“I’ll risk owing him for the sake of this poor beast.” Mac shot the deer a saddened look before gesturing Lachlan inside the castle.
“No footage?” he asked Mac as soon as they were alone.
“No. It has to be someone from the estate, Lachlan. The evidence is irrefutable.”
“Not a stalker, then?”
“No, this is definitely stalker behavior.”
“And it’s coming from someone on the estate?”
“Has to be.”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d been subjected to stalker-like messages, but nothing like this. Or within his own circle. “I’m giving you two weeks to resolve this, Mac. Then I’m going to the police.” He simmered with anger. They’d had destruction of property and threatening notes, but this was the first time a living being had been harmed. “This is escalating. Now I’m worried.”
Mac fell into step beside him. “I know. I am too. But let’s try to stay focused. I’ll have Tracey run prints on the card.”
Lachlan’s head of security had a contact in forensics who’d been running prints on anything left behind by the Ardnoch stalker. So far, nothing. But it was worth trying.
“The last thing you needed today was your daughter turning up.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Mac disagreed. “It was a shock, but I can’t say I’m not glad to see her.”
Lachlan grunted.
“She’s my daughter.” Mac’s voice held a warning note. “And I’m the one who wronged her.”
“You tried. Her mother is the one who wronged her.”
“I should have tried harder.” His friend frowned. “I think something might have happened to her.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure. She’s …” He shrugged.
That earlier unease Lachlan had felt returned. “I might have said something to her I shouldn’t have.”
“When? How?”
“Before she left, I told her to go home. Back to the States.”
Mac drew to an abrupt stop. Lachlan sighed inwardly at the anger on his face. “You what?”
He held up his hands in apology. “It was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you. But I shouldn’t have done it. Not that she seems to be easily intimidated.”
A smirk of pride cut through Mac’s annoyance. “Well, she wouldn’t be, would she? That girl has more of me in her than she realizes.”
“Woman,” Lachlan reminded him. “Woman, Mac. She’s not a girl anymore. She’s twenty-eight. Remember, she’s here on her own agenda, and that might not be in your best interests.”
“But it is my business. I appreciate the sentiment behind why you said what you said …” Mac took a step toward him. “We’re family. But she’s my family, too, and if you drive her away before she and I have the chance to talk, that’s not something I’ll easily forgive.”
Lachlan gave him a curt nod. “Understood.”
“Now.” Mac stepped back, giving him a wry, unamused look. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a sick stalker to find.”
The reminder put his teeth on edge. “I’ll have another think on any slights I might have caused to staff or members over the years.”
“Aye, well, you might be thinking awhile.” The cheeky fucker walked away before Lachlan could retort.
4
Robyn
The village of Ardnoch shared Boston’s pride for history, except the Scots’ history went even further back.
Otherwise, Ardnoch was unlike any place I’d ever visited.
For a start, it was tiny.
The nineteenth-century hotel and restaurant I was staying in sat on the square with a huge parking lot for visitors. But from what I’d gathered during my wanderings around the place yesterday, the shops, restaurants, and bed-and-breakfasts were scattered throughout the village on quaint row streets.
The historical architecture and design of the village was beautiful. Everything predated the mid-twentieth century, and dominating it all, not far from the Gloaming, sat a medieval cathedral. I’d taken a ton of photos and spent the night uploading them to my laptop for a little editing before adding them to my Instagram. Once I returned to Boston, I’d resume printing and selling.
Another reason I couldn’t stay in Ardnoch too long. To my delight, I had just over fifty-thousand followers since my work started circulating the social media platform nine months ago. It was great advertising for my online store, but once I uploaded the Ardnoch shots, customers would complain if I didn’t get them up on the store soon after.
Planning on losing myself at the beach for a few hours with my camera, I took Gordon’s advice and walked west down Castle Street (the main road off the square that led right out of Ardnoch toward Ardnoch Castle and Estate), an avenue of identical nineteenth-century, terraced houses with dormer windows. Most of the homes had been converted into boutiques, cafés, and inns. In among them was Morag’s, a small grocery store. According to Gordon, Morag ran a sandwich counter where she sold delicious, fresh homemade sandwiches.
I was an early riser, so Morag’s had barely opened when I stepped inside. Stands at the window displayed beach products, such as kids’ sand buckets and shovels. Neat rows of shelves stocked with groceries were situated up front, and a refrigerator containing dairy products and a freezer with all manner of frozen foods lined the back walls.
A bright-faced, middle-aged woman with pink-rinsed hair stood behind a counter at the back of the shop. Inside the chilled case were fresh ingredients for custom sandwiches, along with preprepared ones.
“Morning,” she called to me.
“Good morning,” I replied, offering her a smile as I paused at the refrigerator for bottled water. My eyes flicked between her and the sandwiches as I approached her counter. “Wow, those look great.”
“Thank you. We have …” She rattled off the different fixings. I could listen to her talk all day. I’d noted the villagers spoke with a slightly more anglicized accent than Mac who was originally from Glasgow. The locals had more of a lilting brogue, like Adair’s.
When she finished, I asked, “Could you make me one? I’d just like a plain tuna and mayo with red onion.”
“No problem at all.” She moved around the mini deli section. “Any grand plans today? May I recommend places to visit?”
“I’m just heading to the beach.”
“Oh, we’re
