Free Legacy of the Highlands by Harriet Schultz

neared the mama duck. They’d laugh when the ice cream cone
they’d bought him would cover his hands in stickiness as they
wended their way up Beacon Hill to Louisburg Square and home.
They’d been a happy family — once upon a time.
    “What was so important that you had to drag
me out here?” Anne pulled herself back to the present and turned
impatiently toward her husband. “Do you know why our son was
murdered or who did it?”
    “No. His murder had to be deliberate or the
bastards would have taken his wallet, but for the life of me I
still have no idea why someone would want to kill our boy and
neither do the police. Good Christ, it still doesn’t make any
sense.” He reached for Anne’s hand, but she yanked it away. “Don’t
touch me,” she snapped.
    If she’d slapped his face he could have dealt
with it. Her indifference hurt worse than any physical pain and he
tried to compose himself, to swallow the lump in his throat, before
he began again, more gently this time. “You hate me now, I know
that, but I’ll always be grateful that you kept my secret. Maybe I
should have told the detectives everything, but I have to believe
that this horror isn’t connected to my activities. I want you to
know that I’ve got someone I trust looking into it. And I pray to
God every day that I’m in no way to blame because I couldn’t live
with myself.” John’s voice cracked and he gazed straight ahead,
focused on nothing, as tears welled up.
    Anne didn’t reply. Nothing John said could
shake her belief that Will’s death was connected to the money John
quietly funneled to a group dedicated to independent nationhood for
Scotland. What he did was illegal so they couldn’t tell the police,
but Anne was tempted, so tempted. John had been upset when some of
the group’s members began to advocate violence in their quest to
finally win freedom from England. But his political activities
bored her. That bullshit about hindsight was right. She should have
paid attention to her husband’s clandestine meetings and quiet
phone conversations.
    She’d always assumed his secrecy involved a
mistress. Would that it were so simple. John was always discreet
with his women, as she was with her lovers. Anne knew that John
would never bed a woman who wanted anything from him but sex and
perhaps money. He’d never tolerate one who imagined she could ever
take Anne’s place, who would harm his family and his position.
    “We have to talk to Alex,” John began. “She
may know something — or have something — that she shouldn’t. If
Will was assassinated, the same people who did it could come after
her next.” He turned toward Anne. “Look at me Anne. I beg you.
Can’t you see that I’m bleeding, that my pain is as deep as yours?”
He needed absolution, and the only person who could give that to
him was a woman who wouldn’t even look at him.
    “You’ll never make me believe that the
Scottish dagger placed next to Will wasn’t a calling card, some
message for you,” she snarled as her eyes flashed in his
direction.
    “That’s being looked into. It doesn’t seem to
have anything to do with me, but it may be connected to a man named
Mackinnon. He’s that shopkeeper Will and Alex met when they were in
Scotland. You know, he’s the guy who gave Will that rolled up
parchment to give it to me.”
    “How do you know this? Who gave you this
information and don’t you dare lie to me,” Anne hissed as she
jumped to her feet.
    “You can’t repeat this to anyone, even the
police.”
    “Someday I’m going to explode and all of your
little secrets will spill out.”
    “That’s a chance I have to take.” John leaned
toward her although there was no one nearby to overhear him. “Our
English friends, Nina and Tom Addison, are agents for British
intelligence. They’ve been very helpful.”
    Anne’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Nina and
Tom? But they’re...” she paused, unsure of how to complete the
thought. “I