Call of the Clan Page 9

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  Dugald squirmed uncomfortably in his velvet coat. He felt like a fool, dressed up like a fop at Wycombe's request. Will approached, and Dugald suppressed a grin. “You look even more of a dandy than I feel,” he laughed.

  Will passed him a glass of wine. “Thank you, lad. It was all I could do to keep Wycombe from dropping a powdered wig on my head.” He changed the subject abruptly. “How's the leg?"

  "Well enough.” Dugald still limped a bit from the ball he'd taken in his thigh that night on Dunloghaire. Had it not been for Will's quick thinking, Dugald would be buried on the hill behind Kilgraeme with his baby sisters. Instead, it had been his nameless attacker who died that night.

  Dugald suddenly froze in place, staring off at the entryway to the grand ballroom. Will looked up to see what had gotten his friend's attention.

  Dugald's brother Lachlan stood with Malcolm Spalding, glaring at Will. But Lachlan was not the focus of Dugald's stare. He was looking straight past his twin, at something else entirely.

  It was a woman, and a more beautiful one neither Will nor Dugald had ever seen. With a few discreet inquiries, Will learned that her name was Susannah, and passed this intelligence along to Dugald.

  When Dugald asked her to dance, she smiled up at him with some surprise, and then took his hand.

  They danced all night.

  Chapter Nine

  On Friday morning, I awoke before sunrise. I showered, and as I dressed, somewhere off in the distance I heard a rooster crowing. I was rather proud of myself for having beaten him to the punch.

  Although both Evan Muncaster and Cayden Spalding had told me how to get through Council, there was one vital part of information that, being typical men and not even thinking of such things, neither of them had mentioned. I had no idea what I was supposed to wear. I'd gathered it was a somewhat formal affair, but I hadn't really brought any fancy clothes with me. I settled for a simple plaid skirt and a black turtleneck with a pair of zippy boots.

  I wandered down to the kitchen, where Mrs. Much had already been hard at work. She was literally up to her elbows in flour, rolling out scones.

  "Can I help?” I offered.

  She glanced up and grinned at me. “Nae, miss, you don't want to be getting’ dough all over yourself, do you? I'm about done here. Have a cup o’ tea, or there's coffee if you'd like."

  Coffee sounded good. I was nervous, and I felt myself longing for a cigarette. I thought about maybe going out on the back patio, and sneaking one out of my super-secret emergency pack, which I hadn't even opened yet. I restrained myself.

  "So,” she said, popping the scones in the oven, “it's your first Council today."

  "Yeah. I'm terrified,” I admitted.

  She made a hooting noise that sounded like a laugh. “Aye, well, Cayden will be here to help out, and young Muncaster as well, for the legal mumbo-jumbo."

  It was true. Both of them would be lending a hand. Evan had promised to from the beginning, and Cayden Spalding had told me, the day at Loch Failte, that a Spalding always stood beside a Murray during Council. It would be his job to announce the complainants and keep records of the dispositions made. Trish was gone, having left the day before to go rooting around in some musty old records depository in Stirling.

  "I'm still scared. What if everyone thinks I'm an idiot, or worse yet, hates me?"

  She shrugged. “They'll do as you say. You're the Murray."

  That seemed to be everyone's answer to the question, and there was obviously no point in arguing it.

  I sat quietly and drank my coffee, and watched Mrs. Much. For such a stout woman, she was surprisingly agile when it came to maneuvering around the kitchen. I hadn't even realized an hour had gone by when Evan appeared in the doorway. He was dressed simply, in a pair of khakis and a polo shirt, and I was glad I hadn't overdone my own appearance.

  "You look very nice,” he said with a smile, lightly brushing his lips across my forehead. For a brief moment, I recalled the kiss he'd surprised me with the day I got lost in the storm. Our relationship was still tentative, and I still hadn't figured him out.

  I felt myself blush. “Um, thanks. So do you."

  "Are you ready, then?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be.” I smoothed out my skirt. He escorted me to the main hall. The dining table had been moved to one end of the room, and there were several chairs and benches in front of it.

  The room was packed.

