“Uh…” he wanted more information.
“So, Mr. Niloofar, you want my husband to help you murder the Daleroch clan by ingratiating you into the community, being a medical practitioner in the area, helping you become good buddies, and killing them all? Then he has to help you find a missing chest buried on the Daleroch estate?” she surmised, laying out the the basics for her husband. Eoin shrugged and nodded.
“Crivens! Get tae feck oot!” Fearchar set the scroll down, horrified. Eoin shook his head. “Fir why the Daleroch? Ah mean, Ah don’na’ care f’r the chief or ‘is lads, but tha’s a wee clatty if ye ask me,” Fearchar launched himself from his chair to pace the length of the tiny room. Twice up and twice down the distance saw him return to his seat to poke at the scroll once more.
If you don’t want in on this, give me my money back, Eoin demanded.
“Haud up there, Waerd. Gol’s got a shine ta it,” Seonaid waved him down. Eoin’s hand fluttered. He watched the woman warily.
” ‘Ave taken rather bit a fancy ta it,” Fearchar nodded to his wife with a wobbly smile.
A knock at the door sent Eoin’s heart racing. “Oh!” Seonaid huffed at the interruption. She drew in a frustrated breath and shook out her skirts as she went to the door. Eoin grabbed hurriedly for the scroll and rolled it up, stuffing it back under his cloak.
Another man, shorter than the last one, came in and nodded to Fearchar, embarrassed. His ruddy features were only worsened by red patches of flaking skin on his cheeks and cracked lips. The cold could really dig in. Fear waved at the man before turning back to Eoin. The doc flinched as the door to the bedroom clicked shut.
“She’s raised in London. Da’s French, mum’s Scottish. ‘ad schule ‘n e’erythin’. Supposed ta marry some uppity prick ‘n bear him lo’s a’ bairns. She ran ‘way the day ‘fore her weddin’. Could’na stand ‘im, could’na stand ‘is family, could’na stand the idea a bein’ some brood mare. Din’nae ‘elp that she figured out she was barren later.