Unlaced by the Outlaw (Secrets in Silk) (37 page)

Cain wasn’t sure what she had in mind, and curiosity kept his mouth shut. Whatever it was, Margaret had said nothing of it before now.

She sat across from the man and folded her hands neatly. “You had good reasons for . . . what you did. However, to blame a boy for your actions is reprehensible.”

MacKinloch leaned forward, a startled smile on his face. “As I said, I didna kill the earl, Miss Andrews. The reason I came here was—”

Margaret cut him off and continued, “If you give testimony to prove that Jonah was innocent, and if he is freed, we will work with the authorities to reduce your punishment. Instead of a death sentence, you will be sent to a penal colony in New South Wales. You will serve out those years there, and you will never set foot in Scotland or England again.”

He sent her an incredulous look. “And why would I be admitting to a crime I didna do?”

“You ran away and hid for many weeks,” Cain reminded him. Of course the man was guilty.

MacKinloch shrugged. “If I stayed, they would suspect me, even if I did naught wrong, ye ken? Best to go away for a while and let matters die down.”

“You son of a bitch,” Cain growled, seizing the man by the throat. He hauled MacKinloch against the wall, not caring if he crushed the man’s skull. “You
set my brother up to die.”

“He set himself up,” MacKinloch argued. “When he took back the pistol and ran away.”

“He’s a boy. Too scared to say or do aught.” Cain shoved him back, and MacKinloch stumbled before he righted himself. “You’re going to come with me and offer yourself up.” He glared at MacKinloch. “If you don’t make a confession, we’ll find the evidence. And you’ll hang for this.” He wasn’t about to let the man go free—not after all that had happened.

But Margaret had gone pale. “What if he’s telling the truth, Cain? What if he
didn’t
kill the earl?”

He dismissed the idea. “MacKinloch had the most reason of anyone.”

But the man only smiled. “I would’ve killed the earl, if I’d reached him first. But he was already dead.”

Margaret studied the man and asked, “Then who
did
kill him, Joseph?”

He straightened his collar. “That’s why I came, Miss Andrews. I may have wanted Strathland dead, but I wasna going to let a boy hang in my place. Jonah’s a lad with a taste for adventure, but I don’t want him to die. And I ken who went after Strathland that night.”

Cain went utterly still. He didn’t want to hear it, but he already knew the name Joseph would speak.

“Who?” Margaret asked.

MacKinloch set down his cup and admitted, “Ye’re living in his house, Miss Andrews. There’s no man who wanted Strathland dead more than Paul Fraser.”

Chapter Sixteen

I
need to talk with you, Juliette,” Margaret said.

Her sister was busy playing with her daughter, Grace, pouring imaginary tea as they sat at a table in the nursery. “Would you like to join us?” Juliette smiled, offering her a place at the table.

“I think we should speak alone,” Margaret said. “Perhaps in Grace’s bedroom.” From there, they could keep watch over the little girl.

Juliette kissed her daughter on the top of her dark hair. “Mummy will return in a moment, darling. Why don’t you offer your dolly a biscuit?”

Grace pretended to feed her doll while Juliette joined Margaret in the bedroom. Her face revealed her curiosity, making Margaret dread the question she had to ask.

Lowering her voice, Juliette said, “I know Joseph came to pay a call on you earlier. Is that was this is about?”

Margaret nodded. MacKinloch’s insinuation, that Juliette’s husband had committed the murder, was even worse than she could imagine. She didn’t want to believe any of it, for if Paul was responsible, there was no good outcome. Either an innocent boy would hang . . . or her sister’s husband would die.

She steeled herself, knowing that she had to tread carefully. “Juliette . . . you said that Paul went in search of Lord Strathland after he shot Amelia’s husband. Did he leave right away?”

Her sister nodded. “Of course. Strathland fired at Amelia and missed, hitting Castledon instead. They’re both fine, but Paul went after him, hoping to bring Strathland to justice for what he did.”

“And he went on horseback,” Margaret predicted. “So he could ride fast and catch up to the carriage.” She hoped that was true, given the second set of coach wheels she’d seen. Her instincts told her that Paul couldn’t have been the killer—she knew him too well for that.

“Yes.” Her sister’s eyes narrowed, as if she was wondering why Margaret would be asking about it. “Did you want to ask Paul yourself? Perhaps he saw something that night that could be relevant to the case? I know he and Cain went over it already, but it’s possible you might think of something else.” Her sister’s demeanor was helpful, not the actions of a woman trying to hide something.

“Paul said the earl was already dead when he got there.” She studied her sister, praying that it was the truth.

“Yes, that’s right.” Juliette peered over at her daughter, who was singing to herself.

At the sight of the young girl, a pang of reluctance caught Margaret’s heart. She shouldn’t even be questioning her sister. Whatever had happened, Paul Fraser was not a suspect in the murder.

Her sister seemed to guess why she was asking. “Margaret, Paul didn’t kill the earl. He couldn’t have.” There was not a trace of doubt on Juliette’s face—only impatience at the conversation.

“I agree.” More and more, Margaret believed that there was someone else there that night. “But Joseph MacKinloch claims he is innocent of the murder. He implied that Paul killed Strathland.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course a guilty man would put the blame on someone else.” Her sister reached out and took her hands. “My husband did nothing wrong.”

Margaret squeezed her palms. “I know that.” And she truly did believe that was true. Paul was a good man and a doctor who had spent his life saving others. There was no reason to suspect him. “My only worry is, what if MacKinloch accuses him in court? There’s no evidence against Paul, is there?”

