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“Aye. A grand lass, she was. As good a heart as ever there was.” His fingers squeezed hers in return. “And it’s in you too. In your eyes.” He waved his hand toward her face. “You don’t last as long as I have without seeing certain things.”

Grace caught a glance at Frederick, who had stepped closer, his palm gently pressing to her back.

Something about Mr. Locke reminded her of ancient trees or wise elves from fairy stories—mysterious, yet reassuring.

She wanted to know more. Ask more. The loss of Rutledge House still felt fresh, but standing here in a place connected to her mother, with someone who had known her, made it feel a little less like so much had been lost. “I’d love to hear more about her if you’d be willing to share. Perhaps over tea?”

His brow rose in surprise. “Aye, I’d gladly do so.

‘Twould be good for the both of us, I’d say.

Me to recall better days, and you to know from where you’ve come.

” He gave his head a shake. “Your sister came yesterday to tour the castle, but she didnae seem as keen to talk of your mother or the past. I’m glad to hear you’re willing. ”

“Not only willing, happy to.” Grace gave his hands another squeeze before releasing them. “Would you be available tomorrow?”

Mr. Locke studied Grace’s face, his smile softening. “Aye, I’ve nothin’ but time, lass.” He chuckled, then looked toward the castle. “And if you want, I’ll have ye join me here at the gatehouse tomorrow. We’ll take another keek of the castle—if you’re keen.”

“I’ll certainly be … keen.” Grace’s grin grew so wide it pinched her cheeks. “And this is my darling husband, Lord Astley, and our daughter, Zahra.”

“Lord?” The man’s gaze swung to Frederick. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. I hadnae idea.”

“It’s no matter here, Mr. Locke,” Frederick interrupted, waving away the man’s concern. “I’ll happily disappear as the husband of Elspeth Blair Ferguson’s daughter in this—and many other—respects, so you needn’t worry about ceremony.”

Mr. Locke looked between them, his eyes calculating, as if weighing them in some ancient balance.

Those eyes seemed to hold more than any pair she’d ever encountered—even more than the ones she’d seen in Egypt.

“Aye, ye’ll do nicely here.” He nodded, then gestured toward the castle path.

“You’re lookin’ for Laird Blair’s will, I wager? ”

The warmth in Grace’s face instantly froze. She exchanged a glance with Frederick, the chill spreading. Oh no. Had Lillias told him everything already?

“Did my sister tell you?” Grace asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage.

Mr. Locke nodded as he turned back toward the gatehouse to fetch a ring of old keys and a walking stick. “Aye. When she came with Mr. Kane.” His smile vanished completely at the mention of Mr. Kane.

“And you’re not too keen on Mr. Kane?” Frederick asked.

Mr. Locke closed the door of the gatehouse with a quiet thud and gestured toward the castle path ahead, clearly avoiding an answer. “Let me show you Mosslea.”

As they walked a few steps, Mr. Locke pointed to the left, where the loch shimmered in the distance. “She’d sit out there by the loch with her sketchbook, drawing the water and the hills.”

Grace moved a little closer to him, captivated. “My mother?”

“Aye. She and the previous laird were thick as thieves when they were weans.” Mr. Locke’s walking stick made a rhythmic thump against the stone path as they climbed the incline. “Only children of only children, they were. Loved the same things.”

“Like what?” Grace sent a grin over her shoulder to Frederick, and he smiled back.

Yes, she should be thinking very sleuthy thoughts right now, but certainly her dashing detective would keep his investigative hat on while she learned a little more about the woman whose laugh she barely remembered.

Who gave her this brilliant and noticeable hair color.

Who read stories to her at night which incited her own love of story.

Mr. Locke’s eyes twinkled afresh, and he gestured with his stick toward the castle. “I’ll show ye.”

Ah, Frederick knew well the grandeur and shadow of an old family home.

Despite its description as a castle, its exterior and many aspects of its interior reminded him of his home, Havensbrooke, even down to the frayed rugs and dusty tapestries.

But the beauty was there too, seasoned with time in some ways.

High ceilings arched overhead, supported by darkened wooden beams whose sturdiness mocked their weathered appearance.

