As he hurried on up the stairs with Alistair behind him, he remained alert.
And wary.
Damned wary.
Shawna hadno intention of being a fool or being taken unaware. If she ventured out, she would be in danger. If she didn’t venture out, she would never find the truth that she needed.
She was far from an expert, but she did know how to shoot, and she owned a pair of pearl-handled derringers that her father had given her years ago and which she had kept in good working order for that very reason.
She was sorry that David had made such a disaster of her purple riding habit—it would have stood her well now, the color being so dark and deep to match well with the night. But digging deeply enough had brought her to a mourning gown, high-necked and prim, yet a day gown in which it was easy to ride.In her black attire she would be ready to grab her guns and ease herself into the passage in the wall—once she found the way in.
She was so involved, tapping and pushing upon stonework and carpentry, when her door suddenly burst open.
She had stood near the balcony window. She quickly eased away from it as she saw that David had returned.
Towering in his black breeches, shirt, and boots, he filled the doorway. His green gaze flickered over her, taking in the black funeral gown. His lips curled in something of a taunting smile.
“The laird is not dead—haven’t you heard yet, my lady?”
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“Many, many things. But in particular, at this moment, where is your maid?”
“My maid?” she repeated, astounded. Of all the questions she had expected from David, Mary Jane’s whereabouts was not among them.
“Your maid, Shawna. Mary Jane. Where is she?”
“Sleeping, I imagine!”
“She’s not.”
“Then I—I don’t know.”
He walked into the room to where she stood, obviously trying very hard not to touch her. “Have you given her time off? Perhaps she has left conveniently now with your approval.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you certain?”
“Quite.”
“Perhaps you’re unaware that Mary Jane gave our son to the Andersons.”
Shawna gasped. “She couldn’t have?—”
“Oh, but she did.”
“How—”
“Fergus told me so, my lady.”
“I don’t believe it!” Mary Jane had served her loyally as long as she could remember! “David! You’re going to take the word of that wretched drunkard?”
He stared at her for a very, very long moment. “Aye,” he said. “That I am.”
He turned and left her. He exited the room, closing the door behind him. Stunned, Shawna stared after him. He’d gone to the Andersons. He’d taken the step she had meant to take herself. And now…
Oh god! What else had Fergus said?