Page 89 of A Scot in the Storm
“Jamie Hunter. Donald Keith. Gregor Keith. The Simpson lad. Aikman from Boddam hired for the run.”
“Survivors?”
“Iain Simpson. Gregor Keith with a broken arm. Aikman. Two cracked ribs.”
“Lost?”
“Jamie Hunter recovered below the Wine Tower.” Rory kept his voice level. “Donald Keith lost to the sea.”
Cathcart nodded once and wrote steadily onward.
Outside, somewhere in the yard, a hammer rang twice against iron.
Then came the turn Rory had been waiting for since the coach appeared through the fog.
Cathcart folded his hands lightly atop the ledger.
“The woman you found upon the rocks claims memory loss?”
“She remembers some things clearly enough.” Rory kept his expression neutral. “Others no’ at all.”
“And ye believe that?”
Rory met the magistrate’s eyes directly.
“Aye.”
Cathcart studied him a moment longer than comfort allowed.
“She’s foreign.”
“Aye. From America.”
“No papers?”
“No.”
“No family claiming her.”
“No.”
“No vessel reported missing from the Americas?”
“No.” Rory resisted the urge to fidget under Cathcart’s gaze.
“And yet ye’ve permitted her unrestricted access to a government works site.”
The room cooled slightly around the words.
Rory leaned back carefully in the chair, shoulder protesting.
“She’s no’ unrestricted.”
One pale brow lifted faintly.
“She works in the workshop under supervision.”
“Yours.”