“Paul told me himself that when he arrived, the coroner had already taken the body away,” Juliette said. “The coroner himself can bear witness to that.”

Margaret let out the breath she’d been holding. “Good.” She reached out to hug her sister in apology, but Juliette barely returned the affection.

“Listen to me,” Margaret insisted, drawing back to meet her gaze. “Someone killed Lord Strathland, and I need to find out who it was. I have another suspicion, but I’ll need your help in sending a letter immediately with your fastest rider.” A sudden wash of fear came over her, but she forced it back. If her instincts were correct, she had no choice but to pursue this.

Her sister squeezed her hand. “I’ll do everything I can.”

“Jonah.” Margaret spoke softly within the prison cell. The young boy was curled up on a pile of dirty straw, and the stench of the room was so strong, she held a scented handkerchief to her nose.

He turned, squinting against the dim light. “Miss Andrews?”

“Yes. I’ve come to speak with you for a little while before the trial tomorrow morning.” She gingerly stepped across the stone floor, trying not to think of what sorts of scurrying animals shared the room with the boy. It had cost a great deal to arrange for a private cell, but she had spoken with Paul and insisted upon it. Jonah was suffering enough in this place—he didn’t need to worry about other criminals attacking him.

“What do you want?” His voice held a grim finality, as if he’d already abandoned hope.

“Joseph MacKinloch came to see us. He implied that someone else shot the earl. I wondered if you might know who it could have been.”

The boy sighed. “It doesna matter, miss. I’m going to hang for it. And I suppose I deserve to die.”

It seemed that he’d given up after so long. Margaret eyed him sharply. “Don’t say that, Jonah. You didn’t kill the earl.”

“Nay, but no matter wha’ I say, they’ll believe the worst of me.” He drew up his knees, his attention focused on the ground. “I shouldna have disobeyed him. Cain warned me no’ to leave. But I thought I’d go and have an adventure.” His face held a bleak expression. “This wasna what I’d hoped for. If I’d ne’er left the inn, I wouldna be here now.”

“We’ll get you out,” she promised. “Did you see anyone else that night, after you returned? Any strangers?”

Jonah lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Nay. I was only looking for MacKinloch when I left. After I came back, I got my things and ran.”

“What time was it when you left the inn?” Margaret asked.

The boy shook his head. “I’ve no idea. After dark. There were only a few men talking to the innkeeper when I left.”

And those men were likely MacKinloch’s alibis, Margaret thought. “Did they see you leave?”

“Aye.” Jonah stood slowly, wincing as if he was in pain. “The sheriff questioned them later, and they told him I left in secret. They wouldna believe I was only looking for MacKinloch. They told the sheriff they were certain I was the one who had shot the earl.”

When Jonah turned back to her, she saw the streaks of tears down his cheeks. Margaret sympathized with him, for he was still just a boy. True, he’d made many mistakes, but he didn’t deserve to die for them. She handed him her handkerchief, but he refused it.

“I couldna touch something so fine, Miss Andrews. No’ here.”

She ignored him and moved closer, wiping his tears away with the handkerchief. “Keep it, Jonah. And know that your brother and I will do everything in our power to prove your innocence.”

“It’s too late,” he muttered.

“No.” She held his face between her hands and smoothed away a rough lock of his dark hair. “Your solicitor has been going over the testimonies, and many of them aren’t the same. If the witnesses disagree in their statements, then they cannot prove you guilty.” She pressed the handkerchief into his hand. “Don’t give up hope.”

His blue eyes were a mirror of Cain’s, and she could see that he was terrified. But he took the handkerchief and held it tightly. “Thank you, Miss Andrews.”

She nodded and turned to leave. On her way out, she nearly collided with Cain, who had been standing at the door. Behind him was Jonah’s solicitor, Mr. Dawson.

“You could have come inside,” she told him. “I know you have much to discuss with Jonah.”

Cain leaned down and kissed her openly. “You didna have to visit him, lass. No’ in a place like this.”

She met his gaze. “Yes, I did need to come. Especially to a place like this. He needs to know that we haven’t given up on him.”

There was a flare of emotion on his face, and he gripped her hand. He was watching her with an expression that made her even more worried. It was as if he were savoring a last moment, as if he would never see her again. “You’re a good woman, Margaret.”

“Will I see you tonight?” Her heart quickened, for she saw the heaviness in his expression. Cain gave her no answer, but touched her chin before he walked inside his brother’s cell, followed by the solicitor. Whatever he’d meant, he had no intention of telling her.

Margaret walked outside the Tolbooth, feeling despondent. The calm resignation in Cain’s voice made her worry that he was going to do something rash.

She couldn’t let that happen. The trial would begin soon, and she was afraid of what he would do if things turned out badly for his brother.

“Jonah Sinclair, prisoner of the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, you are hereby indicted and accused of feloniously murdering Brandon Carlisle, the twelfth Earl of Strathland, by firing a pistol with the intent to cause malicious harm.”

Cain sat across from the advocate panel, where Jonah remained in custody. While the Advocate Depute droned on with a list of the charges brought against his brother, the boy’s face remained resolute, as if he’d come to accept an unjust fate. The only trace of fear he showed was his hands clenched together.

Cain’s blood felt as if it were frozen. It was a strange experience, as if he were standing outside of himself. He wanted to shelter his brother from this fate, but he was helpless to do anything except listen to the advocates.

Margaret was seated next to him, dressed in a somber indigo gown with a sprig of heather tucked inside her sash. Her bonnet was trimmed with dark ribbon, and she held her posture erect as if she were a queen presiding over her subjects. Though outwardly she appeared controlled and calm, he knew she was as tense as he was.