Call of the Clan

by Patti Wiggington

  I glared at him.

  He cleared his throat. “Lachlan, born June 20, 1727. Dugald, born June 21, 1727. Mary, born and died 1728, followed by Isobel, born and died in 1729. This is sad, isn't it? Neither of the wee lassies lived more than a month. Then there's Catharine, born September 1730, and Margaret born and died in 1732."

  "None of those dates seems odd to you?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Other than Lachlan and Dugald having a day between them, and their being twins.... “He froze. “Wait a moment."

  "Yes?” I pressed, knowing full well what he was about to say.

  "Lachlan was born first,” he said. “So then why...."

  "Why was Dugald the one who inherited Kilgraeme from Colin, if Lachlan was the firstborn son?” I finished triumphantly. He looked at me strangely.

  "Maybe,” he suggested, “Lachlan died before Colin."

  I shook my head. “I don't think so. Someone kept very meticulous records of the family's births and deaths.” Privately, I suspected Thomas Spalding. Much of the handwriting in the bible matched his signature on the deed of sasine I had found. “Everyone else's date of death is listed later on, but not Lachlan's. See? Catharine in 1758, Colin 1760, Maggie in 1762, and Dugald himself in 1801."

  Cayden frowned. “And Lachlan's not in there at all?"

  "Nope.” I leaned back, a small satisfied smiled creeping across my face. “So where did he go? He didn't die here at Kilgraeme, that's for sure."

  He looked at me. “You've been rather busy, then, haven't you?"

  I just grinned. “There's more. Unfortunately, I don't know how it connects."

  Cayden leaned back and stretched. “What else have you got?"

  I handed him the deed of sasine. “This. Colin Murray deeded his lands and holdings over to an S. Ludlow, who I assume is Susannah. You remember her, right?"

  "Dugald's wife?"

  "Right. He did this in spring of 1758. His daughter Catharine died just a month or so before that. Also, Lachlan stops appearing in the Council records around the same time."

  "And you think there's a connection between the two events?” he asked skeptically.

  I shrugged. “I don't know. There's something amiss. By rights, Lachlan was the oldest, so he should have been the heir to Kilgraeme. At some point, something happened to him and Dugald inherited."

  "But the land was deeded over to Dugald's wife instead,” he mused.

  "Correct."

  "Well,” he said, gesturing helplessly at the piles of paperwork, “I don't think we'll be finding out tonight. The Gathering begins tomorrow morning, y'know."

  "I'm well aware of that,” I said dryly. All week long, Mrs. Much and Emily had been fussing over me, designing some sort of concoction for me to wear. I had no idea what I would be decked out in. All I knew was that it had something to do with lots of plaid and a big bolt of white linen. After so many years in Charleston, the land of ruffles and hoop skirts, I just prayed I wasn't going to be packed into a corset.

  "My sister, Caitriona, is coming in tomorrow morning. Her band will be playing the ceilidh,” he said, pronouncing it kay-lee. According to Mack Piper, the ceilidh was a traditional celebration held at the end of the Gathering on Sunday night. It would feature musicians, dancing, and some sort of really big bonfire, if I understood Mack correctly.

  "Emily told me she plays Celtic music?” I asked politely.

  He grinned. “Not the kind that's traditionally marketed as Celtic music, but yeah."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Scotland has a long and proud tradition of tellin’ stories. Most of our music comes from that, bardic tales and folklore and the like. Nowadays anyone who has a fiddle and sings hey-diddly-diddly-die in their song can call themselves a Celtic band,” he said.

  "And this from a man who was listening to a woman and her harp when I came upon him in the workshop,” I joked.

  "I like her voice. It's ... mystical,” he said defensively.

  I laughed. “All right. Tell me more about Caitriona and her band."

  By the time we headed downstairs for dinner, I had learned plenty about Cait and her band. Cait had been close to Melissa Much in their youth, but while Melissa stayed at Kilgraeme, Cait went off to seek her fortune, traveling around the world with her band. I also got an earful about Stark Raven, whom he obviously adored, and referred to as a “beautiful and thoroughly daft woman."

  I invited him to stay for dinner that night, and he seemed surprised.

