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Blake winced, as if the news was too scandalous to share in broad daylight. “Well, I’m sorry to say it aloud, my dear Lady Astley, but there is definite talk of”—he paused for effect, his voice dropping to a stage whisper—”matrimony.”

“Oh Frederick. Did you hear that?” Grace sent a look across Blake. “So when did he ask her? How?”

Blake raised a finger in mock warning. “Ah, but you misunderstand. He didn’t propose—she did. A rather bold move, though appropriate considering their … adjusted status.”

Frederick shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. Clearly, he needed Blake and Grace in his life on a regular basis. “So she swept Elliott off his feet, then?”

Blake turned toward him. “It would seem so, which, if you think about it isn’t all bad.

Men are constantly expected to foot the proposal-bill, so to speak, where feet-sweeping is concerned, so it’s nice to hear that turnabout is fair play every once in a while.

Let men know the exhilarating terror of being on the receiving end of a proposal. ”

“What a wonderful story for our dear Elliott.” Grace sighed, embracing Frederick’s motley crew of friends, servants, and family as her own as only she would. “I’m so happy for them and the fact they’ll live close enough to visit us often.”

“Indeed.” Blake nodded sagely. “I’m quite keen on maintaining relationships with wealthy friends. They always provide the best accommodations. And I’d say this relationship is off to an excellent start. As they’re both former thieves, a mutual stealing of hearts seems an appropriate final crime.”

Frederick barked out a laugh just as Blake stopped in front of a magnificent Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Tourer, painted a striking blue. Of course Blake would be driving a car like this—effortlessly opulent, impeccably maintained. Even in Scotland, he managed to find the pinnacle of luxury.

“Thank you for admiring my beautiful Evangeline.” Blake patted the side of the car with affection.

“And though the old girl”—who looked anything but old—”is large enough to carry us all, she’s not large enough to hold all of your luggage, so I’ve already made arrangements with the porters for the rest of your things to be delivered later.

” Blake opened the car’s rear door with a dramatic flourish, bowing slightly.

“Now, shall we head north before the weather turns sour? We are in Scotland, after all. The skies here are as unpredictable as the locals.”

As the engine purred to life, Blake glanced back at them with a gleam in his eye. “We’ve a long ride ahead, so do indulge me. I want to hear every detail: the mysterious inheritance, the resurrected Tony, and—oh, I can only hope—a possible damsel in distress?”

Frederick exchanged a look with Grace, who was already laughing at the prospect. For the first time in days, he felt the weight of their recent troubles lift, if only slightly. Whatever awaited them in the north, at least they had a quite capable friend on their side.

As the motorcar crested the final rise, Grace leaned forward eagerly, the wind tugging at her hat despite the car’s modest speed.

It had been a long drive. So long, the day had waned into sunset, which meant they wouldn’t have any time to investigate the village or the castle today, but at least they could start afresh in the morning.

Below, nestled like a forgotten jewel among the verdant hills and pine-speckled slopes, lay Angloss. The village spilled toward the shimmering expanse of Loch Ness, which stretched out under the twilight like liquid silver, serene and otherworldly.

It was impossibly romantic.

She couldn’t help but smile at it. Just the view sent a sense of home through her in the strangest sort of way.

She didn’t remember visiting Scotland, but it somehow felt like a memory borrowed from the stories her mother used to tell.

The rolling hills and the smell of pine mingled with the faintest hint of peat smoke sent a wave of homesickness for the Blue Ridge Mountains she hadn’t felt in years.

The contrasting hues of sunset cast a golden glow across the landscape, enchanting every stone building and cobbled street with a halo, especially the two steeples bookending each side of the village.

As if on cue, a church bell tolled faintly ahead, welcoming them—or perhaps warning them of what lay ahead.

A quaint cluster of stone cottages with slate roofs lined the road as they entered, reminding her so much of Astlynn Commons at Havensbrooke.

Blake’s voice pulled her from her reverie. “Lovely little place, isn’t it? These villages always remind me of something out of a storybook. You half expect a talking fox to greet you at the pub.”

Grace laughed. “Or a huntsman offering directions to the nearest poisoned apple.”

