Page 83 of The Highland Heist
Ah, Frederick knew well the grandeur and shadow of an old family home.
Despite its description as a castle, its exterior and many aspects of its interior reminded him of his home, Havensbrooke, even down to the frayed rugs and dusty tapestries. But the beauty was there too, seasoned with time in some ways. High ceilings arched overhead, supported by darkened wooden beams whose sturdiness mocked their weathered appearance. Beveled windows flung patterns of light across dining rooms, ballrooms, and sitting rooms far too large to heat properly. The mingled scents of beeswax polish and damp stone lingered in the air like a memory.
He drew a deep breath. Of all the places he’d traveled to, this echo of home settled him most—though it was hard to fully appreciate when it came bundled with a ghost hunt, a missing will, and the lurking possibility of a murderer.
“Those were favorites of Laird Blair and your mother.” Mr. Locke’s voice interrupted his reverie, drawing Frederick’s attention to a massive fireplace adorned with carved wooden figures on either end of the marble mantel.
Frederick narrowed his eyes. He’d seen them before. Something from Scottish folklore. Sleek, horse-like creatures with wild manes and eyes gleaming with an unsettling intelligence.
“Kelpies,” Grace murmured, stepping closer, her tone laced with a sense of wonder.
Mr. Locke grinned, his expression crinkling with approval. “Ah, so ye know a bit of lore, do ye?”
Her gaze lit as she looked at the old man, and if Frederick guessed, Mr. Locke was deciding on whether to adopt Grace as a granddaughter or not. Very good. A charmed Mr. Locke was a helpful Mr. Locke, especially if it led to learning more about Grace’s mother—or uncovering useful leads for their investigation.
Investigation. The word still snagged in his thoughts like a boot heel on a loose floorboard. How had this become his life?
“Mother read Scottish tales to me as a child,” Grace explained, brushing her fingers over the carvings. “I’ve done some research since.” She recited softly, “‘Beware the kelpie,’ the old folks say. ‘He will lure you into a watery grave.’“
The words seemed to shiver in the air, bouncing off stone walls and sending a faint chill through the room.
Zahra slid her hand into his, and he gave it a squeeze.
“Are they real?” Zahra asked, her young voice adding brightness to the room.
The gardener chuckled. “Real enough, lass, if you’ve a mind to believe. And dangerous enough if ye’ve the foolhardiness to defy them.”
The tour continued, revealing carvings of other mythical creatures: selkies, fairies, wulvers, even a Loch Ness Monster. Mr. Locke patted the latter fondly. “Cannae live here without one.” He patted the creature one last time and continued, keeping them on the main level.
At one point, Grace gestured toward the stairs. “Will we tour the upper levels?”
“No, my lady.” Mr. Locke sent a look in the direction she pointed. “Those are private chambers for whoever takes the castle next. I’ve no permission to lead people there.”
Her brow furrowed slightly. “Would my mother have stayed there during her visits?”
Mr. Locke hesitated, his expression tightening before he spoke. “Aye. The family rooms. In fact, the chamber at the end of the hall was Laird Blair’s favorite.”
Was it Frederick’s imagination, or had the man emphasized that detail as if daring them to investigate? “His study, perhaps?” Frederick prompted, adopting an air of casual curiosity.
“No, my lord.” Mr. Locke’s grin returned, sly as a fox. “He had his study for peace and quiet from a bothersome wife, but the Laird preferred a more … expansive retreat.” He glanced at Grace, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Much like a selkie slipping away to the sea.”
Grace exchanged a look with Frederick, and he knew she’d also caught the implication. But Mr. Locke, apparently satisfied with his cryptic hint, offered no further elaboration.
They stayed a little longer, but Mr. Locke didn’t offer any further clues or hints, and when they made their way back to the car, they found Blake and Tony waiting inside.
“Nothing much to report except for a little skiff docked among the underbrush at the edge of the loch,” Tony explained once they’d all settled into the car, and he’d tugged off his hat.
“And the two of you?” Blake asked.
Without further encouragement, Grace shared their conversation with Mr. Locke, interspersing information about her mother in between more significant details for the investigation like the lay of the castle, Mr. Locke’s dislike of Lady Blair and possibly Mr. Kane, and the hint of something important about Lord Blair’s rooms upstairs.
“Well, it certainly sounds as if we have a plan for tonight.” Blake drew the car to a stop in front of their hotel.
Frederick drew in a deep breath for strength as Blake’s grin took a mischievous upturn and Grace’s eyes lit with mystery-loving fire. “And that is?”
“Anyone up for a late-night treasure hunt in a haunted castle?” He wiggled his brows. “Nothing brings a family closer, I’ve heard?”
Chapter 21
