“You are a spy left behind!” Argyll went on threateningly. “It was you warned him we were here!”
“I wish I had been the one,” confessed Alex wryly. “I would not be here if I had. But since I am here, and not with Montrose, that is clearly nonsense.”
“Don’t quibble with me!” Argyll was in a cold rage, the cruel, bullying streak in him showing clear. “You were responsible. You hurt your foot and sent someone else with the message.”
In the gleam of the fire, Alex’s jaw moved up and outward a fraction. “I would have done so,” he retorted proudly, “but that I could find no one to send.”
“You’ll not save your life that way.” There was wintry satisfaction in Argyll’s face. “Unless you can produce the guilty party and prove your innocence ...” The sentence went grimly unfinished.
Even Hamish looked shocked at this unfairness, and for an instant Kelpie missed the full irony of the situation. Then it dawned on her. Alex was to die for the thing she herself had done—and he well aware of it and helpless, since he had no notion where she was! It was almost too good to be possible!
She bit her lip and pressed closer to the chink, and a squeak of what must be delight—although it felt almost like a sob—escaped her.
Alex turned—oh, so casually!—and his eyes, dark in the shadow of the shelter, looked straight into hers.
Kelpie stopped breathing. Too appalled even to move, she stood frozen, waiting for the simple, deadly words that must come next. In her mind she heard them clearly. “Very well so, and you will find the guilty party is the witch lass hiding this very moment outside the wall....” She should be away, running like a hare! But she could not, for her shock had glued her feet to the ground, and already Alex had begun to speak.
“And how,” he asked deliberately, “could I be doing that?”