Legends

by Deborah Smith

  He drew her hands to him and kissed them in return. “I’ll do all I can to get you out of this mess, Ellie.”

  “End of conspiracy. Speak English,” Douglas ordered. He draped a blanket around Elgiva’s shoulders and took her arm. His eyes were shuttered and unhappy; more so after a sound of grief broke from Elgiva’s throat without her permission. She ducked her head and struggled for composure.

  “You bastard,” Rob said to him. “You’re breaking her heart, and you don’t care.”

  Douglas ignored him. “Elgiva, you agreed to leave with me. Now keep your word.”

  “Good-bye, all,” she said gruffly.

  “Good-bye, your ladyship,” John Callum whispered.

  “God go with you, Lady Elgiva,” Richard Maxwell offered.

  “Bless you, cousin,” Andrew said hoarsely.

  “I apologize for doubting you,” Duncan grumbled.

  “Ellie,” Rob murmured in a torn voice. “Remember, he’s only a Kincaid. A MacRoth will never be bested by a Kincaid.”

  Elgiva swung away, and with Douglas’s firm hand guiding her mercilessly, left the cottage.

  “You do realize,” Audubon asked over a thin, imported cigar, “that you’ve given Elgiva MacRoth plenty of reasons to despise you? I’m curious as to how you intend to repair the damage.”

  “She’s done some damage of her own.” Douglas lifted a hand and stroked his temple. Watching Elgiva suffer tonight had given him a fierce headache. “She’s not above manipulating me in ways I don’t care to discuss,” he added by way of self-defense.

  Douglas turned and gazed, frowning, past the plush black couches and teakwood tables of his private jet. Toward the back of the cabin were a set of double doors. Elgiva was asleep—or at least pretending to be asleep—in the bedroom. Sam lay by the door, looking forlorn.

  “Sam seems to be on her side,” Audubon observed.

  “She’s brainwashed him with food. She makes herself easy to like.” When he faced forward in his seat again, Douglas stared out the window at a night sky as bleak as his mood. “But she’s hell on wheels when you make her mad.”

  “Nice sweater you’re wearing,” Audubon commented. “Did she knit it for you? In Druradeen her work has quite a reputation for excellence. What a marvelous gift.”

  “I earned it.”

  “What do you plan to do with her?”

  “Overwhelm her. Make her admit that she’d enjoy having what my money could buy for her. Maybe I’ll offer to market her sweaters all over the world. Hmmm. Yeah. That’s a good idea.”

  “A strange revenge. And then?”

  “She’ll admit that she was wrong about me.”

  “Oh? So you’re not going to purchase the MacRoth estate?”

  “Of course I am. But I want her to admit that I’m capable of treating it well.”

  “Will she admit this before or after you evict all of her relatives and friends?”

  Douglas groaned. “I’m not going to evict any tenants. My God, it’d be like kicking Andy and Aunt Bee out of a Scottish version of Mayberry. I never realized what the place meant to them.”

  “A change of heart? How interesting.”

  “But that’s a secret between you and me. Elgiva is going to see things my way first.”

  “Oh, and then you can be chivalrous, when you’ve humbled her?”

  “Dammit, Audubon! I’m not trying to humble her. It’s only—” Douglas shoved his hands through his hair. “I don’t know how to give up my territory without a fight. I love to negotiate, but in the end I have to be the winner—it’s my only obsession. I suppose I developed it when I was a kid. Obsessions put food on the table. Obsessions paid my father’s medical bills. And my sister’s.”

  “I understand. But I think you need to conquer this outmoded obsession before it costs you someone about whom you care very deeply.”

  “I just want to prove to her that she loves me regardless of anything else.”

  “Did it occur to you that she might love you now?”

  “Not after what she did to me a few hours ago.” Douglas placed a call from the air-to-ground telephone on a console beside his chair. “Gert? Yes, it’s yours truly. Yes, I’m fine.… Hmmm. So you were able to keep the family from knowing where I was? … They think I’ve been in Paris? … Good work.… Yes, I’ll give you all the details later. Gert, I’m on my way to the island.

