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If he had been gossiping, no doubt he’d gotten an earful. “Duffy is nearly sixty years old, my lord, and Mrs. Duffy scarcely less than that. We didn’t dismiss them, we pensioned them.”

“I see.” His teasing grin had vanished, and he was frowning again.

Had one of the less friendly villagers told him they’d tossed the Duffys aside, as if their years of faithful friendship meant nothing to them?

Or perhaps he thought Duffy and Mrs. Duffy had left them after the accusations began. He might think the Duffys believed the worst of the rumors and had relinquished their places to get away from the MacLeod witches.

The Duffys would never have done such a thing, not in a thousand years, but why should the gossips care about the truth?

Yet it didn’t sit right with her, that Lord Ballantyne should think so ill of them as that. She opened her mouth to say so, but then snapped it closed again.

What did it matter? It wasn’t the last or the worst that would be said of them, and she and her sisters had long since stopped trying to defend themselves against gossip. They may as well try and pick the leaves off every tree in the woods than attempt to silence the wagging tongues.

She kept quiet as they wound their way down the path and through the edge of the woods, close enough to the coastline that they could see the gray waters of Loch Dunvegan peeking through the trees.

Soon enough, they rounded a bend in the pathway, and she pointed to a small, stone cottage with the steep, thatched roof that was so common in the Highlands. It was nestled above a shallow notch in the land, some distance above the loch. “That’s their cottage.”

It was such a dear, familiar sight, that tiny little cottage! She had a great many happy memories of playing there as a child with her sisters, picking the blackberries in the brambles behind Mrs. Duffy’s tiny garden until their hands and mouths were stained purple with juice.

A wistful sigh must have slipped out of her because Lord Ballantyne wrapped a warm hand around her elbow and urged her forward. “Come, Miss MacLeod. I daresay they’ll be delighted to see you.”

* * *

Delighted turned out to be an understatement.

An older gentleman with gray hair and stooped shoulders answered the door, and as soon as he caught sight of Miss MacLeod, his entire demeanor changed.

He straightened to his full height, and his mouth curved in a beaming smile that took years off his face.

He didn’t appear to notice Hamish, he was so thrilled to see her.

“Well, well, well, here she is! It’s past time you came to pay a call, Miss Catriona. Where are your sisters, eh?”

“They both send their love and promise to come as soon as they can.” Miss MacLeod held out the basket to him. “Freya’s sent some of her jam, and Sorcha made Dundee cake.”

Mr. Duffy took the basket and peeked underneath the cloth she’d folded neatly over the top. “A wee bit of something for my joints, too.” He gave her a wink and ushered them inside. “Come in, come in. Mrs. Duffy will be beside herself.”

“Is that my dearest girl?” Quick footsteps sounded in the hallway, and the next moment, a tiny, white-haired lady appeared. She flew across the room as fast as her legs would carry her and clasped Miss MacLeod’s face in her hands. “Oh, my precious girl!”

“I’ve missed you, seanmhair .” Miss MacLeod’s voice was thick, and the hand that reached up to clasp Mrs. Duffy’s was shaking.

“And I missed you, ogha .” The old woman’s faded blue eyes swam with tears as she kissed Miss MacLeod’s cheeks, one after the other. “You look worn out, love. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I’m very well, indeed.” Miss MacLeod gave the old lady an affectionate smile. “You’re not going to fuss, are you?”

“Why, what a silly question, Catriona. Of course I am.” Mrs. Duffy patted her cheek. “And your sisters? How do they do? Is Freya still spending all her time up on the roof?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. I’m obliged to regularly scold her for it. I worry she’ll catch her death up there with the wind coming off the loch, but I can’t deny she’s made great strides forward with her studies over the past few months.”

“Ach, well, she’s a clever girl, is Freya.” Mr. Duffy gave an indulgent nod. “What of Sorcha? Is she still running about the woods like a wild thing with those birds of hers?”

“Oh, yes. More so than ever. I think she’s searching for another pair of abandoned baby sparrowhawks to add to her falconry.”

“I daresay she’ll find them, too.” Mrs. Duffy waved an airy hand in the air.

“That one knows those woods as if she were born to it, but that’s your mother’s blood flowing in her veins, isn’t it?

The Murdoch daughters are all remarkable in some way.

” Mrs. Duffy caught both of Catriona’s hands in hers.

