by Megan McCoy
Ailsa shook her head. “I asked Alec if he could open it, but when he saw the box it was like he had seen it before and he said he was too busy.”
Ian looked at the paperclip. “You won’t get it with that.” He left the room, coming back a short time later with an apple and a screwdriver.
He inserted the flat head into the lock at an angle and gently lifted the locking mechanism, turning it ninety degrees until the lock popped open.
Ailsa laughed. “That’s downright criminal. Just another skill I didn’t know you had.”
He kissed her somewhat roughly on the mouth before taking a bite of his apple. “I have a lot of skills, lass,” he said, cocking his eyebrow. His innuendo not lost. “Now open your treasure.”
“I almost feel guilty not waiting for Izzy, but the suspense is killing me.” She lifted the latch on the box, the hinges on the lid creaked from years of disuse and the stringent and piquant smell of camphor assaulted their nostrils. Ailsa sneezed as she looked inside.
“Bless you,” Ian said, wiping his own watery eyes with the back of his hand. “It will be from the wood. It was used back in the day to keep out bugs. It obviously hasn’t been opened for a while.”
Ailsa looked in, her shoulders slumped. “It’s empty,” she said, her mood dampening.
Ian peered over her shoulder. “Wait.” He pushed on the floor of the chest in the corner and the edge raised slightly; taking the screwdriver, he pried it off the rest of the way. “It has a false bottom.”
“Something’s in there,” she said, reaching in and pulling out a jagged piece of silver. She held it up to the light. “It looks like a coin that’s been cut in half. Something’s been inscribed on it.” She squinted, trying to read the tiny script. “The Lord between while one from-” She looked over at Ian. “That doesn’t make any sense. The rest of it must be on the other half.”
His face had gone ashen.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
His brows drew together in a frown. “Yes.”
Ailsa continued to examine the coin. “There’s a name on the back. Cora.”
Ian leaned over to take a look.
“I wonder who Cora is?” she asked, her excitement growing.
“I guess we’ll never know.” He took the coin from her rather abruptly and put it back in the box.
“What do you mean we’ll never know? We have to try and find the owner.”
“It’s just an old box. It could have come from anywhere.” He shook his head as if he were thrown off balance by the news.
“That’s the point. We’ll ask around. We know it wasn’t in the water long.”
“Leave it alone, Ailsa.” His voice raised slightly.
“Why?” She looked at him puzzled. His demeanor now seemed to match Alec’s, in that, wherever and whomever this box and coin belonged to, they wanted nothing to do with it.
“Because sometimes there’s no point in dredging up the past. Whoever got rid of it might have their reasons.”
“I’m not asking you to look into it. Izzy and I found the box. It’s our mystery.” She grabbed the chest off of the table, clutching it possessively.
“And I’m telling you to leave it alone and keep Izzy out of it.” He gave her a sharp look.
“Or what?” She knew she was crossing into dangerous territory and was testing his patience.
“Ailsa, I’m not asking. You’ll stay out of it,” he demanded impatiently. He stood up, not taking his eyes off of her. His sheer presence imposing, he expected an answer.
“Fine,” she relented, but still held on tight to her new possession.
His eyes shone as the corner of his mouth quirked up a smidge. “Fine?” he repeated, folding his arms across his chest, clearly not satisfied with her response.
She knew he was enjoying his sudden show of power. “Yes, sir.” They hadn’t had an exchange like that in over nine months.
“That’s my girl,” he said, gently running his knuckles down the side of her face. “I need to go talk with James before he leaves for Edinburgh.”
“Take him his Christmas present. It’s under the tree.” She motioned with her head. James was Ian’s PPO and assistant, and if truth be told, he was Ian’s best friend.
“What did we get him?” Ian smiled, picking up the brightly wrapped present.
“A bottle of very fine single malt scotch.”
“Good choice. You know I don’t think I’ve ever given him a Christmas present.”
“I know,” she said reproachfully. “Some of your staff refer to you as Scrooge.”
