“I suppose it’s not entirely surprising,” she continued, not pausing to pity herself. “Most men can’t walk away once they’ve seen Violet. She’s lovely.” She sighed. “But Jeremy had seemed so levelheaded. Above all that passion nonsense.”
Graeme bit back a laugh. He stopped in front of his mother’s cottage. Despite the late hour, two lanterns still burned bright, welcoming any visitors. Come springtime, the front of the house would be covered with brightly colored flowers, and in autumn, the hills behind the house would be bright purple with heather. But now in the dead of winter, the earth slept, and the grounds around them were nearly colorless. Though it wasn’t a sprawling estate, it was a sizable house with several bedrooms and a study that he used when he visited.
“We’re here,” he said.
“We’re where, precisely?” she asked.
“My home. My mother’s home.” It occurred to him in that moment precisely what he’d done tonight. Yes, he’d rescued the girl from a dangerous situation. But he could have done so without allowing Angus and the rest of those men to goad him into a meaningless ceremony. He could have simply swept the girl out of the room and brought her to another, safer inn closer to Inverness.
But instead, he’d brought her home.
CHAPTER 3
Once Graeme had safely deposited Vanessa in his old bedroom, he made his way to the small kitchen at the back of the house. There was no reason to wake his family to notify them that they had guests; tomorrow morning would be here soon enough, but he was hungry.
The kitchen looked the same as it always did. A table with six chairs was off to the side, calico curtains hung in the small window at the back wall, not a crumb, nor any dish left out of the cupboards. A loaf of bread rolled up in a towel sat on top of the stove. He took a seat at the wooden table with a hunk of the herbed bread slathered in butter.
Tomorrow, Graeme would convince Vanessa that Scotland was no place for an unaccompanied single lady. She should make her way back to London. Certainly her family would understand her need to flee her wedding under such circumstances.
Graeme needed her off his hands so he could focus intently on catching up on his own research. It had been several long months since he’d been able to get back here, and his work locating the Stone of Destiny had suffered.
While he was here in Scotland, he hoped to finally be able to locate an artifact that would enable him to decipher the secret code of a handwritten section in The Magi’s Book of Wisdom. He’d tried without the decoder. Ever since he’d first glanced through the book, he’d worked on that code, employing every tactic he could to uncover the meaning. But so far nothing had worked.
He’d searched for it every time he’d returned to Scotland, but he’d had no luck thus far. But he’d recently found some old letters between two monks that said “the key had been hidden away to protect the royal ones.” Because the Stone of Destiny had been fought over by kings for generations, Graeme felt certain the key was the decoder he sought.
Graeme had been so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard his mother’s approach until she appeared in the kitchen, a huge log held over her head.
She took one look at him and closed her eyes in relief. “You scared the devil out of me, boy.” Moira stepped over to him, set the log on the floor, then popped him on the head with her open hand. “Coming in to the house and not even letting us know you’re here. Where is your head, Graeme? I could have killed you, you know?”
He chuckled. “Of that I have no doubt.” He’d been in many dangerous situations, yet being clubbed to death by his mother, who barely reached his chest, seemed a humorous way to perish.
“What were you doing sneaking in like that?” she asked.
“I brought a woman here,” he said. Not the best way that he could have alerted her to Vanessa’s presence. He chalked it up to being tired after a long journey.
“Did ya now?” Moira asked. She dropped herself into a chair across from him and smiled. She clutched her dressing gown tighter around her body.
“It’s not what you’re thinking, Mother. She’s English and was at the pub. Alone. Got herself into a bit of trouble, and I figured she’d be safer staying here.”
“Right you are. That place is none too gentle on the fairer sex.” Moira took a bite of Graeme’s bread and chewed thoughtfully.
A knock sounded at the front door of the house. “Expecting someone?” Graeme asked as he came to his feet.
“Not at this hour,” she said, following close behind him. “Hurry, before they wake the rest of the house.”
Graeme opened the door to find Jensen, the leader of Solomon’s, standing in the cold. A hired hackney waited behind him. “Jensen. Come in.”
“I do apologize for bothering you here. I tried to catch you before you left London, but I missed you. This is of dire importance. Is there somewhere we can speak?” He eyed Moira, but said nothing.
“I’ll leave you two to your privacy,” she said, obviously taking the not-so-subtle hint. She left them standing in the front parlor, a room not quite big enough to do significant entertaining, but it would serve the purpose of a late-night meeting.
“Someone has broken into Westminster,” Jensen said as soon as Moira was out of earshot. “The police are not even certain how the perpetrator got inside, as the guards remained in place through the night.”
“Bribery,” Graeme said. “I don’t suppose even the queen’s guards are above that.”
Jensen nodded. “Indeed.” The man stepped over to a chair near the hearth and sat.
“What did they take?” Graeme asked, but somehow, he knew precisely what Jensen was about to say. Why else would the man be here to talk to him?