Page 27

B ridget stepped outside, letting the crisp morning air cool the restless thoughts swirling in her mind.

She found Catriona near the flower beds, her basket already half-filled with fresh blooms. The scent of rosemary and lavender lingered in the air as she clipped another sprig and placed it carefully among the others.

Catriona glanced up, offering a faint smile. “You look deep in thought, my lady.”

Bridget exhaled. “There is much to think about.” She gestured toward the basket. “Are those for Marjory?”

Catriona shook her head. “For you, actually. I thought some fresh flowers might make your room feel less…” She trailed off, searching for the right word.

Bridget gave a small smile. “Less like a house in mourning?”

Catriona nodded, the corners of her mouth tightening.

“Everything feels different now. The household is working hard to keep things running as usual, but it’s difficult.

Mrs. Simmons met with us and told us nothing has changed at Alastair Court, but we all know it will never be the same.

” She hesitated, then added quietly, “Many of them have been here for years. Lord Alastair took care of them. They worry whether Lady Marjory will go to London or decide to stay here.”

Bridget’s chest tightened at the thought. She sat on the stone bench next to Catriona. “And Marjory herself?”

Catriona’s fingers stilled on the flower stem she had been about to cut. “She barely eats. She speaks when necessary, but it’s as if she’s moving through a fog. She hasn’t spoken much about anything.”

Bridget sighed, glancing toward the house. “That’s understandable. Losing a husband is—” She stopped herself. “She must feel as if everything has shifted beneath her feet.”

Catriona hesitated, then cut the stem and laid it in the basket. “If it were only grief, I could understand it, but I think something is troubling her. More than losing him, I mean.”

Bridget frowned. “What makes you say that?”

Catriona shifted, adjusting her basket before answering in a quiet voice. “She hasn’t spoken much, but the household staff have noticed. And there’s something else… something I hesitate to mention.”

Bridget’s gaze softened, her voice quiet but steady. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.” She didn’t rush Catriona. She simply waited, her hands loosely clasped.

Catriona bit her lip. “Killian saw Lord Alastair on the course that morning. He said his horse was tethered. He got the impression he was waiting for someone. Lord Alastair had been looking forward to the equestrian chase for weeks. He wouldn’t make an appointment in the middle of the race.

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “He stopped to ask if everything was well, but his lordship handed him a package and told him to keep it at the barn. Said he’d retrieve it when he returned.”

Bridget’s breath caught. “Did Killian say what was in the package?”

Catriona shook her head. “No. He didn’t ask. But his lordship was serious when he gave it to him. As if it was important.”

Bridget hesitated, about to thank her, but another thought surfaced. “Do you know what time this was?”

Catriona frowned slightly. “Not exactly. Killian didn’t say.”

Bridget nodded, thoughtful. “And… did he hear anything afterward? A commotion, a shout—?”

Catriona shook her head. “No, my lady. He didn’t hear anything at all. He only learned what happened much later.”

Bridget rose to her feet and dusted off her skirt, but her mind was already working. A package. Left in the barn. Alastair had told Killian he would retrieve it after the race, but he never got the chance.

She met Catriona’s gaze, offering a small but grateful smile. “Thank you. I need to speak with Killian.”

Catriona stood as well, watching her carefully. “You’re going to ask him about it, aren’t you?”

Bridget nodded, determination sharpening her features.

“If Killian had seen Alastair just before his death, and if Alastair had entrusted him with something, then Alastair must have suspected he was in danger. He had taken steps to protect something, something important. Knowing what the package contains could lead us to his murderer.”

She turned toward the house and broke into a near run.

Bridget moved quickly through the halls and found Thomas in his shirtsleeves, in the study, standing near the fireplace, reading a document. He looked up as she entered, his sharp gaze immediately locking onto hers.

“What is it?” he asked, reading the urgency in her expression.

Bridget closed the door behind her and stepped closer. “I just spoke with Catriona. She told me something that changes everything.”

Thomas straightened. “Go on.”

Bridget took a breath. “Killian saw Alastair on the course that morning. He had tethered his horse. It was out of place. All along, Alastair was eager to participate in the chase. Killian stopped to ask if something was wrong. That’s when Alastair gave him a package and told him to take it to the barn. He planned to retrieve it afterward.”

