The Beautiful Stranger (42 page)

Nonetheless, you are as close as I am likely to get to a barrister in the next few days. Time is of the essence, Mr. Regis.

That may be, milord, but there is not enough time in all of Scotland to turn me into a barrister, or an advocate as we know it here. I would think you could find a suitable one in Edinburgh.

There is no time! Christian said sharply, then caught himself and took a deep breath. The truth is, Mr.

Regis, this matter is one that is very, ah dear to me. It is imperative that I get help before it is too late.

Jamie shook his head. I canna help you. I am not an advocate and I am not familiar with criminal law.

For what you need, you must understand that my counsel would be insufficient. I urge you to go quickly to Edinburgh. He stood up, preparing to take his leave, but Christian surprised him by lunging across the table and grabbing him by the lapels. Jamie grabbed his wrists and yanked at his hands. Unhand me, sir!

Listen to me, Regis! Christian said roughly. I need you! You are my best and last hope, do you understand me? I will pay you a bloody fortune for your assistance if that is what you want, but I will not allow Kerry McKinnon to hang! he exclaimed desperately.

Jamie froze. He blinked, struggling to absorb the image of the fair Kerry McKinnon hanging from the end of a noose. His hands fell away from Christians wrists; Christian let go of his lapels with a slight shove and quietly straightened his clothing as Jamie stared at him. Kerry McKinnon? Fraser McKinnons widow? he asked, incredulous.

Along with her cousin Thomas.

Jamie sank into the chair he had just vacated and drained the last of his ale. Christian resumed his seat, watching him closely. They say he murdered her.

Now they say the two of them conspired to murder Charles Moncrieffe, Christian said.

Jamie sucked in his breath. You canna be serious!

I am deadly serious.

Jamie could hardly believe it. His memory of Mrs. McKinnon was a fond onea lovely woman, dedicated to her ill husband and the little enclave of clan she lived among. His memory of Moncrieffe was less favorable. Through the years, he had had occasion to run across the man on various matters. He despised Cameron Moncrieffe, because he, more so than any other baron Jamie had known, pushed plain folk from their land with no regard for their welfare, all so that he could put more sheep on the land and make himself an even richer man. He hardly needed to do soMoncrieffe was a wealthy, powerful baron, possessing of a tremendous amount of influence among the elite of Scottish society and lawmakers.

Jamie glanced up at Christian. How did it happen?

He sat very still, listening to Christian explain, his mind spinning with the fantastic story. He did not flinch when Christian told him of his part in her escape, nor did he move when Christian explained that Moncrieffe likely knew what his son was about. He did not even speak when he learned that Mrs.

McKinnon had returned to Scotland to free Thomas McKinnon, giving up her own liberty to save her cousin.

When Christian had finished, Jamie knew the request was difficult to refuse. A man could not leave a woman like Mrs. McKinnon in such straits. He sighed, raked both hands through his hair. I am not an advocate, he repeated. I doona know that the justice will even entertain my advocacy.

He cannot refuse it, can he? The woman has no one to speak on her behalf.

Jamie supposed that was true. The legal system guaranteed some sort of advocacy in situations such as this. Theres an awful lot of work to be done. Ive got to study the law, and we must find someone who knows what happened to the McKinnon clan.

Christian eagerly leaned forward, nodding. I shall look from sunrise to sunset if I must.

Still, Jamie shook his head; this was lunacy. What he knew of criminal law could be put on the head of a daisy. I can offer you no guarantee. It may do more harm than good Nonsense, man! She cannot possibly do worse than she does now in that tower prison where he holds her! He leaned forward farther still, the piercing hazel eyes for once beseeching. Ive nowhere to turn, Mr.

Regis! I will bring all my power to bear in helping you, I will pay a highwaymans rate, but I cannot do this alone!

That much was obviously true, and Jamie frowned. Alone, this vainglorious English aristocrat would certainly hang her. Bloody hell, he was all Kerry McKinnon had! He groaned. All right, then, I will help you, but on one condition. You must do as I say, do I have your word?

