Call of the Clan

by Patti Wiggington

  I had to agree with his logic. Since Sandie wasn't actually from Kilgraeme, and none of us really knew her, besides Emily Much, an event held two months after her death would probably not seem too terribly disrespectful. Given that it was an event all the residents were expecting anyway, it seemed like some time in November might not be so bad after all.

  We spent part of the day exploring the shops in Arrochar, where I bought several lovely handmade sweaters for myself, and lengths of tartan wool for Gil and Mark. I found a small electronics repair shop, where I scooped up a used laptop computer for Kilgraeme, and because I was having withdrawals due to my lack of Internet access. On a whim, I went next door to the sporting goods store and bought myself an eighteen-speed mountain bike.

  Evan complained when I suggested strapping it to the roof of his Saab, and it was only when I mentioned borrowing Cayden Spalding's pickup truck to come get the bike that he relented.

  Later, we stopped at the abandoned priory at Ben Morag, which was magnificent. Although the sun shone brightly above us, it was a cool day. There was no sound, out in the country, except that of birds overhead and a light breeze blowing. I inhaled, taking in the fresh scent of hay and grass and yesterday's rain. Evan took my hand and we climbed a hill, which was a lot steeper than I had realized. By the time we reached the top, I could feel my leg muscles screaming.

  I collapsed onto the soft grass, and Evan flopped down beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, and I leaned against him comfortably.

  "I like holding you,” he murmured in my ear.

  I smiled. I liked being held by him. He was warm and sweet and basically harmless. So far all he had done was kiss me a few times, never passionate or rough, but gentle and soft. I wasn't sure exactly where I wanted things with Evan to go. After all, I was only going to be here a year, and I didn't want him, or myself, to be hurt when I went back home to Charleston next August.

  In the meantime, I had to admit I was fond of him. Granted, he was occasionally possessive, and had the annoying habit of removing all the onions from his food, but I could live with that. At least for the next ten months.

  Besides, he'd be headed back to Glasgow in a day or two, and that would give me a little breathing room.

  "We should go,” I said eventually, disengaging myself from his arms. “Mrs. Much will lop off my head if I miss dinner again."

  We made it back to the Saab just before the first fat drops began to hit the windshield. We didn't talk on the way home, but his hand lazily stroked mine as he drove. As we approached Kilgraeme, I saw the shiny black 4x4 in front of the house. Evan saw it too, and frowned. “What in bloody hell does he want?” he grumbled.

  I thought about Cayden's suspicion that his wife was involved with Evan before her death, and wondered if there was more to that than I had originally thought.

  Cayden was waiting for me as I got out of the Saab. “I need to speak with you,” he said abruptly.

  "Well, hello to you too,” I quipped. “Thanks, I'm great. How are you?” I carried my shopping bags past him into the house. Evan busied himself unstrapping my new bike from the roof, but I could tell he was eavesdropping.

  "Brynne,” said Cayden. “I mean it. We need to talk."

  Something in his eyes made me stop short, and I stared at him for a moment. “Okay,” I said slowly. “Give me a few minutes, will you?"

  Evan intervened. “She's busy, Spalding. Why don't you come back later? Say, in a year or so?"

  "I don't think the lady needs you to tell her who she can speak with, aye?” bristled Cayden.

  "Whoa!” I exclaimed. “Hang on a second, guys!” I looked from one to the other. Evan's fists were clenched, and I swear I could practically see the Cayden's hair bristling, like an angry rust-colored lion. Time to step in, I thought.

  "Look,” I continued, trying to lighten the mood, “if we aren't careful, someone is going to die of testosterone poisoning here. Cayden, I'll be out in a few moments if you need to talk to me. Evan, come inside, please?” I had been on the verge of inviting Cayden in for a cup of coffee, but then decided it might not be wise to have the two of them under the same roof. I pushed Evan through the door and slammed it behind me.

  "What the hell is going on?” I snapped. “You two were ready to bite each other to shreds out there, all because he asked to speak with me!"

  The attorney shook his head, a little embarrassed. “I'm sorry. I just don't trust him. I never have, not since his wife died."

