Page 102 of Kidnapped by a Rogue
“Faith,” Una said. “Ye must decide to trust him.”
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After wasting half the day fretting and stewing over what to do when Finn returned, Margaret decided she may as well be useful. She had not visited Gilbert as she had intended to earlier, so she picked up the same pitcher of water and headed down the stairs.
“Kind of ye to visit me,” Gilbert said as she fluffed his pillows for him. “You’re a surprise. Not at all the sort of lass any of us thought Finn would marry.”
“I suppose not,” she said, hoping he would drop the subject.
“Doesn’t follow his head, but his heart,” he said in a faraway voice. “I should have known he would.”
She did not want to hear it now. “Is there anything I can get for ye before I go?” she asked. “How about something from the kitchen?”
“My blood’s gone thin.” He pointed at the large trunk at the bottom of the bed. “I believe you’ll find an extra blanket in there.”
It was a chilly day. Margaret should have thought to ask if he was cold. The lid of the chest was so heavy that she had to kneel to lift it.
“Here it is,” she said, happy to find the blanket right on top.
“And if ye don’t mind,” he said, “I slipped an extra flask of my brother’s best whisky in the bottom before we left Dunrobin.”
Margaret rolled her eyes. This was what Gilbert had really wanted her to open the chest for. She felt uneasy about rummaging around Isabel’s gowns and stockings and tried to move them as little as possible as she reached down along the sides in search of the damned flask.
At last, her fingers touched the smooth, hard surface of the whisky flask. When she pulled it out, however, it was not a regular flask, but a wide-mouthed jar with a stoppered top.
She opened it to see if he’d poured whisky into it. Instead of a liquid, it contained the long stems of a dried plant with distinctive yellow flowers. Her blood ran cold.
Henbane.Had she found the killer? Her hand shook as she quickly replaced the jar deep inside the trunk.
“The whisky isn’t here,” she said as she smoothed the gowns back into place over the jar. “Ye must have already drunk it.”
Gilbert would not have asked her to look in the trunk if he had put the henbane there. That meant the murderer had to be…
Her heart leaped to her throat when she heard the door opening.
She dropped the lid of the trunk closed and looked up into Isabel’s piercing black eyes.
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Finn pulled the worn cap low over his eyes, slumped his shoulders, and led his peddler’s mule and cart up to the gate of Dunrobin Castle. As he passed under the arched entry, he glanced up and wondered if his head would soon be displayed on a pike there, just like the father he never knew.
He pushed aside Gilbert’s revelations about his true parentage and his troubles with Margaret, which had plagued his thoughts all the way here, to focus on the problem at hand—and not a moment too soon.
Across the castle yard, he saw two familiar figures headed straight toward him. They were none other than George Sinclair and his daughter Barbara. What bad luck. Saying a silent prayer that a peddler would not draw their attention, he turned the cart with slow, plodding steps.
Before long, he had a line of people waiting to buy or trade. Apparently, he had given his first customers too fine a bargain. How was he supposed to know how much to ask for a spoon or a ribbon? When he recognized two lasses he had slept with in the line, he pulled his cap low and regretted his pride in insisting on bringing the message into Dunrobin himself. But whether it was the ragged clothes or the false belly he’d given himself, the two lasses barely looked at him when they paid their pennies.
The line was gone, and he’d still not caught a glimpse of Alex when a rough-looking man with a real potbelly dragged a wee dog up to his cart.
“Lost my eating knife,” the man said. “Will ye trade this dog for one? He has a good nose for hunting vermin.”
The dog was a yappy terrier with one eye and matted fur. Finn had never seen such a pathetic looking creature.
“Shut up!” the man said, and tried to kick at the dog, but the terrier was too quick.
“Kick my dog again, and I’ll flatten ye,” Finn said, grabbing the rope from the man. “Now pick out your damned knife.”
The dog attracted another customer. Finn hid his excitement as Alex approached the cart. Finn chose his moment when Alex leaned down to pat the dog and his face was hidden from anyone passing by.
