surprised at her inheritance. Odd, since Malcolm told him repeatedly this elderly woman had unscrupulous plans for the estate.
Malcolm’s face, beet red, gave away his emotions. Evidently he’d hoped to be the sole heir of the property; a reasonable assumption, given the family ties. Yet if he truly believed Effie would inherit, he should be resigned to the conditions of the will, not surprised and upset.
Something didn’t sit right with Creighton. Either Malcolm lied about the American or the American was an exceptional actress. He stood and stepped toward the private bar he kept stocked in his office. “Drinks, gentlemen? Miss Effie, Isobel, would either of ye care for a sip of wine?”
Isobel still wiped at her eyes. “Wine would be lovely, sir.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass on the wine. Instead, I’ll have two fingers of yourfinest whisky, straight up, please.” Effie stood and approached the lawyer.
Malcolm appeared at Creighton’s elbow while he poured their drinks. “Careful, man, the woman’s a schemer. I took care of Great-Uncle Angus. Ye know I did. Yet, she gets the house and the property and half of everything else.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Aye, she’s not wasting any time whispering to Aiken.” With an upturn of the glass Creighton handed him, Malcolm downed the tipple and reached for the bottle to refill his glass.
“Easy now. No need getting drunk, especially on me whisky.” Drinks in hand, Creighton turned toward James Aiken and Effie. Their heads nearly touched as they talked in hushed tones. She slipped a business card from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to the lawyer. Creighton’s stomach twisted with apprehension. Maybe the pink-haired woman
was
up to something.
After the lawyer and Angus’s servants had left, Effie went upstairs to take a nap, or so she claimed. Malcolm was on his cell, one hand gesturing as he whispered his end of the conversation. Once he ended his call, Creighton leaned against the side of his desk and crossed his arms. “I’d like a few words with ye. I have some questions regarding the American.”
Malcolm leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “Watch her. She’s trouble.”
Creighton tilted his head to the side and studied the man’s body language. He was tense and sweat beaded his forehead. “How did ye come about kennin Effie would sell the land to an American oil company? She seemed surprised over her inheritance, as if she hadna clue.”
Face reddened, Malcolm’s lips thinned. “A person of importance took me into his confidence.”
“Importance?”
“Aye.”
Creighton pushed away from the desk and straightened. “Well, as yer laird, I demand to know who this significant person is. I’d like to speak with this person of
importance
.” He practically spat the last word in venting his displeasure. Malcolm’s dire predictions of Effie’s future plans for the estate had weighed heavily on Creighton’s mind this last week. More important, it had tainted his opinion of Paisley. He needed to get at the truth.
Malcolm glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment I need to attend.”
“Appointment? On the day of yer uncle’s funeral?”
“Aye.” Malcolm’s face was a mottled red and grey. His gaze darted to the door as if he wished to exit in a hurry.
“I willna keep ye. Give me the name and ye may be on yer way.” What the bloody hell was the big secret?
Malcolm shook his head. “Let me speak to him first to see if he’ll speak with ye. Business associates need a wee bit o’ coddling.”
He didna like being put off. While he wasna a controlling, micromanaging laird, he did expect his wishes to be carried out, and with very little delay. “Verra well. I’ll wait a couple days, but no more.” Just how did this person of influence know what the details of Angus’s will were? Was he a close friend of the deceased, a confidant?
“Of course.” A pained expression came over Malcolm’s
Malcolm’s face, beet red, gave away his emotions. Evidently he’d hoped to be the sole heir of the property; a reasonable assumption, given the family ties. Yet if he truly believed Effie would inherit, he should be resigned to the conditions of the will, not surprised and upset.
Something didn’t sit right with Creighton. Either Malcolm lied about the American or the American was an exceptional actress. He stood and stepped toward the private bar he kept stocked in his office. “Drinks, gentlemen? Miss Effie, Isobel, would either of ye care for a sip of wine?”
Isobel still wiped at her eyes. “Wine would be lovely, sir.”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll pass on the wine. Instead, I’ll have two fingers of yourfinest whisky, straight up, please.” Effie stood and approached the lawyer.
Malcolm appeared at Creighton’s elbow while he poured their drinks. “Careful, man, the woman’s a schemer. I took care of Great-Uncle Angus. Ye know I did. Yet, she gets the house and the property and half of everything else.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Aye, she’s not wasting any time whispering to Aiken.” With an upturn of the glass Creighton handed him, Malcolm downed the tipple and reached for the bottle to refill his glass.
“Easy now. No need getting drunk, especially on me whisky.” Drinks in hand, Creighton turned toward James Aiken and Effie. Their heads nearly touched as they talked in hushed tones. She slipped a business card from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to the lawyer. Creighton’s stomach twisted with apprehension. Maybe the pink-haired woman
was
up to something.
After the lawyer and Angus’s servants had left, Effie went upstairs to take a nap, or so she claimed. Malcolm was on his cell, one hand gesturing as he whispered his end of the conversation. Once he ended his call, Creighton leaned against the side of his desk and crossed his arms. “I’d like a few words with ye. I have some questions regarding the American.”
Malcolm leaned in, his eyes narrowed. “Watch her. She’s trouble.”
Creighton tilted his head to the side and studied the man’s body language. He was tense and sweat beaded his forehead. “How did ye come about kennin Effie would sell the land to an American oil company? She seemed surprised over her inheritance, as if she hadna clue.”
Face reddened, Malcolm’s lips thinned. “A person of importance took me into his confidence.”
“Importance?”
“Aye.”
Creighton pushed away from the desk and straightened. “Well, as yer laird, I demand to know who this significant person is. I’d like to speak with this person of
importance
.” He practically spat the last word in venting his displeasure. Malcolm’s dire predictions of Effie’s future plans for the estate had weighed heavily on Creighton’s mind this last week. More important, it had tainted his opinion of Paisley. He needed to get at the truth.
Malcolm glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment I need to attend.”
“Appointment? On the day of yer uncle’s funeral?”
“Aye.” Malcolm’s face was a mottled red and grey. His gaze darted to the door as if he wished to exit in a hurry.
“I willna keep ye. Give me the name and ye may be on yer way.” What the bloody hell was the big secret?
Malcolm shook his head. “Let me speak to him first to see if he’ll speak with ye. Business associates need a wee bit o’ coddling.”
He didna like being put off. While he wasna a controlling, micromanaging laird, he did expect his wishes to be carried out, and with very little delay. “Verra well. I’ll wait a couple days, but no more.” Just how did this person of influence know what the details of Angus’s will were? Was he a close friend of the deceased, a confidant?
“Of course.” A pained expression came over Malcolm’s
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