Death of an Adept

Chapter Fifteen

ARRIVING at London Heathrow at mid-morning on New Year's Eve, Adam and his bride of a week caught the first available connecting flight to Edinburgh. As the Air UK shuttle began its descent, just past one o'clock, he was profoundly relieved to see the familiar sprawl of Edinburgh taking shape off the starboard wing, with the snow-capped ridge of Arthur's Seat rising like an iceberg above the historic tangle of the city center. Though both he and Ximena had managed to doze during the nine-hour trans-Atlantic flight, the added strain of the preceding week had taken its toll. Ximena was heavily asleep in the seat beside him. As the Fasten Seatbelts sign came on, he turned to lay a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Wake up, querida" he murmured fondly.

Ximena roused with a start and glanced at her watch.

"Good heavens, is that really the time? I only meant to rest my eyes."

"You obviously needed the sleep," Adam said with a smile, brushing a fingertip lightly down one cheek. "You haven't missed anything important. How do you feel?"

Smiling drowsily, she let her gaze shift out the window beyond Adam, at the broadening vista of the city and its surrounding hills, white with snow. A contented sigh escaped her lips.

"I feel like it's good to be home again," she said, resting her head on his shoulder and slipping her arm through his.

Humphrey was waiting for them in the domestic baggage claim area, holding a large bouquet of mingled roses, lilies, and forget-me-nots. As soon as they emerged from Arrivals, he stepped forward and presented it to Ximena.

"Welcome back to Scotland, Dr. Lockhart," he said, with a courtly little bow. "It's a pleasure to have you back with us."

"Why, thank you, Humphrey, these are gorgeous!" she exclaimed delightedly. "Adam says you always think of everything."

Humphrey shrugged and lowered his eyes modestly, but his smile was almost equal to Ximena's as he belatedly shook the hand Adam offered.

"Thank you, Humphrey. It's good to see you."

"And you, Sir Adam. Welcome home. If you'd like to wait in the car, I'll collect the luggage and meet you there. I've brought the Range Rover, since I didn't know how much you'd have. Also, the weather looks uncertain."

"Good thinking," Adam replied, handing Humphrey the claim checks. "There are five pieces. Is the car at the curb?"

"It is, sir. Being looked after by one of Inspector McLeod's lads."

Grinning, Adam took the keys Humphrey offered. "See you there, then."

Ten minutes later, with the luggage stowed in the back, Humphrey was easing the blue Range Rover onto the slip road that led to the dual carriageway back toward Edinburgh. The verges were lined with patchy snow, and the sky was leaden, threatening fresh snow to come.

"I'm instructed to tell you that there's been a change of plan from what you were probably expecting, sir," Humphrey announced, glancing at Adam apologetically in the rearview mirror. "Lady Sinclair accepted an invitation on behalf of both of you to attend a Hogmanay party this evening at the home of Sir Matthew and Lady Eraser. She said it was a social obligation, sir," he added, at the chorused groan from Adam and Ximena.

"No, she's absolutely right," Adam said, glancing at Ximena in apology. "I'm sorry, darling. The Erasers have been my friends since all of us were children, and their Hogmanay party is one of the social fixtures of the season. If they knew we were back and we didn't come, Janet would never let me hear the end of it. Good God, Humphrey, the logistics on this are going to be dreadful."

"Hopefully not, sir," Humphrey replied with a smile. "Because of the weather, and to save to-ing and fro-ing, Lady Sinclair has booked you a suite at the Carlton Highland. I dropped her there on the way to the airport, and we brought up your Highland kit for this evening. She assured me that Dr. Lockhart would have brought something suitable. She'll have tea waiting for you, and after that you'll have time to catch a few hours' sleep before dressing for the evening."

Chuckling resignedly, Adam shook his head. "It seems we're to be shown no mercy," he said to Ximena. "When Philippa gets something in her head, there's no stopping her. Do you have something suitable for a black-tie party? There'll be country dancing, but you don't have to take part if you don't want to. We can at least plead exhaustion on that count." "I'll manage to find something to wear," Ximena replied good-naturedly. "And so long as we do get even a few hours' sleep, I should be all right. This isn't any worse than when I was an intern, or the nights when I've had to pull a double shift."

"Well, that's something, at least," Adam said. "Why don't you close your eyes until we get to the hotel?"

The manager of the Carlton was waiting to greet them in the lobby and, obviously briefed by Philippa, whisked them upstairs with all the aplomb of an accomplished social conspirator.

"I'm told that I mustn't make any reference to your good news until after the official announcement," he drawled, when they had reached the relative privacy of the elevator, "but I gather that we won't be kept waiting for too long."

