Claire Delacroix (7 page)

Alasdair was a thief.

And she had the goods!

Even Justine wouldn’t believe her little sister could get into such trouble so effortlessly.

Morgan glanced over her shoulder, but the guards stood as implacably as they had when she had been here earlier. Wouldn’t they have closed the hall if there had been a theft? Wouldn’t the case be damaged? Or an alarm set off? This place looked to be Security Central.

Morgan recalled suddenly how everything about Bannockburn had turned around while she was in the tower. She dug in her bag for her guidebook.

“The Crown Jewels and the Scottish Regalia are part of a special exhibit at Edinburgh Castle and the culmination of a tour re-creating the fortress’s past. The regalia were given to Edward I of England in 1296 as a token of Scotland’s subservience to England. They were taken to Westminster Abbey, then returned to Edinburgh Caste in 1996 to commemorate the seven hundredth anniversary of the joining of the two nations’ fates.”

That didn’t sound right to Morgan. She was sure there had been something this morning about Sir Walter Scott finding the regalia here in the castle. But Sir Walter Scott wasn’t even in the index anymore.

That was too weird.

What had happened to her book? Morgan closed it with a snap and eyed the untrustworthy volume with new suspicion. It looked exactly the same as it had this morning, complete with turned-down pages at places she wanted to visit.

But the text was all different. Morgan turned her scrutiny on the display cabinet, which seemed oddly undisturbed. The goose bumps returned, even though it was comfortably warm in this room.

If Alasdair has stolen the crystal, then how had he managed to change the text in her guidebook? And in Blake’s? And how had he gotten the stone out of the display case without anyone noticing?

None of this made any sense. She probably just didn’t have a devious enough mind to see how the con job worked. She never could figure out magicians’ tricks, that was for sure.

Okay, Morgan knew she had seen the stone firmly lodged in the regalia this very morning. But it wasn’t there anymore – it was in her pocket because she had found it on the floor in the tower room where Alasdair had been.

Obviously, he had dropped it.

Now, if Alasdair was a thief who had managed to conjure the stone out of the scepter, then maybe he had similarly substituted Morgan’s and Blake’s guidebooks. That would be nothing compared to getting a gemstone out of a protected display.

But why? Morgan frowned.

Of course! Alasdair must be intending to use Blake, Justine and herself to smuggle the stone out of here! Ha! He would follow them and steal the stone again, once they had done the dirty work for him.

Morgan hadn’t been given a four-star imagination for nothing, and it was working overtime now. Clearly, they had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, looking like hapless tourists.

And a hapless tourist was exactly what Alasdair must have needed. Morgan groaned inwardly that she had played along so well.

The whole scheme was far-fetched and weird, but she couldn’t think of any other possible explanation. The way those blue eyes sparkled with intelligence told her that Alasdair had it in him to concoct a brilliant plan.

But what should she do with the stone? She glanced toward the guards, standing with their stoic passivity, and knew they would never believe her story if she handed the crystal back.

After all, it sounded nuts. Did
they
think the stone had been lost for seven hundred years? The guard standing to one side had been here this morning. She had answered a question for Blake and just might remember Morgan.

She certainly would remember whether the crystal had been in the scepter.

Morgan smiled as she walked toward the uniformed guard, her heart pounding, her fingers unable to stop toying with the quartz deep in her pocket. “Excuse me. I was here this morning. Maybe you remember me?”

“Oh, yes, miss.” The guard summoned a polite smile. “Are you having a pleasant visit?”

Morgan swallowed. “Yes, but I was wondering something. Wasn’t there a crystal in the scepter this morning?”

The guard looked astonished. “Oh, no, miss, there’s never been one as long as I’ve been here and it’s nigh onto five years.”

Her words were probably meant to be reassuring, but Morgan frowned. “I was sure I saw the stone this morning.”

The guard shrugged and kept her tone light. “With all respect, you canna have done so, miss. It’s been lost since the time of that scoundrel, Robert the Bruce.”

