Call of the Clan

by Patti Wiggington

  I was a little taken aback when Raven caught my sleeve as I departed the table.

  "I'll call upon you at eleven, aye?” she said.

  "Eleven?” I blinked.

  "Aye, for the séance!” she whispered conspiratorially.

  "Oh! Okay,” I smiled. Honestly, I had forgotten completely about it. I had every intention of hunting for Evan, trying to patch things up with him, within reason, and then going to bed. If it turned out that I stayed up till the wee hours while Raven communicated with her ... whatever ... then so be it.

  I slipped away as unobtrusively as I could, and wandered about looking for Evan. I had stopped by his room several times during the day, but there was no answer when I knocked. Kilgraeme had so many small buildings scattered around that it was difficult, at best, to find someone when there wasn't a Gathering taking place, with an additional several hundred people on the property, it was damn near impossible.

  I had no luck whatsoever finding him. Most of the visitors had bedded down for the night in tents and cars, and I made my way unobtrusively across the lawn. Finally, I reached the hillside looking down into Loch Lomond. I closed my eyes, and listened to the sound of the water lapping gently against the craggy shore. The night was clear, the stars brightly visible overhead. A cool breeze blew across the loch toward me, and I inhaled deeply. Although I could hear the soft noises of campers off in the distance behind me I felt very much alone, and sat on a rock, peering out over the water.

  My father had lived here at Kilgraeme, until just eight months ago. My father, whom I had never known.

  My father, who never attempted to know me.

  I wondered if my life might have been any different had Jamie Murray been a part of it. Even if he'd never married my mother, if he had at least been ... there.

  My own dealings with men in the past had been essentially patterned after my mother's relationship with Steven Marlette. Steve was a nurturer, a caretaker, the one who picked up the pieces when things fell apart. Unfortunately, and I was well aware of this, many of the men I had dated were like Steve, but to the extent that they overprotected me. The problem was, as Gil and I had rehashed time and time again, that I was not a woman who needed or wanted to be protected. I had developed self-sufficiency fairly early in life, thanks to my mother's drunken absences.

  Maybe that was why I resented Evan Muncaster's possessiveness. He was sheltering me because he cared about me, but I pushed him away because the sheltering had become stifling.

  I wondered what Jamie had been like. Would he have stood by, watching my mother drink herself beyond the point of reason? Or would he have forced her to take control of her demons, and made her give up the bottle? Would he have, as Steve Marlette had done, just given up and taken me, and Gil, away so that he could protect us, and left her to her own devices?

  All I had of Jamie, besides this dump of a manor house, was a handful of photographs Trish had given me. A black-and-white snapshot, probably taken around the time I was conceived, of a young Jamie squatting in front of a jeep, shirtless, aviator sunglasses, cigarette dangling from his lips, a surfboard tucked under his arm, and a sign behind him reading “Welcome to Santa Monica."

  A color shot from five or so years ago, of Jamie and old Ranald, cutting a cake and laughing with Evan Muncaster as Mrs. Much and a very young Emily looked on.

  One of Jamie, older but still handsome, dark-haired and laughing, on his sailboat. Shirtless again, the cigarette hanging, and a bottle of beer in his hand.

  I sighed, and swiped one hand past my eyes. It wasn't really fair, none of it. I didn't fault Jamie for not contacting me, but it saddened me nonetheless, because I never got the chance to know him, and I wished that somehow I could have, even if it had just been for a little while.

  "Brynne?” said a low voice, and I jumped. It was Cayden.

  I jumped. “Jesus. You startled me."

  "Sorry. Mind if I sit a while?"

  I moved over. He had changed out of his kilt and linen shirt into a plain black sweater and jeans, with a suede barn jacket and hiking boots. “I wanted to apologize to you,” he began.

  "For what?” I asked suspiciously. “What have you done?"

  He laughed. “For this afternoon. Kissing you in front of all those people. Much practically scalped me alive for it. She said it wasn't fitting, and she was right."

  "Wasn't fitting?” I frowned. “I thought Much liked you."

