Aye, he was doing God’s good work, but should a man not take pride in what he did? Or take a moment of enjoyment from it?
Did a carpenter not stand back to look at what he’d created with a good measure of pride? Did the baker not enjoy his task and make a jest or two with his customers? He sincerely believed that a man ought to enjoy the work he did.
And he was going to sincerely, truly enjoy taking Keevah life from her.
His heart was still happily beating against his chest after killing Forveleth. Oh, he could go days or weeks even, drunk on the heady scent of fresh blood, reliving the moment over and over again. Satisfied for days, if not weeks.
Keevah, he decided, was heaven sent. If God didn’t want her dead, then he wouldn’t have put her in his path.
Not once in all these months had he veered from his plans. Each kill was methodically planned, gone over in his mind repeatedly, planning for every contingency. He took great pride in his work, after all.
Just as a carpenter makes painstaking plans to build a cabinet or trunk or chair, he made painstaking plans for each kill. Sometimes he would plan two at a time, always one step ahead. Three of his kills had taken weeks to plan, but only moments to enact.
But Keevah? Something told him he’d have to plan a bit more quickly. With the experience of the seven kills, he felt confident that just this once, he could work more quickly to set his plan in motion.
But the killing? He would take his sweet time with the killing.
Aye, he was going to thoroughly enjoy killing her.
Chapter Fourteen
Keevah woke before dawn and for the first time in an age, she actually felt well rested. Feeling far too warm and content, she lay in the early morning hours, watching her daughter sleep next to her. Lachlan was just across the way, on his back, with one leg drawn up. Even in his sleep, he was a handsome man.
His blond hair was pulled away from his face, gathered into a bit of leather, the rest falling across his shoulders. A longing, deep and intense, tugged at her heart. He was the man she would give anything to spend the rest of her life with. The man she wanted to have children with.
If he had shown her anything in the past two days it was his unyielding sense of duty. He’d also proven time and again, that her past -which was now thoroughly entwined with her present - truly didn’t matter to him. If he didn’t love her, he would have left by now.
And the way he was with Brigid? Playful, adoring, almost doting. Like a good father should be.
She knew he knew the truth about Brigid. She had seen it in his eyes the first time he saw her. As yet, he hadn’t mentioned it and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. Mulling it over for some time, she decided ’twas just Lachlan being honorable. Besides, they truly hadn’t had a moment alone in order to have that discussion.
Still, she worried, deep down, he might not be able to forgive her for giving away her child. For now, he was keeping them safe until they had properly buried Kiernan. Once that task was done, he would see her safely back to the MacCullough keep.
Then he would leave.
He would go on with his life and she with hers.
’Twas too painful to think about. She’d been given a taste of what her life would be like without him in the weeks they’d been separated. And now, God was giving her a glimpse at what could be, merely to punish and torment her for her sins. Mayhap, had she not chosen the life of prostitution …
She had to force herself to push all those ‘what ifs’ aside. ’Twas simply unbearable. Instead, she had to focus on what was to be. She would take Brigid back to her home with the MacCulloughs and raise her as her own. And if anyone were to question why the child resembled her so closely, she would simply tell them one little lie; she is my niece, my sister’s babe. ’Twas only a half-truth. Aye, lying was a sin. She’d simply add that to the long list of other sins she’d committed in her seven and twenty years on God’s earth. What was one more sin among the many?
Brigid snuggled in closer, burrowing under the heavy blanket. Lord, how grateful she was the child felt safe with her. Last night, during the evening meal, she had broken down into tears, missing her mum. ’Twas gut wrenching to see the child so upset. All she or Lachlan could do was hug her and offer words of comfort.
Sharing a few stories from their childhood together seemed to lift Brigid’s spirits. She actually managed to giggle when Keevah had told her about the time she and her mum got their bottoms paddled for sneaking into the Burly Bear tavern when they should have been sleeping.
That was a lifetime ago. Oh, how she wished she could go back to those carefree days. To see her parents dance in the candlelight, so much in love with one another. To see her brothers running and playing together.
She had to push those thoughts aside as well. Thinking about the past was just as painful as thinking about the future.
Floating in from the alley below were the sounds of the city coming awake. She could hear women talking as they tended to their morning chores. This in turn made her think of Forveleth and all the others, sending shivers of dread racing up and down her spine.
Lord, I pray there are no more women killed by this madman! I dunnae care if ye strike him dead or if ye help Ewan to catch him. But please, make him stop.
Brigid was of the belief that if she were awake, then everyone else should be as well. She smiled sleepily at Keevah and declared the need to relieve her bladder.
After helping the child tend to her morning ablutions, Brigid crawled on top of Lachlan. He feigned sleep.
“’Tis time to wake, Laird Lachlan,” she said.
He snored loudly which made her giggle. “I want to play,” she told him.
He snored again.
Brigid looked to Keevah for help. “He will nae wake up.”
“Mayhap ye should try ticklin’ him?” Keevah said as she began to tickle Lachlan’s ribs. He retaliated by growling playfully as he tickled Brigid. She giggled and said, “I did nae tickle ye! She did!”
