“Excellent,” Mrs. Craig said.
Tavish decided it was time to depart. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must check on my horse.”
“Of course,” Miss Marshall said. “We’ll see you later.” She gave him a look that said something a bit different, something that didn’t include the pronoun “we.”
Tavish stood and bowed to them, his gaze lingering on Miss Marshall. With more reluctance than he cared to recognize, he turned and left the inn.
Elspeth watched Tavish leave the common room. Cold air drifted from the door, sending a slight chill up her spine as she finished the last of her tea. She wished she could have accompanied him.
“I’m so pleased you found Mr. Will—MacLean again.” Aunt Leah sent her an apologetic grimace.
That morning, when Elspeth had told Aunt Leah about meeting Tavish for breakfast, she’d explained his aliases. Actually, she hadn’t given her his real name. That seemed as though it would confuse an already complicated situation. “I am too.” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to her aunt. “And thank you for understanding about his names.”
“Of course,” she whispered in response. “He sounds like such a kindhearted man—a farmer who helps people in need after that horrid battle. Don’t you think so?”
“That he’s kindhearted? Yes, he seems to be.” Elspeth wasn’t entirely certain. She barely knew the man. But she wanted to. Hopefully, she’d get the chance. She glanced longingly toward the door, again wishing she’d been able to go with him to the stable. Perhaps she could “check” on their coach and horses. After all, their coachman had family in town and was visiting with them. Aunt Leah had already said she would have one of the inn’s grooms take a message to him to let him know they’d be staying another day.
But Elspeth had something else to focus on—chasing her story. Turning her head, she looked for the innkeeper’s daughter but didn’t see her in the common room.
“What’s the matter, dear?” Aunt Leah asked.
“Nothing’s the matter. I want to speak with Carrie.”
“About your story, of course. I’ll go speak with Balthazar about having a groom deliver a message to Fisk.” Aunt Leah stood. “I’m sure he’ll be delighted to have another day with his mother.”
“Indeed he will,” Elspeth said with a smile.
Elspeth rose, intending to look for Carrie. She and Aunt Leah walked toward the bar as Carrie appeared from the kitchen with a plate of food. After she deposited it on a table, she walked back toward the kitchen.
“Carrie, is your father busy? My aunt would like to make a request.”
“He’s in the kitchen.” Carrie wiped her hand on her apron and looked to Aunt Leah. “Can I help?”
Aunt Leah explained what she needed, and Carrie said she’d see it was taken care of. Satisfied, Aunt Leah left to go upstairs.
Before Carrie could return to the kitchen, Elspeth stopped her. “May I ask you a question?”
Carrie stuck her hip out and rested her fist against it. “All right.”
“I’m looking for a gentleman who was here yesterday. He left just after the commotion with the English soldiers.”
“Ye mean Dougal Kerr. He doesna like the English. Canna say I blame him.” She stepped closer so that Elspeth could see Carrie’s freckles in great detail. “His brother fought at Culloden.” The serving maid looked away. “Forget I said that, please. It’s not something to be known—who fought there.”
“I wouldn’t blame him for not liking the English either,” Elspeth said softly.
Carrie eyed Elspeth cautiously. “Why de ye want ta speak with Dougal?”
“He mentioned something yesterday that I want to ask him about. I record stories, and he said something intriguing.” Her breath caught as she waited to see if Carrie would help her find the man.
“He may not want ta talk ta ye, but ye can try. He lives on the northeast corner of town—small cottage that needs some repair on the roof. Ye’ll know what I mean.”
Relief flooded Elspeth along with anticipation. “Thank you, Carrie. I appreciate this so much.”
Elspeth rushed upstairs to tell Aunt Leah where she was going and hoped her aunt wouldn’t want to come along. She was relieved when her aunt said she preferred to remain at the inn. As Elspeth donned her cloak and gloves, she hoped she might find a way to encounter Tavish when she returned.
Outside, the sun peeked through the clouds. Elspeth’s boots squished in the melting snow, and she felt a flash of disappointment. She would have no quarrel being trapped at an inn with Tavish for longer—then she’d be assured of getting to know him better.
Looking on the bright side, Elspeth was glad for the dry weather in which to walk through the small village to find Mr. Kerr’s cottage. There wasn’t much to Calvine, but it was a busy stop on the road between Perth and Inverness.
Carrie had been right—Elspeth had no trouble determining which cottage belonged to Mr. Kerr. Feeling optimistic, she walked to his door and knocked.
A moment later, the man she’d seen yesterday answered, his dark eyes blinking in surprise. “Ye’re from the inn,” he blurted.
“I am, yes.” She smiled warmly. “I’m Miss Elspeth Marshall. I was hoping to speak with you about—” A movement behind the man caught Elspeth’s eye and stole the words from her mouth.
Tavish was here?
“Come in,” Mr. Kerr invited as he pulled the door open wider and stepped back.
“I see you already have a guest,” she said, staring at Tavish. What was he doing here?
Tavish stood at the table where he’d just risen. He watched her intently but said nothing.
“This is Mr. MacLean,” Mr. Kerr said. “He also came from the inn. I have to wonder if ye’ve both come for the same reason.”
Elspeth wondered the same thing. She also wondered why Tavish hadn’t mentioned his intentions. He knew she wanted to learn more about the sword. Narrowing her eyes at him, she said, “I don’t know. Why are you here, Mr. MacLean?”
Tavish swallowed, but he didn’t look away from her. “I came to ask about Mr. Kerr’s brother, whom he mentioned yesterday.”
Had he come in search of the brother? Guilt washed over her.
“And about the flaming sword,” Mr. Kerr added, looking from Tavish to Elspeth.
The guilt vanished beneath a stinging wave of disappointment. Elspeth pressed her lips together before focusing on Mr. Kerr. “I came to ask about the sword. I write down oral stories that are told to me. I’ve heard a few about Culloden, and this sounded like one that should be recorded.”
Why did Tavish want to know about it? She looked at him and silently asked the question as if he could hear her and answer.
His lips parted briefly, but he said nothing. His eyes said plenty, however—he looked like a man caught in a lie. One who was sorry for it, which, on its own, did nothing to soothe her ire. No, she wasn’t angry. She was hurt. And she shouldn’t be. They were hardly more than acquaintances. Furthermore, he’d already demonstrated his penchant for half-truths or outright deception.
“Would ye like to sit with us?” Mr. Kerr asked. “I’ll tell ye what I was just saying to Mr. MacLean.” He flicked a glance toward Tavish, who nodded slightly. Was he asking Tavish for permission?