  "Aye, she does, at that. Well, it wasn't fitting in part because you're the Murray, aye? And also because you seem to have some sort of understanding with wee Evan."

  I nodded. “I see. And has anyone considered the fact that I don't have that kind of relationship with Evan, despite what he may want to think? Or does that not matter?"

  "It doesn't matter about Muncaster. But you're the Murray,” he shrugged.

  I peered at him in the darkness. “And that settles it?"

  "Mmrph. It does.” We were silent for a while, and I picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the loch, where it landed with a soft plurp, causing the water to ripple out in moonlit circles. Cayden eyed me critically. “You throw well, for a lass."

  I snorted. “Yeah, well, I had to teach my little brother to play baseball so the other kids wouldn't beat him up.” I flexed my right arm. “Two years of fast-pitch softball right here, pal."

  "I'm impressed. You don't really seem like the outdoorsy type."

  "I'm not, really, not now.” I laughed. “But I used to be. It's just been the past few years, you know? I got accustomed to a very high-maintenance lifestyle. Instead of going for a walk I'd get on my three-thousand dollar treadmill and watch t.v. while I strolled."

  "I'm not sure I'd like a life like that,” he mused.

  I paused. “You know, I'm not sure I liked it either.” My life these past three months had been so simple. It would be weird going back to Charleston and starting from scratch with my inheritance.

  Oddly, I didn't look forward to leaving as much as I had before. I flung another stone. Plurp.

  Abruptly, he caught my hand. “Do you want to see it?” he asked gently.

  "Excuse me? Do I want to see what?” I backed up instinctively, wondering what exactly he had in mind.

  "His grave. You've been here nigh on three months and you haven't been to the cemetery yet, have you?"

  It was the truth. I hadn't gone to Jamie's grave, because, quite frankly, it never occurred to me that there was one to go to. “I thought they never found his body."

  "They didn't, but Kilgraeme still had a stone put up in his memory, aye? There's three hundred years of Murrays buried in that plot, and folks weren't about to let their sweet Jamie get by without at least a stone in his name,” he said softly. “If you wish, I'll take you up there in the morning."

  Tomorrow morning marked the end of the Gathering, followed by the ceilidh in the afternoon, and it seemed unlikely that I would have time to get away. I checked my watch. I still had two hours before Raven would be starting her séance.

  "Why not now?” I asked, and noticed his look of surprise.

  "You want to go traipsing about a cemetery in the dark?"

  I hopped down from my rock, and brushed off my rear end, which was quite chilly by now. “Why not? Scared of the dead?” I challenged.

  "It's not the dead that are dangerous, Brynne Murray Marlette,” he muttered, “but suit yourself. We can go now if you like."

  "After you,” I smiled, looking up towards the house. For a moment, I froze.

  He stared back at me, concerned. “What is it?"

  I tried to keep my voice level. “There's someone in my room."

  Cayden whirled around, eyes scanning the manor windows. The top floor was dark, because I have an almost obsessive compulsion about turning things off when I'm done with them. “Are you sure? I didn't see anything."

  We began to move quickly towards the house. Then I saw the flicker again, and stopped short. “Look,” I said, pointing. “Not in my r
oom, but in the library now. There's a flashlight."

  He swore colorfully and began to run towards the house. I was only a few steps behind him as he scaled the front patio and burst through the doors. Mrs. Much, who was sitting in her parlor with Emily and the others, looked at us with undisguised shock, and then began waddling up the steps behind us. Cayden stood at the library door when I got there.

  "Is there anyone in here?” I panted.

  He shook his head. “I don't see anything. I'll check the bedroom, but I'll wager the bastard is long gone."

  I hovered anxiously in the doorway, looking around to see if anything was amiss. The library was cluttered, as usual. It had been several days since I had actually done anything in here, and I honestly had no idea if anything had been disturbed.

  As Raven and Mrs. Much appeared behind me, Cayden emerged from the bedroom, looking worried.

  "What's wrong?” I asked.

  "There's been a bit of damage,” he said hesitantly. I shoved past him, ignoring Raven's pleas to be careful, and burst into my room.