A moment later, he grabbed Keevah and pulled her into the bed. Giving her a bit of her own medicine, he tickled her ribs until she begged him to stop.
Murdoch woke during the melee. With a heavy sigh, he said, “Some of us are tryin’ to sleep.”
They ignored him and continued their horseplay.
Gruffly, he got to his feet and quit the room, cursing under his breath.
It hit Lachlan then, like a bolt of lightning. This. This is what I want our lives to be. The sheer joy in Keevah’s eyes tugged at his heart. Laughing, playing with her daughter. This is the life she should have had all along.
Without much thought, he pulled her to his chest and held tight.
When she saw the look in his eyes, her smile faded, turning to a blend of fear and confusion. “What is wrong?” she asked.
“I want to kiss ye,” he said, his voice not but a low whisper. “If ye will allow it.”
Later, years later, she might admit the truth of the matter. But for now, she tried to convince herself ’twas naught more than curiosity that made her nod her head.
His lips, hot, soft, touched hers. Tenderly, oh so very tenderly. The entire world faded away and there was no one but the two of them.
She’d been kissed many times, by many different men.
But this?
Nay, this was not like any other. Soft, warm, sweet, and tender. Just a hint of what could be if she were to ever let her guard down or let her heart feel exactly what it wanted to.
All at once she felt blissfully happy, content, safe, curious, excited.
Then he stopped. Pulled away. Just. Like. That.
She did the unexpected then and kissed him. Just as sweetly as he’d kissed her. And all those wonderful feelings came rushing in again.
’Twas Brigid’s innocent giggle that brought her back to the here and now. “Are ye two gettin’ in love?” She scrunched her shoulders and continued to giggle.
Neither one of them were brave e
nough to answer the question. Oh, they knew the answer. But fear kept them from voicing it.
Long after the nooning meal, while Brigid napped peacefully on the cot, Lachlan and Keevah sat near the brazier. For a long while, neither of them said a word. The kiss had affected each of them in ways neither could have foreseen.
Wanting very much not to broach the subject that hung in the air like smoke from a blazing fire, she decided to talk about the murdered women. ’Twas a far easier topic than the kiss or how it might or might not affect their future.
“Have ye heard from Ewan or Murdoch?” She tried to sound indifferent, but knew she’d failed miserably.
“Nay,” he said with a shake of his head. He was staring at the fire, lost, she surmised from his blank expression and focused gaze, in his own thoughts.
“I have been thinkin’,” she said, scooting her chair a bit closer to his so that she might speak more softly. “Why?”
“Why what?” he asked, his gaze still focused on the flames.
“Why do ye suppose he does it?”
He turned to look at her, his brow knotted in confusion. “What does it matter?”
“Ye see, I was thinkin’ if we could figure out the ‘why’ we might be able to figure out the ‘who’.” She thought it a most excellent concept. Lachlan, however, seemed perplexed.
“He kills because he is insane.”
As if that explained everything. Rolling her eyes, she scooted even closer. “Men kill for all sorts of reasons, Lachlan. They kill for gold, or they kill in battle. Some might kill out of jealousy or vengeance. Aye?”
“Aye,” he said, drawing the word out as if he were trying to catch up to her way of thinking.
“But this man? He kills former prostitutes. Women with at least one child. Why them? If ’tis the prostitutes he hates, why nae kill those who are actually prostitutes? Why kill only women who used to be?”
He gave it a good deal of thought. In the end, he had no earthly idea and admitted such.
“It does nae make any sense,” she told him.
“I agree, it does nae. Mayhap if Ewan ever catches him, he can ask him.”
Her eyes grew wide with excitement. “Och! I would love to hear that conversation!”
“Are ye daft?” he exclaimed, his voice louder than he wanted.
They both looked to see if they’d awakened Brigid. Seeing she was still fast asleep, Keevah answered his question. “Nay, but I am curious. I cannae explain why, but I am.”
He scratched the back of his neck as he shook his head. “I am nae curious as to the why,” he told her. “But I would sure as hell like to know who. I pray Ewan is able to stop this fiend before he kills again.”
“And why only in the morning?” she wondered aloud. “And where does he kill them? It cannae be far. All of the bodies have been found verra close together. How far could he go, carryin’ a dead woman, without bein’ noticed?”
While he could agree she was asking some very intelligent questions, he found the entire topic macabre. “Keevah, we need to away this place.” He didn’t wait for her to protest. “Neither of us can afford to wait until spring. What if Dermott comes lookin’ for Brigid?”
She hated the fact that he was right. The longer they stayed, the greater the risk of Dermott either seeing them or discovering where they were. “Can ye give me one more day?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said, unable to deny such a simple request. “And I will also give ye a promise.”
She tilted her head to one side, most curious.
“If we cannae bury yer friend on the morrow, I promise to bring ye back in the spring.”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “But I fear she cannae wait that long,” she told him. The thought of her friend not being properly buried made her want to weep.
“The friars will take care of her,” he told her, placing a heavy arm around her shoulders. “Ewan gave me his word.”
Swiping away her tears, she finally acquiesced. “I ken ye are right, Lachlan. But I find no comfort in it.”
