Barrington swore under his breath. “That was inevitable. The key is ensuring speculation doesn’t overtake fact.” He spoke to Grenville, Bridget, and Davenport quietly. “Not a word about Alastair’s wounds or where they are.”
They all agreed.
Bridget listened but found her focus slipping. The investigation could wait for now. There was only one person who mattered.
*
Marjory sat inthe drawing room, Bridget and Grenville across from her. The elegant surroundings offered her little comfort, as the memories of the chase, and the unbearable knowledge of Mark’s death, replayed in her mind. Her gaze, unfocused and distant, lingered on the patterned rug as if searching for clarity in the midst of Mark’s death. Each shudder that passed through her seemed to echo the chaos of the morning and the harsh reality of loss still fresh in her bones.
A short time later, Mrs. Simmons entered, her footsteps soft and her voice gentle. “My lady.” She paused by Marjory’s side, “you mustn’t remain in these muddy clothes. Please, come with me. You’ll feel better once you’ve changed into something dry.”
Despite the deep sorrow etched on her face, a flicker of gratitude warmed Marjory’s eyes. With a reluctant sigh, she rose and, with Mrs. Simmons’s guidance, climbed the stairs.
*
Bridget started slightlyas Grenville’s fingers closed around hers, a silent reassurance she hadn’t known she needed. She turned to him with a smile. “It seems whenever we’re together, we wind up in the mud.”
His face broke out with a smile that, even amid the gloom, took her breath away. “You go on. I need to clean up as well.” A playful note softened his tone, a brief spark of levity in an otherwise depressing morning.
She went up the stairs and when she entered her room, found Catriona already at work. The woman was selecting a fresh day dress from the wardrobe. Bridget’s heart lifted at the sight of her fellow clanswoman.
“Catriona, I’m glad you’re here.” Bridget’s voice was low as she stepped forward.
“Stay where you are, and I’ll get those clothes off you.” Catriona was already moving to help her.
As Catriona worked, Bridget ventured carefully. “You’ve heard about Lord Alastair, haven’t you?”
Catriona’s expression darkened as she adjusted the dress. “Aye. It was a shock. Everyone below stairs is unsettled. They don’t know which way to turn. Drummond said you and the captain found his lordship and Lady Marjory. Do you have any idea what happened?”
Bridget’s heart ached at the thought of stirring gossip, yet silence would serve no one. “Nothing conclusive. It looks as though Alastair fell from his horse.”
“And her ladyship?” Catriona’s voice softened as she helped Bridget into the fresh dress. “How is she holding up?”
Bridget paused, her gaze flickering with both sorrow and steely determination. “She is utterly taken aback, devastated.”The words were difficult to say as she tried to steady her racing heart.
Catriona sighed deeply, her eyes reflecting a shared grief. “Aye, my lady, it is a bitter pill indeed. But we must keep our tongues in check. Rumors have a way of igniting fires where they ought not to burn. There, you’re all done.”
Bridget offered a smile of gratitude before nodding. She left the room and returned downstairs.
She found Marjory in the conservatory, seated on a chaise with her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped tightly around them. The faint scent of lilies filled the room, and sunlight streamed through the tall windows. Marjory looked up as Bridget approached, her face pale and drawn, but her lips tightened in something that wasn’t quite a smile.
“Bridget.” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “You’ve come to scold me for running away, haven’t you?”
“Not at all,” Bridget replied gently, taking the chair opposite her. “I’ve come because I’m worried about you.”
Marjory let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Worried about me? Of all the people here, I’m the least deserving of anyone’s concern.”
Bridget leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on her knees. “That isn’t true, Marjory, and you know it. Please, talk to me. I’m here to listen, and I’ll believe whatever you’re willing to tell me.”
For a long moment, Marjory stared at the delicate patterns on the carpet beneath her feet. Finally, she sighed and leaned back against the chaise. “Mark and I rode together earlier,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper. “Something was on his mind. I could feel it, but he wouldn’t share.”
“Did he mention meeting someone?”
Marjory opened her mouth, then closed it again, her fingers twisting in her lap. Finally, she exhaled. “Mark… he wasn’t himself these last few weeks. I thought it was just a passingdistraction, but…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I should have asked him more questions.”
“He changed, Bridget,” she said softly. “At first, I thought it was just excitement over some discovery. But then he started waking in the middle of the night, poring over that book. He wasn’t just interested, he was obsessed with it.”
Bridget frowned. “Did he ever tell you why?”
