We stepped into what appeared to be Michael’s study, a rather masculine affair swathed in seal brown, coffee, and tan. Three of the walls were covered in dark oak paneling with recessed bookcases. A small fire crackled in the fireplace fashioned from the same wood on my left, but the majority of the light came spilling through the windows spanning the length of the wall across from me. The creamy tan brocade curtains had been thrown open to show the view across the sloping lawn all the way down to the firth. I wondered if the room’s occupants had been able to see Philip and me traversing the path that skirted its shoreline just a short while ago, but from the looks of their expressions, I doubted they would have even taken notice.
Michael appeared to have been halted in the midst of pacing and stood awkwardly at the corner of his cluttered desk. Whatever he had been saying to Gage, who was seated in one of the Queen Anne–style chairs with cabriole legs clustered around the hearth, had not been agreeable. Gage’s brow was pleated, his mouth tight with displeasure.
“Cromarty, Kiera, there you are.” Michael strode toward us, a strange mixture of anxiety and relief stretching his features. “I trust you enjoyed your walk.”
“Ah, yes, we did. Your grounds are lovely.” I spoke up when Philip made no effort to reply. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him studying his friend. There was a suspicious gleam in his eye. One that Michael did not fail to notice.
“Excellent.” The tone of his voice belied the wariness I saw creep over his features. “That will be all, Tomson.”
The door clicked shut, and then Michael extended a hand toward the fireplace. “Won’t you have a seat?”
I passed between the two men, hoping to break the tension that seemed to tether them like a taut cord. My ploy did not work, for the air remained heavy with their strained silence, but at least I heard their muffled footsteps follow me across the rug. Reaching up to finger the amethyst pendant I almost always wore, I selected the chair across the low table from Gage and farthest from the hearth. I found the atmosphere in the room cloying enough without the heat of the fire on my skin.
I glanced up to find Gage watching me, a wry smile twisting his lips. He looked at Philip and then back to me, and I understood what he was saying. I lifted my chin, determined not to feel defensive about speaking to my brother-in-law before he did this morning, for all the good it had done me. I was just glad Gage did not yet know he had gotten his way without even trying, for if he did, I knew his smirk would be insufferable.
Michael cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “There’s something I need to tell you.” His gaze darted back and forth between Philip and me before finally settling on the floor between our feet. “I . . . haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
His eyes lifted briefly to see how we had taken this revelation and I had to struggle to keep my sense of foreboding from showing on my face. A quick survey of the others told me they had not taken the news any easier. Philip’s countenance was dark, and Gage’s brow was puckered again, but I couldn’t say that either man appeared shocked.
“I told you that my brother never leaves the house without an escort. Well, that’s not strictly true.” The knuckles of his hands turned white where he gripped the arms of his chair. “He’s escaped before. Twice.”
“I thought you said he was secure,” Philip said in a hard voice.
“I did,” Michael admitted and then hastened to explain. “And he should be. That lock on the door at the end of the corridor is a recent addition, and he’s yet to escape through it.”
I swallowed the sour, acidic taste at the back of my mouth, hating to hear William spoken of in such terms. The man wasn’t a criminal or a raving lunatic. At least, I didn’t believe so. I glanced up at Michael through the screen of my eyelashes. But if he had lied about this, what else had he failed to disclose?
I suddenly wished I were seated closer to the fire.
“Where did he go?” Philip asked.
“I don’t know. But both times he was found a short while later down by the firth, staring out at the water as if he’d simply gone for a stroll.” Michael shrugged as if this baffled him.
“Was his appearance altered in any way?”
I did not fail to note that it was Gage who asked this question, but I did not react, wanting to know the answer myself.
Michael narrowed his eyes at him. “There were no signs of a struggle, if that’s what you’re hinting at. No, he actually looked peaceful, happy, if you can believe it.” He tilted his head in thought. “I attributed it to his love of the water. You know, we thought he would join the Royal Navy. But in the end he surprised us all by following the family tradition of soldiering with the cavalry.” A small but proud smile curled his lips. “The first ancestor of ours to do so was a Sir Roger Dalmay, a knight who went off to fight in the Crusades. Legend says his faithful dog kicked up such a fuss when Sir Roger tried to leave him behind, howling and crying, that he was forced to take the hound with him to the Holy Land. However one night, months after they’d gone, the residents at the old castle swore they heard the dog howling again, so loudly as to wake the dead. Not long after, they discovered Sir Roger had been slain about the same time. Tradition says the dog’s howling is a portent of death to the lairds of Banbogle.”