Page 78 of The Highland Heist
Zahra lingered close to Frederick’s side as they entered, her wide, grayish green eyes catching the lantern light. Grace wondered what the girl made of all this—a world of rugged hills and whispered legends, so far removed from the sunlit streets and sand of her homeland.
“Not very big, is it?” Tony grumbled, falling in behind them.
“It’s clean and tidy,” Blake replied, nodding appreciatively toward the room. “Both top marks on my list. And judging by the smell, the food promises to be excellent.” He stepped ahead, tossing a grin over his shoulder. “I sent a message ahead to reserve rooms, so they’re expecting us.”
“Blake is incredibly convenient to have around,” Grace whispered to Frederick, noting the way her husband was watching his cousin with that perpetual mix of admiration and skepticism.
“No argument here,” Frederick murmured, though his brows knit as if Blake were a particularly intriguing puzzle. “I’ve always known him to be efficient, but I’m starting to suspect he’s uncannily so.”
“Well, I’d rather have uncanny efficiency on our side than on Mr. Clark’s.”
“He has good eyes.” Since Zahra spoke so infrequently, her words always seemed to matter more.
“Good eyes?” Grace leaned down to listen. “Hazel?”
Zahra stared back, her expression unchanging. “Safe.”
The word pricked at something in Grace’s chest that she couldn’t quite define, but she placed her palm on Zahra’s head, pushing up a smile. Being a mother really entailed controlling ones emotions at so many levels. “Yes, I think he is very safe.”
A cheerful innkeeper bustled from behind the counter, her ruddy cheeks and bright smile suggesting that gossip was as much her currency as coin.
“Welcome to Angloss,” she said, clasping her hands together, her accent as warm and calming as Mr. Barclay’s. Grace already felt a kinship to her. “I’m Mrs. MacIntosh. Would you happen to be the party with a Mr. Blake?”
“Indeed, we are. And I am Mr. Blake,” he declared, stepping forward and wielding his charm like a sword. Mrs. MacIntosh’s smile deepened, practically glowing under its influence. Grace envied how easily Blake put people at ease. Her own smiles, though heartfelt, often seemed to elicit puzzled looks or polite chuckles—particularly when she veered into topics like unraveling fictional murders.
Perhaps it was a matter of practice.
The only person she’d been really practicing her smiles on had been Frederick, but from all she could tell, her practice had been working very well.
“Do you have a fine room for Lord and Lady Astley here and their daughter Zahra?”
“Lord and lady?” Mrs. MacIntosh preened a little and sent them a rosy-cheeked smile. “Oh aye, we do. The finest in the inn with a view of the loch and Castle Mosslea.”
“Excellent.” Blake continued, waving toward Tony whose flat cap was pulled low and scarf wrapped high despite the summer heat. The disguise was hardly convincing, but in a small village where no one expected to see a supposedly dead man, it might just do the trick.
“And I feel that the two of us can share as long as the room is fitted with two beds?” Blake didn’t wait for Tony’s response before turning back to Mrs. MacIntosh. “Is that possible?”
How very clever of Blake! Grace felt almost certain he wanted to share a room with Tony to keep an eye on the man. If not for health reasons as he recovered from being mostly dead, then to keep Tony from losing all self-control and revealing himself to Lillias.
Mrs. MacIntosh’s gaze flickered toward Tony before settling back on Blake. “Aye, a nice big room.”
Her voice held a melodic lilt that seemed to settle into the very air. Grace found herself drawn forward. “We hope to visit the castle in the morning. Would you happen to know who we might speak to about gaining access?”
The innkeeper’s expression shifted, her brow creasing. “The castle?” She hesitated. “I wouldnae wish to visit it, if I were you, my lady.”
“And why not?” Frederick stepped to her side, softening his question with a smile of his own. Yes, her darling husband had a wonderfully charming smile too. “Is it not open for tours like other Highland castles?”
“Aye, Mr. Locke, the gardener will give anyone a tour for a fee. Lives in the gatehouse at the end of the village,” Mrs. MacIntosh replied. But then she leaned in, her pale eyes sparkling with the promise of a tale worth hearing. “That said, not many visit since Laird Blair passed. No one wants to risk it.”
“Risk?” Blake asked, leaning casually on the counter as if they were discussing the weather. “And whatever should we know about this risky castle, Mrs. MacIntosh?”
Mrs. MacIntosh’s gaze darted over her shoulder before she answered, as if fearing someone might overhear. “It’s haunted.”
“Haunted?” Grace nearly gasped. Could this adventure get any more fantastical?
Blake tilted his head in mock gravity. “A ghost in general, or are we dealing with a very specific kind of ghost, Mrs. MacIntosh?”
“Aye, very specific,” she answered with relish. “The Grey Lady. But we all know who she really is.”
