Page 1 of Kilty Until Proven Innocent
Prologue
Drummond Kennedy wonderedif he was getting drunk.
‘Twas possible. It had been a long time since he’d been truly drunk—he hated the thought of allowing his guard down like that. But now…what did it matter?
Sitting alone in the small room he’d used for years to manage the King’s Hunter business, he scowled down at the cup of whisky on his desk. A pool of fiery amber contained in a battered mug. A liquid-filled island in a sea of – nothing.
Not a tablet, parchment, or missive to be seen.
All of his missions, complete.
All of his duties, done.
And the King had given him no new ones.
His three best Hunters had married off this year —one, two, three, right after each other. Did His Majesty blame him? There were other Hunters spread throughout Scotland on assignment. Drum could bring them back in, give them new missions.
Except thereareno new missions.
Was it because the King thought the Hunters were no longer useful? Or was it about Drum himself?
Bah. Likely for the best there’s nae new missions. Naught for yer snoop to find.
He lifted the cup to his lips, glad to see his hands were still steady. He wasn’t drunk.
Yet.
Thrice in the last month, since Craig had left for the Sinclairs, Drum had noticed thingsoffin thisroom, or in the small chamber he occupied here in the palace. Someone had searched through his things, searched through the scrolls and records of the Hunters’ missions.
The snoop.
And a dozen times or more, he’d felt someone’s eyes on him. At court, while stalking the streets, eating supper—someonewas watching him, and ‘twas utterly galling that he couldn’t determinewho.
Were they enemies of the crown? If so, he’d lay down his life to protect the King and Queen.
But…
But as the weeks went by and fewer missions came from His Majesty, Drum began to suspect something else.
Christ, this whisky is tasting better. That’s how ye ken ye’ve had enough, aye?
Scowling, Drum took another sip, just to sayfook yeto his subconscious. He wished he hadn’t finished off the last of the bottle.
Was it possible… He hated to consider it, but ‘twas time to admit the possibility that the King no longer trusted him. Was it possible the unknown watcher, whoever had searched through his space, was sent…
Sent bythe crown?
Did His Majesty have other agents, agents unknown to the leader of his Hunters? A few months ago, Drum would’ve laughed at the thought, but now… He’d thought the King told him everything, trusted him implicitly.
But mayhap he’d been wrong.
Mayhap he’d been wrong abouteverything.
He’d devoted his life to the King and to the idea of justice in Scotland. If he was no longer trusted by the crown, then what was he left with?
Worse than that, ye ken too much to no’ be trusted.
Aye. The emptiness in his gut had naught to do with the whisky and lack of food. ‘Twas dread.
