I scowled. “What does he think? I’ll poison you? Dissect you in my secret operating theater?” I demanded, irritated by the ridiculous rumors that still persisted about me.
“No, no.” Gage twisted the hat he cradled in his hands round and round. “It’s far more likely he’s worried you’ll try to trap me into marriage.”
“Oh.” My cheeks began to heat and I shifted awkwardly.
Gage looked up at me through his lashes, his expression far more serious than I’d expected. Here was the perfect opportunity to tease me, but he didn’t take it.
I cleared my throat. “Has . . . has that happened before?”
Now it was his turn to squirm. “A . . . few times.”
“Oh.” Clearly my conversation skills were becoming stunted.
I turned to look out the window, relieved to see we were approaching the bridge that would lead us over the river and into Kelso. The weak afternoon sun illuminated the village’s rooftops in the distance, including that of the Armstrongs’, where Sim’s Christie worked in the stables.
No one had been more surprised than I when I slept through almost to noon, with Earl Grey tucked snuggly against my side. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d slept even close to seven hours. And neither could my brother, which was why he and Gage had elected not to disturb me and attended church at St. Cuthbert’s on their own. I’d scolded them for letting me doze, but neither seemed the least repentant. I only hoped that Trevor’s assurances of my health had been convincing enough to prevent a tide of local well-wishers from visiting Blakelaw House in the coming week.
Still waiting for word from Lord Buchan on the return of his uncle’s bones, and with no other information to immediately pursue, Gage had agreed to accompany me into nearby Kelso to question Sim’s Christie. He appeared even less hopeful than I was that the stable hand would have any useful information to give us, but there was no harm in inquiring. Sometimes the smallest things led one to the truth.
The Armstrongs lived in a large gabled home near the river. Rather than pull up to the house in our carriage, alerting the Armstrongs to our presence and necessitating a social call as well as an uncomfortable explanation that could potentially get their stable hand in trouble, we decided to disembark near the bridge and stroll along the river. There was a well-tended path that provided beautiful views of the English countryside across the river, including the old royal burgh of Roxburgh. But in the bracing cold wind, we didn’t see much of it, preferring to tuck our heads down and huddle together as we hurried forward.
Fortunately, the stable yard was sheltered somewhat by the surrounding buildings. The crunch of our footsteps must have been heard inside the stable, for a man emerged, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. As expected, he smelled strongly of hay and horses.
“Canna I help ye?” he asked.
“We’re looking for a man called Sim’s Christie,” Gage replied, though I didn’t think he had any need to. With his thick curly hair and swarthy good looks, I strongly suspected this was the man Bree’s friend had dandled after.
“That’s me,” he replied only after a moment’s hesitation.
I’d already explained the Borders’ convoluted naming system to Gage, who had only looked more confused when I finished, and I hoped he wasn’t about to ask for a repeat from the stable hand. However, Gage refrained, choosing to quickly introduce us instead.
“We were told you left the bonfire at Clintmains Hall at one point on the night of Hogmanay,” Gage informed him casually. “Can you tell us where you went?”
Sim’s Christie’s eyes narrowed. “’Twas Callie, weren’t it?” he demanded. “She’s the one who told ye.”
Gage and I exchanged a look.
“I don’t know who Callie is,” Gage answered honestly. “Did you leave the bonfire?”
The stable hand huffed out an angry breath and turned his head aside. “Aye,” he answered gruffly. “I was . . . meetin’ a lass.”
As I’d suspected. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, resigned to hear the rest.
“How long were you gone?”
He shrugged. “Quarter, maybe half an hour.”
My eyebrows rose.
“You were in the field?”
“Yes.”
Gage tilted his head, watching the man closely. “Did you see anything odd while you were away from the bonfire? Anything out of the ordinary?”
Sim’s Christie’s head darted to the side again and he stared off toward what must be the back of the Armstrongs’ house. I couldn’t tell whether he was simply anxious for us to leave or he knew something he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell. People from the Borders were secretive folk, and not inclined to share with outsiders like Gage. His gaze shifted to focus on me, and I kept my expression carefully neutral, hoping he would choose to trust us.
“Aye,” he finally muttered. “I saw two men leavin’ Clintmains.”
I glanced at Gage in surprise.
“Did you get a good look at them?” he asked the stable hand.