Smiling, Adam tucked Ximena's hand into his arm. "Philippa seems to have things well in hand," he said enigmatically. "For now, let's simply say that the new year promises to bring some welcome changes at Strathmourne."

"Delightful!" the manager declared, as the elevator doors opened. "This way, please."

Philippa was waiting in the suite, which was filled with more flowers. A simple but hearty tea was laid out on a table in the sitting room.

"You two look positively exhausted," Philippa exclaimed, as she hugged first Ximena and then Adam. "Thank you for bringing them up, David. Everything is perfect!"

"You're very welcome, Lady Sinclair. Just let me know if there's anything else I can do for you. The luggage will be up shortly."

When the manager had gone, Philippa chivvied Adam and Ximena over to the settee and began fussing with the tea things.

"I hope you don't mind about tonight," she said, as she poured tea for the three of them. "When I rang Janet to let her know I was back in the country - and that you two would return in time for Hogmanay - she insisted that we come to her party. I know you're both exhausted, but it would be the ideal opportunity to announce your engagement. We'll never hear the end of it if she doesn't get to share in the excitement. There's a note from her, there on the mantel."

Smiling indulgently, Adam retrieved the cream-colored envelope from the mantel and extracted the contents, skimming Janet's note as Philippa began distributing plates for sandwiches and scones. It had been penned on the back of an engraved at-home card giving the details of the Frasers' annual Hogmanay party, and was addressed to him in a distinctive copperplate hand.

"Adam darling, If you don't feel equal to being sociable tonight, please don't hesitate to decline," Janet had written. "But if you can possibly manage it, we'd love to see you - especially since your dear mother gives me to understand that you and Ximena have an important announcement to make."

Adam repressed a chuckle. Even in their childhood, Janet had been an inveterate romantic and matchmaker. Over the years since her own marriage, her determination to see him happily wed had never flagged. It was only fitting that she be among the first to learn that her efforts had finally borne fruit, if only by pressuring Adam to keep considering what she regarded as suitable women.

"Well, she appears to have guessed what's going on, unless you told her," he said to his mother with a grin, as he handed the note to Ximena. "But Philippa's right, darling. This is a tailor-made opportunity to make our announcement. We can leave it for a few weeks, though, if you prefer."

Ximena chewed on a sandwich while she read over Janet Fraser's note, smiling as she shook her head. "No, no, we ought to go," she said. "I like the Frasers. Besides, Janet's been very patient with you all these years. She deserves to hear our news from your own lips."

The luggage arrived very shortly. Once Adam had seen it deposited in the bedroom, Ximena declared herself sufficiently fed, and retired. After seeing her settled, Adam returned to the sitting room, where Philippa was lingering over her tea. He closed the door behind him before reclaiming his seat on the settee.

"Before I turn in too," he said to his mother, "is there anything I should be told?"

Philippa levelled her dark gaze at him. "I wish I could say no, but that wouldn't be true. Something did crop up while you were away. And since you've asked, I suppose now's as good a time as any to fill you in."

She refilled his teacup before commencing her account of the incident at Callanish. Adam listened attentively and with growing interest, all travel weariness temporarily banished.

"Initially, Noel expected there'd be a relatively simple explanation," Philippa concluded by way of summation. "You know - college students playing at being Druids, that sort of thing. Even after he and Peregrine went out to the site for a look around, and then consulted with Julian, the three of them were of the opinion that it could keep until you got back.

"Since then, however, two men Noel now believes to have been participants in the bull-slaying have been found dead under circumstances that appear more and more suspicious. It's probably a good thing you decided to come back when you did."

"I'll want to see Peregrine's sketches," Adam said.

"Yes, I thought you would." His mother reached behind her chair to produce a large brown envelope. "There isn't a great deal we can do in the next few days, with you exhausted and the holidays demanding time of everyone else involved. But it wouldn't hurt to give the information to your unconscious, to work on in the background."

Adam took the envelope and removed the stack of sketches, nodding as he shuffled through them superficially.

"I won't argue that," he agreed. "In the meantime, my compliments to the rest of the team for their efforts so far. They appear to have performed admirably in my absence. We'll hope something turns up on this Taliere person. It's occurred to me that Taliere might be a craft name of some sort. Whoever he is, I suspect he may prove the key to understanding this entire operation. If I'm right about that, the sooner we locate him, the better."

Philippa smiled. "If you're right about that, we'll owe a significant debt of gratitude to the inestimable Harry Nimmo."

"We'll owe him more than mere thanks," Adam said with a fleeting smile. "Someone with psychometric talent would be a valuable asset to our resources. I met him briefly during the Cairngorm operation, but Noel hadn't yet taken him on as a student at that time. I'll have a word and see if he can arrange a proper introduction."

