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Frederick sent Blake a look as if for clarification.

Mr. Clark was walking with Lillias? Here in Angloss? Out in the open?

All the pieces began to converge in his mind.

Of course. If Mr. Clark wanted Mosslea and the wealth associated with its natural resources, and he’d learned of a new will, why wouldn’t he rush forward at the first availability in order to find it.

And in Scotland he wasn’t likely known for going around stabbing people. At least, from his appearance nonchalantly walking down the street of Angloss. So he could parade around as a typical Scot charming ladies and doing business.

Though, come to think of it, Frederick had known a few Scots who could stab someone before breakfast, then charm a roomful of ladies and down a pint by supper. That might actually be the very definition of a Scot.

Tony shifted toward the car door, his posture taut with purpose, but Blake was faster.

The man leapt from the vehicle with a fluidity that suggested he was part foxhound.

Tony barely had time to reach for the handle before Blake was leaning in, all business, his hand resting lightly against the car frame to block Tony’s view.

“Stay calm, Mr. Dixon. This is not the time for mindless heroics.”

“I won’t sit here and do nothing!” Tony’s voice cracked, and he shifted toward the door. “Lillias is out there with him. He’s dangerous.”

“He likely is.” Blake straightened slightly, his body shielding Tony’s movements from the pair now passing on the opposite side of the street. Lillias laughed at something Clark said, a sound that sent Tony lurching forward like a wound spring.

“She doesn’t know who he really is,” Tony ground out. “She’s walking into a trap.”

“And charging out there would only snap it,” Blake’s calm voice edged with steel. “If you reveal yourself now, he’ll bolt—or worse, he’ll use Lillias as a shield. You’ve already seen what he’s capable of, and I doubt we’ve met the limits of his cunning.”

“But arrogance is his weakness.” Frederick leaned forward, joining the fray. “Parading about the village like a peacock shows he thinks he’s untouchable.”

“Precisely.” Blake nodded in agreement. “That’s how we’ll beat him. But not if you turn this into a melodramatic reunion in the middle of Angloss. Right now, you’re our best card, and he doesn’t know you’re in the deck.”

Tony’s jaw tightened, but Frederick pressed on. “Clark doesn’t suspect you’re alive. That gives us a distinct advantage. He won’t act rashly while he believes he’s in control.”

“And if he’s befriending Lillias, it’s a very good sign,” Grace offered, her smile too bright for the fury on Tony’s brow. “It means he’s not found the will yet. He’d hardly waste time charming her if he’d already destroyed the evidence.”

Tony gaped at her. “Befriending my wife?”

Grace’s expression didn’t waver. “Yes. Frustrating as it may be, it’s a good sign.”

Tony’s gaze flicked toward the street again. Lillias tilted her head toward Clark, her laugh catching the breeze. Tony’s entire body tensed as if ready to spring from the car, but Grace’s hand on his arm held him in place.

“What would happen if you charged up there?” Grace’s voice softened, but her words landed with precision. “Besides nearly stopping Lillias’ heart when she sees her dead husband walking toward her?”

Grace’s unique phrasing of the scenario seemed to do the trick. Tony’s jaw slacked.

Grace continued. “Besides, we don’t have proof to secure Mr. Clark’s villainy.”

“Especially here in the Highlands,” Blake said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though someone from the village might be pressed against the car door with a glass to their ear.

“Clark could be the local favorite son. Accusing him of attempted murder and destruction of property might be about as well-received as marching into a ceilidh wrapped in an English flag.”

Frederick smothered a laugh behind his hand before turning to Tony. “You said it yourself—Clark doesn’t know you’re alive. That’s a rare advantage we can’t afford to waste. The moment he learns the truth, the game changes, and not in our favor.”

Tony raked his hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up like the aftermath of a windstorm.

“So what am I supposed to do?” he snapped, his frustration spilling over.

“Sit here like some ghost while he plays games with my wife? Courts her?” His palm shot toward the direction Lillias and Clark had walked, his voice rising as he continued.

“Probably feeding her lies about how he’s a decent human being and not some conniving, murderous—”

“I know it has to be hard, old bean, but for now we need to bide our time and outsmart him.” Blake leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “If Clark’s playing a game, we need to play smarter.”

“And he’s focused on the will,” Frederick added. “If we find it first, we take away his leverage. That’s the priority. Once we have it, we can deal with him on our terms.”

