A Wicked Conceit (Lady Darby Mysteries #9) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,125

I may have to work my way around to it. Am I correct in recalling that your mother was a Lennox?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been given to understand that the Kincaids and Lennoxes often marry. Is that true?”

His brow quirked quizzically. “Yes, again. They share neighboring lands, so it’s to be expected.”

“Then are you familiar with May Kincaid?”

He began to shake his head, but at Gage’s next words he stopped.

“Bonnie Brock Kincaid’s mother.”

His eyes sparked with interest. “I’ve heard tell of her. But what specifically are you wanting to know?”

Gage glanced at me and I spoke. “There are rumors that Bonnie Brock’s father may have been a Lennox. A cousin who was already wed when he trifled with Miss Kincaid.”

Mr. Knighton turned to peer out the window at the Georgian façades lining the street, but I could tell from his sudden reticence that he knew something. “I heard a tale from one of my cousins when I was a lad. Though, to hear a Lennox tell it, May Kincaid wasn’t so innocent in the affair,” he remarked ruefully.

Of course they would say so.

“Did your cousin name Miss Kincaid’s lover?” Gage pressed.

“The Wolf of Badenoch. At least, that was the sobriquet my cousin used. I’m not certain how widely he was called that. But from the tales I heard about him, it wasn’t difficult to deduce why it became his nickname. Though not as notorious as the late fourteenth-century Wolf of Badenoch, he was still undoubtedly a hellion.”

Notorious was right. The earlier Wolf of Badenoch referred to Alexander Stewart, the Earl of Buchan, the third surviving son of King Robert II of Scotland. He’d earned the nickname because of his cruelty and malice throughout his lifetime. He’d burned, sacked, and looted parts of the Highlands when out of temper for one slight or another, including the royal burgh of Elgin and its cathedral. That legends said his death occurred when he’d played chess with the devil and lost was really no surprise.

I frowned in puzzlement. The book and play had both included allusions to lions, not wolves, being part of Bonnie Brock’s father’s identity, as in the lion-headed walking stick he carried. An allusion that had seemed fitting given Bonnie Brock’s hair. His thick tawny tresses often seemed akin to a lion’s mane. But perhaps the author had recognized this and sought to exploit it. After all, Maggie let slip a year ago that her brother looked nothing like his father. I had recalled this and just as easily forgotten it, buying into the easier illusion.

If Bonnie Brock’s father was the nineteenth-century Wolf of Badenoch, that might explain how Mugdock had been inspired to make use of such a ploy. It also suggested how determined he was to throw suspicion away from the truth.

“I don’t recall a Lord Badenoch. What was the Wolf of Badenoch’s full name?” Gage asked.

“It’s unlikely you would,” Knighton replied. “In any case, it’s a feudal barony of Scottish origin.” So the holder was not necessarily considered a peer, but a nobleman of lesser rank, and they held no seat in the House of Lords at Parliament.

“This chap was from a minor branch of the family. His name was Alexander Lennox of Badenoch.”

I felt a tightening in my abdomen, whether from a false labor pain or because my body sensed how important this was before my mind could catch up. “Then he’s not still alive?”

“No.” Mr. Knighton tilted his head upward in thought. “And if my memory serves me correctly, he didn’t leave his family in a very good position upon his death. Not only had he tarnished the title, but much of his fortune was also depleted. I believe his son had to take up a trade of some sort.”

When Gage asked his next question, I could tell he’d been struck by the same suspicion I had. “What was his son’s name?”

“The same as his father. Alexander Lennox of Badenoch.”

Chapter 26

It took everything in me not to curse roundly. We finally had the final piece to our puzzle, and yet we were on our way to my nephew’s birthday party, which we could not miss short of my being in advanced labor. Though I could tell from Gage’s expression that he was considering making his excuses.

“Don’t even think it,” I told him. If I couldn’t go, then he certainly wasn’t going either. Besides, there was little risk that Lennox would be fleeing Edinburgh. Not when he was still unaware of how much we knew. And even then I had