“I ken, lass. I ken.”
Chapter Fifteen
Keevah decided to take advantage of the quiet and left Lachlan with Brigid to go below stairs. She needed time to think, to parse out everything taking place in her life right now.
On the landing, she met a young woman coming out of one of the bedchambers. Keevah didn’t recognize her. But then, many of the people she knew from her time here had moved on or left the business entirely.
She was a very pretty lass, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She wore a dark purple gown, the hem and sleeves trimmed in gold, Although Keevah didn’t know her, she apparently knew about Keevah. “I am terribly sorry to hear about yer friend,” she said sincerely.
Keevah thanked her.
“I am Clarice,” she said. “Euphemie speaks very highly of ye.”
“She is a good woman,” Keevah said with a fond smile. She took note then of the satchel in one hand and her cloak draped over the other. “Are ye goin’ somewhere?”
“I am,” she said. “I cannae wait to be gone from here.” She shivered as if she were repulsed.
“I dunnae understand,” Keevah said. The Tickled Pickle was the finest establishment in all of Inverness.
With wide eyes, Clarice said, “Have ye nae heard about the Slasher?”
So they have given him a name. “Is that what they are callin’ him?”
Nodding, she answered in the affirmative. “I want as far away from here as I can get. ’Tis too terrifyin’ now to even step foot out of doors in broad daylight, let alone after dark.”
She couldn’t blame her for her concern. “Did ye ken any of the women who were killed?”
“I knew two of them,” she said as she glanced over the railing to the greeting room below.
The woman was clearly nervous, and who could blame her.
“Where will ye go?”
“Edinburgh,” she replied. “I have family there.
“How will ye get there?”
Nervously, Clarice shifted the satchel from one hand to the other. “I have a friend who is takin’ me. He should be here soon.”
The sound of a door closing below stairs startled the poor young woman. She jumped, clutching her satchel to her chest, her eyes darting here and there.
“Mayhap ye would like a bit of warm cider while ye wait for yer friend,” Keevah suggested.
“Or mayhap a large dram of whisky,” she said, holding her hand to her chest.
Keevah smiled warmly. “I think we can arrange that.”
Keevah and Clarice sat in the quiet kitchen. Keevah had a large mug of warm cider while Clarice sipped on whisky.
“I am certain the madman will be caught soon,” Keevah said, doing her best to be positive and encouraging.
Clarice shook her head. “They will never catch him. He is too smart.”
“What makes ye say that?” Keevah asked.
“He has killed more than a dozen women,” she told her.
Believing ’twas exaggerated rumors the woman spoke of, Keevah corrected her. “There have only been seven.”
“Nay,” Clarice argued. “There were others. The killin’ started a year ago. Did ye nay ken that?”
As far as she knew, the killings had begun only a few months ago. “But Ewan said there have only been seven. The killin’ started in September. What makes ye think there are more?”
Clarice downed the rest of her whisky and immediately poured another. “Because one of them lived.”
Stunned, Keevah leaned over the table, her eyes wide. “Lived?” Ewan never mentioned that.
“Aye, she did.” Clarice stared at the mug in her hands as she slowly shook her head back and forth.
“Who is she? How did she survive?”
“Her name is Dierdre MacAllister,” she said before taking a long pull of the amber liquid. “She has nae been the same since the attack.”
“Ye ken her? Ye have talked to her?”
Nodding her head slowly, she said, “Euphemie, Dora, and I did. Charles was the one to find her. He brought her here.”
Keevah’s mouth fell open. Why hadn’t Euphemie told her this? “What happened?”
Another long pull emptied her cup. She poured herself another. “I do nae like to talk about it.”
“Please, I want to help. We need to stop this man from killin’ again.”
“Like I said, they will never catch him. He is too smart.”
Keevah refused to accept it.
Clarice drained the entire contents of her mug and slammed it down on the table. “I must go. He will be here soon.” She stood up and grabbed her cloak from the back of the chair. “Ye should leave, Keevah. As soon as ye can. This monster is not done killin’.”
“Please, ye must tell me what ye know,” Keevah pleaded. If there truly was a survivor then she might be able to tell them important details that would lead to the man’s capture.
“Talk to Euphemie,” Clarice said as she picked her satchel up from the floor. “Talk to Euphemie.”
The muffled sound of winter made the silence Keevah found in the greeting room even eerier. The space was empty, which was odd for this time of day.
A low burning fire crackled in the hearth. Candles flickered ever so gently. Keevah shivered and drew her shawl more tightly around her shoulders. No one was about, save for Euphemie and Charles. They were speaking in hushed tones near the entry doors.
Keevah couldn’t hear what they were saying but it must have been rather serious. Charles’s face was unreadable, as always. But Euphemie? She looked bloody angry.
When their conversation ended, Charles nodded before he left the room and headed down the hallway. Euphemie saw Keevah and her expression changed. Her smile, however, didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I need to talk to ye,” Keevah said.
“I dunnae have time right now,” Euphemie said as she started across the room.
“Please, Euphemie, ’tis important.”
Lachlan's Heart: Book Two of The MacCulloughs Page 13
