Page 11 of Death at a Highland Wedding

He sighs.

I continue, “From what I remember, Roosevelt believed in the natural superiority of whites. He was also vehemently against slavery as well as being an environmentalist responsible for creating America’s National Park system. Which doesn’t cancel out the racism. Nothing ever does. But back to the cute bear story. After the press roasted Roosevelt, someone decided to present him with a small stuffed bear. They became known as teddy bears, and pretty much every North American kid will have one at some point.”

“Stuffed bears?” Gray eyes the distant coos. “I suppose that makes more sense than stuffed cows.”

“Hey, don’t mock my childhood tastes. I love coos. They’re so big and fluffy.” I veer in their direction. “I’m going to say hello—”

“Stop right there,” says a male voice, and I literally halt with my boot in the air. I twist to see two figures stepping from a stand of trees. They’re to the west, and I’m partly blinded by the setting sun, but I can see one holds something long and slender, pointed straight at us.

I lift my hands, only to realize that might not be a thing yet. “We are wedding guests at the house.”

“Mallory?” Gray murmurs. “I do not think that is the problem.”

He points at something ahead, and I lower my foot to move closer, but he grabs my arm.

“Careful, miss,” another voice says, this one feminine. “Listen to your fellow there.”

I lean forward to see what they do… and as I move, my perspective shifts and the sun glints off metal nestled in the long grass.

“Is that a… bear trap?”

“No bears here, miss,” the feminine voice says. “That one’s for people.”

“Holy—” I cut off the curse.

Then I turn to face the duo. They’re a young couple, maybe in their late teens. What I’d thought was a rifle is a walking stick. She must have been pointing it at the trap.

Both are wearing the rough-spun clothing of country laborers. Both are dark-haired, with tanned skin that speaks to a life spent largely out of doors. The girl looks slightly older, maybe eighteen or nineteen. There’s enough similarity in their coloring and facial structure that I’m going to guess they’re closely related, possibly siblings. As for the walking stick, I can make out the young woman’s boots peeking from under her long skirts. One boot has a thick heel and twists inward.

“Thank you for the warning,” I say. “We were told it wasn’t safe to wander, but I did not expect…” I shudder as I look toward the trap, a big and ugly piece of metal with wicked jaws. “Do you work on the estate?”

The young man’s face darkens. “We are allowed to be here.”

“I never said you weren’t. I was making conversation.” I remember whatthe others said about the land, and I realize this would be a contentious issue.

“Ignore my brother,” the young woman says. “He is still testy. We used to live on the property but…” She shrugs. “We were taking the public footpath, which even His Lordship does not dare scatter with those things.” The twist she gives to “Lordship” says it’s mockery, not Cranston’s actual title.

“They really are for people then?” I move closer to the trap, ducking Gray’s restraining hand.

“They are,” Gray says, with a rumbling note of deep disapproval. “They are utterly inhumane, capable of killing a man if the jaws cut deeply enough. At the very least, it will break the bone.”

My gaze shoots to the young woman’s walking stick, and she shakes her head. “No, miss. I have had this bad leg since birth. A clubfoot.” She grins, a wicked glint in her eye. “A sign of the devil, don’t you know.”

Her brother elbows her. “One day you will say that to the wrong person and find yourself in trouble, Len.”

“A clubfoot is a birth defect,” Gray says. “Caused by short tendons, not the devil.”

“A doctor, are you?” the girl says.

I nod toward him. “Dr. Duncan Gray. I am his assistant, Mallory Mitchell.”

“I’m Lenore, and that lout is my brother, Gavin. As I said, we were on the public footpath, which is open to all, but I would ask you not to tell His Lordship you saw us. It could cause trouble for our mother. She’s the housekeeper on the estate.”

“Ah. I have… met her.”

Lenore’s grin grows. “Yes, that is our dear mama.”

“And you used to live on the estate?”