lord McGunn to take her to Westmore. The sooner she told Cameron about Malika, the sooner he’d start an investigation into her death.
    She put the shirt and pantaloons on, fastened the black bolero and slipped her feet into a pair of delicate purple silk babouches. Her chignon had come undone when she'd fainted earlier. She pulled the few remaining pins out, brushed the tangles from her hair until it fell in soft curls down to her waist.
    The staircase was dark and full of shadows, and she hurried down, her pumps hardly making a sound. Two men were talking in the hall below. She recognised MacBoyd’s deep, burry voice.
    â€˜McGunn wants to keep the woman here until further notice and use her as a bargaining chip against McRae and his bankers,’ he was saying.
    â€˜Isn’t it a little risky to defy an man as rich, as powerful and as mean as McRae?’
    â€˜Aye, I suppose so, but McGunn’s had enough and I can’t say I blame him. McRae has tried to ruin him for far too long – and in more ways than one. I always believed he was somehow behind the Whitehall enquiry which got him discharged from the army.’
    â€˜What if the woman tries to escape?’
    MacBoyd chuckled. ‘She won’t. I bet she’ll be just like the others, she’ll fall in love with him, stick to him like treacle. I don’t what it is with him but the more he scowls at them, the more they seem to love him. Pity it doesn’t work when I try it.’
    Rose gripped the railing tightly.
    â€˜Do you remember that gorgeous red-haired widow from Thurso who was so desperate to marry him last year?’ MacBoyd carried on.
    â€˜She left love charms everywhere – in his desk, under his pillow, in his coat pockets. She even fed him a love potion her old witch of grandmother had made. What was she called? Prunella, no… Priscilla, that’s right! She was one crazy woman. McGunn got so annoyed with her he had to carry her into the mail coach and order her to keep away or he’d throw her into the dungeon. She screamed, cried and fought him all the way… I wonder what happened to her.’
    The other man laughed. ‘Somehow I can’t see Lady McRae sneaking a love potion into McGunn’s whisky. I think she’d rather feed him rat poison.’
    â€˜That’s where you are wrong, mate. She’s no different from the others. I heard she paid him a visit last night.’
    The blood drained from Rose’s face and she gripped the railing more tightly.
    â€˜She did? You mean he’s bedded her already?’
    â€˜Aye, and McRae will spit feathers when he