Page 33 of Death at a Highland Wedding

“We should look for him,” Gray says. “To be safe, as you say.”

“A fine excuse. Isla? Will you join us?”

“Tramping through trap-ridden fields before the heather is dry? No thank you. I will, however, join you for croquet afterward. For now, Alice and I should pop in to see the kittens.”

I call down to the guys, “Give me two minutes.”

After we set off, Gray tells McCreadie that we’d had a moonlight picnic. Why mention it? Because I’d suggested I knew Cranston had been out last night, and Gray would feel some obligation to tell McCreadie, in case it came up later. McCreadie would hardly care. The obligation is on Gray’s part, just another aspect of their friendship.

We don’t mention the woman we saw. That’s the thin line where honesty bleeds into troublemaking. McCreadie’s sister is about to marry Cranston, and we don’t want to suggest her groom was having an illicit assignation, even if Gray is certain that wasn’t the case.

Gray mentions us being out, and then talk turns to plans for the day. Once the bride’s and groom’s parents arrive, it’ll be all wedding prep all the time. There’s much to be done, preparing the grounds for the wedding, and we’ll gladly help with that.

“The wedding is tomorrow at eleven,” McCreadie says. “Followed by a luncheon and then dancing and such. The bride and groom will depart later in the afternoon. We will need to spend the night, but how long we stay the following day depends on all of you. I have no obligations here.”

“We will leave early,” Gray says. “The trip is best made at a leisurely pace. I believe it would be best to depart at dawn, which means we ought to turn in for the night after the bride and groom depart.”

McCreadie exhales softly, and I realize why. Because while his parents aren’t staying at the lodge, his ex-fiancée’s parents are, and that’ll be a lot more awkward without wedding preparations to keep everyone busy.

“That is a fine plan,” McCreadie says. “I—”

A figure appears on the road. At first, I think it’s Cranston. He’s tall, with a black coat that billows around him.

The figure raises one long arm, pointing past us, and shouts, “Go back.”

I blink, not sure whether to laugh or wonder whether I’m still asleep, lost in some weird dream with a black-clad figure on an empty road pointing a bony finger and intoning, “Go back.”

“Go back now or all is lost?” I murmur. “Our poor souls damned for all eternity?”

“No,” McCreadie says. “I believe the threat is ‘Go back or I will scowl at you very hard and sneer about the uncouthness of the Scottish people.’”

“Müller,” I say. It is indeed that gamekeeper. He stands on the rise, pointing and repeating those two words, as if we’re children who’ve wandered from the schoolyard. Except schoolyard monitors don’t usually carry rifles.

We keep walking.

“Back to the house,” Müller says as we draw closer.

“No,” McCreadie says, injecting the single word with such cheerfulness that I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

“No?”

Gray responds, his tone mild as we reach the man. “It is an English word that means we will not do as you say. We are on the road, and our host has said that it is safe, and we are free to traverse it.”

“On that note, have you seen our host?” I say.

There’s a moment where it seems as if Müller is going to pretend I didn’t speak. But then he looks my way, and there’s such contempt in his gaze that I almost step back.

Gray moves forward, getting slightly in front of me, confirming I didn’t imagine that look. “Miss Mitchell asked you a question.”

“I have seen no one except three of Mr. Cranston’s guests wandering about where they should not be.”

“Huh,” I say. “That couldn’t be us, as we are allowed to be on this road. Now, if you will allow us to pass, please, we would appreciate it.”

Müller lifts the rifle to hold it with both hands. The barrel is angled down, but the message is clear.

“I say, old chap,” McCreadie says, affecting the worst English accent ever. “You are not waving that gun at me, are you? That would be a poor choice. Very poor indeed. Being a gamekeeper, I would presume you know that you are far too close to use it effectively. Particularly when one of our party has a proper handgun concealed on their person.” He looks at us. “Anyone fancy an American Wild West showdown on this fine morning?”

Müller’s eyes narrow.