“She would have been proud of all three of you, ogha .”

“Who’s this you have with you, lass?” Duffy had spotted Hamish at last and was scowling at him in a decidedly unfriendly manner. “I’ve never seen his face before.”

Mrs. Duffy was staring at him over Miss MacLeod’s shoulders, her eyes wide. “ Ogha? ”

“Forgive me.” Miss MacLeod turned to him just in time for him to see her throat move in a nervous swallow. “This gentleman is Hamish Muir.”

“Muir?” Duffy repeated. “Did you say Muir?”

Ah, he recognized the name. It was obvious from the old man’s suddenly wary expression.

“Yes, seanair .” Miss MacLeod glanced from Duffy to Hamish, biting her lip. “He’s the Marquess of Ballantyne.”

“Is he, now? What does a marquess want with you, lass?” The question was directed to Miss MacLeod, but the old man’s gaze remained pinned on Hamish.

“It’s a bit complicated, I’m afraid. Lord Ballantyne and I have something to ask you, seanair . Perhaps we might come in and sit down?”

“Aye, of course, of course. We’ll have some Dundee cake and tea. Duffy, take Catriona and Lord Ballantyne inside, and I’ll be along in a moment with the tea.”

Mrs. Duffy took the basket from her husband, then bustled off toward the kitchen while Duffy led them to what passed for a drawing room in a Highland cottage. It wasn’t elegant or grand, but it was cozy and warm from the fire in the stone fireplace.

“What’s this all about, lass?” Duffy asked, as soon as they were seated, and Mrs. Duffy had joined them with a tray laden with the tea things and four generous slices of Dundee cake.

“It’s, ah . . . well, I’m not quite sure how to put this, but I was sorting through my father’s papers the other night, and I came across something odd.”

“Odd?” Duffy exchanged a glance with his wife. “Eh, well, your father had all sorts of doings, and all of them odd in one way or another. What did you find, lass?”

Hamish was watching Duffy carefully. The old man was a cagey one, but the sudden pinch between his brows and the way his fingers tightened around his teacup gave him away.

He knew something. A great many somethings, in fact, including what Catriona was going to ask him, even before she mentioned the coins.

“I came across the green velvet pouch where my father kept his Louis d’Or gold ten-piece, seanair , only when I opened it, I found three gold pieces, instead of just the one he’s always had. All three of them are identical to his—all Louis XIII ten-pieces, dated sixteen hundred forty.”

Duffy froze with his teacup halfway to his lips, his gaze meeting Mrs. Duffy’s over the top edge. Some silent communication passed between them, then she gave him a brief nod.

“I wondered how long it would take you to find those coins. Not long, eh? You’re a clever lass, Catriona.” Duffy set the teacup on the table beside him with a sigh. “Aye, there’s three coins now, right enough.”

Catriona let out a breath. “Then you do know something about it. I felt certain you would. It’s, ah . . . it’s rather important, seanair , that you tell me and Lord Ballantyne whatever it is you know.”

“Aye, I know something about it, but little enough you’re bound to be disappointed, lass.” He gave Hamish a measuring look. “You’re Archie Muir’s son, then? You’ve my condolences on his recent passing, my lord. He was a good man.”

Hamish set his own teacup aside, his hands suddenly unsteady.

He hadn’t expected this. The shock of hearing his father’s name on Duffy’s lips ripped open the raw wound in his chest. The grief threatened to pour through the ragged edges, and he swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat. “You knew my father, Mr. Duffy?”

Duffy shook his head. “Nay, my lord. I never laid eyes on the man myself, but Catriona’s father had naught but good to say about him.”

“They did know each other, then?” He’d known it, of course. How his father had crossed paths with Rory MacLeod remained a mystery, but they’d fallen into each other’s way at some point. Nothing else made sense, but there was a relief in hearing it confirmed.

“Oh, aye, these past twenty-nine years and more.”

Hamish exchanged a look with Catri—er, that is, Miss MacLeod, before turning back to Duffy. “Where did the coins come from?”

“Eh, well, I can’t tell you as much about that as I’d like, my lord, but I know this.

Rory had that one coin for years, ever since he returned from some mad adventure up north, near Eilean nan Ron.

I asked him about it, once. It’s an odd old coin, ye ken, and not the sort of thing a man stumbles upon, but he never did tell me how he came by it. ”

Hamish leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees to hide their shaking. “Did he ever tell you anything about it?”

