Cyrus nodded. "In the morn, I'm going to send two of my men back to Castle Rebbinglen to find out if your coach was sabotaged. I'll tell them to bring a few more guards as they escort your servants and the coach back as soon as it's repaired. Then, I'm going to pay a visit to the magistrate in town to see if he will thoroughly investigate the crimes committed here."
"I'll go with you, but 'twill be a waste of time and effort." Her tone was more jaded than usual.
"Why?"
"'Tis the way of things here."
∞∞∞
Late that night, Cyrus sat by the fireplace in the luxurious guest room Elspeth had provided him. Though he was close to his brother, he enjoyed privacy at times so he could think. Firelight from the low-burning flames gleamed through the dram of whisky he held, the rich amber color reminding him of Elspeth's eyes.
He muttered a curse. What the hell was wrong with him? He downed the fiery liquid in one swallow.
Why couldn't he stop thinking about her? He'd seen her only a half-hour ago. Strangely, he wanted to still be talking to her… and looking at her. Damnation, he didn't want to enjoy her company. 'Twas as if he had no choice in the matter. Mayhap it was because she had ridden behind him all day, touching him the entire time. He still recalled her light touch on his stomach and the trusting way she'd leaned her head against his back when she'd apparently dozed off.
At this moment, he should be thinking of the ideal woman he would choose for a wife. Oddly, he could barely remember what Lady Lily looked like, even though she had all the qualities he'd yearned for in a wife for years.
Instead, Elspeth haunted him incessantly. Every time he looked into her eyes, his heartbeat sped up and some sort of unexpected excitement punched him in the gut. 'Twas bizarre and not like him at all. Since his early twenties, he had maintained a strict control on his emotions and his reactions.
The thought of knocking on her bedchamber door now made his heart thump against his ribs, and parts farther south stir with interest. Was he mad?
Of course, he wasn't going to her room. He was here to help her and protect her, and that was all. Once the threat was gone, he would return to Castle Rebbinglen and Lady Lily.
But the thought of the marquess's daughter didn't hold the appeal it once had. Before he'd met her, he'd visualized her as the perfect young lady… and likely she was. Since he'd met her, though, some of his enthusiasm had waned. 'Haps because she did not seem overly interested in him. Or was the problem that he was trying to force himself to be attracted to her when he wasn't. Even though he'd always told himself he didn't want to fall in love with his bride, he did at least want to find her appealing.
Lily was a pretty lass and he had no complaints about her looks, but there was something inexplicable about Elspeth's unusual beauty. Could've been the way she always appeared to be in possession of secrets.
What mysteries lurked behind those captivating eyes, and why did he want to uncover them?
He could not figure it out. She was the antithesis of what he looked for in a woman. Yet, he could not force himself to dislike her. The more he fought against giving her any sort of attention, the more she seized his awareness. It near drove him mad.
∞∞∞
The clouds hung low and gloomy the next morn as Elspeth, Cyrus and three of his guards walked their horses along the muddy cobbled streets of Aberdeen and halted outside the tolbooth with its tall bell tower. The drab stone building housed the magistrate's office, a few other official chambers, a courtroom, and the gaol.
Though she had led the way here, she dreaded going inside, for she knew how Magistrate MacTarril would treat her. He made it clear he didn't like her or any single, independent female. He believed each and every woman should be under a man's thumb. He had not uttered a cross word to her while Dalacroy had been her protector, though the disdain in his eyes had always been obvious. Since Dalacroy's death, she had ignored the magistrate, obeyed the laws, and kept to herself.
Having already dismounted, Cyrus approached her from the side, his arresting presence completely distracting her from her morose musings. Locking his penetrating gaze onto hers, he reached up and helped her dismount, his big strong hands clasping her waist firmly but gently. He never gripped too hard and seemed to know just how to touch her. She had never truly thought about a man's hands before and how appealing they could be. His were certainly not smooth like her own but calloused by a sword's hilt. She wished she could touch his palms and explore the roughened skin and hard muscle with her bare fingertips.
Today, his slight frown proclaimed he was even more somber than usual—perhaps even annoyed—though at breakfast he'd said he had slept well the night before. Mayhap the guest chamber was not to his liking. Regardless, she was certain he wanted to be done with her predicament so he could resume his own life.
As they passed the whipping post and the stocks, she tried not to focus on them too much. She still hated her childhood memory of seeing the cruel public punishments for the first time. She often wondered how many of those so-called criminals were actually innocent of wrongdoing. Sometimes an accusation was all it took to be found guilty.
Cyrus opened the door for her. Sitting at his desk, Magistrate MacTarril glanced up at her briefly as she stepped over the threshold, then went back to his papers, turning his back and ignoring her, as was his habit. Cyrus entered behind her and they both approached the counter. MacTarril, sitting in the corner at a low desk still did not acknowledge them. Otherwise, the room was empty.
"What have you discovered about the thief who broke in and stole Lady Grey's jewelry?" Cyrus asked in a firm tone.
The magistrate jerked around, gaping slack-jawed at Cyrus, then shoved to his feet and strode forward. "Cyrus MacKenzie? I heard about your new title, m'laird. My most humble felicitations to you." The man gave a perfunctory bow, which seemed more mocking than respectful. Or maybe it was his barely hidden smirk that revealed his true feelings.
Elspeth wondered if Cyrus knew the magistrate, for the man knew him.
Frowning, Cyrus eyed him. "Paul MacTarril?"
"Aye, you remembered. What has it been… a score years?"
"At least. I had no inkling you were a magistrate."
"Indeed." MacTarril puffed up proudly and offered his hand. After an extended moment, Cyrus shook it. Why the momentary hesitation? Had they been childhood friends or enemies? Mayhap he liked MacTarril about as much as Elspeth did, which was not at all.
