Page 85 of Undercover Savior

Fallon looked like a balloon I’d just stuck a pin in. “Sadly, no. Honestly, I just found it fascinating.”

I jumped when I heard a rap at the door and looked up to see David on the threshold.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, standing to approach him.

“Again, please forgive the interruption, but I must speak with you.”

“Excuse me,” I said to Fallon. “What’s happened?” I asked once we were outside the library.

“Come with me. I can’t speak about it here.”

I followed him outside, to the waiting golf cart, then held on tight as he drove to Thistle Gate at a speed I didn’t think the thing was capable of.

Once inside, he paced the small room. “I just had a conversation with my uncle, and he told me something that, I’ll admit, I’m having a bit of a hard time processing.”

“Come sit with me,” I said, patting the sofa cushion.

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Try.”

He nodded, and when he sat down, I took his hands in mine.

“Okay, start at the beginning.”

“It began innocently enough. Brose asked if he could see the cottage’s refurbishments. On our way here, he mentioned my grandfather had always been enamored with the place.” He looked down at our clasped hands. “That might’ve been the end of it, until he added, ‘For good reason, I’d say.’”

“Go on.”

“He assumed I knew, as he put it, about my grandfather and the housekeeper, whose name he couldn’t remember.”

“Agnes?” I gasped.

“Yes. Then he said, ‘Angus and Agnes. The least well-kept secret in the west of Scotland.’”

My eyes opened wide. “Agnes is Mrs. Drummond’s mother.”

“And Gus—Angus—is her son.”

I closed my eyes and pictured a family tree. “That would make Gus your what? Cousin?”

“And Mairi my aunt.”

“Do you think they know?”

“Mairi, certainly. Gus, I rather hope he doesn’t.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“One, that he kept it from me. Or worse, that he believed I knew and never acknowledged our, err, familial relationship.”

“He’d never think that of you.”

“No?”

I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I hope you’re right.”

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