Page 4 of Death at a Highland Wedding (Rip Through Time #4)

FOUR

The “forest” turns out to be only a strip of trees maybe ten feet wide. Beyond that is rocky open land dotted with purple thistles. In the distance, a lake shimmers under the early-evening sun, and to our left are a crumbling stone wall and a dilapidated shack. Seeing that vista, I can imagine I’m back in my time, where everything would look exactly like this—the hills and dales undulating into the distance, dotted with stands of trees and maybe a sheep or two.

The wildcat and her kittens have scampered off, and I’m not inclined to freak out Momma Cat by giving chase. We slow and tramp through the field as I inhale the scents of a Highland moor—heather and damp earth and blooming flowers. When I glimpse a heap of rusty red fur in the distance, I let out a gasp of delight, not unlike the one I gave seeing the kittens.

“Coos!” I say, using the Scots word. “Highland coos!”

“Yes, those are cows. They do not have those either in your time?”

I sock his arm. “Yes, we have cows. Even Highland ones—at least, in the Highlands. But I haven’t seen one in years. When I was a kid, my parents had to drive me out of the city just to see them. I had two stuffed ones. A red and a black.”

His brows rise. “You had stuffed cows ? And you roll your eyes at people with stuffed tigers in their homes.”

“ Toy cows. Like teddy bears.”

When he gives me a blank look, I say, “You don’t have teddy bears yet? So, I’m guessing Teddy Roosevelt hasn’t been the American president.” At his look, I throw up my hands. “I suck at history, remember? I only remember the interesting bits, which includes the origin of teddy bears. Teddy Roosevelt—”

“Future American president.”

“Er, yes, but forget I mentioned that part.”

“Oh, I shall not forget it. When he is nominated I shall place a very large wager on his election. I will finally follow in my father’s footsteps, as a seemingly prescient investor.”

“Except you actually will be prescient. Thanks to your assistant-from-the-future.”

“Sadly, she is not very helpful, having mostly forgotten her history lessons.” He mock glowers at me. “You could have made me a very rich man, Mallory. It was most shortsighted of you.”

“Hey, I gave you the DNA tip. That’s gold. Now do you want to hear about the origin of teddy bears or not?”

“Yes, though I will take it with a grain of salt, considering the source and her very poor memory.”

I shake my head. “Okay, well, Roosevelt went on a hunting trip, and wanting to impress the president, his hosts tied a black bear to a tree for him to shoot. He refused, and the papers printed a cartoon mocking him for it.”

“Mocking him for refusing to kill a creature trapped for his amusement? I rather like Theodore Roosevelt.”

“He also believes in a natural hierarchy based on skin color.”

“I am not at the top of that, am I?”

“The United States was originally a British colony. That will always answer your question.”

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 what the 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?”

Her brother answers, “Our father was the gamekeeper until Mr. Cranston decided to bring in some foreign fellow who worked at…” A dismissive wave. “Some castle on the Continent. The man does not know the first thing about Scottish game.”

“We should let you be on your way,” Lenore says. “We only wished to warn you of the traps. If you want to walk the grounds, I would suggest you stay on the roads or the right-of-way. His Lordship has not trapped those.”

“Yet,” her brother mutters.

They lift a hand in farewell and return to the strip of trees, the public path being presumably on the other side. I remember those from my times in the Highlands. In Britain, there are very old laws requiring that properties have a path through them that anyone can use. That path might lead you through a cow field, complete with bulls, but the law doesn’t say that the path needs to be safe. Just that the owner can’t legally prevent you from using it.

Once they’re gone, I sweep my skirts aside to bend by the trap, ignoring Gray’s noise of protest.

“I’m not going to touch it,” I say. “But this really does look like an old-fashioned bear trap. Setting these out for bears is bad enough. For people?”

“Unconscionable,” Gray says curtly. “I will speak to Archie. Whatever concerns he has about the locals, they do not warrant this.”

“You think they’re for poachers?”

Gray sniffs. “Likely. He is a new landowner, accustomed to the city. He came into his own wealth—through the opening of the whisky trade—and he seems to fashion himself some sort of country gentleman.” He pauses. “That is impolite of me.”

“Mmm, anyone who lays human traps on their lands doesn’t deserve civility.”

“I will speak to him and hope it is a misunderstanding. What he sees as poaching has long been the way of things in the country. The locals will hardly strip the land of game—they understand how to conserve it better than most gentry. The proper thing to do is to speak to them and come to an understanding.”

He looks over at that dilapidated shack. “Or that used to be the way of things. These days, it seems those with money wish to keep their land entirely for themselves, driving everyone else off it, as if they could possibly use all this land and its resources.” He looks at the trap and shakes his head. “I will speak to Archie.”