  "I can't do this,” I whispered, panicking and trying to back up. My stomach flopped violently. “I'm gonna throw up."

  Evan smiled and pushed me into the room. There was no turning back now. I looked straight ahead of me, making eye contact with Cayden Spalding, who already sat at one end of the table. He nodded approvingly, and rose to greet me. His hair was tied back, and he was wearing his kilt again, with a plain cream-colored shirt. He looked like he could have stepped out of one of those “Welcome to Bonnie Scotland!” tour brochures.

  "Help,” I whispered softly as I passed him. He just grinned at me, and pulled out a chair. I sat obediently, and Evan Muncaster parked himself on my left.

  Peering out into the crowd, I counted about fifty people. I hoped they weren't all here with complaints, or I would be here all day. Worse yet, however, was the possibility that they were just there to watch me make a complete horse's ass of myself.

  Cayden Spalding stood up and cleared his throat. “Kilgraeme Council is called to order!"

  And so it began.

  Danny Beaton was the first to approach the table. I wondered absently where Sandie was. Danny bobbed his head politely. “Good mornin', miss."

  "Hi, Danny,” I said politely, stifling a giggle. His manner was very formal. “How can we help you today?"

  "It's Andy Fleming, miss. He keeps lettin’ his cows trample through the herb garden."

  I glanced at Evan. “Go on."

  "Well, miss, the herb garden is how I make me livin', you see? And if Andy's cows are in it, then it kills me herbs. To say nothin’ of the fact that I have to go out and scoop up cow droppings,” he stated. I had thought cow manure was good for plants, but it plainly offended the gardener's sensibilities.

  I looked around. There were several Flemings in evidence, but I had no idea which one was which. They all looked alike to me. “Andy, are you here?"

  One of them stood up. “Tis me, missus."

  "Hi.” I smiled at him. He looked about fifteen. “What's your side of this story, Andy?"

  He shrugged. “I can't help it if me cows go through the garden. They're cows, miss, and don't have a very good sense of direction."

  I nodded wisely, and whispered to Evan softly. “Now what do I do?"

  He shook his head, and murmured, “You could make Andy pay for the damages to Danny's herb garden. Lost income, and all that, aye?"

  Cayden Spalding's hand brushed my elbow. “Bad idea. That won't keep the cows out of the garden, and it'll only cause bad blood between the two of them."

  I glanced from one man to the other. Each had a valid point. I paused for a moment, trying to look like I was going to make an intelligent decision. Suddenly it struck me.

  "How about this?” I said, leaning forward conversationally. “Danny, what would keep the cows out of the garden?"

  The gardener frowned. “A fence?"

  "Okay. Do you have the materials to build a fence?"

  Danny scratched his nose. “Well, no. I'd have to split some rails, and that would take a while, aye? That's why I haven't done it before."

  I looked at the two men and tapped my pen absently. “What about landscaping timbers? Would pre-cut timbers save you some time?"

  "I suppose,” he said doubtfully.

  "Well,” I continued, “I have to say I don't particularly want to eat herbs that have had cow crap all over them, although I've heard it makes a nice fertilizer, so here's my suggestion. What if I order some timbers and have them delivered up here? I'll even pay for them. Then you and And
y work together to build the fence. That'll keep the cows out, your herbs will be cow poop-free, and neither one of you will have to spend a dime."

  Andy Fleming grinned at me. “Sounds fair enough. I don't mind helping to build a fence, so long as I don't have to split the rails myself."

  "Danny?"

  The gardener looked confused. “Um. Okay, then."

  "Good. Is it settled?"

  All parties agreed that it was, and as he scribbled in a logbook, I heard Cayden Spalding mutter under his breath, “Nicely done, Brynne Murray Marlette. Very nice indeed."

  I smiled. During the next few cases, Evan continued to offer suggestions, most of which were in the form of monetary compensation. For the most part, I tried to resolve things by having people work together, rather than against each other. I was feeling quite the little Pollyanna by the time things began to wrap up.

  My first Council had gone nicely, and Cayden was congratulating me once again on a job well done, when the screaming began in the kitchen.