"But not tonight," Philippa said archly. "If you're going to see the new year in, you'd better get yourself some sleep."

Smiling, Adam returned the sketches to their envelope, handed it to his mother, and rose.

"I'm on my way without need of a second reminder," he said, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. "Wake me at about half past seven, will you?"

The Frasers' party was scheduled to begin at eight. By a little after nine, when Humphrey drove the Sinclairs through the gates, the affair was already in full swing. The house was ablaze with lights, and both sides of the long driveway were flanked with parked cars, including a dark green Alvis drop-head coupe tucked in just before the crescent that led to the house's entrance. Ximena gave it an admiring glance as Humphrey nosed the Range Rover in behind a Mercedes limousine just disgorging its passengers.

"Very nice!" she commented.

"Which, the Merc or the Alvis?" Adam said over his shoulder, from beside Humphrey.

"The Alvis, of course!" she replied. "I'll take a classic car any day. It reminds me that I'll want to get my Morgan out of mothballs."

"Well, it's waiting for you in the stable, under a dust sheet," he replied, as Humphrey eased the Range Rover forward a few feet, to the foot of the steps. "And if you'd like to drive the Alvis, I'm sure I can arrange that. It belongs to some young friends of mine. You remember Peregrine Lovat?''

"The portrait artist?"

"The very same. The Alvis was a bequest from his wife's godmother. I think you'll like Julia," he added. "She's the perfect match for Peregrine."

Cold air and the lively strains of country dance music assailed Adam as he left the car and opened Ximena's door to hand her out. With Humphrey's assistance, Philippa had already alighted from the other side of the car, regally cloaked in dark blue velvet over a floor-length tartan gown of silk taffeta that rustled as she moved.

Adam himself was no less resplendent, in a kilt of Sinclair tartan, wing-collared shirt, and a regulation doublet of black silk barathea, with hose also in Sinclair tartan. Light glinted from his shoe buckles and the silver mountings of the small dagger called a skean dubh, stuck in the top of his left stocking, and was echoed more subtly in the antique silver buttons of his doublet and the chains of a silver pocket watch swagged between the two pockets of his white waistcoat.

By contrast, Ximena's slim black velvet gown provided subtle counterpoint to the two Sinclairs' Highland finery - long-sleeved and demure in front, but slit from ankle to knee on one side and cut low in back under her short evening cape. The latter was an Edwardian confection of black silk faille and braid with fine jet beading, quite in keeping with her recent bereavement but also an exquisite fashion statement. Her only jewellery was her engagement ring and a pair of diamond ear studs lent her by Philippa for the evening, just visible beneath the wings of dark hair swept back at the sides and French-braided down the back, the tail tied with a bit of black velvet ribbon. A few hours' sleep and the careful application of makeup had all but erased any signs of undue fatigue.

"Darling, you look wonderful!" Adam murmured, pressing her palm to his lips before tucking her arm in his. "I shall be the envy of every man in the house."

"And I expect I shall have to fight off all the other women, when they see you in your kilt,'' she said, smiling as she pretended to adjust his white tie. "Do you realize I've never seen you in a kilt before? I think it may be even sexier than those riding breeches you were wearing, that second time I came up to your house. Did you think me very bold?"

"Certainly not!" he declared in mock indignation. "I was delighted to have found a physician who still makes house calls."

The sound of throat-clearing suddenly reminded him that Philippa was still waiting on the other side of the car with Humphrey.

"Sorry, we're coming," he said, containing a boyish grin as he led Ximena around to join them. "Philippa, do you know if provisions have been made for the drivers?"

"Yes, and I've already given Humphrey the details," she said indulgently. "Janet's laid on supper for them in the breakfast room. Humphrey, I don't expect we'll be very late - probably not much past one. Enjoy yourself until then."

"Very good, milady. And may I wish you all a happy new year."

"And the same to you, Humphrey," Adam said. "We'll see you in a few hours."

As Humphrey set off to park the car, Adam escorted Ximena and his mother up the steps and into the convivial warmth of the Frasers' entry hall, where their host was directing arriving guests into the drawing room. Sir Matthew Fraser, KBE, was a renowned surgeon and patron of the arts, in addition to being a childhood friend of Adam's. Tall, lean, and prematurely grey, the inspiration of many a wistful sigh among his female patients, he cut an indelibly romantic figure in his blue velvet doublet and kilt of red and blue Fraser tartan as he saw the Sinclairs and came rushing over.

