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“Yes. Did you have a chance to look at my bed yet?”
“Aye, my lady. That canopy made a right mess, but not to worry. My missus will get it sorted nice and tidy. And if ye canna sleep there, she can move ye to one of the other rooms. Why, the blue bedroom is grand, ye ken. Rob Roy himself slept there, and a great honor it was.”
“I meant did you actually examine the bed,” she patiently replied. “To ascertain why the canopy failed as it did.”
Wilson stared at his boots, as if lost in thought.
“Any conclusions?” Ainsley prodded.
“I reckon it could be wood rot. Yon bed is almost as old as the house, ye ken.”
“So . . . not tampered with?” Sabrina asked.
He frowned. “Hard to tell.”
She resisted the impulse to throw a scone at his head. “But you think it more likely to be rot, than someone weakening or cutting into the joint.”
He pondered that for a bit, then finally nodded. “Aye.”
“Thank goodness,” Ainsley said. “We have enough problems without worrying about some villain trying to murder us in our beds.”
The old man waggled his head, looking like a marionette on a broken string. “Mr. Kendrick ain’t wrong to be worried for my lady. There’s some not fair happy to see the mistress back in the house.”
Ainsley snorted. “Yes, the shooting of bullets would suggest as much.”
Sabrina pressed a hand to her temple. Why was it so blasted hard to get a straight answer from anyone? “Mr. Wilson, do you have any idea if the Barrs have remained in the area?”
“Well, ye ken I canna be certain,” he hedged.
“Anything you could tell us. Even a rumor of such.”
“Well, I have my suspicions that yon—”
He broke off at the sound of footsteps in the hall. Graeme stalked into the room.
“Wilson, what are you doing here? Is there a problem?”
“Nae, sir.” The old man scuttled backwards out of the room, almost colliding with Royal.
“Where’s he rushing off to?” Royal asked.
“What was he doing here in the first place?” Graeme said.
Sabrina closed her eyes, making an effort to wrestle her temper under control.
“Lass, what’s afoot?”
She opened her eyes, taking in Graeme’s scowl. He resembled an angry bull, ready to start snorting and pawing at the faded roses on the old wool carpet.
“And a good morning to you, dear sir,” she replied in a sugary-sweet tone. “How kind of you to join us for breakfast.”
A rueful smile etched the corners of his mouth. “Forgive me, sweetheart. I’m a complete brute.”
He tipped up her chin and brushed a lingering kiss across her lips.
“That’s better,” said Ainsley. “I was beginning to worry about Graeme’s romantic skills.”
“After what we saw last night, I believe there’s no need to worry,” Royal commented.