  “Have the staff meet me down there within twenty-four hours. And Gert, I have a personal project that needs your attention. First of all, I need a complete wardrobe for a woman who’s six feet tall and weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of ‘twelve stone.’ How much is that in American lingo? … Ah-ha.… That much, eh? … No, every stone is in the right place. Hmmm. Yes. The green dress. She’s that woman. Now here’s what I want …”

  Twenty minutes later he finished giving his assistant directions for Elgiva’s arrival at the Isle of Kincaid. Audubon puffed slowly on his cigar and smiled at him under contemplative, half-shut eyes that were the muted green of old money. “If you’re going to keep Elgiva MacRoth, you need to offer a lot more than expensive bribes,” he said.

  Douglas laughed grimly. “I believe I can manage a little personal magnetism.”

  “Good.” Audubon reached into a burnished leather briefcase on the seat beside him and withdrew a folder, which he handed to Douglas. It was full of information on Elgiva. “My friend,” Audubon said glibly, “Elgiva MacRoth is made of the finest grade of steel. I hope your magnet is exceptional.”

  Satin. Blue satin sheets on a king-sized water bed. A heated king-sized water bed. In a bedroom the size of her whole apartment over the shop in Druradeen. And this was just the bedroom on Douglas’s private plane. She listened sadly to the soft hum of the jets. She didn’t even know where Douglas was taking her.

  Elgiva lay on one side, fully dressed, her hands huddled against her chest, tears sliding onto the cool satin cover of the pillow as she stared at a stereo system that covered one wall. Behind her she heard the soft click of the room’s double doors. Elgiva clamped her eyes shut and nuzzled her tear-streaked face into the pillow, as if she were asleep.

  Douglas settled onto the bed close to her back. She smelled the familiar scent of his wool sweater—a scent only a woolens expert would know—but more than that, she knew the scents of his skin and his hair. They were still on her body, still in her soul.

  His leg nestled against her as he leaned forward. Elgiva couldn’t feign sleep any longer after his big, blunt fingertips touched the tears on her face. Her expression set in careful lines of resistance, she turned over on her back and stared up at him. He looked disgruntled and tired, with grizzled beard stubble on his cheeks. His black hair was badly ruffled. His dark eyes grew more shadowed as he studied her.

  “You look like the devil’s hind end,” she observed in a small voice that came out sounding more distraught than she’d planned.

  “So do you.” He mumbled a weary curse. “Audubon has a file of information on you,” he told her. “I just finished reading it.”

  “Oh? Sizing up your worst enemy, are you? Tell me what you learned that makes you look like a thundercloud.”

  “Your grandparents opened MacRoth Hall to the allied forces as a convalescent hospital during the war. They contributed most of their personal savings to the hospital, and they were never reimbursed. By the time your father inherited the place, it was badly run-down. Your father was a struggling poet; your mother was a seamstress. Between them, there wasn’t enough money to keep up any kind of estate, much less one the size of theirs.”

  “Aye. So far you’re right. For whatever it means. Home is home, no matter how shabby, and we thought it was a grand place.” She was bewildered.

  “Along came mean-spirited Uncle Angus, who’d been away for years making himself a fortune in dubious investments. He wanted the estate; his brother wouldn’t sell. There was a mysterious fire in the upstairs living quarters. You were nine years old; Rob was seven.
Your parents tied bed sheets around you both and lowered you to the ground. But by then it was too late for them to save themselves. “You saw them burn. You didn’t speak a word for two years after that, and Rob stuttered until he was a teenager. Some people said the fire was Angus’s doing, but there was no proof. Angus inherited the estate.”

  He stopped for a moment. His fingers idly stroked a strand of hair from Elgiva’s forehead. Whether the action was meant to be soothing or simply to remind her that he was in charge, she couldn’t tell. But it felt soothing. “Go on,” she murmured.

  “He didn’t want either you or Rob around. He turned you both out. Gave you to a pair of his crofters—an elderly farmer and his wife—to raise. After they died, the other tenants, including the people in the village, formed a sort of coalition to make certain that the two of you were raised decently. You were shuffled from home to home, with nothing much to call your own.”

  Elgiva swallowed hard and forced herself to nod. “Aye.”

