“He does. I will say this for her, Fiona raised him proper. I’ve told that fool Elliot as much, but he sees only what he wants to see. I’m thinking it’s no surprise he’s a widower— drove his wife to an early grave, if you want my opinion! Ealasaid gave him the benefit of the doubt, but I had no patience with him! The old minister who was before him, he was a man of God, and he preached a mighty sermon of a Sunday. Mr. Hall, his name was, come from Dunfermline and married a Croser from over to Hawick. We went to kirk every Sunday, and were proud of it. But this fool Elliot, now, he’s besotted with sin. He doesn’t care a whit about redemption, only in setting blame. And what good’s that, I ask you!”

“I’ve been led to believe that Fiona never confided in her aunt—never told her, for instance, that she wasn’t the boy’s mother. Surely she must have told someone? A woman she trusted—a friend or neighbor—your brother—”

Miss Drummond stared at him consideringly. “Any secret’s best kept if it’s kept. You should know that as a policeman! Fiona was friendly in a quiet fashion, respectful to her elders. Nice ways about her, as if she’d gone to school to learn them. But all I’ve ever heard was that she’d loved her grandfather and he was a bonny piper. Oh, and that she’d been happy with her soldier before he died. More than that I never asked and she never spoke of. Now, it’s time you went, or Drummond will be home and shout at both of us. He doesn’t like anyone prating about Fiona or the lad. ‘Least said, soonest mended.’ That’s his view!”

“There’s only one other question before I leave,” Rutledge said, holding his ground. “I’ve been told that men were attracted to Fiona MacDonald. Was that true?”