She decided on efficiency.
“The thief in the wood bragged to me today that he killed Euphemia Hargrave the night she disappeared, as mercy for the suffering she had endured. When we all returned to Darlyrede this afternoon, Father Kettering confirmed that, prior to her disappearance, young Lady Euphemia had become obsessed with the idea of Thomas Annesley and Cordelia Hargrave, nearly to the point of madness. She was consumed by the rumors of Cordelia’s secret pregnancy and vile murder. She would not accept Father Kettering’s refutation of the rumors—that Cordelia Hargrave had definitely not been with child.”
Padraig’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Kettering said it was he who buried Cordelia,” he acknowledged. “But perhaps she wasna so far gone that he—”
“No,” Lucan interrupted. “No, Padraig. Thomas said she was nearing the end of her time—a month, mayhap, at most. It would have been impossible that Kettering could have overlooked a pregnancy that advanced.”
“But my father has nae reason to lie about that,” Padraig said with a confused frown. “If anything, it would have brought more charges against him.”
Iris nodded. “You’re right—and so neither does it make sense that, if Cordelia had indeed been pregnant, Lord and Lady Hargrave would not have shouted it from Darlyrede’s walls. They would have lost not only their daughter but their grandchild. And the Hargraves have done naught but disregard the rumors since the very beginning.”
“Wait,” Padraig said, “I would expect Sir Lucan to have divulged this information to me, having been charged by the Crown to bring my father to so-called justice, but why would you care to know anything about it, Beryl? You’ve told me you’re nae sleeping with him, so it’s nae mere lovers’ confidences.”
“My God,” Lucan muttered distastefully.
Iris took a quick, deep breath. “I came to Darlyrede House to work for Lady Hargrave some eight months ago. This you already know.”
“Aye,” Padraig said warily. “From an abbey in France. You’d been sent there to have a child out of wedlock.”
“That is not completely true,” she acknowledged. “I was living at the abbey, yes, but I had been there for many years as a guest, on a stipend from my parents’ estate. Beryl was indeed an English maid of the Pagets’, who bore her child at the abbey. But she died. And I assumed her identity in order to gain passage back to England and to help find out the truth about the fire that killed my parents and destroyed my home.”
“You should have stayed there, as I told you,” Lucan said grimly.
“Because you were doing so well on your own, chasing your tail back and forth across Scotland,” Iris snapped. “I’ve compiled information that will likely help incriminate Lord Hargrave.”
Padraig could have been carved from stone, he was so still. His eyes shifted to Lucan, then back to Iris. “You’re the sister. The sister Lord Hood mentioned.”
Iris nodded once. “My name is Iris Montague, Padraig.”
“You’re nae maid.”
“No. I’m not.”
“It’s why Lucan grabbed you the night we arrived,” Padraig reasoned out loud. “He didna expect you to be here.”
Lucan muttered, “A rather subtle understatement.”
“It’s how you knew so well to tutor me,” Padraig continued, and Iris could tell he was reliving each of their moments together. “You were born into a noble family. Neighbors to the estate stolen from my own father. Castle Dare was your home too.”
“That’s right,” Iris said.
“You both were using me.”
Lucan scoffed, “What?”
“No, Padraig,” Iris said. “But we couldn’t tell you—”
“You couldnae tell me ennathin’ until you’d determined what worth I was to you,” he said. “Without me winning back Darlyrede House, there’s nae chance in hell you’d get back even a blade of grass from Castle Dare. Unless Hargrave had promised to—”
Padraig stilled suddenly, his head drawing back, and Iris could see the devastation in his handsome face in the instant the pieces fell into place for him. He looked at Lucan.
“You’ve been working for Vaughn Hargrave the entire time.”
* * * *
Lucan met his gaze without wavering. “Not the entire time,” he said.
And even though Padraig had recognized the idea as truth as soon as it had entered his mind, hearing Lucan confirm it was like a blade to his heart.
“I trusted you,” Padraig said with a disbelieving wince. “I came all this way—I trusted you both.”
“You can still trust us,” Beryl—nay, Iris—said, stepping toward him with a hand out, as if to touch him, comfort him.
Padraig backed out of her reach and looked to Lucan once more. “That’s why you were searching out my father’s other children,” he realized aloud. “My brothers. Nae so you could give them the opportunity to clear Tommy’s name, but to make sure there would be nae nasty surprises to reclaiming your own estate. You wanted my father out of the way just as much as Hargrave did.”
“That’s not at all true, Padraig,” Lucan argued. “I don’t believe Thomas committed any of the crimes he was accused of. Not one. Upon my honor, it is my intention to present my evidence to the king to exonerate your father.”
“And, lucky for you, here’s poor, dumb Padraig, who has a legal right to Darlyrede. Your golden goose, am I?”
“Padraig, please.” Iris stepped toward him yet again, her beautiful face splotchy with unshed tears.
But Padraig fought the pull of her, knowing it was all a lie. Everything she said was a lie.
“I was happy,” Padraig insisted. “Me mam and da—we didna have two pennies to press together, but we had each other, and we were happy. Now look at us all,” he demanded. “Me da is again being chased across the land, a price on his head. Me mam’s dead. I’ve been shot, brained, had me food poisoned, been humiliated, led to believe I had the loyalty and affection of friends who, in truth, only wanted me for what I could gain them. You used me,” he repeated.
He looked between them several times, ignoring the silent tear that raced in a silvery line down Iris’s cheek.
“To hell with ye both,” he sneered and