“Nay, not much. Only that it had something to do with a promise he’d made.”

A promise he’d made. Those were nearly the same words his own father had used when he’d spoken to him about the coins. “Was it you who sent Mr. MacLeod’s coin to me at my London townhouse?”

Duffy hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded. “Aye, that was me. Some years ago, Rory told me that his coin was to go to a gentleman in London once he passed—one Archibald Muir. He made me promise I’d see to it after he died, and so, I did.”

“How strange,” Miss MacLeod murmured. “He never said a word to me about that coin, or to Freya or Sorcha, as far as I know.”

“He didn’t like you girls involved in the smuggling, lass. A dangerous business, that. He never wanted you too close to it.”

“The coins have something to do with the smuggling, then?” It would make sense.

There were a few vague rumors still floating about London that his own father had dabbled in smuggling as a young man.

Whether it was true or not was anyone’s guess, but if his father had been a smuggler, he’d given it up after he married Hamish’s mother, as her father, the English Marquess of Ballantyne hadn’t looked upon Scottish smugglers with a friendly eye.

“As to that, I can’t rightly say, my lord, but if it did, Mr. MacLeod never said so to me.”

Hamish’s heart sank at that discouraging reply, but he did his best to hide his disappointment. “I see. Thank you, Mr. Duffy. You’ve been quite helpful.”

Not as helpful as he’d hoped, but at least they now knew there had in fact been some sort of promise between his father and Rory MacLeod. As to the nature of that promise, well . . . they’d likely never know.

“Not so hasty, my lord. There is one more thing ye may find interesting.”

“What’s that, seanair ?” Miss MacLeod asked, reaching for the teapot to refill Hamish’s cup.

“After Mr. MacLeod’s passing, I went to his study to fetch the coin, so as to send it off to Archibald Muir in London and fulfill my promise to him, and what do you think I found, but four gold coins, instead of just the one.”

“Four coins.” Catriona had gone still with the teapot poised over Hamish’s teacup. “And you’d never seen the other three coins before that?”

“Nay, lass. Someone sent them to your father, right enough, but I don’t know who.” Mr. Duffy shook his head. “I didn’t know what to make of it at the time, and I still don’t.”

“Do you have any idea when the coins arrived at Castle Cairncross, seanair ?” Catriona asked. “Oh, thank you, seanmhair ,” she added, as Mrs. Duffy relieved her of the teapot. “I have a feeling the timing is rather important.”

Hamish had the same feeling, and he waited with some impatience for Mr. Duffy to gather his thoughts.

“I can’t say for sure, lass. I never saw the coins until after your father passed, but I’ve a feeling they came right before your father made up his mind to go off on that last adventure of his.”

Hamish’s heart began to pound. “What makes you say that, Mr. Duffy?”

“Just a feeling, my lord. Something happened, and I can’t think of what it could have been except those coins coming when they did.

He wasn’t acting like himself, right before he left that last time.

I wish he’d have just stayed put.” Mr. Duffy’s voice had gone thick.

“He was a good man, your father, Catriona. Not an easy man, but a good one.”

Catriona didn’t speak, but she nodded, her eyes bright.

“Ach, well, we all meet our end one way or another.” Mr. Duffy passed his hand over his eyes. “I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I know.”

“You’ve helped us tremendously, seanair. ” Catriona reached out to squeeze Mr. Duffy’s hand. “But perhaps that’s enough about my father for now.” She turned to Mrs. Duffy with a bright smile. “Won’t you show me your garden, seanmhair ? How is your Astrantia faring? Is it blooming still?”

Mrs. Duffy beamed at her. “Oh, aye. It’s as pretty a pink as you’ll ever see.”

They all set their teacups aside and rose to their feet, but Hamish hung back, stopping Catriona with a hand on her arm.

“ Astrantia ?” he murmured in her ear. “What in the world is Astrantia ?”

“The name comes from the Latin word for star, my lord,” she whispered back. “But it’s commonly known as masterwort.”

“Masterwort? Good Lord. It sounds poisonous.”

“Only a little bit, my lord. Nothing like monkshood. It’s quite effective at curing headaches, and handy, as well, as the flowers can be dried and stored for later use.”

His lips twitched. “How wonderful, Miss MacLeod, but if it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep my distance.”