Page 19 of Death at a Highland Wedding

I turn to see a figure out past McCreadie and Isla, who hang back as if they saw enough to know what’s going on… and don’t need to see more. McCreadie is whispering something to Isla, who looks as upset as I feel. Then he starts leading Isla back in the direction of the house. She doesn’t argue. She knows she has a weak stomach, as much as that annoys her.

The other figure watches them leave as he trudges over. He’s a man of about forty, dressed in a heavy coat and thick boots, with a long, lean, and weathered face that turns our way with such a look of contempt that I blink, taken aback. His features rearrange themselves into an empty mask, though his eyes still ooze disdain.

The man says something I don’t understand—it sounds Germanic.

“Speak English, man,” Cranston snaps. He points at the trap. “Explain that.”

The man—Müller, the gamekeeper—ambles over, and I swear he moves even slower after his employer’s irritated snap.

When Müller speaks, his English is perfect, though heavily accented. “It is a wildcat.”

“I mean what happened here?”

“It appears that the trap caught it about the neck, which caused—”

“Stop.” Cranston seems ready to start foaming at the mouth, but the person he snaps at next is Sinclair. “Tell me again why I let you talk me into hiring this impertinent wretch.”

“Mr. Müller,” Sinclair says, his tone conciliatory. “The ladies are obviously distraught at coming upon this, and that has upset Mr. Cranston. You apparently told him this could not happen.”

Müller gives an insolent shrug. “The cats should have known better. Apparently, they are not as intelligent as those in my country. Which comes as no surprise.” His look says that’s aimed at all inhabitants of this country, animal and human. “I am sorry the ladies are distraught.”

Müller doesn’t even try to sound apologetic. In fact, there’s a sneer in those words and in the look he aims at Fiona and me. I think I’m imagining it until Gray rocks forward, his mouth opening.

“The ladies are not distraught,” I cut in. “The ladies—and the men—are upset to find such a thing. This is a nursing mother. She has kittens.” I wave at the two hiding in the grass and then at the third. “One of which was injured badly by the trap. Now we have a dead wildcat and three kittens too young to survive on their own. That is what theladiesare concerned about.”

Müller doesn’t even look my way. “Four cats caught with one trap. That is not a tragedy. It is efficiency.”

“See here—” Cranston says, stepping forward.

“You did not intend to trap the cat,” Müller says. “But you were concerned about it eating the eggs, and now you do not have to be. As for the kittens…” He gives an exaggerated bow in the direction of me and Fiona, without bothering to look at us. “The ladies need not worry about that. I will handle them.”

“You will not,” Fiona says. “The kittens are mine.”

Now he does look at her, his lip curling. “They are not pets, girl.”

“Girl?” Cranston bears down on Müller, who has the sense to back up.“That is my bride andyourfuture employer. You may speak to me however you wish, but you will show her respect.”

Sinclair clears his throat. “If Fiona wants the kittens, she should have them, Archie. She is experienced at—”

“They are hers,” Cranston says, and Sinclair stops, midstep, mouth open as if he’d expected Cranston to argue.

“Good,” Sinclair says finally, collecting himself. “I will help her—”

“I will ensure Fiona has everything she needs.” Cranston turns to Gray. “How badly is the little one injured? Can it be helped?”

Gray murmurs that he has not taken a good look, and he does that now, bending before the kitten. When it shrinks back, hissing, Fiona expertly lowers herself to the ground and holds the kitten in a firm grip, ignoring its protests.

“The leg is badly broken and that gash is deep,” Gray says.

“Can you fix it?” Cranston says. Then before Gray can answer, he waves a hand. “Willyou fix it? That is what I mean. Can it be done and will you do it?”

“I… can try.” Gray glances my way, and I know what he’s thinking. He’s not a veterinarian, and this is a wild animal. As much as he might want to help, it’s a very unusual request.

When Fiona speaks, her voice is soft. “I would appreciate it if you tried, Duncan, but I will understand if you would rather not. I can care for these kittens and return them to the wild. At least, I can for the other two, and I will do my best for this one.”

“Return them to the wild?” Müller says.

“Yes,” Fiona says evenly. “Scottish wildcats are at risk of extinction, and we must do what we can to save them.”