Page 18 of Highland Sword
Morrigan noticed that information was being exchanged in a kind of negotiation. One offers something; the other offers something in return. What else should she expect from a barrister? “He’s my late mother’s younger brother. We’ve been estranged from that side of the family for a very long time.”
“His name?”
“Robert Wemys.” Even the sound of it on her lips made her ill.
“I wonder how many others he’s used,” Aidan mused, his attention wandering to the garden entrance.
“Your turn,” Morrigan prodded. “How can he help your clients? What can he say that will make a difference?”
His gaze moved over her face. Lingering. Studying her. This time, she sensed what appeared to be a hint of regret as he stared at her bruised mouth. His intensity was somewhat unsettling. For years, Morrigan had been an expert at warding off men’s attentions. Her usual abruptness with would-be suitors intentionally bordered on rudeness, pushing them away at the very moment introductions were being made. She knew she was reasonably pleasant-looking, and many found her odd sense of humor charming. But no flattering compliment ever affected her. She had no interest in any relationship that could lead to romance or marriage. No interest at all. Her past scandal guaranteed it.
The trouble was, she realized, the two of them had skipped that initial introduction.
He motioned to the bench again, and for a second time, she declined.
“Would you be kind enough to speak plainly, sir? We had a bargain, of sorts.”
“Did we?”
“I have no reason to be open with you if you’ll not be open with me.”
“And if I hesitate, do you plan to use me in the same manner that you used the post in the training yard?”
“Are you trying to rile me?”
He smiled, a gesture that made a marked improvement in his looks.
“Your uncle—”
“Neverrefer to him that way again,” she interrupted sharply. “You have a name for him now. Pray, use it.”
“Very well,” he continued, clearly undeterred by her curt tone. “Wemys was one of dozens of men and women the Home Office and local authorities have been paying to subvert the reform movement by infiltrating committees and entrapping the leaders.”
A rat, Morrigan thought. A spy. How appropriate. Shenow knew her father’s immediate circle of friends had harbored such men too.
“Regarding my clients, I plan to have him testify in their trial,” he continued.
“So you said. The Chattan brothers, I hear.”
“You know about them?”
“They’re famous here. The Mackintoshes, the Drummonds, and the Murrays—being radicals—have a stake in the outcome.”
He tugged at his ear thoughtfully and looked pleased with her response. “Then perhaps you already know the two men were drawn into a snare.”
“So everyone says.” Morrigan frowned. “Was it Wemys who did it?”
“No. Someone else. Someone who worked for the same people.”
She waited. She already knew how the entrapment schemes worked. The English government used many underhanded methods to coerce or dupe people into doing their bidding. Maisie’s husband, Niall Campbell, was one they targeted this past year. They held Fiona, his sister, as a prisoner without ever charging her with a crime.
Aidan continued. “Wemys has, or had, a talent for insinuating himself into the circle of trust in the society of reformers. He would put forward plans for acts of violence, plans developed by Sir Rupert Burney and other scoundrels working for Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary.”
“And I know the outcome,” Morrigan responded. “The plot gets ‘miraculously’ discovered, the leaders arrested, and the orchestrated disaster thwarted. The event—as well as the subsequent public outcry—is then used to justify tougher laws and more restrictions on people’s right to gather and protest.”
He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You’re well-informed about their tactics.”
“I lost my father to these villains.”