  "You don't have to ask me, if it would make you uncomfortable,” he said as we reached the dining hall.

  I paused at the door. “Uncomfortable?” I knew exactly what he meant. That kiss in the barn was lingering between us, even now, weeks later.

  "Aye. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about,” he murmured. I could hear voices in the hall and peeked at my watch. I had five minutes before Much could scold me for being tardy.

  "I think,” I said carefully, “that it's really best that we forget about that."

  He caught my arm and leaned in closer. “I can't."

  I could smell the fresh peat smoke on him then, and a faint wisp of soap, and something underneath, something unnamable and yet undeniably male. He was between me and the doors to the hall, and there was no way I was going to get past him unless he moved.

  I had a feeling he wasn't going to, and common sense notwithstanding, I really had no urge to pull myself away from him. He held my upper arm in a strong grip, and I shifted away from him just enough that I could maneuver my face away. No way was I going to let him kiss me again.

  Not here, anyway.

  I stared at the floor, pondering my shoes, looking anywhere but directly at him. “We need to go have dinner,” I told the button on his shirt.

  "We need to talk,” he replied firmly.

  I had wriggled myself into a rather unfortunate position. In turning my body away from him, so that he couldn't kiss me even if he wanted to, I had managed to situate myself so that the hand which was holding my arm was also pressing against my left breast, a fact of which I was becoming acutely conscious. I suspected I wasn't the only one aware of it.

  "No, we don't,” I whispered. “There's nothing for us to talk about."

  "There is,” he said. “Have you never wanted someone so much that you feel as though your soul is burning? That evening in the barn, Brynne, when we kissed each other...."

  "We did not kiss each other. You kissed me. There's a difference."

  He snorted, muttering, “You kissed me back."

  I knew darn well that I had, but I was damned if I was going to admit it. “I did no such thing.” And at that moment, when I looked up to protest, I found myself staring straight into those steel-gray eyes, and would have been completely lost in the moment ... except for a noise behind us.

  "Well!” exclaimed Evan Muncaster. “I was just getting ready to come looking for you.” He took my hand, and apparently hadn't even noticed the fact that Cayden Spalding was practically on top of me. His lips brushed my cheek gently. “I've missed you so much, Brynne. Forgive me for not getting back here a wee bit sooner. Things have been busy, what with Danny Beaton getting ready for trial."

  Mutely, I let him lead me into the dining hall. Everyone was waiting for me. I glanced back, when I didn't think Evan was looking, and saw the look in Cayden Spalding's eyes. It was not a look I wanted to see again.

  * * * *

  Catharine Murray raced down the hill to Kilgraeme. She'd been at the graveyard upon Beinn a'Choinn, leaving flowers for her sisters, when she spotted the three riders.

  After nearly nine years away, Dugald was finally returning home, the prodigal son. And with him he brought his new bride, Susannah. Catharine wanted to like her new sister-in-law, despite her being a Sassenach, an outsider.

  She stumbled into the path, causing the riders to rein back abruptly.

  "Catharine!” exclaimed Dugald, leaping from his mount. He enveloped her in his arms, and she
sobbed with joy. Finally, he released her and introduced her to his wife. Susannah glowed with the early months of pregnancy, and smiled down at her.

  Catharine's attention turned to the third rider. Will. He sat high in the saddle, towering above Dugald, his red hair blazing behind him like some ancient pagan warrior, and she caught her breath. He was as perfect as she had remembered, or even more so.

  His gray eyes widened at the sight of her. In their absence from Kilgraeme, she had gone from awkward adolescence to blossoming womanhood. Her hair spilled around her face, still flushed from her run down the side of the mountain.

  "Catharine,” he said. “You're looking well."

  She smiled at him then, green eyes lighting up, and Will Spalding knew in that instant that his soul forever belonged to Catharine.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dinner was a nightmare.

  Cayden attempted to leave after Evan's inopportune appearance, but Mrs. Much caught him at the door and begged him to stay and eat. Not wishing to hurt her feelings, he conceded. And so I found myself at the head of the table once again, with Evan Muncaster seated on my left and Cayden Spalding to the right.

