demeanor of the staff as they watched him, assisted by Lucilla, haul Manachan to his feet, Lucilla surmised that Manachan’s ready capitulation was seen by all as an indication of just how weak he truly was.
Once he was on his feet, she beckoned one of the burlier footmen to take her place; she wasn’t confident of supporting Manachan up the stairs. Freed from her position by his side, she circled to come up beside Thomas. Her voice low, she spoke to him and Manachan. “I’ll see to the bodies, both of them.”
Manachan met her eyes, then dipped his head. “Thank you, my dear.”
Stepping back, Lucilla watched the trio pass beneath the archway through which Niniver and Norris had come; beyond lay a small hall into which the main stairs debouched. The trio awkwardly wheeled to the right and started up.
Lucilla turned and regarded the staff. She glanced at Joy Burns’s body, and Sean, Mitch, and Fred bent to lift it again. She looked at Ferguson and Mrs. Kennedy. “Faith Burns—I take it she and Joy were related?”
Mrs. Kennedy nodded. “Sisters. Last of the Burns family hereabouts.”
“I see.” That certainly accounted for the earlier consternation. Lucilla tucked the information aside for later examination. “What have you done with Faith’s body?”
* * *
If Thomas had been disturbed by Joy Burns’s death, he was deeply troubled now.
So was Manachan. Once Thomas had, with Edgar’s help, settled Manachan on his bed, Manachan grasped Thomas’s sleeve. “Something’s going on. I need to know what.”
Unable to keep the grimness from his expression, Thomas nodded. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.” Whatever “it” was.
Manachan’s eyes searched his; his grip on Thomas’s sleeve tightened. “Will you stay until this is sorted out?”
Thomas couldn’t recall Manachan ever asking him for help; a laird did not ask for help—a laird gave it. “Yes, of course.” He closed his hand over Manachan’s and briefly squeezed.
“Good. Excellent.” Relaxing against the pillows, Manachan released him. “Come and tell me what you learn.”
An order. “I will.” Raising his gaze from Manachan’s increasingly pallid face, Thomas exchanged a meaningful glance with Edgar. “Meanwhile, just rest.”
After quitting Manachan’s room, Thomas paused in the gallery, then went in search of Lucilla.
He eventually tracked her to the library. She was seated behind Manachan’s huge desk, writing a letter.
Thomas inwardly sighed. He closed the door; she glanced up at the snick of the latch but immediately returned to her task.
He started down the long room. “It was one thing for you to stay in this house when the only dead body we had on our hands died in a farmhouse miles away.”
She didn’t even glance up. “I’m not leaving. Your uncle needs help, and so does your clan.”
“Your family will come down on Manachan’s head like avenging angels if anything happens to you while you are, however nominally, in our care.” His words were clipped. He halted before the desk. “That concerns Manachan and the clan, too.”
She waved at the letter. “I’m explaining the situation to Marcus. He’ll appreciate the need for me to remain here.” She wrote another line. “I’m asking him to send some clothes for a few days’ stay.”
Thomas leaned his fists on the edge of the desk.
She glanced briefly up at him but continued calmly writing. “I can assure you Marcus won’t create a fuss.”
Thomas had no doubt that her twin had been conditioned from an early age to stay out of his sister’s way. “Lucilla.” His gaze on her face, he waited until she looked up at him. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay.”
She had, he realized, already signed her letter. She held his gaze and, without looking away, set the pen aside and picked up the blotter. Emerald eyes, intensely green, the vibrant hue highlighted by tiny flecks of gold, never wavered. “Thomas,” she said, “I’m
Once he was on his feet, she beckoned one of the burlier footmen to take her place; she wasn’t confident of supporting Manachan up the stairs. Freed from her position by his side, she circled to come up beside Thomas. Her voice low, she spoke to him and Manachan. “I’ll see to the bodies, both of them.”
Manachan met her eyes, then dipped his head. “Thank you, my dear.”
Stepping back, Lucilla watched the trio pass beneath the archway through which Niniver and Norris had come; beyond lay a small hall into which the main stairs debouched. The trio awkwardly wheeled to the right and started up.
Lucilla turned and regarded the staff. She glanced at Joy Burns’s body, and Sean, Mitch, and Fred bent to lift it again. She looked at Ferguson and Mrs. Kennedy. “Faith Burns—I take it she and Joy were related?”
Mrs. Kennedy nodded. “Sisters. Last of the Burns family hereabouts.”
“I see.” That certainly accounted for the earlier consternation. Lucilla tucked the information aside for later examination. “What have you done with Faith’s body?”
* * *
If Thomas had been disturbed by Joy Burns’s death, he was deeply troubled now.
So was Manachan. Once Thomas had, with Edgar’s help, settled Manachan on his bed, Manachan grasped Thomas’s sleeve. “Something’s going on. I need to know what.”
Unable to keep the grimness from his expression, Thomas nodded. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.” Whatever “it” was.
Manachan’s eyes searched his; his grip on Thomas’s sleeve tightened. “Will you stay until this is sorted out?”
Thomas couldn’t recall Manachan ever asking him for help; a laird did not ask for help—a laird gave it. “Yes, of course.” He closed his hand over Manachan’s and briefly squeezed.
“Good. Excellent.” Relaxing against the pillows, Manachan released him. “Come and tell me what you learn.”
An order. “I will.” Raising his gaze from Manachan’s increasingly pallid face, Thomas exchanged a meaningful glance with Edgar. “Meanwhile, just rest.”
After quitting Manachan’s room, Thomas paused in the gallery, then went in search of Lucilla.
He eventually tracked her to the library. She was seated behind Manachan’s huge desk, writing a letter.
Thomas inwardly sighed. He closed the door; she glanced up at the snick of the latch but immediately returned to her task.
He started down the long room. “It was one thing for you to stay in this house when the only dead body we had on our hands died in a farmhouse miles away.”
She didn’t even glance up. “I’m not leaving. Your uncle needs help, and so does your clan.”
“Your family will come down on Manachan’s head like avenging angels if anything happens to you while you are, however nominally, in our care.” His words were clipped. He halted before the desk. “That concerns Manachan and the clan, too.”
She waved at the letter. “I’m explaining the situation to Marcus. He’ll appreciate the need for me to remain here.” She wrote another line. “I’m asking him to send some clothes for a few days’ stay.”
Thomas leaned his fists on the edge of the desk.
She glanced briefly up at him but continued calmly writing. “I can assure you Marcus won’t create a fuss.”
Thomas had no doubt that her twin had been conditioned from an early age to stay out of his sister’s way. “Lucilla.” His gaze on her face, he waited until she looked up at him. “It’s too dangerous for you to stay.”
She had, he realized, already signed her letter. She held his gaze and, without looking away, set the pen aside and picked up the blotter. Emerald eyes, intensely green, the vibrant hue highlighted by tiny flecks of gold, never wavered. “Thomas,” she said, “I’m
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