THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

she thanked and complained on a regular basis, and He, on rare occasions, acquiesced and answered a prayer.
    She sighed and turned the page. “What’s this?” Before her disbelieving eyes was written a decidedly clever but cold-blooded plot for murder.
    ~#~
     
    Duncan squinted against the blinding sunlight bouncing off the sea as he paced the parapet.
    Since muttering “thank you” yesterday, Beth had thrice spun around and looked him in the eye. Once, she’d even had the audacity to wave and wink! He shuddered.
    Had she the sight ? Nay. Surely. To aggravate him further, the wee ferret had found his diaries. He would now have to keep an even closer eye on her.
    He raised his gaze and saw Beth standing on Drasmoor’s quay, dressed in a bright yellow slicker and rubber boots. “Finally.”
    His agitation grew as she made her way across the bay to the castle. She maneuvered the launch, which sat gunwale deep in the water and was nigh on to overflowing with packages, like a drunkard, weaving right then left, and on more than one occasion completely broadside to on-coming breakers. His heart was in his throat by the time she docked.
    “The daft woman should be kept under lock and key for her own good.”
    He took the spiraling stairs two at a time to the great hall, his determination to call her to task for risking her life growing with each step. Her knowing of his existence and grinning about it was one thing. Suffering the fury of his wrath in the next few minutes would be another, entirely. “And obey me she will, by God! For she be woman, and I, her laird, be man !”
    He charged into the great hall just as Beth, looking disgustingly pleased with herself, with her arms loaded with packages, came in from the opposite doorway. Before he could roar his displeasure, Will Frasier dropped the wires he held for his father and yelled, “My lady! Let me help ye with those.”
    A piercing scream then rocked the chandeliers.
    They spun and found the elder Bart Frasier—caught in a web of arcing wires—-vibrating like a crazed puppet, his face contorted into a ghastly mask of agony. Acrid smoke filled the air.
    “ Da! ” Will bellowed. 
    Beth, screaming, opened her arms. Her packages toppled as her booted foot slammed into the old man’s chest. Freed from the killing current, Bart dropped like a felled tree to the floor.
    Dodging the dangling, still sparking wires, Beth crouched at the old man’s side. “Oh, God. Please, God,” she pleaded, while running trembling fingers along Fraser’s neck. She listened to the man’s chest, and then threw her cell phone at Frasier’s son. “Call for help!”
    To Duncan’s shock, Beth next tipped back the electrician’s head, swiped the foamy spittle from his lips, and started blowing into the dead man’s blue mouth. Not once, but repeatedly. To Duncan’s utter amazement, Frasier’s mottled skin began to pink.
    Beth stopped breathing into Bart’s mouth and again ran her fingers along his neck.
      Will collapsed to his knees beside her. “The police are coming.”
      Beth nodded and breathed again into the old man.
      “Is he alive?” Will asked. “Will he be all right? Ack! ‘Tis all my fault.”
      Beth, looking no less terrified than the son, didn’t answer but pressed her ear to the elder Fraiser’s chest. When she lifted her head a quivering smile took shape. “He’s breathing on his own now.”
    Duncan rocked back in surprise. ‘Twas a bloody miracle!
    Young Frasier’s tears started falling in earnest as he caressed his father’s brow. “Da, I’m so sorry.” To Beth he said, “Thank you.”
    Within minutes the police launch arrived. They secured the still unconscious Fraser onto a board and shuttled him out.
    On the quay, Duncan stood at Beth’s side as she waved the men off. He then followed her hunched-shouldered progress into the keep, up and out on to the parapet.
    As she watched the police launch cross the bay—her face now a horrid mess of black streaks—she whispered, “Go with God.”  
    His odd but brave wee heir then began to quake and sob in heartbreaking earnest.
    Deciding she should not, he murmured at a volume she might hear, “There’s no need for tears, lass, for ye did well. Verra well, indeed.”
     
    Heart once again bounding, Beth jerked. Did Duncan Angus MacDougall, her resident voyeur, just speak to her? She held her breath while every nerve in her body focused on hearing.
    She turned, hoping. Her gaze