  I stared at him. He was completely serious. And despite my panic attack the night before, I didn't truly believe Cayden had killed his wife and my father. “You really don't think I'm safe around him?"

  His eyes gazed into mine, and I thought I saw a trace of sadness in them. “Cayden Spalding was at Kilgraeme when old Ranald died two years ago. He was here last spring when your father and Melissa died. And he was the one who found Sandie's body yesterday."

  "No,” I corrected him. “Mrs. Much found Sandie. Cayden was just the first one to find Mrs. Much. And furthermore, old Ranald was just that. Old. You yourself said he was about a hundred. Are you honestly blaming the man for every death that's occurred at Kilgraeme over the past few years?” I asked incredulously.

  He shrugged. “I don't know. You do the math, and then see how comfortable you are being alone with Cayden Spalding."

  That was when it hit me. Really, I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it before.

  "You're jealous,” I whispered. “I can't believe I'm so dumb, you're actually jealous that I'm willing to spend any time at all with him."

  "No, Brynne, that's not it,” he protested.

  Mrs. Much emerged from the kitchen with Emily. “We'll continue this later,” I told Evan softly. “This conversation is far from over."

  He reached for my hand, but I pulled it away gracefully. “Hello, Mrs. Much!” I called cheerfully. “Emily, are you doing any better?"

  The girl nodded, not saying a word. Her mother bustled in front of her. “Och, Miss Murray! Will you be here for supper tonight, or should I plan on your absence?” she asked formally. It was quite apparent that she disapproved of anyone missing meals, despite her observations on my healthy appetite.

  "I'll be here at six sharp,” I grinned. “I promise.” I glanced at Evan. “If you'll excuse me, I need to step out for a minute."

  Leaving him with the cook and her daughter, I escaped out the front door. Cayden Spalding was waiting on the steps.

  I folded my arms across my chest. “What?"

  He arched a brow at me. “My, my, we're a wee bit hostile this afternoon. Trouble in paradise?"

  "Oh, shut up,” I snapped. “What do you want to talk about this time? Have you heard anything more about Sandie MacFarlane?"

  He nodded. “Aye. Let's go somewhere where we can talk in private.” He hopped down the steps nimbly and trotted towards the stables. “Are you coming with me, or am I to have this conversation with myself?"

  Grumbling at the man's sheer audacity, and suppressing the urge to tell him just what he could do with himself, I followed him. I didn't bother trying to keep up; his long legs had already put him a good five yards ahead of me. He stopped for a moment to re-tie his boot, and as he bent over I admired the view, remembering how he had looked in his kilt. I closed my eyes to make the image go away. The last thing I needed right now was lustful nookie-thoughts of Cayden Spalding.

  It just seemed impractical.

  When I got closer, he jumped up and opened the door of the stable. “After you, lass."

  I ignored him and pushed my way into the barn. There were no horses here at present, as they were all being used by the Fleming brothers to herd cows and sheep. There was a soft musty smell inside, the aroma of straw, soap and horse sweat. It wasn't a bad smell, altogether.

  I perched on a bale of hay and pulled my sweatshirt around me tight. It was chilly in the barn. “Out with it. I don't have a lot of time."

  "Oh, aye. You have to get back inside before yo
ur wee lawyer comes out lookin’ for you, to save you from my evil clutches, is that it?"

  "Now who's being hostile? What is the deal with you two?"

  "Never you mind that.” He sat down beside me and began to pick at the bale. “I talked to Michael this afternoon."

  "Who?"

  "Michael Kerr, the constable handling Sandie's investigation,” he explained. “He and I went to school together."

  "Kindergarten buddies?” I grinned.

  "Actually, college."

  "You went to college?"

  "Contrary to what you may have been told, I'm a reasonably educated man."

  "What did you major in?” I interrupted.

  "Archeology, with a focus on medieval European warfare, if it's any o’ your business. May I get on with this?"

  "Sorry. You don't really give off that adventurous man vibe, if you don't mind my saying so.” I tried to picture him in a leather hat, waving a bullwhip or riding a camel. Nope. It didn't work.

