No matter now—for all hope was gone.
No, not all hope. Finnan MacAllister still lived. And if his sister acted under duress, Jeannie might yet persuade her to haul up her courage and act according to her loyalty and the dictates of her heart.
****
“Ah well, Brother, is this not a fond reunion? And but ten short years too late.”
With difficulty, Finnan raised his head from the place where he lay and looked at the woman who had walked into the room. His sister Deirdre she must be, aye, but she bore only physical resemblance to the lass he had known. A sharp, cruel smile curved her lips, and her steps rang on the flagged floor of the room that had once been their father’s library. Confidence enfolded her like a cloak.
He knew then this was no cowed maid. She must be full partners with her husband in this evil endeavor.
He closed his eyes on a rush of pain far fiercer than that which pulled at his shoulder. Pegged out and secured hand and foot to iron shackles driven between the stones of the floor, he believed he would die here in the place his father had loved, now gutted by fire and partly open to the sky. For Avrie and his men had dragged him not back to Avrie House, but to Dun Mhor.
Open sky soared above him, the sunlight in his eyes shifting to the west. He supposed it fitting that he should end up here, where his father had received his death wound, his blood flowing onto these same stones.
“Deirdre,” he said, only that, for his sorrow half choked him.
“Aye, Brother dearie?” She paced with deliberate steps beside his head and gazed down at him. Such hate flared in her eyes that for an instant he thought she meant to kick him, and he braced himself for the pain.
“Do you know me, Finnan? I confess I would not have recognized you. All those nasty scars and pictures on your skin. Whatever would Ma say? What would she think of her bonny boy now?”
“Or her daughter,” he grated.
“Ah, but in the end she cared far less for me than for you. She proved that, did she not, the night Da died? When she thought she could save but one of us, she ran to you.”
Again Finnan craned his neck, trying to see her face where she stood above him, a dark silhouette against the dying sun.
“She only came to me because she believed our enemies would slaughter me in order to gain control of the glen. ’Twas no preference.”
“But”—Deirdre’s voice, clear and strident, overrode his words—“they did not hurry to slaughter you, did they? Instead they came to my chamber, a troop of men, terrifying in the dark, and dragged me from my bed and away.”
Finnan narrowed his eyes against the glare and wondered what he heard in her voice besides anger. Hard to tell, with that brittle cruelty overlying all.
“We tried to find you as soon as Ma roused me, Deirdre. We both did.”
“I believe you, darling brother—truly I do. ’Tis what happened after that sticks in my craw. For what did you do when you failed to find me?” She bent toward him, leaned down, and her face swam into view. “You saved yourself. You buggered off away out of the glen and left me in their hands.” He saw it then, the bright desire for vengeance in her eyes. “’Tis for that, my dearest brother, you will now pay.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
“Well, Wife, and if you are done reuniting with your brother, I think we had best finish this.” Stuart Avrie walked slowly into the chamber, his expression guarded, and took up a place at Deirdre’s side. Aye, Finnan thought, and the man came armed for the job with sword and dirk thrust through his belt, both of which glittered in the dying light.
And so his life would end on a blade after all, following his wandering and fighting, all the battles and struggles. He once more raised his eyes to the sky. At least he would die in this place he loved more than his own existence.
He moved his gaze from that beloved sky to his sister’s face. Her hair shone in a halo of red, and that of the man beside her in gold.
“Ah, no, Husband. I have only begun to pay my beloved brother as he deserves.”
Pay as he deserves. Finnan heard an echo of his own words, his own sentiments, in hers. He had lost the past ten years of his life to the need for vengeance in one form or another. It seemed Deirdre had, as well. Aye, so, and they were far too alike.
That hard knowledge seemed to settle beneath his breastbone like a rock.
Deirdre stepped closer, reached out with one foot, and caressed Finnan’s cheek with her toe. Finnan could feel the waves of hate coming off her and knew this gesture for the precursor to pain. He stiffened in an effort to prepare himself but, again, the foot did not strike.
