Page 75 of Death at a Highland Wedding

His steps slow, and even from twenty paces, I see his face screw up in confusion.

“You are pointing a rifle at me,” I say, my fingers finding their grip on the derringer, still in my voluminous pocket. “Move it away from menow.”

His eyes narrow, and that gun barrel doesn’t budge.

I pull out the derringer and point it at him. Seeing it, he blinks. There are many emotions he could show at that moment. Surprise. Confusion. Grudging respect. Even amusement. Instead what fills his eyes is a hate sharp enough to make my breath catch.

Wrong move, Mallory.

Yes, I’ve pissed off a guy with a gun, but taking out mine wasn’t necessarily the wrong move, if the alternative was letting him think he can aim his rifle at me without consequence.

“What do you think you will do with that little thing?” he says.

At this point, it would be lovely—and badass—to turn the gun and fire it at a nearby tree, in a satisfying display of marksmanship. But that’s a whole lot less risky with a modern gun that takes more than two rounds.

Instead I say, “I am alone out here, where a man has been murdered, and someone is pointing a gun at me. I would be a fool not to at least try defending myself.”

“I am pointing the gun because you should not be here, little girl.”

I bristle at that. Even in Catriona’s body, I’m hardly a little girl.

“I am looking for my employer,” I lie. “Dr. Gray came to speak to you with Detective McCreadie. Have they found you?”

He grunts. “I saw them heading for my cottage, so I turned and walked the other way. I have no time for their nonsense. Not for yours either. Walking around out here and screaming.”

“I was testing how far away Mr. Sinclair’s cries could have been heard.”

Müller eyes me. “I thought you were looking for your master.”

My jaw clenches at the word “master” and I tell myself it’s commonly used in this period. Except the way Müller says it puts my teeth on edge.

“I am,” I say. “But I paused to conduct an experiment. I am a scientist’s assistant, after all.”

“Mallory?” a voice calls, and I look to see Isla hurrying over the field. “I heard you shout.” Spotting Müller and the two guns, she stops short.

“It is fine,” I say. “We startled one another, and we were just about to lower our weapons.”

I force myself to withdraw the derringer. Only once I do that does Müller follow suit, with a little sniff of satisfaction that I backed down first.

“It seems Mr. Müller missed your brother and Detective McCreadie,” I say sweetly. “He has not yet been interviewed. We ought to escort him to them.”

“You will do no such thing, girl,” Müller says. “I am busy—”

“Doing something that is more important than helping find a killer? You knew Ezra Sinclair. Surely you want his murderer caught. You must also want Mr. Cranston released.”

“Released?”

“First Constable Ross arrested him for the murder.”

Müller lowers the rifle further and snorts. “Fool,” he mutters, though I’m not sure whether he means Ross or Cranston.

“Right now, nothing is more important than helping your employer,” I say.

His expression suggests he’s not so sure of that.

“Youdowant to keep your job, I presume?” Isla says.

He doesn’t even look her way. “Do I still have a job? Mr. Cranston seems to be reconsidering after the nonsense with that wildcat.” He rollshis eyes. “Letting me go because I caught the cat he wished gone? Oh, but the girl was upset. We cannot have that.”

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