As they rolled through the village, her eyes wandered over the modest shops and the cozy pub with its swinging sign: The Loch’s Rest. Flower boxes spilled over with blooms so bright they defied the somber stone facades. But her gaze was irresistibly drawn to the castle.

Mosslea Castle stood sentinel on a rocky promontory above the loch, its silhouette both regal and forbidding. The turrets reached skyward, their crenellated edges jagged against the dusk, while ivy climbed the weathered walls, as though nature was determined to reclaim its own.

Grace’s pulse quickened as they drew nearer, the details sharpening.

This was her ancestral home. Powerful lairds roamed those halls. Elegant ladies danced and made merry. Knights guarded the gates, and battles brimmed close enough to threaten the ancient structure.

She supposed. She didn’t really know for certain about the battles or knights, but one couldn’t think of a castle not featuring at least one battle or two. The faintest of lights appeared to flicker past one of the blackened windows and disappear.

Her breath caught. What was that? A night watchman?

A housekeeper?

“It truly is like something out of a novel,” Grace murmured, hardly aware she’d spoken aloud.

Frederick glanced over his shoulder from his place in the front seat, his lips crooked at a playful tilt. “Let me guess— Jane Eyre ?”

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on the castle. “No, this is more gothic than Thornfield Hall. It’s … wilder. I can almost feel the stories pressing against its walls. Secrets and curses and—”

“Drafty halls and an appalling need for maintenance,” Blake interjected from the front seat, his eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror.

She shot him a look. “And romance. Mystery. Can’t you feel it? The air practically vibrates with it.”

“I think the air feels cold.” Zahra muttered, burrowing deeper into Grace’s side. “My bones feel it.”

In early July? Grace wrapped her arm around the little girl’s shoulders. There was certainly a dampness to the air that Zahra had probably never known. “I’m afraid this climate will take a bit of adjusting to, Zahra. It’s very different than Egypt, even in summer.”

“I do hope we can leave the drama and danger to a minimum at this point and just have a practical solution to the entire thing.” Tony voiced from beside her. “I’ve had my fill for a lifetime.”

“I’m afraid, Tony, you’ve signed on for it until we have sorted out Mr. Clark’s nefarious plan, secured our inheritance, and safely returned you to your wife,” Grace said, trying not to sound snippy at his gloomy tone.

After all, the man had just started living again over the past few days.

She patted his hand. “I know it can be a bit overwhelming, but you’re not alone in the adventure now. Neither is Lillias. You have us.”

His smile didn’t seem to spread as quickly as it ought for such a declaration.

“I see a hotel up ahead.” Blake announced. “Since I assume you all will not be staying the night in the castle for this evening?”

“Not until we have more information, I think.” Frederick answered, peering through the car window in the direction Blake gestured. “Yes, that should do. Rowan’s Roost, is it?”

“Indeed, and a quite encouraging name for our temporary abode, I might add.” Blake shot back. “Especially considering our current adventure.”

“What do you mean?” Grace leaned forward in the car, trying to look ahead too.

The wooden sign for the inn not only held its name but a symbol of a tree with what looked to be red berries. Two birds alighted on the tree.

“If my Scottish lore is on point, the rowan tree is said to ward off evil and protect heroes,” Blake explained, shooting a grin at Grace through the mirror. “Or heroines, as the case may be.”

“I like the sound of that.” Tony said. “I may just stay inside the hotel for the rest of the time we’re here once I find Lillias.”

Grace opened her mouth to respond, but her attention snagged on a pair of figures across the street from the hotel. A woman in a black mourning dress pushed a stroller, her blond hair catching the dim light.

“Stop the car.” Grace gasped. “Blake, stop! It’s Lillias.”

Blake brought the car to an abrupt halt as Grace craned her neck, her pulse racing. It was Lillias—there could be no doubt. But the man beside her—

Tony’s growl shattered the quiet. “No. It can’t be. No. “

Frederick twisted in his seat, his brow furrowing. “What is it?”

But Grace already knew. Her heart sank even before Tony voiced the terrible truth.

“That’s him.” Tony’s voice was guttural, raw. “That’s the man who stabbed me. That’s Clark.”