  "Aye, well, my minding it wouldn't prevent you from saying it. D'you wish to know what Michael said or not?” he asked petulantly.

  "Please do. I won't interrupt again,” I said, pretending to be ashamed of myself.

  "Sandie had been intimate with someone before she died. He said there were ... signs."

  I gasped. “Was she raped?"

  "Close your mouth, lass, you'll start catching flies,” he warned me. “It would appear that the contact was consensual, or at least not violent, Kerr tells me."

  "Well, who?” I sputtered.

  He glared at me. “I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that one. My money would be on Danny Beaton, though, since she'd been sniffing around him for a while."

  I digested this news for a while and then, realizing the barn was quiet, glanced up. He was watching me. “What is it?” I asked.

  "Do you want to hear another theory?” he said softly.

  I pulled on a piece of straw that had been digging into my rear. “Do I have a choice?"

  "Not really. Michael Kerr said that he believes some drifter killed her. They found a campsite, you know."

  "Go on."

  "I don't think that's the case,” he replied slowly.

  "Why?"

  "Because she was left at the back door, lass. And although there were traces of, er, intimacy, as I said, she wasn't raped. A drifter would have left her where he killed her, I think.” He was obviously uncomfortable with this line of conversation. “Dumping her off at Kilgraeme ... that's personal."

  I liked the constable's drifter theory much more than I liked Cayden Spalding's idea of Sandie being killed by someone I knew. “So you think it's someone we know,” I said, feeling vaguely nauseated. “Danny?"

  "He never struck me as the type, but I think it's a fair possibility,” he said dryly. “Could be things just happened in the heat of the moment, and he panicked."

  I shivered, and he reached over and grabbed a horse blanket, which he dropped over my shoulders. Even through the horror of seeing Sandie's body, and the knowledge that she had indeed been killed deliberately, I had never truly believed that the killer could be someone at Kilgraeme. Maybe even someone who sat at my dinner table. Certainly not Danny Beaton, with his bucky-beaver teeth and quick smile.

  This didn't happen to nice girls like me.

  All of a sudden, I burst into tears. I was tired, and cold, and confused. I missed Gil and Mark. Now on top of all that, I was scared.

  Really scared.

  Cayden put his arm around me and pulled me close. I buried my face in his hair and sobbed like a child. Geez, Brynne, get a grip, I thought fleetingly.

  He was saying something.

  "Huh?” I asked politely, snuffling into my sweatshirt.

  "What does it mean? Your name, Brynne. What does it mean?"

  I shrugged. “My mother's last name was Brynne. Before she married my dad. Well, Steve, my adopted dad. Her first name was Cooper, after her mother's family."

  I felt him nod, and I wiped my face surreptitiously on the blanket. “Unusual names for women, aren't they?"

  "Mmph,” I gulped, trying not to get nose-drippings on myself. “A Charleston tradition, naming children after their mother's family. My half-brother is named Gilbert, after some French Huguenot in mom's family tree. I had a girlfriend whose first name was Tradd, and she had a brother named Seawall."

  "Seawall?” he laughed. “That's bloody awful."

  "Mm hm.” I had stopped crying by now, but remained with my head on his shoulder. I was comfortable. A thought struck me. “What about you?"

  "What about me?"

  "What does Cayden mean? It's not a name I've ever heard before, and we have plenty of weird names in the States."

  "It's a Celtic word."

  "I figured that. But what does it mean?” I asked, glancing up at him. His face was only a few inches from mine.

  "The spirit of battle. My mam's a wee bit eccentric,” he smiled.

  "Eccentric would have been okay. I could work with eccentric,” I murmured, thinking of my own parents. One was a suicidal drunk, and the other I had never known. I stared down at his hand, which was tracing a random circle on my own. I was acutely conscious of the rise and fall of his chest, and felt his heart beating under my cheek.

  Suddenly I remembered what he had said last night in the truck. I was thinking I'm going to have to kiss you. Alarmed, I sat up and pulled away from him abruptly.

  He grinned at me. “Make you nervous, do I?"

  "You are insufferable, you know that? No, you don't make me nervous in the least. If you'll excuse me, I have things to do,” I said loftily, and began brushing wisps of straw off my jeans.

