Page 28 of The Lady's Guide to a Highlander’s Heart
Here was the crying that had threatened to come. Maggie buried her face in her apron and shook her head. “I hardly like tae say, but Flora was convinced the killing was at yer hand. I dinnae ken why the notion took her so, but she was convinced ye were impatient for the power the chieftaincy would bring. She swore devoutly that she’d ne’er live as yer wife, knowing ye were the one as did the murder o' her dear father. She was ready tae leave the castle with nae a soul to protect her, so I hadnae a choice but tae go wi’ her. We took shelter wi’ ma brother, on his croft, and Flora did her best tae learn the farming ways—though she ne’er did quite get comfortable with the milking.”
The milking?
The remembrance of his flame-haired beauty bent beneath the udder of the cow rushed in to make Ragnall smile, but the moment was fleeting.
From the first, she’d contrived to deceive him.
As to the purpose, he wanted badly to believe the maid’s story but, it was just possible, she was as fooled in the ways of Flora Dalreagh as he had been himself.
“Calm yerself. I may wish tae speak wi’ ye again, but ’twill be all for now. I was over hasty in sending yer mistress away, but I’ll have her back tae Balmore soon, and answering a great many questions. I’ll get tae the truth of it, nae doubt.”
Maggie threw herself down and kissed Ragnall’s hand. “Oh! I thank ye for it, Laird Dalreagh—for I’m afeared for her safety at Dunrannoch. ’Tis nae ma place tae blacken the name of yer kinsman but I dinnae believe she’ll receive fair treatment under him. Since the betrothal was broken, I saw he harboured ill-will towards the mistress, and he’s a man tae long hold a grudge, I’d say.” She dabbed at her eyes with the apron. “I havenae slept for worryin’.”
Ragnall’s frown returned. With every word Maggie spoke, his own fears were compounded.
“Leave me now, for I’ve much tae think on.” Ragnall raised her up again. “Be about yer business and say nae a word tae anyone. I mun deal with this myself.”
With another curtsy, the maid departed and Ragnall turned to his faithful wolfhound with a sigh.
Aye, he would get to the bottom of the matter, and do all he could to keep Flora safe, whatever the outcome.
He would begin by making note of all the maid had told him. Drawing the chair from his desk, he took up his quill and paper and began to write. To his chagrin, a draught blew the parchment to the floor before he’d reached the second line, leaving a trail of ink across the desk.
Cursing, he bent to retrieve the quill and there, beneath the table, something caught his eye.
What was that, pushed within the stones?
With nimble fingers, he retrieved it.
A piece of his own parchment, and scrawled in a less than fair hand, but legible nonetheless.
He read the words:
I, Flora Dalreagh, avow to avenge my father’s untimely death—by blade or poison, strangulation or drowning. By whatever means presents itself.
I shall be watchful for the time and, no matter how soft my heart grows, I shall not relent in fulfilling my duty.
Dear God!
’Twas a guide to murder one might say!
Though the tone was naive, the burning intent behind the words was apparent. Flora had written the vow in this very room, most likely—and he’d been the target of her ire. Fortunate for him that her ‘soft heart’ had apparently won out.
Her soft heart.
His own felt a pulse of warmth in response.
And the vow itself? Here was the proof at last of her innocence, in her own hand—for no one could believe her guilty of her father’s murder when she’d written so convincingly of her desire to avenge him.
What a fool he’d been!
At this moment, who knew what danger she was in —for if Flora had not killed Malcolm Dalreagh, he could guess at who the real culprit was. The suspicions he'd pushed aside could no longer be ignored, and Flora's placement in Castle Dunrannoch placed her in mortal danger.
He’d been deceived alright, but nae by the wench who’d crept into his heart.
There was no time for delay, no matter the weather or the amount of ale running through the veins of his men.
The Hogmany feast would be moving to Dunrannoch and, if Calder had harmed Flora in any way, ’twould not be only a hog’s head on the table.