Christian beamed at him, his relief and joy apparent. Naturally! Whatever you say, Mr. Regis, he exclaimed, and offered his hand to shake on their agreement.

Well need a place to work. I reside in Stirling

I have just the place, Christian said, still grinning. He gripped Jamies hand tightly. Well be quite the pair, you and I.

Oh yes, Jamie imagined they would be quite the pair.

The place Arthur had in mind was the scene of the alleged crime. Regis thought he had lost his mind, and had no qualms about saying so. Arthur could hardly argue. But his instincts were right; the place was deserted, save a few hundred grazing sheep. Regis complained that they were trespassing and were sure to be caught, but Arthur wrapped a friendly yet firm arm around the mans shoulders and forced him to walk into the white house while trying to convince him that it wasnt technically trespassing. After all, the papers settling Phillips debts had not yet been signed. Regis remained unconvinced.

They spent the evening chasing two sheep from the interior of the house and shaking the two mattresses that had been left behind to ensure no other creatures had taken up residence. After a frosty nightno thanks to Regis, who adamantly refused to allow a fire to be built, lest they alert the glen and signal Moncrieffethe two men rose with the sun, washed in the cold stream, and dined on cheese and bread hard as stone.

They began work in the room Kerry had once occupied. It was practically empty now, except for the ugly, dark stain of blood. The bed was gone, as was the vanityto what fate, Arthur did not know.

Nothing but a wooden chair remained, a small rug, and a wardrobe with one door missing. There was also a tin box and a scattering of papers in one corner. With the toe of his boot, Arthur nudged them so that he could read what was written. One was a letter from Alva Tavish, another from Mr. Abernathy of Dundee. He stooped down, picked up the letters, and put them in his pocket while Regis measured the room with his stride, then made some notations on a paper.

They milled around the small room far too long to suit Arthur. Much to his great irritation, Regis insisted that he repeat the sequence of events as he knew them over and over again. After the fourth telling of it, Arthur had reached the limits of his patience. The longer they stood there, the longer Kerry languished in that godforsaken medieval tower. It seemed to him that there was something they ought to be doingsuch as reviewing the bloody lawinstead of discussing where Charless body had lain when Arthur found them.

When Regis asked for the hundredth time where exactly Kerry had been standing, Arthur lost what was left of his patience.

I have told you, Regis! She was standing just there! he snapped, waving his hand in the general direction he had indicated earlier. Regis paused in his examination of the floor and bestowed a look of pure tedium on him. Arthur bristled; he was unaccustomed to being treated in such a common . . . manner. He was about to make issue of it, but Regis spoke first.

I thought you wanted my help.

Bloody hell! he groused, rolling his eyes. Of course I want your help! But I hardly see the point of repeating over and over again who was standing where!

I am attempting to ascertain exactly how this happened so that I might effectively argue self-defense on Mrs. McKinnons behalf! If he were lying inside the room facedown, and she at the door, then it would not be quite so easy to argue, would it? Every detail, no matter how small, can only help us, sir! And while you may not have realized it, you have added some new detail to each telling of it!

Regis had a point there.

Arthur sighed, glanced around the filthy room again, made a supreme effort to get hold of his emotions.

You are right, of course. What was your question?

It was the afternoon before Regis was finally satisfied with his copious notes. His forehead furrowed in a frown, he walked slowly into the kitchen, Arthur on his heels, and sat down at the scarred table that had been left behind. With his arm, he brushed off a place where he could lay his paper, then ran his palms over his notes to flatten it before bending over to study it further.

Arthur fell onto the bench across from him and pulled out the letters he had found. Using his thumb to break the wax seal, he opened the first. In handwriting sharply angled, the missive began with a curt salutation and moved directly into a demand for Kerry to come to Glasgow, where she could apparently repent her evil ways and seek mercy from God by teaching the heathens of His Word. The letter continued in that vein, and when he reached the signature, a cold little shiver ran up his spine.

Kerry had, of course, alluded to discord with her mother. And he remembered vividly her hysterical reaction to his suggestion that she go to Glasgow. At the time, he had attributed it to the trauma of what had happened to her, but had he known her mother was this rabid, he never would have suggested such a thing. He glanced at the letter again and noticed that it was dated 18 July 1837. He had found Kerry standing over Charles Moncrieffes body on 29 July. Eleven days later.

