Free A Death in the Highlands by Caroline Dunford Page A

If you feel you must come up with the luncheon I insist you keep away from the guests as much as possible.’
    ‘What exactly are you suggesting?’
    ‘I am not suggesting anything, Euphemia. I am advising you for your own good to stay away from the guests.’
    ‘If this has anything to do with …’ I began hotly. ‘I can assure you there was a very good explanation.’ I stumbled over my words as I realised I could not give said explanation.
    ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,’ snapped Rory. He glared at me. ‘If you must know I find myself unaccountably ill at ease around this group of guests. I have a very bad feeling about today. There, mock me all you like.’
    I sat down and said in a much more mollified tone. ‘Indeed, I won’t. I too am suffering from severe misgivings. I need to tell you what …’
    He cut me off. ‘I don’t have time, Euphemia. I have to go. Don’t let yourself get caught alone with any of these gentlemen.’ The last word was said with unnecessary emphasis.
    Seeing that he was genuinely concerned, I merely nodded. I thought everything else could wait. I would wonder over the long months ahead if anything could have been any different if I had spoken then. As it was, I had my chance and did not take it.
    In good time for luncheon Merry and I loaded the trap. I decided the best way to fulfil Rory’s suggestion was to take her with me to help serve. Merry was naturally delighted at missing a morning’s dusting and only too eager to accompany me. Her delight was somewhat tempered as we bounced along the increasingly rough track towards the site. She was decidedly green around the gills by the time we arrived in the little glade that was to host the luncheon.
    The bootboy, Bobby, who was also with us, set up the picnic tables and unloaded the hampers. Merry and I quickly set to work to unload the crockery and cutlery. It had been heavily packed in straw and we had to preserve this for the homeward journey. The horse appeared to have other ideas and in the end I suggested to the driver that he take the beast a little distance away, so it would cease attempting to eat the packaging. It was only at this point I noticed the bootboy too had sloped off. I assumed he had gone to get a better look at the shooting and only hoped he had the sense not to approach in the line of fire.
    I was setting the last crystal flute upon the table when I heard the men approaching. There had been no sound of a shot since our arrival for which I was extremely glad. Laying out expensive settings within the sound of gunfire would have been both nerve-wracking and accident-inducing. As it was, I was able to look Lord Richard proudly in the face as he led his little band up to the most elegant of al fresco tables. In actuality the sight was a mite dazzling. The linen was snow-white. The ice-loaded silver champagne buckets glistened and sweated in the heat. The crystal glasses sent sparks of light dancing across the table. The china plates had been polished till they squeaked and the cutlery was the finest the house had to offer. Coupled with the great quantities of food and drink also supplied by the generous Jock I felt there was really no complaint that could be levelled.
    Obviously, the killing of hapless birds increases appetite, for the men went through the victuals prepared for them as quickly as a biblical swarm of locusts. I began to fear we had not brought enough when, almost as suddenly as they had begun, the men finished. The dogs scampered around at their feet searching for titbits. I was impressed by how gentle and well-trained they were until I saw Rory call one to heel and realised they were local animals rather than creatures brought up from the south.
    The men lolled as much as it was possible in the unsteady chairs – the ground was less than even – and contented themselves with a final drink and a smoke as Merry, the relocated bootboy, the footmen who had been acting