Instead, Deirdre slanted a look at her husband. “Surely you will not deny me my satisfaction? Have I ever denied you yours?”
Stuart Avrie stepped forward also. His arm snaked around Deirdre’s waist in a gesture of pure possession, and he drew her against his side. Finnan’s jaw clenched as he watched the man’s hand stroke her hip and move lower. For an instant he was sure he would vomit; somehow he choked back the sickness.
“Satisfaction,” Stuart echoed, “or revenge?”
Deirdre smiled, and again Finnan saw himself in her face. “They are one,” she purred.
Finnan closed his eyes because, suddenly, he did not want to behold that sharp avarice in a face so like his own. He had never denied himself that sort of satisfaction—not against Gregor Avrie, not against Jeannie MacWherter.
Jeannie. A vision of her swam into his mind: golden hair spilling down across her shoulders, bodice unfastened, and desire in those wide, blue eyes.
Desire…or was that love?
Nay, Jeannie had never really loved him, though he had invited that emotion in hopes he might wound her more deeply. It had been mere lust they shared. He doubted her capable of actual love.
And he? Of what tender emotions was he capable? He had loved his father and mother, been bonded deeply with Geordie. He had loved this woman who now stood here wrapped in hate.
He opened his eyes to find her crouched down beside him. She peered into his face. “Give me the lend of your dirk, Husband,” she requested and reached back a hand. “I would busy myself a while repaying him.”
Stuart extracted his knife from the loop at his hip. “Better to end it, Wife. Until he dies, you do not own the land.”
“I know that very well.” She slanted a look at Stuart. “Only promise me when the time comes he will die by my hand.”
Stuart grunted. “I care not how, so long as he dies.”
“Leave that to me.”
Somewhat to Finnan’s surprise, Stuart went out. Finnan gazed into his sister’s eyes.
“Well, now.” She settled herself on the stones beside him, the dirk in her hands. “Do you know how long I have waited for this? Dreamed of it?”
“Ten years.”
“Aye, since I was fifteen. Fifteen, Brother. That was my age when they took me that night. Would you like to hear a story before you die? Shall I tell you the tale of all that befell me?”
“Much befell both of us.”
“And there speaks my matchless brother, selfish to the bone. Will you think of no one else, even when you stare death in the face?”
Finnan closed his eyes on another wave of despair. “Tell me.”
“They came at me out of the dark whilst I lay sound asleep. Suddenly they were just there, in my chamber, five men. Not Gregor Avrie, no—he and Trent were busy killing Da. But he sent Stuart. ’Twas the first time he touched me, that night.
“They bundled me out of the room so swiftly I barely had time to comprehend what was happening. He covered my mouth so I could not scream. But I could hear mother wailing out there in the courtyard when she discovered Father dead. I thought she would come for me then, and save me. Or you would.”
“I lay asleep, Deirdre, and did not know. It would have been too late, anyway—from what you say, Stuart had already been sent to seize you even before they slew Da. That must have been their plan all the while, to
secure you before they came for me. There is no way I could have reached you in time.”
“Perhaps so. Still, you might have caught me up, had you tried. Oh, aye, Brother, I have been over and over it in my mind. Despair does that to a lass. She relives. She even hopes for a while that her brother will rescue her.”
“We searched everywhere for you, as I say. You were nowhere to be found.”
“So you went blithely off and saved your own skin.”
“Nay—”
“Never fear, Brother. Gregor Avrie arriving with a stout troop of hired men did put our household guard to the rout, and you could not best them all that night. I will give you that. But let me ask you this.” She leaned toward him, the dirk balanced in her fingers, her gaze accusing. “After that night, did I cease to exist? Did the thought of me in their hands, awaiting succor, never touch you?”
“To be sure, it did.” Finnan’s throat, tight and dry, almost prohibited speech.
“Yet, somehow, you never returned nor risked yourself for me.”