  I could feel Cayden's eyes boring into me throughout the entire meal. I tried not to look at him. Evan kept reaching over, touching my hand and patting my leg under the table. Meanwhile, Trish was observing the entire little drama with a triumphant little smile, and at one point, I saw her raise her wine glass to me in a mock toast.

  I would have cheerfully punched her in the nose, had I been able to reach her, but unfortunately she was too far away. Emily Much picked at her food sadly, sort of moving it around in circles, and even Mack Piper, who normally never stopped talking, didn't seem to have a lot to say.

  This did not bode well for my Gathering.

  Mrs. Much cleared her throat behind me. “Lady Kilgraeme?"

  I turned, grateful for the distraction. “I'm sorry, yes?"

  She glanced around conspiratorially. “I believe my Emily has something she's needin’ to speak to you about,” she whispered softly.

  I froze. The last person who supposedly needed to speak to me was left strangled and dead on my back porch. “Mrs. Much,” I said in as steady a voice as I could muster, “we will talk about this another time.” I looked at her pointedly. “Alone."

  She gave me a barely perceptible nod, and waddled away. I glanced around. I didn't think anyone had overheard our conversation, but I couldn't be sure. Evan was busy chatting with Trish and, when not looking at me, Cayden seemed to be focusing rather intently on his vegetables. I had let it slip to both Cayden Spalding and Evan Muncaster that Sandie wanted to tell me something about someone, and then she had been murdered.

  I wasn't taking the same chance with Emily. I glanced down the table at the girl, and noticed she was staring at the seat which Danny Beaton usually occupied. I wondered if maybe she had a little bit of a crush on the homely gardener. As I watched her a single, fat teardrop slid down her cheek. Plop, it went, onto her plate, mixing in with her potatoes. She must have been aware that I was watching her, because she looked up pathetically at me.

  Cayden Spalding leaned close to me. “Excuse her,” he said softly.

  "Hm?"

  "Excuse the lass. ‘Twould be disrespectful for her to get up unless you give her leave, and she'll sit there all night unless you tell her to go. She's miserable,” he added unnecessarily.

  I glanced back to Emily, who was still looking at me. “Emily?” I asked gently. “If you're not feeling well, why don't you go lie down for a bit?"

  She smiled then, an expression of incredible gratitude, and whispered, “Thank you, miss, I believe I will.” Poor Emily practically ran from the room.

  Evan cleared his throat. “May I have everyone's attention, if you don't mind?"

  I looked at him, surprised, and wondered what he was up to. Maybe there was good news about Danny's upcoming trial. If that was the case, I would make sure I told Emily later on.

  Evan tapped on his wine glass with a spoon. “I know things have been difficult here at Kilgraeme lately, with the unfortunate problems last month. However,” he continued, “things are looking up. We have a new Murray here, at last, and I think ye'll all agree with me when I say she's doing a fine job thus far."

  There was polite applause, and I noticed a smirk on Trish's face.

  "Anyway, I am going to do something now that I never thought I'd see myself doing. Brynne Murray, Lady Kilgraeme, I wish to make you a formal request,” Evan finished.

  Mrs. Much's eyes popped open, and I saw her elbow old Mack Piper in the ribs. What in the world was this about? Another weird Scottish ritual about to take place, I supposed.

  The next thing I knew, Evan Muncaster was on his knees on the floor beside me, pulling a small box out of his pocket. Oh, no, I thought. Not this, not yet. I am so not ready for any of this.

  "Brynne,” he said gently. “You don't have to give me an answer tonight. Take some time to think on it, aye? But I would very much like for you to be my wife."

  I stared numbly at the box. He popped it open, and before I knew what was happening there was a large diamond hovering in front of me. Mrs. Much gasped into her hanky, choking back some sort of apoplectic fit, and I thought Mack Piper might be ready to have a heart attack. I felt Cayden rise from his seat, and circle around behind me.

  "Gah. Oh, my. Evan, I don't know what to say,” I stammered, still in shock. Cayden leaned down and whispered something into Evan's ear. Evan turned pale, and then Cayden was gone.

