DELIVERING A MESSAGE
The carriage rattled along the cobbled roads. Joanna bit her lip and tried to ignore the fact that the movement hurt her lower back. She leaned forward and tried to hear her mother's words over the sound of it.
“And so you say the three attempts must be connected?”
“Yes,” Joanna said. She had to raise her voice to make it heard over the rumble.
Her mother nodded, making a face to show her disapproval at the noise. Joanna smiled.
“They might try not to rattle us so,” her mother shouted loudly, “much more of this and my teeth will come loose! Jack!” She stood and hammered on the ceiling of the coach. The coach paused.
“Yes?”
“Slow down! For pity's sake! Buccleigh isn't burning down, you know.”
Joanna laughed. Her mother was so abrupt, so vital. It was a pleasure to see her again after so long apart.
The coach slowed. Joanna let out a sigh. Shifted, to ease the pain in her back. Her mother winced in sympathy.
“Is it sore?”
“Yes,” Joanna nodded. Ever since the ride, her back had been aching. She presumed it would stop hurting one day, and hoped that would be soon. So far, it hadn't improved.
“Poor lamb. When we get to Buccleigh, perhaps we can take lodgings in the town. I heard from Lady Margaret that there's a good inn.”
Joanna smiled fondly. “Trust you.”
“What?” her mother said suspiciously.
“You always think of practical things.”
Her mother nodded. “Well, even in the midst of all this horror, one needs a good sleep and a full belly.”
Joanna grinned. “Never a truer word.”
“Quite. Now. Tell me the whole story again. When I can hear it properly.”
Joanna nodded. She told her mother her version of events, from the servants' desertion to the ghost's appearance, the missing priest, and the three attempts to end Dougal's life. Telling her about those was hard, she did not like to recall them herself, the dark spaces filled with horror in her memory.
She did not mention her dreams in detail, merely filled them in as a reason why she suspected his brother as the culprit.
“So, this brother. They don't like each other very much, then?” Amabel asked, nose wrinkled in thought.
“No,” Joanna hesitated. “Dougal is very fond of his brother. Says he should have ruled in his place.”
As she said it, she felt one more piece fall into place. Alexander had always wanted to rule, in all likelihood. Probably felt himself more suited to it also.
“That's terrible.” Amabel looked shocked. “Imagine! The man loves him, and he's trying to have him killed.”
“Ambition is a funny thing sometimes.”
“You can say that again!” Amabel huffed. “Well. If we're going to face this brother of his, we'll have to show him proof. He'll be the sort who'll just dismiss our word against his. I can just picture him. Arrogant, boorish...”
Joanna nodded. She felt a similar way about him. The thought made her shudder nonetheless. So far, she had no real proof. Neither did she have an idea of where to find any.
“So,” her mother continued, finger tapping her lips thoughtfully. “If he's trying to turn people against Dougal by pretending Uncle Brien's haunting the place, do you think these killers are volunteering? Or do you think he pays them?”
Joanna stared at her. She hadn't considered it with all that clarity. “I don't know,” she said. “I believe the first one was driven by his own hate. He was a servant at Lochlann, though I don't recall him. And if all the servants but Len and his aunt have left, I think they did truly hate Dougal, or the idea of his becoming earl in Lochlann.”
“True,” Amabel said, green eyes focused on something far away.
“The other two, though,” Joanna paused. “I think the second man may also have acted from hate. But the third...” her voice stopped as she thought about the man. The upright posture, the calm. The skill with the lute. Fluent French. “I don't believe he was a traveler at all.”
“No?”
“I think he was hired by Alexander,” Joanna said, heart thumping now. “Someone he knew or someone who worked for him. I am surprised Dougal didn't know him too.”
“Dougal was in Edinburgh much of the time, you said,” Amabel reminded her of their earlier discussion. “His brother could have dozens of acquaintances in the countryside whom he never met.”
“Yes. And he said he came from the west...” Joanna paused, suddenly utterly sure. “He must have been sent by Alexander, to finish the job. He must have had a spy at Lochlann castle – the ghost! Who else was it, dressed up like that, if not an agent of Alexander?”
“And the ghost was absent for a week?”
“Yes,” Joanna commented. “He appeared once when I arrived, and then only much later, after the wake.”
“After this traveler arrived, also.”
“Yes!” Joanna covered her mouth with her hands, horror and surprise filling her. Horror, at the gravity of the situation and surprise that she could finally see it and understand what was happening.
“So,” Amabel paused. “The ghost must have traveled from Buccleigh in his father's entourage. He stayed on. Started this haunting rumor. Seen the first failed attempt and traveled back. He went to Buccleigh to report to Dougal's brother.”
“Then, while he was there,” Joanna said, suddenly seeing it with terrible clarity, “they must have hired Francois. The two traveled together – Francois and the ghost. Francois infiltrated the place, waited for an opportunity to do as he had said he would. When Dougal was already wounded, he struck.”
She shuddered. Remembered the dark form and how it had run at her. He would have killed her also had not Dougal intervened.
Her mother saw her face and looked worried. “Well. Now we're here. We have to find something to show this Alexander. Something that will let him know we mean what we say.”
“Yes,” Joanna nodded. She closed her eyes, trying to think back to whether there was any proof they could find.
She thought back to the day when Francois had arrived. How she had talked to him in the courtyard, hearing his story about being a minstrel. How she had gone back to the hall, helped oversee the wake. How Francois had played at the wake, so skillfully. Her mind strayed to Douglas. His tall form in the hallway, dressed in black at the back of the hall. The way he stood out in any crowd, tall, broad-shouldered, and serious-faced. How he had stood at the back of the hall while the lay was sung, talking to the priest...
“The priest!” she shouted. Suddenly it was so horribly clear. She knew where the proof was! It had been under their noses all the time and they hadn't seen it. She wanted to laugh. How could she have missed it? How could she have been so blind?
Her mother looked up. “Daughter?”
“Sorry, mother,” Joanna dismissed her earlier outburst hastily. “But mother! I understand now! I think I know where we might find the proof we need!”
“Oh?” Her mother frowned. She reached for her hand, clearly worried, but Joanna was too excited to be calm.
“When we reach Buccleigh, I think it would be a very good idea to go to the inn,” Joanna said.
Her mother frowned. “But Joanna? What about the proof? You said...”
“If we go to Buccleigh, I think we might just find all the proof we need.”
Joanna tried to sound absolutely certain. She almost was, too.
She hoped and prayed that she was absolutely right.
In three days' time, they would reach Buccleigh. If she was right, they would have all the proof they needed already there. The assassins would have to stop haunting Lochlann as well.