Thomas’s brow furrowed. “A package?”

Bridget nodded. “Killian doesn’t know what was inside. But he said Alastair was serious about it. As if it was important.”

Thomas set the document on the desk. “And Killian heard the scream shortly after?”

“No. He didn’t know what had happened to Alastair until someone came looking for assistance.”

Thomas ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly. “If Alastair sent something away before the chase, it wasn’t just important; it was something he didn’t want to be found on him.” His voice sharpened. “Whatever he gave Killian might explain why he was killed. We must speak to him now.”

Bridget didn’t hesitate. “I thought the same.”

Thomas grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, already moving. “Then let’s not waste time.”

Bridget followed him, her pulse quickening.

*

The steady rhythm of the forge hammer echoed through the yard as Bridget approached the stables.

The scent of horses and hay mingled with the sharp tang of heated iron.

Inside, Killian worked methodically, his sleeves rolled up, revealing arms dusted with soot.

He barely glanced up as she and Thomas entered, but Bridget didn’t miss the way his grip tightened around the metal he was shaping.

She paused a few feet away, watching as he worked. “It’s been a long morning,” she said, her voice calm but deliberate. “I imagine you’ve had little time for anything but work.”

Killian adjusted the iron in the glowing embers. “Work keeps a man’s hands busy,” he muttered.

Bridget nodded. “And his mind.” She let the words settle before stepping closer. “Killian, I need to ask you about his lordship.”

His hammer stilled, but he didn’t look at her. Instead, he placed the iron back into the forge’s embers. “A shame what happened,” he said gruffly.

She exchanged a glance with Thomas before speaking again. “Catriona told me you saw him that morning. That he gave you something.”

“She shouldn’t have said that.” Killian exhaled a short, forceful breath, the kind a restless horse gives when unsettled.

Thomas uncrossed his arms. His tone was even but firm. “But she did. And now we need to know what it was.”

Killian finally turned to them, his blue eyes shadowed. “His lordship helped me and my wife escape Scotland when no one else would. I owed him everything.” He hesitated. “If he asked me to keep something safe, I wasn’t about to question him.”

Bridget stepped closer, her gaze steady but kind. “You trusted him, and he trusted you. But whatever he left with you, it may be the reason he was killed.” She let that settle before adding, “If we can find out what was so important, we might be able to find the person who did this.”

Killian’s throat bobbed in a hard swallow. He looked at the forge for a long moment before exhaling. “Up there. I put it where no one would find it.”

They climbed into the loft, the air thick with the scent of dry hay. Killian pulled aside a stack of grain sacks, revealing a wrapped bundle tucked between the wooden beams.

Bridget’s breath hitched. Her fingers hesitated for the briefest moment before she unwrapped it. Inside, several sheets of parchment, worn at the edges, lay folded together.

The inked letters were unmistakable. Alastair’s handwriting was bold and precise.

Bridget exhaled slowly, smoothing the first page open, but her stomach dropped. The text was filled with numbers, symbols, and notations in Latin, Old Scots, and something else entirely.

“This isn’t just notes written in different languages,” he muttered beside her. “It’s coded.”

She scanned the pages, her fingers tracing the inked script. “Alastair must have been trying to decode something himself. Some of this looks familiar, but…” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I don’t understand all of it.”

Thomas’s brow furrowed. “Then we need someone who does.”

Bridget refolded the pages carefully, her mind racing. “Tresham.”

Thomas met her gaze. “He’s the best chance we have of making sense of this.”

She turned to Killian, her expression softening. “Alastair trusted you to keep this safe. And because of you, we have a chance to figure out what happened to him.”

Killian nodded, his eyes somber. “I want justice for his lordship.”

Thomas extended a hand, gripping Killian’s forearm firmly. “So do we. Thank you.”

Bridget nodded in agreement. “We won’t forget this.”

Killian gave a slight nod of understanding as Thomas turned toward the door.

“Then we go to Tresham. Now.”

“Where?” Bridget stood facing him with her eyebrow raised.

“The library, of course.” Thomas grabbed her hand and pulled her along.