Chapter Thirteen
Grace sipped water from an elegant crystal glass as Harrison speared a bite of venison with his fork. Behind him, a crisply attired waiter moved with smooth, practiced flair, seeing to the diners’ every need against a backdrop of pristine elegance. The Devinshire was widely known to be among the most elegant establishments in Stirling, and judging from the looks of the place, its reputation was well justified. The fare was second to none, or so the waiter had informed them with a little puff of his chest.
Peering past the waiter as he attended another customer, Grace scanned the dining room with a quick sweep of her gaze. Still no sign of Belle Fairchild. Drat the luck. Was it possible she’d been mistaken about Belle’s tendency to shun early hours of the day? Could she have already come and gone before Grace arrived with Harrison?
Drat. Drat. Drat.
She’d been so sure she was right.
Of course, it was possible Belle had declined to follow through with her reservation. Before they left, she would find a tactful way to glean that information from the waitstaff.
Pulling in a calming breath, she studied the patterns adorning the intricately tatted tablecloth. Setting the goblet on the table, she turned her attention to Harrison.
“As much as it pains me to say this, Jones may have been right.”
Harrison cocked a brow. “I presume you are referring to Miss Fairchild’s reservation.”
Grace met his all-too-perceptive gaze. “It exasperates me to think the man had better insight into her behavior than I do.”
“I cannot imagine that American arse is right about much.” Harrison took another bite of food.
“You think not?”
“I’d trust your instincts over his.”
His simply worded pronouncement stunned her. Surprising, indeed.
“You know that woman better than any of us,” he went on. “If your expertise wasn’t required, Jones wouldn’t have needed either of us.”
“I suppose that’s true,” she agreed. Feeling a sudden urge to change the subject, she took another sip of water. “Your home…it is in the Highlands, as I recall.”
“Not far from Loch Ness,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don’t get there very often.”
“Your medical practice…if I recall, you’ve put down roots in Inverness.”
“I’m not sure ‘roots’ is the correct word, but it’s close enough.” He regarded her with what seemed almost a curiosity in his mossy-green eyes. With his hair neatly combed and his face clean shaven, he was every bit the sophisticated gentleman Scot.
“Close enough? I don’t quite follow your meaning.”
He shrugged. “I maintain a residence in the city as well as my medical practice, but my duties for the Guild draw me away many weeks out of the year.”
“Can you tell me more about the Guild, or is that classified?” When he frowned, she added with a little smile, “If it is, please forget I asked. After all, I wouldn’t want you to have to kill me.”
His mouth curled at the corners. “It’s not so dramatic as that. As you can imagine, I cannot divulge details of missions, but in general, the Highland Antiquities Guild exists to protect the heirlooms and treasures that have passed down through generations of Scots. We look upon it as our sworn duty to preserve our heritage and our history.”
“And who, precisely, are you referring to aswe?”
“Many Highland men and women have worked to further the Guild’s objectives, and the MacMasters clan has dedicated their efforts toward recovery and preservation of these ancient artifacts and heirlooms for centuries. Going back well before the lifetime of my grandfather’s grandfather, those born with MacMasters blood follow the calling.”
“Am I to understand the members of the Guild are also in the Queen’s service?”
“At times.” He took a drink from his water goblet, seeming to deliberate how much he might safely disclose. “Queen Victoria has taken quite an interest in all things Scottish. She supports our efforts to protect the treasures of the Highlands.”
Despite his calmly spoken tones, passion for his cause lit his eyes. She leaned closer, taking in every nuance of his expression.
“It is a dangerous job, is it not?”
A muscle in his jaw tensed and unclenched. Had she touched upon a sensitive subject? Setting his glass on the table, he met her eyes directly. “The agents of the Guild go about their lives, pursuing ordinary vocations and interests. Even when summoned to duty, most of our responsibilities would not set a person’s heart to pounding. Just the opposite, really. Translating a cipher. Interpreting a map to dig up a relic someone buried out of suspicion decades earlier. Assessing a trinket to determine if it possesses any historical value.”