  He grabbed my wrists suddenly, and held tight. “What's the matter, Brynne Murray Marlette? Afraid I'm going to get too close, are you?"

  "Let go of me.” I looked him dead in the eyes. “I'm not scared of you."

  He pulled me closer, so that I was once again just inches from his face. “Maybe you should be,” he said softly.

  I refused to avert my gaze. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. I gritted my teeth. “I am not afraid of you, Cayden Spalding,” I repeated. In truth, I was a little bit afraid, and, against my better judgment, extremely attracted. One minute the man was the sexiest thing I'd ever laid eyes on, and the next he came off as dangerous, or even psychotic. “Let me go. Evan's waiting."

  He dropped my hands. “Ah. Evan. Of course he is, like a good wee doggy, isn't he?” I stared at him as he drew himself up to his full height, and leaned down close to me. “Think on it, lass. Haven't you asked yourself just once if he'd be so attentive to you if you weren't the Murray of Kilgraeme?” he asked.

  I smacked him hard across the cheek. “How dare you!” I snapped. “Evan is a loyal friend and, for all his faults, he has a good heart, and you have no right to say that about him.” As I had earlier defended this man to Evan, now I felt compelled to take Evan's side in the counterattack.

  He laughed then, a low, malicious sound. “Aye, he's kind and good-hearted all right. Just how far have things gotten with the two of you?"

  "That's none of your business.” His hands were on the wall on either side of my head. I was cornered. “What do you want with me? Suppose you just tell me?"

  Instead of answering, his lips pressed against mine, forceful and unyielding, and for a moment I was too startled to react. I felt the hardness of his body touching mine, his hands twining through my hair. His mouth was rough and firm against my own, and the sheer possessiveness of the act drew out something that made me want to just give myself over completely, and throw all caution to the wind.

  For a brief violent moment I felt a sense of completeness, and responded eagerly to the electrical heat of his mouth, to the irresistible ... something within him. His lips left mine suddenly and moved lower, down to my exposed throat, and I felt myself whimper a little. My skin was on fire.

  "My God, Brynne,” he growled.

  Then I re
membered who I was with. Despite my doubts, the man could well be a killer. I couldn't trust anyone at Kilgraeme, not yet.

  I pushed him away angrily, noticing the pink hand-shaped mark on his stubbled cheek with satisfaction. “Stop it. I don't want you to kiss me,” I said, and slipped out underneath his arms, heading for the barn door.

  "Yes, you do, lass,” he called after me. “You just don't want to admit it."

  I slammed the door behind me, hoping he would step in horse shit. I was hot and flustered, and somehow he had ended up completely in control of the situation. Admittedly, I certainly hadn't tried to discourage him, but that wasn't the point. I wasn't going to get involved with Cayden Spalding. I knew trouble when I kissed it.

  Not only that, I had a sneaking suspicion that his amorous intentions towards me were fueled, at least in part, by his desire to antagonize Evan Muncaster.

  Evan.

  Who didn't have anywhere near the effect on me that Cayden Spalding did, damn it.

  My lips were swollen, and I licked them gingerly. Maybe I was only responding to Cayden because he was water in the middle of the desert. Two years of celibacy and I was eyeing him like a hungry girl checking out a plate of marshmallows trapped in chocolate graham crackers.

  I shivered at the memory of his mouth on me.

  Grumbling all the way to the house, I flung open the great oak door, only to find Evan and Trish standing in the hall.

  "Brynne! Are you alright?” asked Evan, hurrying over.

  That did it.

  "Leave me alone, Evan! Why don't you go out to the barn and you and Cayden Spalding can arm wrestle each other or have a pissing contest and settle things once and for all,” I said, stomping up the two flights of stairs to my room. I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts, however disturbing and sexually frustrating they may be, which was not an easy task at Kilgraeme.

  Sequestered at old Ranald's desk, I set up my new laptop and composed a long, rambling e-mail to my brother. I was homesick, and annoyed with just about everyone I had come into contact with today. If I didn't have bills to pay, I'd have left on the next plane out.