Free Night of the Highland Dragon by Isabel Cooper

stories.”
    â€œThank you,” he said. “I’ll look forward to it. But—”
    A knock interrupted him. Mrs. Lennox rose and opened the door on a young man, who Judith placed after a second: young Ken Finlay, whose family kept sheep on the edge of the village. His tanned face was drawn now, and his voice shook a little when he spoke.
    â€œMorning, m’lady, ma’am, sir,” he said and then addressed himself to Judith. “I’d not thought to find you here, m’lady, but as you are, I was hoping you could send Keir up to m’father’s house.”
    â€œKeir?” Judith’s gamekeeper, like Mrs. Frasier and Mrs. Lennox, had worked for the MacAlasdairs since before she had come back. From what she could tell, there was nothing Keir didn’t know about the woods around Loch Arach—and only one or two things he didn’t know about the family who employed him. “He’d be out back with the cattle, I think. I’ll send him up—but what’s the matter?”
    â€œâ€™Tis one of our ewes, m’lady. She’s been killed last night. And”—he looked back and forth between Judith and the other two women—“and mangled, rather.”
    Judith remembered the Stewart cow and Claire’s secondhand description. She’d dismissed that—but this was firsthand, and Kenneth Finlay wasn’t looking to impress any girls nor to explain himself out of a hiding.
    â€œDa says maybe a dog’s gone bad, and we should find it before it bites someone,” said Ken.
    He sounded doubtful. There might be a hundred normal reasons for that. His father’s explanation might be perfectly correct—but Judith knew that many creatures could go bad, not just dogs.
    She sighed. “Mrs. Lennox? Send Keir up to Finlay’s. Ken, I’ll come back with you myself.”

Nine
    Whoever or whatever had killed the Finlays’ sheep had done the deed a long way off from its fellows, where trees had started to spike up at regular intervals through the sparse fall grass of the field. The great mass of the forest—and certainly the part the MacAlasdairs guarded—was still a good walk away, but the Finlays lived at the very boundary of civilization, such as it was in Loch Arach, and this was the edge of their land.
    The earth soaked up blood well, but the grass still showed it, even after the farmer and his family had taken the ewe away. William stared at those few traces, tried to make something of them, and hoped they’d be enough.
    He had heard of the killing late and thirdhand at best. One of Mrs. Finlay’s neighbors, whose dog had been briefly under suspicion, had dropped in for her usual cup of tea and chat with Mrs. Simon. She hadn’t given much detail, but she had mentioned that the beast’s eyes had been gone.
    Scavengers could have been responsible, as Lady MacAlasdair had said about the first incident. But there had been a first incident. Once was chance, but twice might be more than coincidence. William alone knew there was at least the possibility of a third and what such a pattern might mean, if one existed.
    â€œI used to be a bit of a naturalist in my younger days,” he’d explained to Mr. Finlay, upon reaching the farm and finding the farmer in the midst of a small speculative crowd. “I’m not sure I can be of service, but I thought I might at least have a look.”
    â€œKeir’s had a look at t’ewe already, and she’s gone,” Finlay had said and shrugged. “But you canna’ hurt anything peerin’ at the place where we found her, if ye like. ’Tis kind of you to offer. Amy,” he’d said, calling over a girl of about ten with inky black pigtails, “show the man where we found Daisy. An’ come straight back—your ma’ll want help wi’ the dinner.”
    He’d turned back to the conversation, where an older man was