How long do you suppose it should take a letter to arrive here from Glasgow? he asked.

Regis did not glance up from his work and answered distractedly, Ten days, perhaps a fortnight.

Kerry must have just received the letter around the time of the unfortunate incident with Moncrieffe.

He forced the ugly image from his mind and picked up the other letter. This one was from a Mr.

Abernathy of Dundee. When he broke the seal, he discovered that Mr. Abernathy was an agent of the Bank of Scotland. He had written to inform Kerry that her time had come to an end, and as much as it pained Mr. Abernathy to do so, he would be forced to foreclose on her property to settle her husbands debts. This meant, naturally, that the bank would take possession of her assets, and unfortunately, the pearls she had given him to secure a portionalbeit a very small portionof the debt.

A peculiar wave of disgust and regret rolled over Arthur. Had he known, had he understood, he would have settled the debts at the bank for Phillip and Kerry. He looked again at the letter; it was dated 21

July.

What a burden Glenbaden must have been for her, he thought sadly, and unconsciously ran his thumb over a deep groove in the table. He despised her dead husbandit was unfathomable to him that a man

might leave his wife with such monumental matters such as loans and accruing interest and collateral.

Well then, Regis abruptly said, yanking Arthur back to the present. I believe our course is clear. First, there is the matter of Thomas McKinnon. I should think there is someone in Perth who could swear to his being there on the day of Moncrieffes death. We need a credible witness to that effect. I suggest you go to Perth and find one.

Me? Arthur blustered. And what of you? Am I not paying you a bloody kings ransom to gather evidence of their innocence?

I will be gathering evidence of Mrs. McKinnons innocence, sir.

I will help you

You can help me by finding a credible witness in Perth who will vouch for Mr. McKinnons whereabouts.

Look here, Christian, weve not much time. We must divide the work, and I think I am better qualified to develop the critical evidence we need to convince the justice of Mrs. McKinnons innocence. If you prefer to waste time arguing

All right, all right, Arthur snapped. I will go to Perth and find the fellow who was fortunate enough to speak with the congenial Thomas McKinnon!

Excellent, drawled Regis, and for the first time Arthur could recall, the man smiled.

In Perth, it seemed that no one, from the markets to the public inns, had noticed a wiry Scot with a dozen head of sickly cattle. It was as if Thomas had never existed. But he had come to Perth, he had told Arthur so, had sold the cattle and waited for Kerry as they had previously arranged. When the appointed meeting time came and went, and two days more, he had gone looking for her. That was when Moncrieffe apprehended him.

After a full day and a half of wandering about, a dejected and exhausted Arthur stepped into the Dog and Duck Public Inn, an establishment he had been in more than once to inquire after Thomas. He fell into a rickety wooden chair and asked a barmaid to bring him a dram of Scottish whiskey. Defeat was not a familiar sensation to him, nor was the feeling of the lack of power to do anything. He stared morosely at the small glass the barmaid set in front of him, not really seeing it, his gut churning with his inability to affect a bloody thing.

Bless me, sir, ye look so sad. Can I naught put a smile on that handsome face?

Arthur gave the girl a weary smile. I would that you could, lass, but unless you can bring me someone who saw my friend

Who be yer friend then?

He thought about waving the girl away. Too exhausted to speak, it seemed hopeless to engage her. But she smiled at him so prettily and twirled a thick strand of red hair around one finger that he could not help himself. Pure male instinct kicked in, and he smiled back. Thomas McKinnon Tommy? she interjected, and brightened considerably.

Arthurs heart skipped several beats. You knew him? Thomas McKinnon of Glenbaden?

The girl flushed. Aye, I knew the lad, she said, and giggled shyly.

That old dog ... Arthur smiled broadly and moved his chair around, pulling another one up beside him.

Please, sit what did you say your name was? he asked, and patted the chair next to him.

Penny, she said, falling into the chair, and began to talk of her Tommy.

And Arthur began to feel as if he had found his way again.