  Cayden shoved past me and raced down the hall. I was two steps behind him, trying not to break an ankle in my boots, and Evan Muncaster was at my heels. The entire crowd spilled out to see what was happening. When we got there, it was instantly apparent that Mrs. Much was the source of the shrieks.

  I followed her horrified gaze through the rear door, where Cayden Spalding already knelt, his face white. Lying in a heap on the back porch was Sandie MacFarlane, eyes wide open, and her head lolling at an unnatural angle.

  She was quite dead.

  Chapter Ten

  I hovered on Kilgraeme's front steps, listening to the tappity-tappity-tap-tap of the rain on the roof above me. The coroner's wagon was gone, with Sandie inside, and the last of the police cars were disappearing up the road to the north, away from Loch Lomond and Kilgraeme. They had been dispatched all the way from Arrochar, some twenty minutes away, and the detectives had spent the last six hours questioning, examining, and probing and everything, and everyone, in sight.

  The rain was cold, and a light breeze blew it towards me. Even under the protection of the covered porch, I could still feel the droplets misting my skin, and despite the humidity, I shivered.

  The door creaked open behind me, and Emily Much came out. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks puffy. She nodded, acknowledging me, and lit up a cigarette.

  I frowned at her. “Aren't you a little young to smoke?"

  She rolled her eyes. “I think I'm entitled, aye?” She held out the pack, and I accepted one graciously.

  "Thanks.” I inhaled deeply, and felt my head begin to spin. “Woo. It's been a while."

  Emily smiled wanly. “Sandie was my best friend."

  I nodded. “I'm very sorry, Emily. I know what it's like to lose someone you care about."

  The girl looked at me curiously. “Your Da?"

  "My Da?” I realized she meant Jamie Murray. “No, I never knew him. I actually meant my other dad, the one that raised me. And my mom,” I added belatedly.

  "Both o’ them are dead, then?"

  I really didn't want to have this conversation, but it occurred to me that it might make things easier for the sad, pale girl who stood in front of me. “Yeah. Steve, my stepdad, was killed in a car accident, and my mother was driving. A few years later she died too.” I left out the part about my mother dying on purpose.

  Emily studied her damp shoes. “My sister died. She drowned in Loch Lomond with Jamie."

  "So I heard,” I said. By now, this was old news.

  "I didn't really spend any time wi’ her, growin’ up. She was more than a dozen years older than me. I do miss her, though. Even though I didn't know her well.” Then Emily was silent, and we just stood together, smoking, and watching the rain coming down in endless buckets.

  I thought about poor Sandie MacFarlane. The police constable, a genial man named Michael Kerr, said it looked like she'd fallen from the patio roof and broken her neck. Nobody bothered to question why she might have been on the patio roof in the first place. It was not lost on me that Evan Muncaster's room was right above the back patio. Had Sandie perhaps been returning from, or on her way to, some romantic tryst with Evan? Granted, she was a teenager, but certainly not an innocent one by any stretch of the imagination. It occurred to me then that I had never gotten out of Sandie what it was that she needed to tell me.

  "Emily?"

  She looked at me with that deer in the headlights expression again. “Aye, miss?"

  "Sandie said she had something she was going to tell me, and everyone else, at Council. You were her best friend. Do you have any idea what it might have been?” I asked gently.

  For a brief second, it seemed as though Emily Much was going to nod her head yes. Then abruptly, it shook the other way. “Not really, at least I don't think so.” Her gaze didn't meet my eyes.

  I ground my cigarette out on the sole of my boot, thankful that I had changed into jeans and a sweater. It was getting downright nippy up here in the Highlands. I squatted down and stared off into the distance, barely able to make out the gray waters of the loch through the trees. “Emily,” I said slowly, “if it was something that was important to Sandie, I think maybe she would want you to tell me. If you knew, that is."

  There was a click behind us, and I glanced over my shoulder. Anything Emily might have been willing to say was gone now, as Evan came outside.

  "Ladies,” he acknowledged. He looked very tired. Emily nodded hello and disappeared back into the house. Evan sniffed the air. “Have you been smoking?"

  "Yep,” I admitted, thoroughly unashamed of myself. “You caught me. Are you going to send me home as punishment?"