“Am I that bad?”
She didn’t say anything.
He came over to her and bent down kissing her on the lips. “Then I’m lucky I have you to reform me.” He held the box up. “Thank you for thinking of James.”
He started to leave, pausing at the door he turned back to her. “And thank you for listening to me about leaving the box alone.”
The disquiet in her gut grew. There was something he was not telling her and she had a feeling his dislike of Christmas and the half of the coin were somehow connected. The question was who had the other half? Promise or no promise she was determined to find out.
Chapter 4
Ailsa flipped the coin from hand to hand as she wracked her brain on where to begin. If only it could talk, she was sure it would have an incredible story to tell. She held it up to the light. Cora. The name sat at the edge of her mind, just out of reach. She knew she had read or heard it recently, but for the life of her she just couldn’t remember. She walked around the room looking for anything that would jog her memory or inspire her. Cora. The late afternoon light shone through the window as the sun began its descent in the sky. It caught the crystals in the star on top of the tree casting the room in iridescent colors and clearing the fog in her brain. That was it. She had seen the name in the attic.
She grabbed the baby monitor and practically ran up the two flights of stairs and down the hallway to the attic door. If anyone asked what she was doing, she would tell them she was looking for more decorations. Going up the last staircase, she found herself again in the dark and dusty room. It seemed to stretch on forever. She pulled the chain hanging down from the low ceiling and a single lightbulb lit up the area in a weak glow. She and Izzy had kept mainly to the right side of the room, so she returned there and began rummaging around.
There it sat, pushed up against a wooden beam, a framed cross stitch of Ian’s family tree. Ailsa ran her hand over the tenuous threads that weaved together a history of names and dates, bound forever through births, marriages and deaths. She found Cora at the bottom. Donald Angus McLennan m. Cora Eleanor James 1942 and underneath were the names Malcolm McLennan, Flora McLennan, and Arthur McLennan. That was the end of the tree. No more names extended down. If she was reading it right, it was safe to assume that Cora was Ian’s grandmother.
A faint cry came through the baby monitor. Robbie was stirring from his nap. Ailsa set the frame down and wiped her hands on her shirt. Turning off the light, she hurried down the stairs to his nursery. “There’s my wee man.” She picked him up, smiling. “Mommy’s got a secret,” she said into his downy hair as she kissed him. “I’ve got myself a Christmas mystery.”
Ian stayed in his office, he had poured himself a whiskey, but it sat untouched on his desk, the subtle scent of smoke and peat tinged the air. His mind was elsewhere. Lost in the past as it reared its ugly head. Was it blackmail? Though, if someone were blackmailing him, it would be an unusual method in which to carry it out. James didn’t seem to think so, when Ian told him about the box.
“There’s been no threats against you or the duchess since, well, Al-Saad,” James had said sadly. They never spoke of Al-Saad out of a common grief the entire household shared. The terrorist who had threatened Ailsa’s life on numerous occasions last year was killed by one of their own agents, Robert McFadden, but in doing so, it cost him his own life. The thought of him was still too painful. “Anyw
ay, anyone blackmailing you would come right out and state their demands not send a box to be washed up on shore.”
Still, it unsettled him. He rarely let himself think of the past and, in fact, had all but pushed the night from so long ago, from his memory until today. That was the problem with deception, once hatched it never fully went away, no matter how hard you tried to hide it. It sat there waiting for the most inopportune moment to slither from its dark cave. Subversive in its nature as it slowly constricts the very breath from you.
The image of his father still in his pajamas and robe, slumped dead in his leather armchair with a similar box in his lap, sat heavy on his heart. It had been Christmas morning, though there were no decorations nor a tree. They had lost Ian’s younger sister just months before in a tragic accident in the loch. There had been no reason to celebrate. He wasn’t surprised to find his father gone, he had all but given up on life the day Morgan died. She had been his pride and joy. It was the box and its venomous lies that changed everything. Powerful and vicious, he’d hidden the box, silencing the hiss of its wicked truth. Or so he thought. Where had this other box come from and why had it shown up now?