Tony hesitated, his eyes flicking from Blake to Frederick. Finally, he gave a reluctant nod. “Fine. But if I even think she’s in danger—”

“You’ll be the first one we send in, mate,” Blake interrupted, his grin returning with full force.

He reached over and gave Tony’s shoulder a reassuring pat.

“For now, though, patience. Clark’s arrogance is our greatest asset.

We’ll let him think he’s ahead until we pull the rug out from under him.

” Straightening, he nodded toward the road ahead.

“Let’s get to the castle and start searching.

If this all goes to plan, you’ll be the hero Lillias deserves. ”

Tony muttered something unintelligible as Blake closed the car door.

“So, we’ll keep Tony hidden, gather clues, and hunt for a long-lost will in a centuries-old castle.” Grace’s grin spread enough to light her eyes as she met Frederick’s gaze. “Oh, that does sound like an absolutely marvelous adventure.”

Tony groaned and sank lower into his seat, his arms crossed in defiance of the world at large.

Blake’s grin widened, as if he’d just won a particularly enjoyable round of cards.

Zahra, their quiet observer, gave Grace her usual curious once-over, as though she were still trying to puzzle out how the woman’s mind worked.

And Frederick simultaneously thanked God for his wife …

and prayed for the safety of everyone when her fictional prowess somehow became much more real than it ought to be.

The little bell above the hotel door jingled as the group entered, the cozy interior of Rowan’s Rest wrapping them in a curious smoky scent.

Grace tilted her head, trying to place it—peat, perhaps?

She could identify the delicious aroma of baked bread well enough, and the combination created a homely charm.

The intimacy of the surroundings wrapped around Grace like a hug.

A Scottish hug.

She liked it.

Zahra lingered close to Frederick’s side as they entered, her wide, grayish green eyes catching the lantern light. Grace wondered what the girl made of all this—a world of rugged hills and whispered legends, so far removed from the sunlit streets and sand of her homeland.

“Not very big, is it?” Tony grumbled, falling in behind them.

“It’s clean and tidy,” Blake replied, nodding appreciatively toward the room. “Both top marks on my list. And judging by the smell, the food promises to be excellent.” He stepped ahead, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “I sent a message ahead to reserve rooms, so they’re expecting us.”

“Blake is incredibly convenient to have around,” Grace whispered to Frederick, noting the way her husband was watching his cousin with that perpetual mix of admiration and skepticism.

“No argument here,” Frederick murmured, though his brows knit as if Blake were a particularly intriguing puzzle. “I’ve always known him to be efficient, but I’m starting to suspect he’s uncannily so.”

“Well, I’d rather have uncanny efficiency on our side than on Mr. Clark’s.”

“He has good eyes.” Since Zahra spoke so infrequently, her words always seemed to matter more.

“Good eyes?” Grace leaned down to listen. “Hazel?”

Zahra stared back, her expression unchanging. “Safe.”

The word pricked at something in Grace’s chest that she couldn’t quite define, but she placed her palm on Zahra’s head, pushing up a smile. Being a mother really entailed controlling ones emotions at so many levels. “Yes, I think he is very safe.”

A cheerful innkeeper bustled from behind the counter, her ruddy cheeks and bright smile suggesting that gossip was as much her currency as coin.

“Welcome to Angloss,” she said, clasping her hands together, her accent as warm and calming as Mr. Barclay’s. Grace already felt a kinship to her. “I’m Mrs. MacIntosh. Would you happen to be the party with a Mr. Blake?”

“Indeed, we are. And I am Mr. Blake,” he declared, stepping forward and wielding his charm like a sword.

Mrs. MacIntosh’s smile deepened, practically glowing under its influence.

Grace envied how easily Blake put people at ease.

Her own smiles, though heartfelt, often seemed to elicit puzzled looks or polite chuckles—particularly when she veered into topics like unraveling fictional murders.

Perhaps it was a matter of practice.

The only person she’d been really practicing her smiles on had been Frederick, but from all she could tell, her practice had been working very well.

“Do you have a fine room for Lord and Lady Astley here and their daughter Zahra?”

“Lord and lady?” Mrs. MacIntosh preened a little and sent them a rosy-cheeked smile. “Oh aye, we do. The finest in the inn with a view of the loch and Castle Mosslea.”

“Excellent.” Blake continued, waving toward Tony whose flat cap was pulled low and scarf wrapped high despite the summer heat. The disguise was hardly convincing, but in a small village where no one expected to see a supposedly dead man, it might just do the trick.