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But that poor stag had indeed suffered. By the time Grant and Graeme had tracked it to a secluded fen hours later, the animal had collapsed, half-dead from distress and blood loss. Graeme, bless his soul, had offered to finish the job, but Grant had done it. It was his mistake, and his duty to fix it.
The creature had barely moved, gazing up at him in exhausted, mute agony. That had been the end of Grant’s days hunting bigger game. At Kinglas, he still shot the occasional partridge or grouse, but only to give it to local crofters who needed the extra food.
“Ye just had a bad bit of luck with that one, son,” Angus said. “Yer a fine shot. Best in the family, after me.”
Grandda was a notoriously bad shot, in fact. Truthfully, though, Angus also hated hunting. He loved animals of all sorts, and had too soft a heart to kill them.
“Do you still hunt, Mr. Kendrick?” Kathleen asked.
“Very little, in fact,” Grant replied.
“Did you ever shoot a person?” Jeannie asked. “The duchess has, you know. And she said your twin shot lots of people when he was a spy.”
Kathleen grimaced. “Jeanette, that is allextremelyinappropriate.”
Grant smiled at Jeannie. “I think the duchess has exaggerated Graeme’s, er, prowess. And, no, I have never shot anyone.”
“But ye could if ye wanted to. You’d plug the bastard right between the eyes,” Angus said, as if offering Grant a consolation prize. “Just like yer twin.”
“Also an inappropriate comment,” Grant said, sternly eyeing his grandfather.
“Your twin does sound like a very exciting person,” Kathleen said with a grin.
“And fun,” Jeannie added.
Unlike Grant,seemed to be the unspoken implication.
“Graeme’s settled down since his marriage,” Kade said. “Now he’s the local magistrate, which seems to involve paperwork more than cracking heads or shooting. He’s also managing the new distillery and helping Sabrina with estate business.”
Jeannie scrunched up her face. “Ugh, how boring.”
“Very necessary, however,” Kathleen said. “Although I’m afraid I would find that sort of work a bit of a bore, too. I’d rather spend my days outdoors, or in the stables.”
“I canna blame ye for that,” Angus said. “No one in his right mind would choose a moldy old office in Glasgow when he could be spending his time, say, on a grand outing to a castle with two lovely lassies.”
“The Kendrick offices are neither moldy nor old,” Grant felt compelled to say.
“They’re dusty, too,” his grandfather added for good measure.
Grant bit his tongue to stop himself from engaging in an inane discussion about the levels of dust in his office.
“Perhaps we should take the ladies up to the southwest tower,” Kade tactfully suggested. “We don’t want to miss the chance to take in the views before the housekeeper sends us on our way.”
“Yes,” said Kathleen in a bright voice. “I’m dying to see the views.”
“Views are boring,” Jeannie said. “I’d rather see the dungeons, or go looking for ghosts.”
While Mrs. Graham, the castle’s inestimable housekeeper, had assured Jeannie that no ghosts existed at Mugdock, she obviously remained unconvinced.
“No dungeons at Mugdock, I’m afraid,” Grant said.
“Nor ghosts, apparently,” Kathleen wryly said.
“Ugh,” Jeannie repeated.
Kathleen looked at Grant, crinkling her nose in silent apology.
Despite the splendid tea the housekeeper had provided on their arrival or the allure of all the bristling weaponry, their expedition to Mugdock was not proving to be a rousing success.