Robert the Bruce a
scoundrel
?

Morgan blinked in surprise, but the guard leaned closer and dropped her voice. “There are those to say he stole it and sold it to pay for his petty uprising against the good British.” She clicked her teeth in disapproval while Morgan gaped.

The
good
British?

The guard’s words were so irreconcilable with everything Morgan had heard since her arrival in Scotland that she thought the woman might be joking.

But she was perfectly serious.

Was the guard in on Alasdair’s scheme?

Morgan tried another tack. “Can you tell me anything about the actors in period costume within the castle? Where do you find them?”

The guard looked confused. “Actors, miss? We hire no actors here.”

“But there was a man in a kilt...”

The guard drew herself up proudly. “If you are thinking of the Sutherland Guard who conduct the tours of the castle, I must assure you, miss, that they are no actors, but loyal veterans of Her Majesty’s Highland Military.”

“No, no, not the tour guide.” Morgan hastily tried to make amends. “It was another man, in a different kilt.”

The guard’s glance was cold. “I assure you, miss, that there are no other kilted men in the employ of the castle. Perhaps you have confused another guest with our staff.” Her polite smile returned. “Perhaps you might be moving along now, miss, and make way for other visitors to see the regalia.”

No actors in the fortress.

And no crystal in the regalia.

Morgan eyed the other security guard, who nodded crisply in her direction. He hadn’t been here this morning, but surely not everyone could have been in on the scam, could they?

Morgan crossed the room, repeated her questions, and received exactly the same answers from this second guard. In fact, the man seemed bemused by her curiosity, and Morgan didn’t miss the tolerant glance the guards exchanged. The male guard must have seen her note the look, for he smiled.

“With all respect, miss, we often have American tourists with fanciful ideas about Scottish history. There has been no stone in the regalia for at least seven hundred years, you have my word. In fact, of late there has been some question as to whether the stone was really a quartz crystal.” He rattled off a series of academic citations obviously intended to put an end to Morgan’s questions.

It worked.

She stalked out of the gallery, knowing that she wasn’t some fanciful American tourist. She had seen the stone this morning!

Somehow Alasdair had bamboozled the guards. Not only was the highlander a con man, he was a very, very good one.

But just because Morgan was the only one who had noticed his crime, that didn’t mean he was going to get away with it. She wasn’t going to return the stone herself – because that would be the quickest way to get herself in trouble – so, she would make sure that Alasdair did.

Which meant that she had to find him, and the sooner the better.

Well, her sister had spirited him off for a “wee dram” and a confidential lunch. She knew that look in Justine’s eye: Alasdair would at this very moment be embroiled in an interview for Eligible Bachelor of the Year.

Which couldn’t be further from the truth.

If that trio was anywhere between here and Holyrood Palace, Morgan was going to find them. She wanted some answers from Alasdair MacAulay, answers that probably wouldn’t show him in a very flattering light.

Morgan smiled despite herself and headed for the castle restaurant. She couldn’t help looking forward to proving her always-knows-best older sister wrong.

Just once.

* * *

By the time Morgan headed back tot he bed-and-breakfast, it was getting dark and her feet were aching. When Blake and Justine weren’t to be found in the castle restaurant, she waited for the one o’clock gun, certain that they would return for that.

But they hadn’t.

Even though it had been on Blake’s itinerary.

Which just added to the oddities of the day. Thinking she had missed them somehow and they had gone on to Holyrood Palace, Morgan had walked the length of the Royal Mile and back. She hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of Justine and Blake, or even of the con man Alasdair.

After a while, she became distracted from his mission by her surroundings. Morgan couldn’t help but enjoy the opportunity to dart down one mysterious “close” after another. The crooked little streets leading to tiny squares were all named after trades – Advocate’s Close, Fleshmarket Close – and Morgan loved their engraved mottoes, wrought-iron signs and tiny windows.

She wandered as she searched and felt a guilty pleasure at finally having the time she’d wanted. This was the Edinburgh Morgan had hoped to see. She got lost at least half a dozen times, but without Justine to roll her eyes at the inconvenience, Morgan enjoyed her unscheduled detours.

