Page 82 of The Highland Heist
Grace fell in love with him on the spot. Partly because she had a weakness for older people … and smiles. But something about the man also tugged at a distant memory—one she couldn’t quite place. Had she met him before?
He dipped his head to Frederick. “Come to see the castle, aye?”
“Indeed, we have, Mr. Locke, is it?”
“Aye.” Mr. Locke’s voice creaked like the hinges of an old door. “Been the gardener here for nigh on fifty years.” He turned his rheumy eyes to Zahra, then back to Grace, his smile dropping into open-mouthed wonder. “You—you look just like her.”
Warmth spilled through Grace’s chest and rose into her eyes before she fully comprehended why. “Her?”
“Must be Elspeth Blair’s daughter, then. Wee Grace?”
The heat in her eyes took on liquid form. There it was. The name. Elspeth. Grace hadn’t heard it in so long. Her father always referred to her as “your mother,” or rarely, “Ellie,” but the way Mr. Locke said it—his accent curling the name—made it feel like a long-lost memory rising to the surface.
“Yes, I am,” Grace said, reaching out and taking his bony hand in both of hers. “I only have faint memories of her, of you, and this place, but what a delight to finally return and find such a fixture here who knew my mother.”
“Aye. A grand lass, she was. As good a heart as ever there was.” His fingers squeezed hers in return. “And it’s in you too. In your eyes.” He waved his hand toward her face. “You don’t last as long as I have without seeing certain things.”
Grace caught a glance at Frederick, who had stepped closer, his palm gently pressing to her back. Something about Mr. Locke reminded her of ancient trees or wise elves from fairy stories—mysterious, yet reassuring. She wanted to know more. Ask more. The loss of Rutledge House still felt fresh, but standing here in a place connected to her mother, with someone who had known her, made it feel a little less like so much had been lost. “I’d love to hear more about her if you’d be willing to share. Perhaps over tea?”
His brow rose in surprise. “Aye, I’d gladly do so. ‘Twould be good for the both of us, I’d say. Me to recall better days, and you to know from where you’ve come.” He gave his head a shake. “Your sister came yesterday to tour the castle, but she didnae seem as keen to talk of your mother or the past. I’m glad to hear you’re willing.”
“Not only willing, happy to.” Grace gave his hands another squeeze before releasing them. “Would you be available tomorrow?”
Mr. Locke studied Grace’s face, his smile softening. “Aye, I’ve nothin’ but time, lass.” He chuckled, then looked toward the castle. “And if you want, I’ll have ye join me here at the gatehouse tomorrow. We’ll take another keek of the castle—if you’re keen.”
“I’ll certainly be … keen.” Grace’s grin grew so wide it pinched her cheeks. “And this is my darling husband, Lord Astley, and our daughter, Zahra.”
“Lord?” The man’s gaze swung to Frederick. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. I hadnae idea.”
“It’s no matter here, Mr. Locke,” Frederick interrupted, waving away the man’s concern. “I’ll happily disappear as the husband of Elspeth Blair Ferguson’s daughter in this—and many other—respects, so you needn’t worry about ceremony.”
Mr. Locke looked between them, his eyes calculating, as if weighing them in some ancient balance. Those eyes seemed to hold more than any pair she’d ever encountered—even more than the ones she’d seen in Egypt. “Aye, ye’ll do nicely here.” He nodded, then gestured toward the castle path. “You’re lookin’ for Laird Blair’s will, I wager?”
The warmth in Grace’s face instantly froze. She exchanged a glance with Frederick, the chill spreading. Oh no. Had Lillias told him everything already?
“Did my sister tell you?” Grace asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could manage.
Mr. Locke nodded as he turned back toward the gatehouse to fetch a ring of old keys and a walking stick. “Aye. When she came with Mr. Kane.” His smile vanished completely at the mention of Mr. Kane.
“And you’re not too keen on Mr. Kane?” Frederick asked.
Mr. Locke closed the door of the gatehouse with a quiet thud and gestured toward the castle path ahead, clearly avoiding an answer. “Let me show you Mosslea.”
As they walked a few steps, Mr. Locke pointed to the left, where the loch shimmered in the distance. “She’d sit out there by the loch with her sketchbook, drawing the water and the hills.”
Grace moved a little closer to him, captivated. “My mother?”
“Aye. She and the previous laird were thick as thieves when they were weans.” Mr. Locke’s walking stick made a rhythmic thump against the stone path as they climbed the incline. “Only children of only children, they were. Loved the same things.”
“Like what?” Grace sent a grin over her shoulder to Frederick, and he smiled back.
Yes, she should be thinking very sleuthy thoughts right now, but certainly her dashing detective would keep his investigative hat on while she learned a little more about the woman whose laugh she barely remembered.
Who gave her this brilliant and noticeable hair color.
Who read stories to her at night which incited her own love of story.
Mr. Locke’s eyes twinkled afresh, and he gestured with his stick toward the castle. “I’ll show ye.”
