“I wondered the same thing,” I admitted, though I didn’t add the only explanation I could think of—that he’d deserted her body farther out to sea, in hopes it would never wash ashore. Even so, I could see from the look in Gage’s eyes he had already thought of that.
I turned away to stare unseeing at the fire, letting the bright flames sear my retinas. As if that would burn away the image of William pushing Mary Wallace’s lifeless body out of a boat and into the steely blue waves of the North Sea.
No! I just couldn’t believe it. It made no sense. I had seen the tender look in his eyes when he spoke of her. If he had harmed her, murdered her, how could he have talked about her in such an affectionate manner? I just couldn’t believe Will could be evil enough to do such a thing. And I couldn’t believe he’d rowed over to Cramond Island, abducted and killed Miss Wallace, and then returned to Dalmay House, all without realizing what he’d done. We had to be wrong.
“Just more questions to add to our list for tomorrow,” Gage said, sounding somewhat daunted by what was to come. “I only hope he has some answers for us.”
I did, too. Because if he didn’t . . . well, it didn’t bear thinking about.
“Have you given any thought to the identity of this girl Will supposedly killed? Or her important father?” I asked, intrigued despite myself. Was the girl’s identity the secret Dr. Sloane was so desperate to keep? Or had Sloane been hiding nothing at all, other than his barbaric treatment of his prisoners. Though, from what I understood, many lunatic asylums handled their patients similarly.
“A little,” Gage replied.
“Could he be a royal?”
He considered my suggestion and then shook his head with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anyone from the British royal family who is unaccounted for. But the girl could be illegitimate. Or come from any of a dozen countries in Europe.”
I hadn’t thought of that, but it widened our field of potential candidates considerably. I could barely keep track of my own sovereign’s acknowledged kin, let alone those born out of wedlock or belonging to another country.
“Kiera.”
The solemn tone of Gage’s voice made me pause.
“I also have something I need to tell you.”
I sat up straighter, alarmed by the look of dread that had washed the color from his face.
He swallowed, making the Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “You wanted to know why I doubted your intuition and refused to listen to you at Gairloch . . .”
I leaned forward and snatched hold of his left hand, stopping his words. “Gage, no.” I shook my head. “You do not need to tell me this. It was selfish of me to keep pressing you.”
He swallowed again and a new determination settled over his features. “I want to tell you. Please. Will you listen?”
I studied his face and, seeing the certainty there, nodded. He offered me a faint smile and turned his hand over to squeeze mine before releasing it.
He turned to stare at the fire, and a muscle worked in his jaw, telling me how difficult this was for him. I had wondered at the truth for so long, but, seeing the distress it caused him, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it anymore. For whatever it was had affected Gage very deeply, and if he was ready to share it with me of his own free will . . .
I thought of the words Alana had said to me before her departure. About how when Gage was ready he would tell me, and I would know then just how much he esteemed me.
Watching him now while he wrestled with some strong emotion, I couldn’t help but feel a corresponding ache in my chest.
When finally he turned to me, he appeared composed, but the pain in his eyes was raw and aching. “My mother was murdered,” he stated flatly.
I drew in a sharp breath and pressed my clasped hands against my stomach.
“She was poisoned.”
I wanted to touch him, to hold his hand or wrap my arms around him, but I could tell that was not something Gage would welcome at the moment. It was written in the stiffness of his posture, the hard line of his jaw. So I squeezed my hands together more tightly, making the knuckles turn white, and waited for him to find the words to continue. Somehow I knew he had not shared this story with many people, and it would be a difficult one for him to tell.