“I thought you dead like Da. I was but a lad, and buried under the weight of my own pain.”
“Ah, so ’tis all about Finnan—again.”
Finnan searched her face and flinched at what he saw there. “I did inquire after you. For years I did. I asked Da’s friend in Fort William to search out word of you. There was none. I did not know—”
“That I was wife to Stuart Avrie? But I was, from that very night. They dragged me away to a priest, and let Stuart pluck me, too.”
“By all that is holy, I am sorry, Deirdre!”
A curious smile curved her lips. “My husband and I came to terms eventually, just as soon as my anger hardened and it became evident he and I wanted the same thing. He is no’ so bad when you get used to him.” She widened her eyes deliberately. “And a braw man between the blankets once he got me broke in.”
Again Finnan felt his stomach heave. He closed his eyes in an effort to shut the images away, but found he could not.
“I did no’ forget you, Dee. ’Tis why I battled so hard to come back. ’Tis why I slew that bastard Gregor Avrie.”
“Aye.” She nodded solemnly. “For revenge—the same thing that drives me now. Look at me, Brother. Look at me!”
Finnan obeyed, straining at his bonds. He gazed into his sister’s face and saw his own determined hate.
“You,” she said almost lightly, “live for revenge against the Avries, and I for revenge against you. Are we not alike? Now I need only decide how best to take my price from you—in pain.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
“We cannot leave him in their hands.” Danny, who spoke the words, sounded every bit as desperate as Jeannie felt. “He would not leave me, were our places reversed.”
“Yes, love,” Aggie told him and reached out to touch his shoulder. “But we must think carefully and not just go rushing in. We are but three alone, and the Avries have many men.”
Jeannie could hear the terror in Aggie’s voice. Aggie feared Danny might throw his life away for Finnan’s sake; she loved the lad just as Jeannie loved…
She caught herself up fiercely and slammed the door on that thought. Now was no time to contemplate her tangled feelings. Better, far better, to try and deny them.
For who could love such a man as Finnan MacAllister? What fool? Truly, if she could dismiss that lithe body, the clever hands, the hot mouth, what was left? For those attributes spoke only of lust, and though powerful, Jeannie could not say that would last.
But love? That required caring for the man within—he who had destroyed her—with his ironic humor, quick, agile mind, and the warmth that made him care for those sworn to him. Finnan MacAllister: when he loved he loved hard, and when he hated he hated completely.
He hated her. A practical woman at heart, she could not deny it. From the moment he knew her identity, he had planned every move, every smile, to wound her as deeply as he could. Surely that was enough to make her put aside any soft feelings she still had for him.
She groaned inwardly. What had Geordie written in those letters? She would give much to know, but knowing would not change the present situation.
And now, if she ascribed to the penchant for revenge that seemed to possess this place, she need do nothing save fold her hands, sit back, and wait for Finnan to get what he deserved. Yet she did not think the sickness in her belly would let her, nor the pounding of her wounded heart, nor the look in Danny’s eyes.
Through wooden lips she said, “What is to be done? How can we suppose to help him?” The Avries would kill him, she had no doubt; it had been their one aim these many days. They must kill him, so ownership of the glen would pass to Deirdre.
He might already be dead. Why would they wait? Why not make sure of their quarry once they had it in their hands?
Jeannie’s heart seized at that thought, and she experienced a rush of pain that far exceeded any Finnan had brought her. His changeable brightness gone from the world… There would be no reason for her to continue on.
“I should go.” Aggie, pale of cheek, drew herself up with resolve. “To be sure, I am the only one who can. Dorcas will think I have come looking for gossip. I can get inside Avrie House.”
Danny exchanged an agonized look with Jeannie over Aggie’s head. “But the Avries now know your mistress is in league with Master Finnan. Will they not suspect you, as well?”
Aggie tossed her head. “No matter; I am of little importance. And I might be able to discover a way—”
“There is no way,” Jeannie whispered. “I cannot believe she betrayed him—her own brother.”