  The covers and pillows on the four-poster bed had been slashed to ribbons. My clothes lay in a tattered heap near the wardrobe, and the mirror over the washstand was shattered. Shards of glass lay glinting in the sink, flickering eerily at me as I moved past them, watching myself in hundreds of tiny reflections.

  With a sudden thought, I looked at the nightstand. The drawer had been dumped out on the floor, and the photos of my father had been torn, no, not torn, cut, into tiny fragments.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I sat on my demolished bed and stared at the carnage surrounding me. Maybe, hopefully, I was trapped in the middle of a bad dream, and if I just waited a bit, I'd wake up again. Raven, who had obviously been prepared for the worst by her brother, poked her head in.

  "May I come in?"

  I shrugged indifferently. She surveyed the destruction carefully. “This is very personal, aye?"

  "Well, yeah, it's personal,” I snapped. “All of my stuff is ruined! Who would do this?"

  "No, I mean, it's a very personal attack,” she said softly. “Your clothes, the photos, the mirror."

  I understood what she meant. This was not an attack on Kilgraeme. It was an attack on me, and it was anything but random. “I know,” I moaned softly. “But why? What have I done? I haven't done anything to anyone.” I sounded kind of whiny, and wished I had a cigarette.

  Mrs. Much joined us, and sent Emily downstairs to fetch tea. She clucked her tongue sympathetically as she looked around, and patted me on the head, like I was a stray kitten. “Oh, you poor dear. What wicked soul would do such a thing to you?"

  I stood up abruptly, and moved to the front bay window. “Cayden? Where were we standing when I saw the light in the room?"

  He stepped beside me and peered out into the moonlit night. “At the shore of the loch, where the big stones are. About a quarter mile west of the house."

  I frowned. “How long do you think it took us to run up here?"

  His gray eyes studied me appraisingly. “No more than four, perhaps five minutes to reach the house, and perhaps another thirty seconds to get upstairs, once we came inside."

  "You see where I'm going with this?"

  "Aye, I do. Whoever did this must have been leaving just as we saw the light in the library, and got out of here fast,” he nodded.

  "But where did they go? We didn't see anyone on the second floor when we came up here."

  Emily arrived with a tray full of steaming tea mugs. “We was all in the parlor, watching the news,” she piped up. “Me and mam and the girls, and we didn't see anyone go by till you came runnin’ through."

  "The girls?” I asked, helping myself to a cup. “Which girls?"

  "Well, Raven and Cait,” put in her mother.

  "Where was Trish?” asked Cayden abruptly. I nearly choked on my tea. Surely he didn't think she would do something so malicious?

  Mrs. Much shook her head. “I haven't seen her since dinner. She left right after you did, missus."

  Cayden Spalding looked angrier than I had seen him in a while, and when he left the room abruptly, I leaped up to follow him. If he was right, and Trish had been the one who had destroyed my room, I wanted to be the one to confront her.

  "Wait, Brynne,” begged Raven. “Perhaps you should let him handle this, aye?"

  "Why? I'm the one whose room got trashed,” I growled. I couldn't even look at the bed. Small tufts of stuffing were blowing around delicately in the breeze.

  The windows.

  I crossed hurriedly into the library, and ran to the back window, which sat open. I knew I had closed it earlier, it was too cold on a November night to leave it open. It was darker on this side of Kilgraeme. The shadowy form of Beinn a'Choinn rose silent and black behind the house, and I poked my head outside to stare into the night. There was no movement on Beinn a'Choinn, no sounds other than the usual night noises.

  When I looked down, I saw that I was high above the back patio, the one where Sandie MacFarlane's body had been found. My intruder had probably climbed down to the patio roof and hopped to the ground. Whoever it was, he, or she, was long gone.

  On the second floor, just below me, was another window. Evan Muncaster's room. There was no light coming from it, and I wondered, with some sense of trepidation, where Evan was. What if the mad pillow-slasher had gone after Evan?

  "We should call the police,” announced Caitriona sensibly.