"Philippa, you did persuade them to come!" he said, kissing her on both cheeks and then embracing Adam as he pumped his hand. "Adam, I'm delighted to see you. And Ximena - welcome back to Scotland!" he went on, sweeping a courtly bow over her hand.

As he and Adam helped the ladies out of their wraps, handing them off to one of Fraser's teenaged daughters, Adam was aware of heads turning in their direction. A waiter emerged from the drawing room bearing a silver tray laden with glasses of champagne, and at Matthew's hail in that direction, his wife materialized in the doorway - a vivacious, dark-haired vision in midnight-blue chiffon, diamonds at her throat and a red and blue silk Fraser sash brooched to her right shoulder. With a barely suppressed squeal of delight, she dashed across the hall to greet the new arrivals, enthusiastically hugging first Adam, then Philippa, and then taking Ximena's hand in both of hers to shake her head in grinning wonderment.

"Ximena, my dear, I am so glad you could join us tonight. And Adam darling, your timing couldn't have been more perfect - the dancing's just picking up momentum. I won't spoil your surprise by saying anything else just now - I'll let you choose your time and place - but do have some champagne and come in and mingle."

As the front door opened behind them to admit another couple, she reluctantly excused herself and went with her husband to greet them, leaving Adam and his ladies to help themselves to champagne and head on into the crowded drawing room. The music was coming from a large conservatory beyond, turned into a ballroom for the occasion, and they could see couples whirling in the patterns of a boisterous reel.

Heading vaguely in that direction, and waylaid several times by friends and professional colleagues come to be introduced to his striking companion, Adam managed to spot the Lovats early on, chatting amiably with one of Peregrine's recent clients near the doorway to the conservatory. Meanwhile, Philippa's attentions were claimed by an emeritus lecturer in neurology, likewise a former student of Jung, with whom she'd enjoyed a long-standing and comfortable flirtation.

As the neurologist whisked Philippa off to catch up on old times, Adam continued to work his way through the crowded room, Ximena at his side, caught up in the festive atmosphere. Eventually Peregrine noticed them and wound up his conversation, steering his wife over to join the new arrivals. Lovat being a sept of Clan Fraser, he was wearing a kilt in the brown hunting sett of his Fraser tartan, topped off by a bottle-green Montrose doublet. Julia's gown was a softer shade of moss-green, its scooped neckline and skirt flounced with double tiers of creamy lace - a stunning foil to her fair skin and red-gold hair.

"Hello, Julia," Adam said, kissing her on both cheeks. "You're looking radiant tonight. I'd like you to meet Ximena Lockhart. Peregrine, I believe you and Ximena met when she was last in Scotland."

"We did, indeed," Peregrine replied, as his wife smiled and extended her hand.

"Hello, Ximena," Julia said. "I'm very pleased to meet you at last. Would it be terribly trite of me to say that Peregrine has told me so much about you?"

"It was all gross exaggeration, I can assure you - both the good and the bad," Ximena replied with a smile. "Hello, Peregrine. It's good to see you again."

"And you," Peregrine said, bending over her hand with a grin and a courtly bow. "A usually reliable source tells me you may be here to stay."

An answering smile touched Ximena's lips as she drew Peregrine closer to kiss him on the cheek. "Knowing your source," she whispered, with a sidelong glance at Adam, "I'd say he's impeccably reliable. But please don't quote me on that until later tonight."

"My lips are sealed until you say otherwise," Peregrine promised. "Cross my heart." He made a crossing motion on the breast of his doublet. "Just don't make us wait too long," he added plaintively.

Laughing, the four of them drifted toward the conservatory, where the bandleader was inviting couples to take their places for Gay Gordons. As Julia seized Peregrine's hand and drew him toward the dance floor, assuring Ximena that the dance was not hard to follow, the wife of one of Adam's fellow opera supporters came bustling up to kiss him on both cheeks.

"Adam, my dear, I thought it was you! You Perthshire men always manage to cut such a dash, in your white waistcoats and white ties! What a splendid affectation! Come dance Gay Gordons with us! We need more couples. Don't worry, my dear, this one's easy," she added to Ximena, at her look of bewilderment. "Adam's a fine dancer. He'll talk you through it."

Chuckling his agreement, Adam led Ximena onto the dance floor, murmuring a quick sketch of the form of the dance as they took a place behind Peregrine and Julia, their left hands joined and right hands clasped behind Ximena's right shoulder. Perhaps twenty couples had lined up in a counterclockwise circle around the room by the time the music started.

After the opening chord, with its attendant bows and curtsies, the dance began with eight marching steps forward, turning after the first four to continue backward, then eight steps back, again with the pivot halfway through. Then Adam turned Ximena under his left arm for four bars while he executed a Highland setting step - and swept her into his arms for four bars of polka before they began the process all over again.

