Page 73 of The Highland Heist
“They were shot last week, on the 28th of June. It’s being framed as a nationalist act of defiance, but it’s far more than that.” His jaw tightened. “This could unravel everything.”
“Everything?” Grace echoed, her imagination spinning in a dozen directions. “Do you mean war?”
Frederick’s silence was answer enough.
Grace’s pulse quickened. “And Britain? Could we be drawn in?”
He ran a thumb over her knuckles, his gaze steady but somber. “The alliances across Europe are a tangled web. If one nation falls, others may follow. I hope cooler heads prevail, but we must prepare for the possibility that they won’t.”
Grace stared at him, the enormity of what he was saying sinking in. “And Britain too?”
“I don’t know. Hopefully it will all be sorted in a peaceful and mutually respectful way.” His voice remained calm, maybe even hopeful, but it held an undercurrent of uncertainty. “Regardless, it’s my duty as a peer of the realm and a former military man to be ready for whatever lies ahead. My position means I can’t ignore what’s happening. But I admit … it feels like the world is shifting beneath our feet.”
She refused to comment on the fact that they currently rode on a ship across the ocean so the world was quite literally shifting beneath their feet; instead, she leaned close to him, placing a kiss on his cheek. “If the world is shifting beneath our feet, dear Frederick, then we must trust in the one who holds the whole world all the more.”
His gaze found hers and he smiled, pulling her hands to his lips in an act of love and solidarity. “Indeed, darling. Indeed.”
Chapter 18
Frederick gave his head a sharp shake as Glasgow’s harbor loomed into view, its steel-gray waters rippling beneath a muted July sky. War? Surely not. Yet with the unrest creeping across Europe and alliances shifting like sand underfoot, he couldn’t ignore the nagging sense that something far darker than a mysterious castle or a makeshift murderer hovered just beyond the horizon.
To his right, Grace held Zahra’s hand, her expression more subdued than usual. It wasn’t often his wife allowed shadows to settle across her face; she was far too skilled at inviting sunshine into any gloom. Even now, despite her quiet demeanor, he could see her mind working, likely forming some quip to draw him out of his thoughts.
And he would let her.
Whatever lay in the future, his focus had to remain on the tangible dangers of the present.
Tony, leaning against the railing to his left, seemed a man transformed after their six-day voyage. Rest and enjoying some distance from recent events had restored his color and given him a renewed sense of purpose.
To start over.
To set things right.
To redeem his family.
Frederick understood that kind of resolve. It was the kind that burned through doubt and left behind something sharper, something unyielding.
“It reminds me of Liverpool when I arrived in England with you for the first time.” Grace pressed a hand to her hat, a necessary precaution given her uncanny ability to lose them.
Frederick’s lips twitched. Her knack for misplacing hats was, in its own way, impressive.
“Did Liverpool look as dark and smoky as this?” Tony asked, wrinkling his nose at the sooty skyline.
Grace leaned forward, craning her neck to look around Frederick. “Not to worry, Tony. As Lord Astley once assured me upon my arrival, the landscape improves dramatically the farther one ventures from the city. For country-hearted folk like you and me, the change will be a welcome relief.” She turned toward Frederick. “How long should it take us to get to Angloss from here?”
“I can’t say with certainty,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the ship easing into its berth at the Queen’s Dock. “Travel in Scotland is unfamiliar territory for me, particularly the Highlands. Remote areas tend to keep their own schedules.”
Tony groaned, throwing up his hands. “So we’re fumbling our way through Scotland in search of some obscure little village? This is madness. Grace, I know from your letters that you thrive on this kind of harebrained adventure, but I’m a banker. I don’t have the constitution for being stabbed, nearly buried alive, or employing housekeepers who moonlight as murderers.”
“And I’m an earl,” Frederick interjected with a grin. “Adventures are often thrust upon us, whether we seek them or not. But occasionally, they lead to something remarkable.” He tipped his head toward Grace, his eyes warm. “I wouldn’t trade the adventure that brought me to Lady Astley—not even your part in it, Tony.”
Tony responded with a resigned smile, though his muttering suggested he remained unconvinced.
The ship docked with a jarring clang, and the sounds of Glasgow surged around them—a cacophony of shouting dockworkers, screeching gulls, and the rhythmic groan of cranes lifting cargo from the bellies of steamships. The air was thick with the mingling scents of coal smoke, brine, and the earthy tang of the Clyde.
Frederick leaned on the railing, taking in the scene below. The dock stretched out in a chaotic tangle of warehouses and cranes, with merchant vessels and passenger liners moored in uneven rows. Overhead, smoke from the towering funnels wove itself into the low-hanging clouds, blurring the line between industry and gloom.
The crowd on the dock was a kaleidoscope of movement and color. Families clung to one another in tearful reunions, businessmen exchanged brisk handshakes, and dazed newcomers hesitated at the edges, wide-eyed at the industrial sprawl. Near the customs office, a brass band struck up a jaunty Scottish tune, its cheerful strains stubbornly defying the grime of their surroundings.