  "Aye,” clucked Mrs. Much. “It's a shame, it is. All these strangers descending upon Kilgraeme for the Gathering, bound to be one bad apple in the bunch, aye?"

  Privately, I didn't think it had been a stranger at all. I excused myself, and before Raven could stop me I trotted downstairs.

  Cayden caught me at the bottom step, shaking his head. “No one's about. I checked Trish's room, Much's, and Emily's as well."

  I glanced at him evenly. “What about Evan's?"

  "Locked. I tapped on it a bit, but no one answered,” he admitted.

  I frowned. I knew Evan was still at Kilgraeme, because we had run past his Saab on the way into the house. I wandered downstairs, and studied the door to his room.

  "I wonder if he locked it from the inside or the outside?” I mused.

  Cayden squatted down and peered into the keyhole. “I can't tell. Too dark."

  Emily, who followed us down from my room, passed him her cigarette lighter. Flicking it, he waved it back and forth in front of the lock.

  "It looks as though the key is in it,” he said, sounding annoyed. “Why in the hell doesn't he answer? Muncaster!” He and Emily began to pound on the door, calling Evan's name.

  I pushed past them and sprinted back upstairs to the third floor. If something was wrong with Evan, if he was hurt, or, I tried not to think about it. The last words I had said to him had not been terribly kind, and if something bad happened to him, I would feel awful.

  I hoisted my leg over the window sill, and grabbed the thick iron drainpipe that ran down the side of the house. I gave it a shove to make sure it would hold, but it didn't move. Carefully, I lowered myself down, an inch at a time, until my feet touched a row of stones beside Evan's window. I caught my breath, hoping I wouldn't fall crashing onto the patio roof. I felt like a super heroo.

  Below me, someone said, “Good Lord, Brynne! What are you doing?"

  Startled, I tried to keep my balance. Peeking down around my shoulder, I saw Evan's handsome face looking up at me, obviously concerned with my precarious hold on the side wall of the house.

  "Evan! You're okay!” I grinned happily.

  "Aye,” he admitted groggily. “I was asleep, but with all the pounding on the door ... when Much said you'd run back up to the library, I thought perhaps I should take a peek out the window."

  "I'm glad you did. Would you mind giving me a hand?” The fact was, the drainpipe was freezing cold and my fingers were going numb. I didn't entirely trust them to get me in through the window unassisted.<
br />
  Once inside, and Much and the others sent on their way, and not without some scowly looks from Cayden, I perched on his bed, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, rubbing my icy hands together. Relief that Evan wasn't dead or hurt was slowly being replaced with annoyance that I'd had no idea where he was all day, and had been worried about him.

  "So, where have you been today?” I asked pointedly.

  Mrs. Much bustled in with another tray of tea, this time, there were little cakes accompanying it, and deposited it on the dresser.

  He shook his head. “I haven't been feeling well. I've just been in bed, trying not to throw up."

  "I came by earlier, a couple of times. You didn't answer the door.” I tried not to be a nag, but couldn't help it.

  Evan smiled. “I've been sleeping all day. I was up most of the night vomiting, so I took a little something this morning to help me get some rest, alright?"

  "Evan, look,” I began. “About the other night, when I said...."

  "Shh,” he said gently, pressing a finger to my lips. “It's alright, aye? We'll do things your way. I'll even take you out for dinner, and moonlit strolls, if that's the sort of thing you like."

  I sighed with relief, thankful that I hadn't shoved him away, completely out of my life. “Thanks for understanding,” I said softly. “I was worried about you, you know."

  He flushed a little. “I'm sorry. I just didn't think you'd wish to be burdened with a sick, vomity man, in the midst of all the goings-on. You've got the Gathering to think about, aye?"

  I patted his hand, and tucked him back into his bed. “Do you want me to stay here with you? I will, if you want."

  "I'm fine, you go on. Much said something about a séance later, and you don't want to miss that,” he chuckled.

  I peeked at my watch. Nearly eleven. Raven would come hunting for me if I didn't show up for her séance. I kissed Evan lightly on the forehead. “I'll stop by later to check on you, okay?"