  “Jonathan MacMillian loved you and married you, just as his mother and your mother had planned years earlier. His family was convinced that you’d inherit the MacRoth estate someday. After Angus announced that he wasn’t leaving anything to you or Rob, Jonathan’s family accused you of deceiving their simple, good-hearted boy.

  “Jonathan never complained about the inheritance, but after he was killed at sea his family made your life miserable. They said that he hadn’t cared whether he lived or died—that all the years of a poor, childless marriage had depressed him. They said you married him just to have a home. Finally you gave up your married name out of guilt because you began to believe that they were right, that you had ruined him.”

  Elgiva suddenly understood why Douglas was reciting her history to her. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. “So you think I’m a deceptive creature by nature,” she said in a tight, vibrating voice, “who’ll do anything to get her own way in the world?”

  He trailed his fingers down the side of her face. Slowly he cupped her chin. Holding her in that tender grip, he whispered, “No. I also know that you gave up a scholarship at the university in Edinburgh to marry Jonathan. You could have studied art. That was what you’d always wanted to do. But you honored your mother’s wishes and married the boy she’d picked for you when you were a child. A boy who’d become a quiet, shy man who loved you regardless of what your uncle would or wouldn’t give you someday. You paid a debt of honor.”

  Elgiva’s breath shattered the silence between them. “Mr. Audubon must be very good at investigating people,” she said blankly. “I didn’t think anyone could find out that much about me. Why are you interested in my history, Douglas?”

  He gave her an inscrutable smile. “I want to know what you hold dear. I believe you said the same thing to me, a week or so ago.”

  “And then?”

  He gave her a wicked, though rather shaky, leer. “It’s a surprise.”

  “Where are we going tonight? Where will we end up?”

  He rose from the bed. His hand trailed over her lips. “Paradise,” he murmured. “Now get some sleep, El.”

  As he left the room he paused at the ornate double doors to look back at her. She was shocked to see tears in his eyes. They haunted her like a dark promise.

  Paradise certainly had a nice airport.

  Elgiva gazed out the jet’s window at modern buildings, tall palm trees, and blue sky. When Douglas went to shave, Audubon sat down in a chair beside her. “Would you like some advice before I leave you and Douglas alone to do battle?” he asked solemnly. Audubon was returning to his home in America.

  “I’d appreciate any words of wisdom.”

  “Be patient with him. He’s not accustomed to making decisions based on sentiment. He doesn’t want to look like a fool.”

  “He’d rather be thought of as heartless?”

  “In a way, yes. It’s a power position. But I think you understand that it’s just an act.”

  “Sometimes I’m not certain. But I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

  “Good. Because I’d love to see you raise hell with his attitude.”

  Elgiva smiled dryly. “Rest easy, because I’m very good at that.”

  A few minutes later she and Douglas left the jet and descended its stairs to the runway. Sam galloped ahead of them, barking his welcome to a tall young man who crossed the tarmac with pantherlike grace.

  Douglas stroked the small of her back, startling her even through her heavy sweater. “You’re in my prison now,” he said. “I hope you have more fun than I had in your prison.”

  Elgiva stared dully at the tropical scenery. “I’ll be as troublesome as you were to me.”

  “Then I’ll have to seduce you all over again.”

  “You won’t seduce me as long as you intend to take the MacRoth land.”

  “Oh, I think I can make you appreciate my point of view.”

  “You’re a cocky devil, I’ll give you that.”

  The air was balmy enough without Douglas’s talk about seduction. She felt too warm in her wool clothes. Above her a large commercial jet soared toward the sun, its engines very loud. Elgiva covered her ears and gazed at the man who’d come to greet them.

  A glossy black braid hung down his back, somehow looking elegant rather than odd with his crisp dress shirt and tailored white slacks. He clasped Douglas’s outstetched hand with apparent warmth and flashed a reserved but genuine smile. When the jet noise died down, Douglas introduced him to her.

  His name was Kash Santelli. He spoke English with an odd, pretty accent. Douglas explained that Santelli managed several Kincaid enterprises and also supervised the staff at his private island.

