Page 55 of Her Magnificent Mistake
“At one point, I had considered the possibility,” she confessed, her attention on the hat she held. “But now…” Shaking her head, Marcia lifted her gaze. “Bull was wearing this yesterday when he was injured. See?” She held up the hat, twisting it so the blood on the band was visible. “I do not think it was an accident.”
Drawn by those bloodstains—at least, that was the convenient lie he told himself—Hawk slowly crossed the workshop. When he was standing before Marcia, he lifted his hands to the hat.
Since she did not remove her hands, it left him cradling both her fingers and the hat.
“This does look like mine,” he murmured, turning it this way and that. “No’ identical, but close. I wore mine yesterday.”
“Yes, well…” Marcia tipped her head slightly to indicate the hat they both held, without dropping his gaze. “Bull was wearing this yesterday. It looks very much like the one youshouldhave been wearing.”
“And you think someone hurt Bull, thinking…he was me?” Hawk asked with a frown. He wanted to blurtpreposterous!...but Marcia was a brilliant woman, all deduction and cleverness, and if she thought this a valid theory…
“Bull still does not recall what happened,” she admitted, “but after the doctor came and left yesterday, I sat with him and Gab—uh, my maid, Smike-Smack-Smick. And Rupert, a bit. We tried to deduce what had caused his injury. See?” Flustered now, she dropped her attention to the hat. “If Bull had been wearing it, then looked upward, the blood would line up with his injury.”
Hawk tried to recreate the movement mentally. “If he was hit from above? Artrip found him lying beneath the cliff, a little south from the spot where we had left our horses.”
She pulled her hands away from the hat, leaving him holding it…and bereft that he couldn’t touch her. “We considered a falling object or rock, something that startled him, made him look up—I would like to return to the Glen and see if we can find blood on any of the rocks.”
“But he wouldnae have looked up—wouldnae be in the correct position—if he had been taken by surprise by an attacker.”
She was nodding along. “We believe he saw whoever did this.”
Hawk’s eyes narrowed. If that was the truth, it was certainly in Bull’s best interest topretendto have amnesia. A tired trope, indeed, but one which would protect him.
He would go along with it, to protect his best friend.
“Why would ye think the attack was meant for me, though?” he asked, tossing the hat to the workbench behind Marcia and planting his hands on his hips. “Aside from the hats looking similar. Nae one has any reason to hurt me.”
“They do,” she said quietly. Her gaze was locked on his left shoulder. “The same reason both your cousins and your uncle died. Perhaps…perhaps even your grandfather. Someone wants Tostinham.”
He swallowed down sudden sourness.
Even when she’d said that earlier, he hadn’t believed her. It was hard to accept now. “Explain,” he demanded again in a rasp.
This time, when she took a deep breath, he didn’t stop himself from swaying closer.
“Your grandfather died of old age—at least, we think. His oldest son was already dead by then.Hisoldest son became baron, but only for a short time.”
“Cousin Franklin, aye.” Hawk barely recognized his own voice. “He ate bad eels.”
“Did he?” Finally Marcia’s gaze flicked to his, and instead of pity in her blue depths, he saw anger. “His younger brother held the title for only a few months, but was killed in a riding accident.”
It wasn’t until Hawk felt her arms tense beneath his palms that he realized he’d lifted his hands to hold her. “Roger always was shite with horses,” he managed. “I told ye that.”
“Your uncle, your mother’s second brother, inherited next, making you his heir, because your own older brother died ten years ago.”
“And Uncle William died in his sleep, surprising us all. He was a jolly fellow, but did no’ live healthy.” Hawk shook his head, but couldn’t force himself to release her. “Without me, his daughter would have inherited—my cousin Marianne protested the will, since she would inherit if there were nae more males. Nae more me.”
“Could she be the one trying to kill you?” Marcia’s gaze was serious. Could they seriously be talking about…murder? “Could she be the one who wants Tostinham for herself?”
Hawk shook his head again, disbelieving.Nay, it couldnae be.“Ye think my cousins, my uncle—mygrandda?Ye think they were murdered? Why? Why would ye think that?”
“Because it is too coincidental.” Her hands rose to his chest. “Hawk,think. So many barons, dying in succession, so swiftly— It is suspicious.”
“There were reasons for them all. Old age, bad seafood, a fall, his heart giving out?—”
“Or smothering, poisoning, tampering with a saddle, and poison again,” Marcia shot right back, color now in her cheeks. “And your brother, Stephen. You said he drowned in Pook’s Glen. Accidentally? Or was he…helped along, to remove him from the line of inheritance early? And your Uncle William’s son, who died as a child. Innocent? Or unlucky?”
Hawk reared back in surprise, pulling her toward him unintentionally. She’d…considered this already? She’d thought through the methods of death for his loved ones?
