Page 48

Mr. Locke welcomed Grace inside his gatehouse apartment with a grin. He’d donned a frayed suit and plaid bowtie to “dress up” the tea a bit, and he led Grace to a small table and chairs by a large window overlooking the back gardens of the castle.

The dear man, his weathered face etched with a lifetime of sun and soil, offered Grace a plate of sandwiches, fruit, and shortbread. His calloused hands trembled slightly as he poured her a cup of tea, but nothing as bad as the way she poured tea.

Their conversation meandered through lighthearted tales of her mother and Alastair Blair as children.

Mr. Locke painted vivid pictures of them darting among the gardens, setting up sanctuaries for fairies (strictly no toads allowed), and fishing for the mythical loch monster with sticks and string.

Grace found herself laughing, drawn in by the warmth of his stories and the pictures it put in her mind of her own dear mother.

Grace couldn’t help but smile at the warmth in Mr. Locke’s words, the love for his work and the people he’d come to see as part of his own family.

It wasn’t just the gardens he’d nurtured over the years—it was the lives within them.

That realization only deepened her respect for the man, though it also made her wonder just how far he’d go to protect the place and its secrets.

After a second sandwich and a piece of shortbread, Mr. Locke leaned back in his chair, studying her with a look so gentle it nearly made her tear up.

“You have much of your mother’s eyes, her expressions and intelligence. I see it.” His crackly voice warmed his words, and his smile only made them sweeter. “The kindness too. I see it.”

Grace’s chest tightened at the words. “I’m so glad you see those things,” she replied softly. “It makes me feel like part of her is close by.”

“Aye, you do. She was a curious one, your mother—always asking questions, always wanting to know the stories behind the flowers, the land, the people.” He nodded toward her chair. “She used to sit right there, pestering me about the names of every plant in the garden.”

Grace smiled. “She adored gardens. She created one at our house in Virginia—it was spectacular. Father said she designed it to look like the one from her childhood, so it must have been this one.”

Mr. Locke straightened a little, his pride shining through. “She loved this land. Proper love, ye ken? She and Laird Blair—both of them understood the value of the old ways. They respected the past and its stories.”

“Yes, I noticed the wood carvings around the castle,” Grace said, leaning forward. “They’re beautiful—so intricate.”

His face lit up. “Ah, those. Aye, I made them for him.”

“All of them?” Grace asked, laughing as she picked up a strawberry from her plate.

“Every last one,” Mr. Locke said with a satisfied nod. “The laird would tell me the stories he loved, and I’d bring them to life in the wood.”

Grace shivered slightly as the memory of the large carved wolves in the library surfaced. The gleaming eyes and snarling mouths had felt unnervingly real. “Some of them looked very lifelike,” she said with a half-smile.

“Aye,” Mr. Locke said with a chuckle, leaning in as though sharing a secret topped off with a wink. “They’re my eyes in the castle, ye ken?”

Grace snorted into her tea, quickly covering her mouth. “Well, if those eyes could tell you where the will is, Mr. Locke, it’d save us all a great deal of trouble.”

His expression turned sly, his hand lifting his cup in an almost toast-like gesture. “Ah, lass, but where’s the fun in that? Even if I did know. Besides,” he added, his voice dipping low, “I think you’ve already been pokin’ about in places you ought not.”

Grace felt her cheeks flush. “Your eyes at work again, I see.”

He sipped his tea without answering, though his smirk did all the talking. Well, even if he didn’t know where the will was, Grace imagined he had his suspicions. Especially with the connection he had to the estate and Laird Blair.

“Forgive me for being so direct,” Grace said, setting her cup down. “But what happened between Lord and Lady Blair? I have the distinct impression theirs wasn’t a—happy marriage.”

The humor drained from Mr. Locke’s face. “No. Not happy. But not because of the laird. He married her for love. She”—he shook his head, his lips pressing into a tight line—”she married him for the coin. Anything that glittered or could be spent, that’s all she cared for. Not him.”

“And he knew?”

“Aye, he knew,” Locke said, his voice thick with regret.

“Told me so himself. He loved her anyway. Foolish man. But I caught her once, ye ken, stealing from him—taking the family jewels. Confronted her, I did, but she—she had a way of making a man feel smaller than a blade of grass.” He paused, his jaw tightening.

“Cold as ice, that one. But she got her due.”

A shiver slid up Grace’s spine at the sudden chill in his tone. “Did she?”

“Aye.” His eyes steadied on hers. “She killed him. I saw them that night—her walking him down to the loch. He was in no state to be walking, looked like he’d been drinking, but now I wonder if she didnae do something to him.

They went out on the boat, just like they used to when they first married.

And the next morn I found his body on the shore. ”

Grace’s breath caught. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “And her? You didn’t find her body?”

“No.” His gaze darkened. “The kelpies got her.”

“The kelpies?” Grace blinked, unsure if she’d heard correctly.

“Aye.” Mr. Locke nodded solemnly. “Even the demons of the loch couldn’t abide her villainy. They dragged her down to the depths for what she did. That’s why her spirit haunts the castle now. It’s her penance.”

Grace thought it wise not to challenge the man’s tale, though the corner of her mouth twitched at the fantastical turn.

She could certainly appreciate a little fiction thrown into a story.

“Mr. Locke, I’d like to make things right for my cousin Alastair.

The only way to do that is to find the will.

If we don’t, Mosslea will be auctioned off.

” She hesitated before adding, “I believe Mr. Kane wants it.”

“Her brother?” Mr. Locke’s eyes narrowed to slits.

“Yes.” She almost said aye just to see what it felt like. “If anyone knows where Laird Blair might have kept a second copy of the will, it would be you. The only way my sister and I can continue the Blair legacy is to find it.”

“And your sister?” he asked, his gaze sharp. “She’ll honor it?”

Grace hesitated, then smiled faintly. “The will leaves the estate to both of us equally. Neither of us can make a change without the other’s agreement. My sister’s looking for a fresh start, and I think Mosslea is that place.”

The silence stretched like a taut string between them until Mr. Locke cleared his throat. “Toward the end, the laird asked me to carve new pieces. Creatures with secret compartments in them. He never told me why. Just said it was important.”

Secret compartments? Grace’s heart quickened. Like the book she’d found. “Are they still in the castle?”

“As far as I know.” Mr. Locke’s voice softened. “He kept them close. Treasured them. They’d be in a place special to him.”

“His favorite room?” Grace asked, sitting up straighter.

“Aye.” Mr. Locke’s eyes glimmered anew as he raised his teacup. “If ye can find it.”