  Douglas’s island—so that was where they were headed. At least she had a clue now. She searched her memory for things Douglas had said about it. Ah. He’d mentioned his island in the Caribbean. But where in the Caribbean? She recalled the area from her school history lessons only as a tropical place where pirates had once stored their slaves and booty.

  Elgiva nodded ruefully to herself. Well, it suited Douglas, then.

  He took her arm and guided her toward a helicopter. As he strode along between her and Kash Santelli he reminded Elgiva of a general returning home in victory. A Wall Street general. He and Santelli discussed stock prices and retail indexes in complicated language that made her feel very defensive.

  Douglas’s ideal woman would be contributing to this conversation instead of stomping along in dumb silence. But then, Elgiva wasn’t expected to be ideal. Douglas thought of her as a prisoner, and that only for a short while.

  To distract her depressed thoughts she studied Kash Santelli. His features were an exotic mixture—a hooked nose, graceful cheekbones, and large, slanted eyes that hinted at an Oriental influence. Those eyes were black, and his skin was the light umber of Terkleshire honey. He and Douglas called each other by first names. Douglas seemed to like and trust him.

  Douglas helped her into the large helicopter emblazoned with “Kincaid” on its side in gold scroll. He steered her to one of a dozen richly upholstered seats, then went forward to greet the pilots. Sam flopped on the floor, panting in the warm weather.

  Elgiva watched the pilots talk animatedly with Douglas. His employees seemed to be on very familiar terms with him, though they were also very respectful.

  Kash Santelli sat down near her, his face carefully composed but not unfriendly. Elgiva leaned close and whispered, “Could you tell me where we are, lad?”

  His black eyes studied her with surprise. In a deep, accented voice he answered solemnly, “St. Thomas. The Virgin Islands.”

  “And where are we headed?”

  “To Douglas’s island, about an hour’s flight from here.”

  When Santelli gazed at her with grave speculation, she explained, “I’m here to repay a debt to Mr. Kincaid, you might say. I’m a wee bit in the dark about his plans. Can you tell me what to expect of this island?”

  Santelli�
�s eyes flickered with increasing bewilderment. “Well, Ms. MacRoth—”

  “Call me Elgiva, lad.”

  “Elgiva. I don’t quite understand this situation. Douglas usually comes here alone or with his immediate family. Occasionally he holds business meetings at the island, but this is the first time he’s brought a personal friend.”

  “You mean he doesn’t ferry any little blond women over to keep him company?”

  Now somberly amused, Santelli shook his head. Before he could say more, Douglas returned. He gripped Elgiva’s shoulder and sat down beside her. “Watch out, Kash. This woman will have you believing that Scottish fairies dance on your ancestors’ tombstones.”

  “Your ancestors had no tombstones,” Elgiva retorted lightly.

  “That’s because I have no Scottish ancestors.”

  “The reivers tossed themselves into Loch Talrigh rather than burn in their own beseiged castle. They fed the fishes.”

  “Oh. Hatchery workers, hmmm?”

  “Phew. The loch must have stunk for years afterward.”

  In reply to Douglas’s exasperated, slit-eyed look she smiled patiently. Over Douglas’s shoulder she saw Santelli’s startled black eyes. He nodded to her, looking impressed.

  Hmmm, perhaps he was like Audubon, and felt that Douglas needed an attitude adjustment. She might have allies here that she’d never expected. And no blondes had preceded her, eh? Elgiva chuckled, earning wary looks from Douglas, as the helicopter left St. Thomas and headed across the vast, blue-green Caribbean sea. No blondes. It was a good sign.

  Eight

  Dammit, how could she look so unimpressed by a forty-room villa filled with antique wicker, an army of servants, and glorious tropical plants in full bloom? Douglas admired her stone-faced nonchalance at the same time that he cursed it.

  She strolled around, nodding as if he were an idiot in need of pacifying as he showed her the magnificent tiled balconies and terraces, all with glorious views of the sea. Her cool amber eyes mocked him by not registering even the slightest bit of awe. He stood among a long wall of French doors in the main salon, his arms spread to the warm, fragrant breeze as he described how the island had once belonged to a pirate.