She was incredibly proud of herself not only for finding the hotel on Princes Street where they had intended to go for tea but also getting there before four-thirty.

Half an hour late was nothing for Morgan.

But Justine and Blake hadn’t been there. Hungry and determined to celebrate her own success, Morgan had high tea anyway.

And it was wonderful. She convinced herself in the midst of her second scone with Devon cream that Blake and Justine had gone back to the bed-and-breakfast for a little afternoon interlude.

Following
her
itinerary for a change.

And Alasdair, having charmed Blake into buying him one drink, had flunked his interview for Hot Date of the Day. Justine was pretty perceptive, after all. The con man actor must have gone on his way, leaving Morgan with his prize.

She wouldn’t think about what would happen when he realized his loss. With lucky, they would be merrily on the road to wherever. For once, Morgan was grateful for Blake’s killer schedule.

And then she could ship the stone back to the castle anonymously, and all would be put right in the end. It sounded to easy that she treated herself to another cup of very hot Earl Grey tea.

By the time she found the bed-and-breakfast – after only four wrong turns – Morgan was sure everything was back to normal.

She couldn’t have been more wrong.

* * *

Justine checked her watch for the fifth time, then demanded that Blake give her the time again. “Seven!” she repeated with rare irritation. “We’re going to be late, and all because of Morgan! When will she ever start paying attention to the time?”

Justine could manage anyone else’s stress with one hand tied behind her back, but when it came to her baby sister’s prospects for male companionship, she was more jumpy than a cat on a hot tin roof.

She
had
introduced Morgan to that rat, Matt, after all.

And she really, really,
really
hated behind wrong. Morgan might not have known that her accidental meeting with Matt had been contrived by her sister, but the truth ate away at Justine.

Auntie Gillian hadn’t just guessed the truth – she had charged Justine with fixing her mistake. Their aunt needed only to give Justine a stern glance – the two women thought sufficiently alike that Justine had understood her mission.

She had to find Morgan a real man to take care of her.

Because Morgan was the kind of person who really needed a guardian angel, if not a whole team of them. Auntie Gillian was definitely pulling whatever strings she could reach from upstairs, but Justine was the on-the-ground correspondent.

This time, she wasn’t going to screw it up. Justine was going to fix this if it was the last thing she did.

“You already bought her a watch,” Blake commented with a shrug. “But it’s not much good if she forgets to look at it.”

Justine paced the lobby of their bed-and-breakfast, her mind going a mile a minute. “But what if Alasdair gives up on us? You know he’s just perfect for Morgan, don’t you? And he
likes
her!”

Justine ground her teeth when Blake – cleverly – kept silent. “And she – if she would just give him a chance – would like him, too. I just know it! There’s something between them, I can feel it.”

“How can you be sure? He’s not much of a talker,” Blake dared to say. “I don’t think he said two things today, just sipped his whisky, listened to
us
and ate all the sausage rolls.”

“Don’t you see?” Justine demanded with exasperation. “He’s not the type to talk about nothing!”

“Ah.” Blake shoved his hands into his pockets. “Why don’t you just give it a rest? Morgan can find a guy on her own.”

“But, Blake, she won’t. Not after Matt – and that was all my fault. Can’t you see that I have to...” Justine flung out her hands in frustration just as a jingling bell announced the opening of the front door.

In the blink of an eye, Justine summoned a warm, completely unfrazzled smile. Not for the first time, she acknowledged that catering weddings was great practice for real life.

“Morgan!” she exclaimed with delight. “We were wondering where you were.”

“You weren’t in the restaurant,” Morgan said without accusation. “I looked. And I looked at Holyrood Palace and the hotel where you were going for high tea.”

Blake blinked. “You found them all? All by yourself?”

Morgan smiled. “Yes, I did. And almost on time.”

“Almost? Phew!” Blake wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. “For a moment there, you had me worried.”