Page 48 of Hollow Court

Pasting a smile on my face, I told them to ready the horses, as we would be on the road in no time.

Then, while they were distracted, I told the innkeeper and his daughter to accompany me upstairs. There was still a chance that I was wrong, or worse, that I had missed someone.

Gwyn wasn’t surprised to see Bess. We both knew there were only so many ways the rebel could have gotten the key.

Bess, on the other hand, let out a squeak when she beheld my cousin. Horror settled into her expression, her mouth dropping open as she shook her head back and forth.

I shut the door, and the innkeeper Jon turned to me, his wide eyes confused.

“What’s this about, mi’laird?”

“Yes, Bessie, whatisthis about?” Gwyn asked, her jaw rigid, her eyes blazing with accusation.

Bess took a step back.

“We need to ask your daughter some questions,” I answered when she said nothing.

“Bessie?” Jon’s voice trembled, and I hated the necessity of what we were about to do, hated that the rebels pulled in a young, stupid, jealous girl for their ends.

Mostly, I hated that there were people in the world who could be swayed toward facilitating murder for petty, ridiculous reasons like prejudice and spite.

“No,” she said, her voice coming out as a strangled cry. “I thought she was… I thought you were… I didn’t know, I swear! I would never have wanted her to get hurt.”

Gwyn’s hand twitched toward her sword, and I shook my head subtly. She glared but nodded. Jon’s face had gone ashen, and he appeared to be mute with shock.

“Of course you didn’t,” I agreed with Bess, my tone conversational. “I think we both know you would never let the duchess get hurt.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief, and I went on. “Just an innocent, defenseless woman whose very existence offended you.”

The blood drained from Bess’s face. Her father ran his hands over his bald head, his face stricken.

“Are you going to execute me?” she asked weakly.

“Not if you tell us what we need to know,” Gwyn said plainly.

Jon took a sharp inhale. “Tell them, Bessie.”

Several tears tracked down her cheeks when she met my eyes. “It was Scottie.”

Was I relieved to have it confirmed? Disappointed? I wasn’t even sure.

And if he was guilty, Arran most certainly was as well.

Gwyn met my eyes with her own tumultuous ones. I could practically see the thoughts playing out in her head.

Scottie, who had grown up at Castle Chridhe as one of the orphans from the first war, who had trained with us from the time we were kids. Who had kept her bed warm more than once.

“Was there anyone else?” Gwyn demanded.

“Not that he told me. We were…alonewhen he asked for the keys,” Bess admitted, avoiding looking in her father’s direction.

It was an effort not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. She had no problem admitting that she had happily been an accessory to murder, but admitting that she was in a compromising situation with a man was still somehow embarrassing for her.

She hadn’t named Arran, but I doubted she was lying for him. More likely, she had only known of Scottie’s involvement.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked through her tears.

“Nothing, for now,” I said, already turning to go. “Stay in here until we’re out of sight.”