“He knows Ian is mine—it’s revenge that drives him, not money!” she cried. And then pressed her fingers against her eyes as if they ached. “I haven’t the strength to worry about this Gray woman too. I have enough sorrows already.” She looked out the window. “I should never have given my child life. I went to Glasgow once, did you know? Fiona took me. To a place where abortions were done. Never mind how I found out about it, another poor, desperate woman had gone there and later confided in me. But I couldn’t go through with it. I loved Ian’s father, you see. In spite of my fear of being found out, I loved his father. . . .” She lay back, her eyes shut. “I love him still. . . .”

Hamish said somberly, “Holden is driving her into her grave—she’s likely to die before Fiona’s trial! Does he no’ ken the risk he’s taking?”

I don’t think he does, Rutledge answered silently. It would spoil his game if his wife died prematurely. He wants the name of her lover, and he wants his wife to see that she’s caused an innocent woman to die a fearful death. Damn the man!

But contrary to what Mrs. Holden had said, Rutledge believed Holden had known that Eleanor Gray’s body lay in Glencoe. He might even have been clever enough to see how useful it could be. A remarkably tidy way of punishing Fiona and ridding himself of the past. The problem was, this was going to be bloody difficult to prove!

He stood up. “What do you want me to do, Mrs. Holden? I can’t bring your husband in and charge him—there’s only your word against his that he’s responsible for what happened to Fiona MacDonald. People would believe him if he told them your health is frail and that your mind has been affected by it.”

“There must be a way to stop him! You—I can’t go on like this! I can’t live with Fiona’s life on my conscience, and I can’t buy it back without destroying my child! I have come to hate Alex—but he’s the albatross around my neck, and I cannot be freed from it.”

“Will you kill someone for me?”

He heard Fiona’s voice quite clearly in his head.

“Tell me—did you live in Brae before your son was born?”

She nodded. “I was desperately in love. He—Ian’s father—was in Glasgow for some time and we met when we could. I was happy. I had closed the house here—with the horses gone and the servants leaving, it was an excuse.”

“And the initials on the christening gown?”