  He evidently wasn't in the mood for my smart-ass remarks. “You have a phone call."

  "Is it Gil?” I brightened.

  "Afraid not. It's Spalding,” he muttered.

  "What does he want?"

  Evan threw up his hands. “If you'd go pick up the phone, you might find out, aye? No need to be snippy."

  "Snippy? Of course I'm snippy. A dead seventeen-year-old girl was on the back porch this morning! Who wouldn't be snippy?” I pushed the door open.

  "Well, it's not as though she was supposed to be climbing about on the roof, is it?” he replied.

  "Suppose you tell me what she was doing there at all, then, Evan?” I snapped.

  He simply looked at me. “You've a phone call waiting."

  I pushed past him and went back in the house. It was nearly as dark inside as it was out in the rain, and with all the hubbub of finding a dead teenager at the back door, I had just plain not noticed Cayden Spalding's absence. “Hello?” I snapped at the phone.

  "Are you alone?” Cayden rumbled. I wondered where he was calling from. I hadn't seen any phone lines going to his croft on the other side of Beinn a'Choin.

  "Er, as alone as anyone can ever really be at Kilgraeme. I'm in the sitting room. Mrs. Much is here, watching her soap operas,” I explained.

  "Can you meet me? I need to talk to you, Brynne.” I really liked the way my name sounded when he said it. It came out as sort of a growl. Shaking myself for a reality check, I asked, “Wait, you want to get together right now? It's pouring outside."

  "Aye, I can see that for myself, but thank you for pointing it out."

  The man was exasperating. “Okay, where do you want to meet? Should I run over to your place?"

  "No, no, don't do that,” he said quickly. He probably figured I'd get lost again. “Be at the front door in ten minutes. I'll pick you up, aye?"

  "You have a car?” I asked, surprised.

  Apparently that was a dumb question, because he snorted and then hung up on me. I went into the kitchen and poured myself a big mug of coffee. I stood so that I wouldn't have to look at the back door, out onto the patio. Mrs. Much was engrossed in her evening stories, as she called them, and a near-empty bottle of brandy. I imagined she'd be asleep very soon.

  Poor Mrs. Much. It had taken a lot of brandy to calm her
down after she had found Sandie. Needless to say, Council was over after that. Instead, we'd all gathered in silence to await the arrival of the police from Arrochar.

  I heard a rumbling noise and a honk out front, and grabbed my coffee. I don't know exactly what I expected Cayden Spalding to drive. He just had such a way about him, like he should have lived here a couple of hundred years ago. It would not have surprised me one bit if he had pulled up in a horse-drawn carriage, a sword and a pistol tucked in his waistband, and a tricorn hat perched roguishly on his head, like some highwayman of days gone by.

  Instead, he was sitting in the driver's seat of the biggest 4x4 pickup truck I had ever seen. It was shiny and black. Having lived in South Carolina, I wasn't exactly unfamiliar with pickup trucks, but I hadn't expected to see Cayden Spalding drive up in one, with the sounds of country music blaring from the speakers.

  He peered down at me through the drizzle. “Are you getting in, then, or do you plan to stand out here getting damp all night?"

  "Um,” was all I could manage. I circled around to the passenger side, where I found three chrome rungs hanging down. I pulled the door open and climbed awkwardly up into the cab. The first thing I did was fasten my seatbelt.

  He looked at me appraisingly. “Let's go for a ride, then.” He popped the beast into gear, and sped out of the yard, spraying gravel and mud behind us. He barreled across the soft wet grass, heading south. We were driving parallel to the shore of Loch Lomond, and at times it seemed the truck was perilously close to the edge. I held on tight, and tried not to look out the window as we bounced along.

  "Where are we going?” I shouted over the stereo.

  He turned the music down, keeping his eyes on the ground ahead of the truck. “We need to talk, you and I."

  "So talk. Where are you taking me? And why couldn't you talk to me at Kilgraeme? Oof.” We hit a particularly large dip in the road, and I was thankful I had buckled up. Otherwise, my skull would have cracked a hole in the roof of Cayden Spalding's pretty truck.