She smiled. "Sir, you're a mind reader."
He gave a slight bow, then started through the crowd toward the buffet table located on the other side of the massive room. She started for the same hallway Kiernan had taken and didn't breathe until she entered the corridor. She hurried to the end, then took a sharp right. As expected, a set of rear stairs was located up ahead. She sent up a prayer that she not encounter any servants. Thankfully, the ballroom was located on the second floor, and she reached the third level of the four-story mansion without being seen. If her calculations were correct, the family private quarters would be on this level.
As hoped, the floor was deserted. Likely, the servants were helping with the party below. Orchestra music filtered up from the ballroom. Otherwise, all was silent. The first door opened into a small bedroom that looked unused. The second door opened upon what had to be the lady's bedroom. A low fire burned in the hearth and cast enough light that Phoebe was able to cross to the adjoining door she hoped led to the master's chambers. She'd calculated right. A fire also burned in this room and she surveyed the room. A small secretary sat near the window to the right of the hearth. She hurried to the desk, and a quick look revealed only blank writing paper and pen.
Another door was located on the far wall and Phoebe tried the door. It opened upon a modest study. Here is where the duke might keep personal documents. Apprehension twisted her stomach. What if father and son were in league? Would a duke betray his Queen? In the five years that Phoebe had been spying for England, she'd never once doubted her conviction. Her assignments had posed no real threat to her, had caused no personal conflict. It was bound to happen eventually, but she would have paid a ransom for the time to have been anytime but now.
Phoebe shrugged off the thought and hurried to the desk. She opened the two drawers located on the right side of the desk, but found only writing paper and newspapers. She faced the walnut cabinet that sat against the wall behind the desk and began rifling through the drawers only to find accountings, personal letters and the like. She sat in the desk chair and scanned the dates on the letters and stopped at a letter from the magistrate in Glasgow dated two days after her arrival at Brahan Seer.
To His Grace the Duke of Ashlund
Your Grace,
There is no doubt in my mind that the fire that demolished the two cottages was, as you suspected, started with lamp oil. Our investigation in the area where your men chased the arsonists turned up a small swath of common MacGregor plaide. This evidence, coupled with the fact that someone broke into the desk in your library— while nothing of value anywhere in the castle was taken—is enough for me to pursue the matter.
Phoebe stared at the words someone broke into your desk. The magistrate believed the fire might be connected to someone searching the duke's desk? Why would anyone set a fire just to search the desk? Why not simply steal into the castle in the dead of night? Phoebe recalled Kiernan's familiarity with the occupants of the cottage down to the very details of knowing the personal items they had lost, and the duke's knowledge of the families who had lost their homes. Father and son knew their tenants well. A stranger who entered the castle would be noticed. Kiernan said the MacGregors weren't involved in any fighting. Had he been telling the truth? Who would kill just to search someone's private belongings…and what did the duke and marquess have that was worth killing for? Phoebe read on.
However, there are two other incidents that give me pause. Four days after the fire, we found a man murdered near the Glaistig Uain. This is strange enough—as you know, murders aren't common in this area. What compounds this mystery is that witnesses at the inn identified the man as having been there that day. He was seen with several other men, two of whom are the men your son killed during his attempted kidnapping.
Phoebe paused. What two men had Kiernan shot? Had the magistrate returned to the scene of the crime and—understanding struck. The two men the magistrate spoke of weren't men Kiernan had killed, but were Bob and the other man she had shot. The second man hadn't lived? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The two men were criminals, but she had killed them, nonetheless. And, she realized with shock, Kiernan had taken responsibility for their deaths. Damn him, damn him to hell. He was going to twist her heart inside out before she was done with this business.
She returned her attention to the letter.