He rubbed his face with his hands, shaking off the thought. He had spent the last eight years avoiding the legitimacy of this serpent. As long as he skipped Christmas, he had been able to keep it at bay. However, it was different now with Ailsa and Robbie. He owed them more. He had Ailsa’s word that she would leave it alone. He vowed to himself if he could make it through this Christmas, Hogmanay would be here before he knew it. A time for new beginnings.
He unlocked the top drawer on his desk and reached toward the back pulling out a black velvet pouch. He undid the string and let it fall open, running his finger over the other half of the silver coin. It was not but a trinket, but when joined together its bite could prove to be deadly.
Chapter 5
Ailsa awoke with a plan. Mrs. Innes had agreed to watch Robbie for her, she had told the retired housekeeper she needed to do some shopping in town. Instead, armed with two baskets of homemade Christmas treats, she was off to visit Andrew Brown and Prune Campbell. They being the only tenants old enough to remember Cora, she surmised.
The drive to Andrew Brown’s croft was a short one as he lived on Glen Torridon property. She parked the Land Rover next to a rickety fence that had seen better days and got out of the car. A soft mist clouded the sky and smoke from the chimney curled its way through the damp haze. It would rain soon, she thought as she pulled her hood up.
She didn’t have to knock, Andrew must have heard the car because he opened the door. “Duchess,” he exclaimed surprised. “How can I help you?”
“I’m just delivering some Christmas treats.” She held up the basket. “Cookies and a fruit cake.”
“Well, come in, come in.” He opened the door wide, guiding her with his hand. “Let me put the kettle on. It’s a right dreich day.”
Ailsa laid the basket on the table. His little place was remarkably neat, the tiny kitchen was clean and the sitting room, while crammed wall to wall with books, had the appearance of organized chaos. She wouldn’t doubt he knew exactly where to find each one. He cleared a newspaper off an armchair by the fire. “Sit down, my lady.”
“Please, call me Ailsa.”
“I don’t ken what I did to deserve this, Ailsa. First, His Grace came yesterday and now you today.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by earlier.”
“Nonsense,” he said, brushing it aside. The kettle began to whistle. “How do you take your tea?”
“Black is fine.”
He handed her a steaming mug and a shortbread cookie from the basket and sat down in a wingback chair next to her. He smoothed the striped tie around his neck, his slacks and suspenders reminiscent of an age when men dressed well every day, regardless of the occasion, and he took a sip from his own cup. “It’s been a while since the Big Hoose celebrated Christmas.”
If she was worried about how to bring up the past, he just opened the door. “I can only imagine what the castle must have looked like back in the day all fitted out with lights.”
“Aye, it was grand.”
“Ian wasn’t keen to decorate. I’m afraid I’ve pushed him into it.”
He swallowed his mouthful of tea, wiping a crumb from his lip with the back of his hand. “I suppose it would be hard for the lad given the circumstance.”
Ailsa wondered what exactly he meant. What circumstance? “I thought since he had his own son now...” she let the thought trail off uncertain how to proceed.
“Aye, well. The babe will help for sure, but one never really gets over the death of a parent, you ken, especially on Christmas day, and having just lost his sister too. I guess the memories are too painful.”
Ailsa bit the inside of her lip. She knew Ian had lost his dad, but not that it was on Christmas. Why wouldn’t he tell her this? “I suppose you’re right, Mr. Brown.”
He set his cup down, shaking his head. “No, you’re right to decorate. It’s time he moves forward for you and the wee bairn.”
“You’ll remember Ian’s grandparents then, Donald and Cora.” She hoped to change the subject. This new revelation upsetting in the fact Ian didn’t trust her with it.
A shadow briefly passed over his eyes, but he was quick to smile. “Oh aye. I was just a lad when they married. It was during the war. I was too young to fight, but I helped out, working the farm and sheep.”
