“We were after a damned fine stag that your brother told us about,” Lachan said, smiling down at me. “We didn’t mention it to the others because they’d have ruined everything, tramping through the bracken like a herd of elephants and alerting every creature within miles.”

“So did you find the stag?”

“We did,” Murdoch replied. “Up on the flanks of Ben Alder. But it’s a canny beast. It never let us get close enough for a good shot.”

The flanks of Ben Alder, I thought. A perfect location to spy on the road down the pass and give a signal to someone that a car was approaching. . . . I looked up at Lachan’s jolly, weathered face and twinkling blue eyes and tried to picture him calmly eliminating the heirs to the British throne. It seemed impossible, but then I’d been taken in before. I knew enough to realize that criminals do not look guilty.

Hamilton was approaching with the drinks tray. Lachan and Murdoch made a beeline for it. I was still watching them when Darcy appeared at my side.

“So are you going to sulk and ignore me forever?” he asked in a low voice. “Aren’t you being rather childish?”

“I’m just tired of never knowing where I stand with you,” I replied. “You disappear for weeks at a time. You flirt with other women. You probably do much more than flirt.”

I saw the smile twitch at his lips. “You have to take me the way I am.”

“I need someone I can rely on,” I said.

Lachan had poured himself a generous Scotch and turned back to me. “What can I get for you, Cousin Georgie?” he asked.

“That’s very kind of you, Lachan,” I said. “A sherry would be nice.”

“Sherry? That’s for old ladies. Come and let me pour you a dram of Binky’s single malt.” He put a big arm around my shoulder. I let myself be led away from Darcy. Luckily an interruption occurred at that moment with the announcement of the Prince of Wales. So that’s why Mrs. Simpson had been so jumpy earlier.