  I was grateful that Evan didn't expect me to answer him right then and there. I liked Evan a lot, cared deeply for him in fact, and found him attractive on the surface.

  But I didn't love him.

  He had never said he loved me, either. So why on earth would he propose marriage in front of everyone? I prayed to my Murray ancestors that a giant hole would open up and devour me, but apparently old Ranald and his forebears weren't listening. They were probably laughing heartily at the entire situation.

  I remembered what Trish had said the day we argued in the kitchen, and for a split second I wondered if she was right about Evan, or Cayden, or both.

  "Evan, I can't,” I said softly. “You've put me in a huge bind, you know, asking in front of all these people."

  Evan smiled. “I understand. Take all the time you need, lass.” He patted my hand again, and handed me the box. I stared at the diamond. It was huge.

  And Evan didn't seem to get that I had turned him down. “What did he say?” I asked, snapping the lid shut. We'd have to talk about this later, without an audience.

  "Hm?"

  "What did Cayden say to you? As he left, I mean,” I prodded.

  Evan flushed. “Nothing important."

  The rest of the evening passed by in a blur. Normally, one would find themselves giddy with happiness at being proposed to, especially by a guy as handsome and sweet as Evan. So why wasn't I clicking my heels with joy? I just wanted to escape, and after what seemed like a decent interval, I did just that.

  Trish cornered me on the steps. “Well. A fine evening, wasn't it?"

  "Oh, for the love of all that's holy. Would you just shut up?” I grumbled.

  "Gee, you don't seem as happy as I thought a newly engaged woman would be,” she quipped.

  "I'm not engaged. I didn't say yes.” The more I thought about it, the more I was waiting to get Evan alone so I could rip him a new one for putting me on the spot like that.

  "Mm hm,” she purred. “Could it be you have doubts about Evan's sincerity?"

  "Trish, not that this is any of your business, but it would be unfair to Evan to accept a proposal to someone I'm not in love with,” I snapped.

  "Ah.” She nodded, and tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Does this, by any chance, have anything to do with Cayden Spalding?"

  I glared at her. “It does not."

  "Really? Because I think he's rather taken with you, if you want the truth,” she sm
iled. “Smitten, even."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Because of what he said to Evan on his way out,” she said coyly.

  I frowned. I was dying to know, and Evan certainly wasn't going to tell. “I'm sure he stopped to offer his kind wishes or something,” I said haughtily.

  "Mm, no,” Trish said, tracing her finger along the banister. “Actually, what he said was, If you ever hurt her, Muncaster, I'll happily kill you.” She sighed dramatically. “Aren't you a lucky girl?"

  * * * *

  The Gathering began the next day, and it was a whirlwind of activity for the next seventy-two hours. I woke to a bright, sunny November morning and peered out the giant bay window, where I saw an astounding sight.

  Guests had begun arriving at sunrise. Apparently the Cobbler Hotel in Arrochar was booked to the gills, and some folks even were staying in rooms as far away as Glasgow and driving the three hours to Kilgraeme. The manor house's front lawn was covered in colorful tents and canopies, and there was a stage over near the main road. It looked like the circus had come to town overnight, all it needed were elephants.

  I dressed quickly in my Gathering costume, eager to get downstairs and start enjoying the festivities. I was wearing a getup that Gil would describe as Saucy Barwench, a long, white off-the-shoulder muslin dress with poofy sleeves, topped neatly with a forest green bodice and an overskirt in the Murray tartan. Although I looked quite fetching, if one liked the saucy wench look, I had a feeling I was going to be freezing within a couple of hours. My Charleston-raised body was simply not conditioned to cold, damp Scottish mornings.

  I made a mental note to give Mrs. Much a raise if this all went off without a hitch. A very, very big raise. The Gathering was being held on my property, and I was paying for it, but really I didn't have to do much except show up and have a good time. I wished that Gil had been able to come. Gil always likes a good party.

  As I skipped down to the ground floor, trying not to trip over my own skirts, I nearly collided with a woman wrapped in some sort of lime green gauzy material adorned with gold sparkles. She was easily three inches taller than me, which put her right around six feet. And she had hair the color of fire. “Caitriona?"