Page 70 of The Highlander's Alluring Spy
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William looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable when Nathair entered his study, which immediately put the Laird on edge. He’d seen William retain his good humor through death and illness.
Whatever is wrong wi’ ye now?
“Thereye are,” William said irritably. “Dinnae me soldier tell ye it was urgent?”
“He did,” Nathair replied, closing the door behind him. “But I have other duties an’ I cannae jump if yer men are gonnae be vague. I met Abbie when I was on me way back. She says ye didnae come home the last three nights. She’s worried sick. What’s goin’ on?”
Abbie had actually been more angry than worried, but Nathair figured a little guilt might do his friend good.
William sighed, all of the annoyance flowing out of him. His whole body seemed to sag in defeat, which was more alarming than if he’d started to yell. “Sit yerself down, Nathair,” he said tiredly.
Nathair did, nervous about what was coming.
“Have ye seen Magnolia since ye got back?” William asked him, his voice hard.
An unpleasant feeling of foreboding clouded Nathair’s mind. “Nay, I came straight here. What’s the matter? Is there somethin’ wrong—?”
“Aye, but it isnae how yer thinkin’.” William hesitated, then said, “Do ye still keep that whiskey in here? If ye dae, we could both use some.”
Even more uncomfortable, Nathair didn’t know what else to do other than comply. He fetched two cups and poured two whiskey shots, pushing one across the table to his friend. “Tell me,” he demanded.
William drank his own down in one gulp, making a face at the burn. After a moment, he said, “Well, me and one o’ the lads had an early breakfast a few days ago down a’ the tavern. Ye ken, Connor, the one that’s always tryin’ to catch yer maid’s attention.”
“I ken Connor. What has he to dae wi’ Magnolia?” Nathair was trying not to get annoyed, but he could do without William’s talent of putting a flourish on a story now.
“In case ye dinnae believe me,” William muttered, which made Nathair’s skin go clammy. How bad could it possibly be if William seriously thought he’d doubt him? William took a breath and said, “Magnolia walked in before the sixth bell tae meet wi’ a man.”
Another man. I kenned it was too good to be true.
But no, he had more faith in her than that. Jealousy was an ugly emotion, one of which he would not allow himself to fall afoul. “It was probably just—”
“Aye, I ken, which is why me an’ the lad followed him after he left,” William interrupted. “I liked Magnolia, ye ken that. I just wanted to ken what was happenin’ to put yer mind at ease. But I truly wish I hadnae. I was happier before.”
Nathair tried not to let the anxiety overwhelm him. “Just speak, William. What is it? Tell me.”
“The man traveled all the way down to Edinburgh,” William said tiredly, “Where he met another fellow dressed in full English regalia. A soldier, or a member o’ some organization, I’d grant.”
What is he saying? This doesn’t make any sense.
“He handed the new man a letter. A thick thing. Connor sneaked up close. He said both o’ them spoke in an English accent, an’ the one we followed said—he said—” William faltered, unable to complete his sentence.
“Out wi’ it,” Nathair commanded.
“He said the smaller letter inside was for the attention o’ Lord Winterbourne, Earl o’ Elfinstone. Said his daughter had written a personal message for her Faither along wi’ the information the Order required.”
The world shuddered to a stop, and the color seemed to drain from the room. Nathair could see the concern in William’s gray eyes and hear that he was still talking, but Nathair’s ears seemed to have stopped working.
Winterbourne.
Yes, he knew that Earl. He’d even met him once when he was a lad. He had been part of some peace negotiations with Nathair’s own father many years back. He’d seemed pleasant enough, for an Englishman. He’d given Nathair a strawberry and called him a handsome young boy.
Teárlach had been a welcoming man, eager to find peace, so he’d invited Lord Winterbourne to stay for a few nights and know the castle. Young Nathair had been fascinated by the strange foreigner and talked much with him.
He’d been only eight himself, but he remembered now as clearly as though it was yesterday. Winterbourne had told him he wasn’t all that different from the children back home, as if that was some surprise. And then he’d taken his clock-watch from around his neck and shown the miniature painting inside the clasp.
He told me the woman was his beloved wife. An’ the bairn was his five-year-old daughter.