“Aye, so,” said Danny, clearly torn. “But we must try. I cannot just leave him there.”
“I will go,” Aggie said again. “Give me a kiss for luck, lad—lest I never see you again.”
The kiss Danny bestowed was long and lingering. Aggie caressed his cheek then and looked into his eyes.
“I am that glad I met you, Daniel MacPhee—whatever may come next. I am glad I carry you in my heart.”
Danny kissed Aggie’s hand tenderly, and foolish tears flooded Jeannie’s eyes. She saw her little maid brace herself with resolve.
“You must come along and keep watch, both of you—but stay hidden until I bring you word what I discover.”
And Danny said, “Just try and leave me behind.”
****
“He is no’ there.” Aggie, cheeks now flushed red as apples, struggled up the rise to the place where Danny and Jeannie waited in concealment. “No one is there save the Dowager and her servants. Dorcas thinks they are all at Dun Mhor.”
“But”—Jeannie struggled with it—“Dun Mhor was put to flame.”
“Damaged, but not burnt down,” said Danny, bringing to mind what Finnan had told Jeannie. “Most of it still stands, if gutted. That place will be full of meaning to them—the seat of MacAllister power. They must hold him there.”
“Alive?” Jeannie turned her eyes on Aggie. “Did Dorcas know that?”
Aggie shrugged and shook her head.
“Aye, well,” Danny breathed, “we must go there, see—”
“Wait.” An idea, or the ghost of one, whispered into Jeannie’s mind. “We cannot go running off will-he, nil-he. We need something with which to bargain.”
Danny lifted his empty hand. “What?”
“Have you a weapon?”
“Just my dirk. But—”
Jeannie asked Aggie, “How many guards remain at Avrie House?” Please God they had all gone with their vile masters to Dun Mhor.
“I saw only one at the front of the house and a pair on horseback riding away northward. Why?”
“Because, as I see it, we have only one bargaining chip—and she is there, below.”
****
“Well, my friend—you have got yourself into a real bind this time, right enough.”
Every muscle in Finnan’s body leaped painfully when he heard the voice so close beside him, and he opened hi
s eyes wide in disbelief. How much time had passed since Deirdre left him? Not as long as it seemed. The agony of his flesh stretched the time; the agony in his mind obliterated it. Now, surely, madness nibbled at him, for this presence could not be as it seemed.
He turned his head on a sickening rush of mingled horror and gladness and looked at the man who sat on the floor at his shoulder.
“Geordie MacWherter—big as life and twice as ugly.” Did he really actually speak the words? His lips moved, but he did not think any sound came.
But Geordie heard. He directed a sorrowful look at Finnan from those hazel eyes and shook his head ruefully. “Look at you, just—pinned to the stones and awaiting death. We ha’ been in many a hard place in our time, lad, but none, I am thinking, as bad as this.”
“You may be right.” Finnan’s heart lurched again as he admitted it. “But how come you here? You are—”
“Dead, aye, right enough.” Geordie gave Finnan another look. Finnan had forgotten how expressive Geordie’s hazel gaze could be, or that his friend could speak many sentences with but a glance. “But should you be so surprised to see me? Did you no’ tell my wee wife you had spoken with my shade?” Geordie spread his broad hands, palms upward. “Well, now ’tis true.”
“I am that glad to see you, despite everything.”
“And I, you. You became a habit with me, Finnan, lad, like wearing an old coat through the sunshine and rain. But you ken the thoughts in your head have power. Think them hard enough, and they will come true. ’Tis why I am here, because you made it so. You maun be careful what you think.”
“I ken that fine.”
“Aye, to be sure, you have always been like a wizard, mumbling those prayers and believing in the magic everywhere.” Geordie leaned closer and widened his eyes. “The magic is true, lad. But it must be invoked with a grateful heart. And hate kills it, sure. The trout told you that.”
His Wicked Highland Ways Page 20