When we reach the house, I hear voices, and I slow, not sure I’m ready to be civil to Cranston after seeing that trap. But the voice I hear is McCreadie’s and the tone makes me smile. He’s obviously telling a story, relaxed and among people he feels comfortable with. Then I draw closer to see him beside the garden, with a young woman practically hanging off his arm.

My hackles rise. But as soon as we approach, I can better see the young woman—pretty with honey-brown hair and laughing hazel eyes—and the resemblance to McCreadie is so obvious that I know this must be his sister. I also see Isla with them, equally relaxed and enjoying McCreadie’s story as she sips her lemonade.

“Duncan!” the young woman cries, dropping her brother’s arm as we approach.

Gray smiles with genuine affection. “Fiona, it is good to see you. Congratulations on your nuptials.”

She comes forward to greet us. “Is this Miss Mallory? Please tell me it is. I have been dying to meet you. I have read all the stories of your adventures, and I must say I prefer the new ones, though the old ones were amusing.”

“With me always bending over to examine nonexistent evidence?” I say.

She laughs, and it’s a very pretty laugh. She’s twenty-one, but she seems so much younger. Young and sheltered, as she would be. Straight from her father’s guardianship to her husband’s. The thought of her marrying the jackass we met earlier…

None of my business. Though I do wonder whether, like Hugh and Violet, this is an arranged marriage and if so—

No, I’m not thinking of that. Again, none of my business.

“I am very jealous of your adventures,” Fiona says. “It all sounds so exciting. I do wish there was more science in the stories, though Hugh says that is not what most people read them for.”

“And now you have Duncan here to answer all your science questions.” McCreadie winks at Gray, as if telling him to prepare for an enthusiastic onslaught.

“What area of science are you interested in?” I ask.

Fiona’s expression freezes, the youthful joy in it extinguished before she plasters it back on. “All of it,” she says, “but it is purely an amateur’s interest. I… have not received any formal schooling in the sciences.”

“Nor have I,” I say. “But there are many ways to learn, for those who are interested.”

That genuine enthusiasm surges anew. “There is. I have books, and I have even snuck into a lecture or two, but do not tell Mama or Papa. I would love to hear more of the science behind your investigations, both Duncan’s and Mrs. Ballantyne’s.” She turns to Isla. “The chemistry is fascinating. I wish there was also more of it in the stories.”

Isla smiles. “There is as much as there needs to be. I leave most of the investigating to my brother, though I will squeeze myself in if the case seems interesting.”

“I would squeeze myself into them all.” Fiona turns to Gray and me. “Remember, I am at your disposal should you ever need my specific talents. I am very adept at needlepoint and perfectly adequate on the pianoforte.”

She says it lightly, but the note of bitterness cuts through me. This isn’t Annis or Isla, encouraged to pursue whatever interests them, provided with all the resources and private tutors they needed. This is an average Victorian girl of their class, raised to be proficient in the womanly arts and no more.

“You joke,” I say, “but we might actually take you up on that, Miss McCreadie. We had someone last month who contacted us to find a pianoforte that had somehow been stolen from their home.”

“Oh, I would be no help at all there,” she says. “I would pay someone to steal mine. Oh, no, it has been taken! Whatever shall I do? I fear I can no longer practice, Mama. ”

We all laugh, and McCreadie is about to reply when someone appears from around the house, stopping short as she sees us.

“Violet!” Fiona exclaims. “My soon-to-be sister-in-law. We were just going for a walk about the gardens. Will you join us? Please say yes.”

Violet’s gaze shoots to McCreadie.

McCreadie clears his throat. “Violet may take my place. I really ought to unpack.”

“No,” Violet says, her voice soft, barely audible. “Please come along, Hugh.”

McCreadie shoots her a look that clearly says he will stay behind if she prefers, but she firmly takes Fiona’s arm and says, “Into the gardens. Quickly, though. I have heard we might spot the wildcat and her kits, but if my brother joins us, his voice alone will surely scare them off.”

“We actually saw them,” I say. “A wildcat and two or three kittens.”

Fiona’s face lights in pure joy. “Did you truly? Archie said they are about, and I am dearly hoping to see them.”

“Fiona adores animals,” McCreadie says. “She may have joked about the needlepoint and pianoforte, but her true passion is caring for God’s creatures, particularly those in need. She set the wing on a songbird just last month and released it back to the wild.”

I look at her. “That is amazing.”

Fiona blushes. “My brother makes it sound far more impressive than it is. I dabble, that is all.” She clears her throat and takes my arm. “Now, tell me all about the wildcats you saw.”