Beveled windows flung patterns of light across dining rooms, ballrooms, and sitting rooms far too large to heat properly.

The mingled scents of beeswax polish and damp stone lingered in the air like a memory.

He drew a deep breath. Of all the places he’d traveled to, this echo of home settled him most—though it was hard to fully appreciate when it came bundled with a ghost hunt, a missing will, and the lurking possibility of a murderer.

“Those were favorites of Laird Blair and your mother.” Mr. Locke’s voice interrupted his reverie, drawing Frederick’s attention to a massive fireplace adorned with carved wooden figures on either end of the marble mantel.

Frederick narrowed his eyes. He’d seen them before. Something from Scottish folklore. Sleek, horse-like creatures with wild manes and eyes gleaming with an unsettling intelligence.

“Kelpies,” Grace murmured, stepping closer, her tone laced with a sense of wonder.

Mr. Locke grinned, his expression crinkling with approval. “Ah, so ye know a bit of lore, do ye?”

Her gaze lit as she looked at the old man, and if Frederick guessed, Mr. Locke was deciding on whether to adopt Grace as a granddaughter or not.

Very good. A charmed Mr. Locke was a helpful Mr. Locke, especially if it led to learning more about Grace’s mother—or uncovering useful leads for their investigation.

Investigation. The word still snagged in his thoughts like a boot heel on a loose floorboard. How had this become his life?

“Mother read Scottish tales to me as a child,” Grace explained, brushing her fingers over the carvings. “I’ve done some research since.” She recited softly, “‘Beware the kelpie,’ the old folks say. ‘He will lure you into a watery grave.’“

The words seemed to shiver in the air, bouncing off stone walls and sending a faint chill through the room.

Zahra slid her hand into his, and he gave it a squeeze.

“Are they real?” Zahra asked, her young voice adding brightness to the room.

The gardener chuckled. “Real enough, lass, if you’ve a mind to believe. And dangerous enough if ye’ve the foolhardiness to defy them.”

The tour continued, revealing carvings of other mythical creatures: selkies, fairies, wulvers, even a Loch Ness Monster. Mr. Locke patted the latter fondly. “Cannae live here without one.” He patted the creature one last time and continued, keeping them on the main level.

At one point, Grace gestured toward the stairs. “Will we tour the upper levels?”

“No, my lady.” Mr. Locke sent a look in the direction she pointed. “Those are private chambers for whoever takes the castle next. I’ve no permission to lead people there.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Would my mother have stayed there during her visits?”

Mr. Locke hesitated, his expression tightening before he spoke. “Aye. The family rooms. In fact, the chamber at the end of the hall was Laird Blair’s favorite.”

Was it Frederick’s imagination, or had the man emphasized that detail as if daring them to investigate? “His study, perhaps?” Frederick prompted, adopting an air of casual curiosity.

“No, my lord.” Mr. Locke’s grin returned, sly as a fox. “He had his study for peace and quiet from a bothersome wife, but the Laird preferred a more … expansive retreat.” He glanced at Grace, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Much like a selkie slipping away to the sea.”

Grace exchanged a look with Frederick, and he knew she’d also caught the implication. But Mr. Locke, apparently satisfied with his cryptic hint, offered no further elaboration.

They stayed a little longer, but Mr. Locke didn’t offer any further clues or hints, and when they made their way back to the car, they found Blake and Tony waiting inside.

“Nothing much to report except for a little skiff docked among the underbrush at the edge of the loch,” Tony explained once they’d all settled into the car, and he’d tugged off his hat.

“And the two of you?” Blake asked.

Without further encouragement, Grace shared their conversation with Mr. Locke, interspersing information about her mother in between more significant details for the investigation like the lay of the castle, Mr. Locke’s dislike of Lady Blair and possibly Mr. Kane, and the hint of something important about Lord Blair’s rooms upstairs.

“Well, it certainly sounds as if we have a plan for tonight.” Blake drew the car to a stop in front of their hotel.

Frederick drew in a deep breath for strength as Blake’s grin took a mischievous upturn and Grace’s eyes lit with mystery-loving fire. “And that is?”

“Anyone up for a late-night treasure hunt in a haunted castle?” He wiggled his brows. “Nothing brings a family closer, I’ve heard?”