An hour later, Graeme sat in the study, recording the details of his dream in his journal. Since this morning, he’d remembered more, not simply the pile of bones, but the treasure. It had to be the Loch Ness Treasure. Somewhere in those caves, he’d find the treasure lying amidst bones. Perhaps the legend had been right and the beastie had guarded the treasure, but now the beastie was gone and the gems lay unguarded.
He had to find them before Niall did. No matter what the cost, he had to prevent The Raven from laying claim to the Kingmaker.
Of course, now that Graeme had the true Stone of Destiny, it would be impossible for anyone to complete the Kingmaker. Still, he wanted to be certain. Solomon’s had entrusted him with this task, and he would not let them down. They had been the only true friends he’d found in London.
In England, people had always given him respect because of his family name, because of his title, but begrudgingly. He was not a pure blue blood. In their eyes, he was tainted with poor Scots blood from his mother. Here in Scotland, people thought he was arrogant, that he believed himself too good for them with his fancy title and money. Well, to hell with them. To hell with all of them.
The Stone of Destiny lay on the corner of his desk while he made his notes. He’d considered sending it by post to Solomon’s so they could lock it up with the other potentially dangerous relic they protected, but then he’d run the risk of someone intercepting the package. He could not afford to be reckless with such an artifact.
No, he’d wait until he could deliver it in person. He’d keep it here with him. As soon as they found the Loch Ness Treasure, they’d be on their way with both artifacts. The study door flew open, and Dougal stepped inside. “Graeme, there’s something we need to discuss,” he said.
He stood tall, with his chin held firm.
Graeme set his pen down and waved his brother into the room. He’d decided not to confront his brother, and instead had decided to wait and see if the boy would confess. Perhaps the guilt was proving too much for him. “This is your house, Dougal. You don’t need an invitation from me.”
His brother sat, then rubbed his palms against his kilt.
He sighed.
“What are you working on?” Dougal asked.
“My research.”
Dougal’s eyes fell onto the sandstone sitting on the edge of the desk. “You found it, then?”
Graeme’s hand came down on the Stone of Destiny. He nodded.
Dougal met his glance then, and his eyes brightened for a moment. “Truly?” Then his lips tightened into a thin line. “Did she help you?”
“What is it that you have against my wife?” Graeme asked.
Dougal leaned back in his chair and slowly exhaled.
Perhaps he was going to tell Graeme, admit that he’d tried to kill Vanessa. Graeme had considered what she’d told him, that Dougal was probably feeling neglected and jealous about all the time Graeme was spending with his new wife. It certainly might explain his actions to an extent, but it most definitely did not excuse them. Still, Graeme wanted to hear what Dougal had to say, wanted to hear the admission directly from the boy’s lips.
“I don’t care for her,” Dougal said.
Graeme might desire a confession, but he wouldn’t allow the boy to disparage Vanessa. He’d already caused enough harm. Graeme leaned forward and tapped his fingers on the desk. “Tread lightly, brother; she is my wife.”
Dougal threw his arms up in frustration. “Don’t you see what she’s done to us? Before she was here, I was the one who assisted you with your research. She’s probably only after your title and your money.” He sat forward, his expression tight.
Dougal was utterly serious and truly concerned for his brother’s welfare, that much was evident. But sentiments mattered not when it came to attempted murder. Anger welled inside Graeme like a great wave rolling in to crash upon the shore.
“Not that I owe you an explanation, brother, but Vanessa did not even know I was a duke when we got married. As for her coming between the two of us, that’s simply untrue,” Graeme said.
“But she trapped you into this marriage. I heard you say so yourself,” Dougal argued.
“No.” Graeme forced himself to take three steady breaths. “I said we were trapped into marriage. But how it happened no longer matters. She’s my wife. End of discussion.”
Graeme picked up his pen and looked down at his journal, though his anger blurred the words. He was too furious to confront the boy. The last thing he wanted was to behave like his father had, yelling and causing fear.
“What if she puts you in danger, Graeme?” Dougal came to his feet, but he made no move to leave the study. “What will you do then?”
Graeme tossed his pen down and came to his feet. “If you’re asking me where my loyalties lie, rest assured that she is my wife and I will not walk away from her.”
At full height, Graeme towered over his brother, and at seventeen, Dougal had yet to fully broaden. But the boy stood his ground.
“I suspected as much,” Dougal said.