Page 91 of The Highland Heist
Blake stretched, his chair creaking slightly as he settled more comfortably. “Didn’t you mention that Lady Blair played at being the Dixons’ housekeeper?”
Frederick and Grace exchanged a quick look, and Blake continued, “If she had a penchant for jewelry, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think she took it.”
Frederick raised a brow, his mind already chasing down the implications. “And then left it for us to find? A message? A warning, perhaps? Someone carefully positioned it in just the right spot to be flattened by a bookshelf?”
Blake shrugged casually, stretching his arms above his head. “Possibly. Or it could be something as simple as an accident. With all the chatter about a second will, it seems the Kanes might be rattling their cages a bit. And we all know how mistakes tend to slip through when the cage gets rattled.” He paused, eyes twinkling. “Though, I’d rather our next clue not come with a side of airborne furniture.”
Frederick tossed a look back to his cousin. “I’ll make sure to inspect every shelf before you’re near one again then.”
Blake grinned mischievously, dipping his head in an exaggerated bow. “I’ll take that as a promise, old man.” He backed toward the bedroom door, adding over his shoulder, “By the by, I’ve got a bit of news. A friend of mine has some further information on Mr. Kane. I plan to meet with him tomorrow—hopefully he’ll shed some light on things.”
“A friend?” Frederick tilted his head, narrowing his gaze as he looked at Blake more closely. “What sort of friend?”
Blake’s grin widened, and he theatrically doffed an imaginary hat. “Ah, you know. One of those sorts who seems to know everything about everything. Don’t worry, I’ll bring him around for tea—if we survive the next few days.”
With a wink, Blake slipped out the door, leaving Frederick and Grace alone once more.
“We’re running out of time, Frederick.” Grace looked up at him, searching his face. “Not so much days, but time itself. It’s like a feeling, creeping in the air, as though if we don’t find that will soon, something worse will happen. Something that will make sure neither Lillias nor I can ever claim our inheritance.”
He pulled her back against him, her words reigniting his previous concern. “Let’s get some rest, darling,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Tomorrow, we’ll have answers. We must.”
Blake left after breakfast, declaring with great pomp that he had “urgent business” in a nearby town, which Grace strongly suspected translated to checking on their luggage and rendezvousing with his so-called friend. She could only hope this mysterious acquaintance could provide them with further proof of Mr. Kane’s nefariousness.
Meanwhile, Frederick volunteered to take Zahra on a leisurely walk by the loch, which conveniently kept him near the gatehouse while Grace paid a visit to Mr. Locke. Sleep had evaded her the night before, her mind stitching and unstitching the fraying threads of their mystery. But despite all the uncertainty, one thing was sure: Mr. Locke knew far more than he’d let on about Lord and Lady Blair.
So with Frederick’s clever suggestion in mind, she needed to make wise use of her time with him.
Mr. Locke welcomed Grace inside his gatehouse apartment with a grin. He’d donned a frayed suit and plaid bowtie to “dress up” the tea a bit, and he led Grace to a small table and chairs by a large window overlooking the back gardens of the castle.
The dear man, his weathered face etched with a lifetime of sun and soil, offered Grace a plate of sandwiches, fruit, and shortbread. His calloused hands trembled slightly as he poured her a cup of tea, but nothing as bad as the way she poured tea.
Their conversation meandered through lighthearted tales of her mother and Alastair Blair as children. Mr. Locke painted vivid pictures of them darting among the gardens, setting up sanctuaries for fairies (strictly no toads allowed), and fishing for the mythical loch monster with sticks and string. Grace found herself laughing, drawn in by the warmth of his stories and the pictures it put in her mind of her own dear mother.
Grace couldn’t help but smile at the warmth in Mr. Locke’s words, the love for his work and the people he’d come to see as part of his own family. It wasn’t just the gardens he’d nurtured over the years—it was the lives within them. That realization only deepened her respect for the man, though it also made her wonder just how far he’d go to protect the place and its secrets.
After a second sandwich and a piece of shortbread, Mr. Locke leaned back in his chair, studying her with a look so gentle it nearly made her tear up.
“You have much of your mother’s eyes, her expressions and intelligence. I see it.” His crackly voice warmed his words, and his smile only made them sweeter. “The kindness too. I see it.”
Grace’s chest tightened at the words. “I’m so glad you see those things,” she replied softly. “It makes me feel like part of her is close by.”
“Aye, you do. She was a curious one, your mother—always asking questions, always wanting to know the stories behind the flowers, the land, the people.” He nodded toward her chair. “She used to sit right there, pestering me about the names of every plant in the garden.”
Grace smiled. “She adored gardens. She created one at our house in Virginia—it was spectacular. Father said she designed it to look like the one from her childhood, so it must have been this one.”
Mr. Locke straightened a little, his pride shining through. “She loved this land. Proper love, ye ken? She and Laird Blair—both of them understood the value of the old ways. They respected the past and its stories.”
“Yes, I noticed the wood carvings around the castle,” Grace said, leaning forward. “They’re beautiful—so intricate.”
His face lit up. “Ah, those. Aye, I made them for him.”
“All of them?” Grace asked, laughing as she picked up a strawberry from her plate.
“Every last one,” Mr. Locke said with a satisfied nod. “The laird would tell me the stories he loved, and I’d bring them to life in the wood.”
Grace shivered slightly as the memory of the large carved wolves in the library surfaced. The gleaming eyes and snarling mouths had felt unnervingly real. “Some of them lookedverylifelike,” she said with a half-smile.
“Aye,” Mr. Locke said with a chuckle, leaning in as though sharing a secret topped off with a wink. “They’re my eyes in the castle, ye ken?”
