“Ye should be resting, love,” Greer said, striding over to scoop her up into his arms.
“I want to be here while ye talk to Bowie,” Saidh protested when he would have carried her out of the room. When that made him pause, she added, “I ken things. I can help.”
Much to her relief, her husband nodded and turned to carry her to the chairs by the fire. He set her down in one and would have straightened, but Saidh kept her arms locked around his neck and whispered, “Make me brothers leave. He’ll no’ talk in front o’ them.”
Greer met her gaze silently, eyebrows raised and asked in an undertone, “What do ye ken, lass?”
“After me brothers leave,” Saidh whispered firmly.
“Why do we ha’e to leave?” Aulay asked by her ear in a whisper of his own, and Saidh jumped in surprise and released Greer to turn to peer at her brother where he now stood behind her, bent at the waist to join the conversation.
Saidh grimaced at the man, then said quietly. “He and Allen were friends like our cook and Quintin.”
Aulay considered this news and then nodded and straightened to glance to the other men. “Take his sword and any other weapons he has. We’re waiting in the hall, but I will no’ leave him armed.”
Saidh glanced back to Greer then, expecting him to ask what she’d meant by Bowie and Allen being friends like the cook at Buchanan and Quintin, but instead he asked solemnly, “Is Aunt Tilda all right?”
“Aye.” She sighed the word, recalling her anger at him earlier. “And I understand why ye did it, but she is an old woman, Greer. She could ha’e died.”
“Aye. I ken,” he admitted. “And I regret that it had to be done.”
“But ye’d do it again,” she guessed, unable to miss the fact that he wasn’t apologizing for it.
“In a heartbeat,” he assured her solemnly. “I’ll do anything necessary to find the killer and keep ye safe, Saidh. I love ye.”
That declaration left Saidh gaping at him like a fish out of water. Before she could recover enough to sort out how to respond to it, Aulay paused at the door and said, “We’ll be in the hall. Shout and we’ll come running.”
Greer tore his gaze from Saidh to glance to her brother. Nodding, he murmured, “Thank ye,” then shifted his attention to Bowie as the bedchamber door closed behind the Buchanan men. A moment of silence passed and then he again asked, “Why did Allen tell ye about the secret passage?”
Letting out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, Saidh forced her attention to the matter at hand. She would consider how she felt about Greer’s claim later, she assured herself as she peered at Bowie.
The man looked like he was battling an inner war, struggling over what to say, or what he dared to say.
“He told ye so ye could use the passage,” Saidh guessed and when Bowie glanced to her sharply, but didn’t deny it, added, “because ye were his lover.”
Saidh had expected Greer to be shocked by this announcement, but the only one who appeared surprised was Bowie. His eyes widened with both shock and alarm now and he began to shake his head.
Wondering why Greer was not amazed at this news, Saidh continued to eye Bowie solemnly as she added, “I ken Allen preferred the company o’ men to women. And Fenella told me how the two o’ ye were always going off together to swim and taking hunting trips and such. Ye were lovers, were ye no’?”
Bowie stopped shaking his head, and lowered it, his shoulders slumping in defeat. After a moment, he said, “I loved him,” in a voice so low she almost couldn’t hear him.
Saidh let her breath out on a sigh. She’d suspected Bowie had been Allen’s lover after talking to Fenella, but she hadn’t been sure. Now that she was, she began to consider all that had happened. “Did ye ha’e a lovers’ quarrel at the loch the morning he died? Had he found someone else, or—?”
“I did no’ kill him!” Bowie cried, his head jerking up to reveal his shock at the possibility. “I could ne’er kill him. I loved him.”
“Did ye think Fenella had done it then?” Greer asked quietly.
“What?” Bowie looked briefly bewildered and then he glanced at the woman’s blood-covered body and realization slowly dawned. Expression grim, he drew his shoulders up and turned back to say firmly, “I did no’ kill Fenella.” Lifting his chin, he added derisively, “Why would I?”
“Out o’ jealousy?” Saidh suggested. “She was the wife of the man ye loved.”
He snorted at the suggestion. “In name only. They had no’ e’en consummated the wedding. I am the one who spent e’ery night in his bed. And I am the one he spent his days with, and talked to and—” He shook his head. “There was nothing to be jealous o’ Fenella fer. She was a pretty, brainless child, happy to accept the baubles he gave her and stay out o’ his bed.”
Saidh pursed her lips and glanced to Fenella. As sad as she was to admit it, that description was probably a perfect portrayal of her cousin during her marriage to Allen. There had been much more to the woman than that, of course. Or could have been, had she allowed it, but Fenella had been so grateful at Allen’s kindness and his not bothering her about the bedding, that she’d closed her eyes to everything around her that she hadn’t wanted to see. It was the only way to explain how she could live with the man and not realize his true nature.
“I tend to believe ye, Bowie,” Greer said, rubbing a weary hand around his neck. “The problem is that whoever killed Fenella had to ha’e entered the room through the secret passage.” He let his hand drop and added, “And as far as I ken, the only people who are aware o’ it, are me, me squire, me wife, Lady MacDonnell and you.” He let that sink in and then asked, “Is there anyone else who knows about it?”