“How did they meet?” she asked.
He paused, scratching his chin. “I’m not exactly sure. The war had taken its toll, but when Cora arrived, it was like seeing sunshine after months of rain. She lit the whole place up, but it was her strength I remember the most.” He looked Ailsa up and down regarding her. “You remind me of her. Your strength that is.”
Ailsa smiled at the compliment. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Aye, it’s true.”
“Mr. Brown,” she said, pulling the coin from her pocket. “Have you ever seen anything like this?” She held out her palm.
He leaned forward, pushing his glasses up on his nose to get a better look. The shadow returned to his eyes. “Oh, aye. They were popular during the war. It’s part of a Mizpah coin.”
“A Mizpah coin?”
“Aye. When the two halves are joined together it reads ‘The Lord watch between me and thee while we are absent from one another’. Mizpah is Hebrew for watchtower, an agreement between two people with God as their witness, but it has come to represent an emotional bond or love between two people who are separated. Soldiers would often give it to their sweethearts before going off to war.”
“That’s rather romantic,” Ailsa said, putting it back in her pocket.
He shrugged. “Aye, I suppose so. Do you mind me asking where you got that?”
“I found it in the Big House.”
He frowned for a second. “Like sunshine after the rain,” he muttered to himself, lost in his thoughts. He looked up and smiled, remembering she was there. “Can I get you another cup of tea?”
“No, thank you,” she said, standing. “I really should get going.”
He walked her to the door. “Thank you for the treats and wish Ian a Merry Christmas for me.”
She gave the old man a quick hug. “I will, Mr. Brown, and Merry Christmas to you too.”
Back in the car, she sat behind the steering wheel confused. Why hadn’t Ian just come out and told her about his dad passing away on Christmas? She would have understood. It seemed a strange thing to keep from her. Now she felt guilty for going behind his back. Still his insistence on not dredging up the past baffled her.
Prune Campbell lived on the opposite side of the estate, and by the time Ailsa arrived, it was drizzling. She grabbed the basket from the backseat of the car and knocked on the front door of the croft. She could hear Prune shuffling about on the other side. “Just a minute,” a shaky voice called out. The door finally opened and a tiny woman, wrapped in seve
ral sweaters and shawls looked up at her.
“Mrs. Campbell,” Ailsa said. “I’m Ailsa McLennan.”
The woman grabbed her by the arm, pulling her inside, surprising Ailsa with her strength. “Get out of the rain. You’ll catch your death of cold.” Prune shut the door and locked it, staring at Ailsa. Her glasses were two times too big for her tiny, withered face and the thick lenses made her eyes seem eerily large and round.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I just wanted to drop off some Christmas goodies.”
“Bother me?” Prune questioned, walking around her in a circle, her back bent from the weight of all her clothes. “You’re the duchess. You’ve the right to come anytime you want.” Ailsa’s eyes followed the small woman around as she inspected her. “Sit down, you’ll need tea.” She pushed Ailsa into a chair at the kitchen table and proceeded to start the kettle. Knickknacks were crammed into every available space, making the small cottage appear rather stuffed.
Ailsa set the basket down. “You really don’t need to go to any trouble.”
“Of course, I do.” Prune stood on a stool, trying to reach a teapot from the top of the cupboard that was sitting at a precarious angle. Ailsa got up to help her, catching the delicate china just before it was about to tumble to the ground. She set it on the table along with two cups. Prune pushed her back into the chair. “I’ll not have the village folks saying I didn’t take care of you. And you out and about just after childbirth.”
Ailsa felt the heat in her cheeks grow. Prune set a tea tray down on the table along with a deep brown cake and poured them both cups of tea. She sat down opposite Ailsa and crossed her arms. “You’re a pretty little thing. You quite remind me of someone. I can see why Himself would fancy you.”
“Th-thank you,” she said, almost choking on her tea.
“You’ll have done your duty for that handsome husband of yours. Giving him an heir. I’m sure he’s proud.”