Ximena caught on quickly, and soon was executing her part of the dance with as much style as anyone else, laughing breathlessly by the time she and Adam exchanged bows at the closing chord. Beside them, a flushed and somewhat perturbed Julia drew up to inspect a rip in the hem of her lace flounce, where she had caught her heel toward the end of the dance.

"Oh, dear!" she murmured. "I was afraid I felt that tear. I knew I should have brought proper ghillies for dancing."

"I'm sorry, darling," Peregrine murmured. "Can it be fixed?"

"Oh, I expect so; but I don't know that I dare risk any more dancing tonight, in case it catches again and gets worse," Julia replied, disappointment in her voice.

"Now, now, let's not be rash," Ximena said, bending down for a closer look. "If all Scottish dancing is this much fun, you mustn't think of missing it! Lace is easy to fix - certainly within the skill of these surgeon's hands." Grinning, she twiddled her fingers in the air between them. "Do you know if there's somewhere we can retreat to make repairs?"

An appeal to Janet resulted in a three-woman expedition to an upstairs bedroom, where Ximena delved into her evening bag and produced a miniature sewing kit before Janet could even find a spool of thread.

"Now I am impressed!" Janet exclaimed. "Not only is she beautiful and witty, but she comes prepared!"

Smiling impishly, Ximena shrugged the compliment aside and reeled off a length of ivory thread. "It's always seemed to me that a surgeon should keep a needle and thread handy at all times."

"Tell that to my husband," Janet said archly. "He won't even sew on a button in a pinch!"

"Ah, but he's used to having his surgeries nicely scheduled," Ximena said with a rueful chuckle, threading up a needle. "When you work in trauma, you have to be ready for anything, any time. And I have to say, my own state of preparedness in this regard goes back to long before I became a doctor. In my younger days, I used to do quite a bit of rock-scrambling - archaeology field trips and the like. That sort of thing can be really hard on your clothes."

Her tone implied a whole range of sartorial mishaps, and Julia laughed as Ximena bent to begin mending the lace flounce.

"Adam never mentioned you had an interest in historical monuments. Have you had much chance to go out hill-walking here in Scotland? You could do a whole tour of the West organized around castle ruins and standing stones."

"So I hear," Ximena agreed. "No, I'm afraid I haven't done much exploring at all. The last time I was here, I let work rule my life. That's one mistake I don't intend to make again."

"There's a certain baronet who could stand to learn that lesson," Janet remarked. "I'm glad he's found you, Ximena." "So am I," Ximena said with a tiny smile, keeping her gaze firmly on her work.

When the repairs to Julia's hem had been completed, the three women made their way back down to the conservatory, still chatting companionably. The dancing continued for a while longer before the band adjourned to take a break. During the interval, while a pair of waiters topped up champagne glasses, the Frasers' two daughters began circulating among the guests with trays of savories - smoked salmon on buttered brown bread, thin slices of toast spread with wild venison pate, and oatcakes topped with haggis, prelude to the buffet that would follow shortly after midnight.

When everyone's glass had been charged, a dapper and handsome Matthew Fraser moved to the center of the room and tapped resoundingly on the side of a glass. As all eyes turned toward him and conversation subsided, Janet came to slip her arm through his, beaming with secret delight.

"My lords, ladies, and gentlemen," Matthew announced, "first of all, Janet and I should like to take this opportunity to thank you for joining us this evening. Initially, this little party of ours was intended simply to celebrate the coming of the new year, which is still about half an hour away. However, it has come to my attention that we have another reason to celebrate tonight. Having no wish to keep you in suspense, I now call upon my dear friend and most respected colleague, Sir Adam Sinclair. He has a very important announcement to make - one which a good many of us have been awaiting for a very long time. Adam?" The ensuing announcement, transmitted by way of a listening device planted earlier that day by a woman posing as one of the caterers, was picked up by a surveillance team operating out of a panel van parked beyond the Erasers' garden wall. The black-clad man listening at the receiving console pressed one hand to his earpiece as he turned to his companion and grinned.

"Well, well, Sinclair is announcing his engagement. This should add some spice to our report. Must be that black-haired bit of stuff we saw him walk in with."

He adjusted the tuning and listened a moment longer.

"Name's Ximena Lockhart," he dictated over his shoulder to his assistant. "Doctor Lockhart. Who'd have thought a package like that would come equipped with brains? American, too, judging by the accent. Sinclair must have been a very busy boy while he was away."

"I'll say," his companion agreed. "Well, the boss is going to be very interested when he hears about this. Just think of the possibilities!"