In no mood for small talk, I did my best because he was such a jolly, friendly guy. We’d only spoken a few times, but every single time meant I pushed him further down my suspect list. He seemed devoted to the Adairs, appreciative of his job, which he loved, and that put a great big dent in his possible motive.
Unlike someone else.
“You look tired,” Fergus said, brows pinched. “You all right?”
“Fine. Just a long night in a trailer during a storm.”
He winced sympathetically. “I lived in a caravan for a while. It’s not so nice during bad weather. You should find somewhere else to stay. Somewhere safer in storms. That is … if you’re going to be here a while?”
I shrugged a non-answer, thanked him, and walked out of the mews and down the gravel drive. It hadn’t been just the weather that kept me awake all night. I hated to admit it, but I was too unnerved to sleep. Keeping the lights blazing through the trailer to ward off anyone who thought they could get the jump on me, I’d sat at the dining table instead. And I pored over the contents of the box I’d retrieved from Mac’s.
Once I started reading the letters, I couldn’t have slept if I’d wanted to. Most of the letters were short updates on his life. He told me about the places he visited with Lachlan; he shared funny stories about famous people but changed their names so I wouldn’t know who he was talking about. Just like when I was a little girl, I found myself charmed by his stories. A true Scotsman, my father was a born storyteller.
As I read the letters, I could hear his deep voice narrating in my head.
He’d asked questions about my life; some of them my mom answered in the letters she sent him. She was terse but reassuring in her words—she basically made the point over and over that I was fine without him.
A low anger simmered inside me.
One day it would boil over if I didn’t confront my mom about the part she’d played in separating me from Mac.
But she wasn’t completely to blame. Mac had said so and reading his letters I concluded he was right. My dad had a wonderful life with Lachlan, and if he’d wanted to, he could have fought harder for me. It would’ve meant sacrificing his career, and ultimately he hadn’t chosen to do so. He hadn’t chosen me.
While I wanted to believe he’d come to regret that over the years, the pain was still there. Still fresh.
Yet, I had something new I hadn’t had before.
In his letters, I found truth in his love for me.
Mac did love me.
I believed that.
Now I just had to decide whether that meant I forgave him enough to move on.
First, however, I wanted to speak to Sarah McCulloch. And it wasn’t a delay tactic so I could put off speaking to Mac.
Someone came after me last night. And I would not be terrorized by the Ardnoch stalker. I wanted this whole thing over. Whoever the man behind the mask, I was beginning to think he was a puppet, and I wanted to chat with the person I suspected might be pulling his strings.
My plan was to find Lachlan and ask him to bring Sarah to me. As I stepped inside the main reception of the castle, its owner stood over the coffee table situated between the two sofas in the center of the space. He was on the phone and looked up upon my entrance.
His expression was unclear. “I need to go … yeah … see you then.” He hung up and turned toward me. “Robyn.”
I tried and failed not to like the sound of him saying my name. I’d been Ms. Penhaligon for most of my stay, and it made me feel like my mother. Ignoring how effortlessly sexy he looked, and always looked, in his white shirt and black suit pants, I walked toward him. “We need to talk.”
He glanced over his shoulder and then back at me. “Not here. My office.”
Before I could speak another word, he marched away. I hurried to keep up with his long strides as I followed him out of reception and toward the back of the castle into the staff quarters. Part of me worried he’d pull what he pulled yesterday—haul me into his office to have his wicked way.
This time I would need a little willpower because I was on a mission.
As soon as his door closed behind us, however, he turned to face me. He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d like to say something first.”
I mirrored him, crossing my arms. “Okay?”
He gave me an expression that I would come to picture in the future when I was at a boxing bag. Pitying and patronizing. “What happened between us won’t happen again. Call it a moment of madness. Two moments of madness. But they’re over. I kissed you against my better sense, and I won’t jeopardize my friendship with Mac over …” He gestured to me.
Over someone like me.
The rejection hurt. No lie. Rejection always stung. But there was no way I’d let him see it.
I rolled my eyes and dropped my arms to my sides. “Adair, as impossible as this may seem to you, I didn’t come here to talk about you attacking me with your mouth. Twice.”
He opened said mouth to argue, but I cut him off.
“I have more important things on my mind than you. In fact, I’ve already forgotten our not-memorable moments together.” I savagely enjoyed the flash of anger in his eyes. “I’m here because I need you to bring Sarah McCulloch to me. It’s past time I interviewed her about the stalker.”
Scowling, he pushed up off the desk and took a few steps toward me.
I didn’t retreat because it felt like he wanted me to.
“Sarah has been interviewed by the police and by Mac.”
“She hasn’t been interviewed by me.”
“Why
