Page 119 of Taming the Highland Misfits

He kissed her forehead, then said furiously, “If there is a way to stop this, then we must find it. We cannot let Alex die without even making an attempt to save his life!”

Freya suddenly felt a flame of hope leaping into her heart. “Do you really, really think so, Bearnard? Truly?” she asked, her voice trembling. “If we can lay our hands on that letter, our case is proven.”

Bearnard considered their position for a moment, then thumped his right fist into the palm of his left. He looked as fierce and determined as Freya had ever seen him as he said grimly, “There is a way. All we have to do is find that incriminating letter. Do you trust me?”

Freya hugged him, then smiled at him and nodded. “Yes, I do, my brother,” she replied firmly. “I trust you with my life–and Alex’s. Tell me what your plan is.”

“Do you have a black dress?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” she replied, puzzled. “I wear it to funerals. Why?”

“Go and put it on,” He ordered. “We must not be seen or my plan will fail.”

Freya rushed to do his bidding, her heart hammering. She hurried to her room and put on her dress as quietly as possible, trying not to wake Mhairi and Caitrin. Nothing must crush the hope inside her, but what if all this effort was for nothing?

No,she thought furiously.I will not let him die. I will not!

* * *

Bearnard watched her hurrying away, beginning to doubt himself. Could he do this or was he putting his sister in mortal danger? He decided not to think about it as he rushed to his bedchamber and found his dagger, which he kept in a secret compartment at the back of his armoire.

He tested its sharpness by slicing off a corner of his bedsheet, mentally saying sorry to the seamstress who would have to fix it. It was lethally sharp, and would be able to slice through human flesh with ease. He hoped it would not come to that, since he had never harmed another human being in his life, and he did not want to start now, but he had to be prepared.

He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath just as he heard a timid knock at the door. He opened it to see Freya hovering there, looking this way and that, uncertain what to do. He took her hand and pulled her inside.

“Do you feel able to do this?” he asked gently, looking at her anxious face. “Because I will not force you to, Freya.”

Freya swallowed but nodded firmly. “Don’t worry about me, Bearnard,” she answered. “They are not going to harm me, whatever happens. Father would never stand for it, or for anyone harming you either.”

“Right, then, this is the plan,” he began. “We have to find out where the letter that is allegedly from Laird MacNeill is kept, which means searching Aidan’s and Gerald’s rooms. I happen to know that they are both watching the building of the gallows, so we can make use of this time to do it. It’s more likely that Aidan has it because he is not as clever as Gerald and probably thinks that everything is firmly in place and cannot be changed at this late stage.” He shook his head as he thought of his brother’s stupidity. Sometimes he wondered how he and Freya could possibly be related to him.

“How do we get in?” Freya asked, frowning. “Will we be breaking the door down?”

“No, nothing so drastic, Freya,” he replied, laughing. “I have taken care of that already. The housekeeper, Mistress Mackie, keeps all the spare keys, and I am a favourite of hers. I charmed her into fetching me a bottle of wine from the cellars and told her to pick one for herself, then while she was gone I took the spare keys from Aidan and Gerald’s rooms from the hooks in her pantry. So you see, there is no need for violence!

Now all we have to do is open the doors and search, but I want us to be very quiet and work in the least amount of light possible, which is why I needed you to put on your black dress. We can carry one small candle each, but be ready to hide if you hear any sound at all. First, we should look in the obvious places, like his bedside table, his chest of drawers, then go onto anywhere more hidden.”

“You sound as if you are looking forward to this,” Freya remarked as they made their way out of his bedroom. She lowered her voice to a whisper and said: “I hope we can be quick.”

“So do I.” Bearnard’s voice was grim. “Every second Gerald Patterson is free is a second too long for my liking.”

* * *

Despite her anger with her brother, Freya hated poking and prodding amongst his private possessions. She began with the little cupboard beside his bed, which had five drawers, but contained nothing more than an assortment of the kind of inconsequential debris that most young men had.

There was an empty money belt and a small wooden box that contained a set of dice and a pack of playing cards. She rummaged through some handkerchiefs, including a silk one which had obviously belonged to a young lady, and found some calling cards. For all his faults, Aidan was a handsome man, and the ladies obviously loved him! She pitied the woman who married him, though–her life would be utterly miserable if her brother was still friends with Gerald Patterson!

Lastly, she came upon a few scraps of drawing paper and some pencils, and remembered with a stab of sadness that Aidan had once been a fairly good artist. He had not picked up a pencil or brush for years, though.

She went on with her search along with Bearnard, but she could hear by the exasperated noises he was making that he was having no more luck than she was. They had searched the writing desk, but that was too obvious even for Aidan. The armoire and chest of drawers yielded no results either, and after a few more moments, Bearnard and Freya looked at each other and sighed.

“I think this is a waste of time,” Bearnard said gloomily. “Let’s go on to Gerald’s room.”

However, something was nagging at Freya. “Bearnard,” she said thoughtfully, “the letter was found under Alex’s bed the first time. Do you think he would have been silly enough to put it under his own?”

After they had moved the bed, they discovered that there seemed to be no end to Aidan’s stupidity. There was not only one letter, but several, all written in a handwriting Freya did not recognise. She could see very little by the light of her stub of a candle, though. Accordingly, she tucked them into the little bag she had brought with her and looked out of the window to see that although the light was still very dim, dawn had broken.

Bearnard grabbed her hand. “Hurry!” he cried. “They will not be late. Executions are always on time!”