Call of the Clan

by Patti Wiggington

  I wondered if she knew her daughter was pregnant with Danny's child. I suspected not; Much probably wouldn't have been as charitable towards him if Emily had told her mother about the impending Little Stranger.

  Council passed by quickly and uneventfully. I managed to stumble through the whole Danny Beaton situation gracefully, and Danny himself had the decency to at least look embarrassed by the whole thing. The murder charge had been dropped, at least until more evidence was gathered, but the fact was that in many minds at Kilgraeme, Danny Beaton was still Public Enemy Number One.

  I decided to allow myself one ceremonial cigarette after Council each month, and when I stepped out to the patio behind the kitchen, it was beginning to snow.

  It was the first Friday in December. In Charleston tonight, when the sun went down, Gil and Mark would be sitting on the deck of the beach house, watching the breakers roll in by the lighthouse. They'd have a big pan of steamed oysters on the grill, and bottles of beer stuck in a bucket of ice by the door. The sounds of music would come wafting through the screen doors, and they'd watch the lights of the Charleston peninsula across the moon-speckled waters of the Cooper River. It would be breezy and cool, but with a trace of that residual humidity that never seemed to leave the coast of the low country.

  I wanted to be there.

  I took a deep drag and exhaled, leaning back up against the cold whitewashed walls of Kilgraeme, and looked out at Beinn a'Choinn. It was bare and sparse this time of the year, and I watched as a single large black bird soared overhead across the gray skies.

  The door clicked open behind me, and I jumped.

  "Didn't mean to startle you,” Cayden Spalding said.

  "You might stop sneaking up on people,” I suggested helpfully.

  He wrinkled his nose. “You might stop smoking. It's not healthy for you, and it makes your lungs rot."

  "Thank you, Dr. Spalding.” I refrained from exhaling in his immediate direction, although I thought about doing it just to be snarky. “I need a favor."

  "Oh?” He raised a brow.

  "I want to see my father's headstone,” I said quietly.

  He nodded. “I thought you might. We haven't really talked about it since last weekend."

  "Yeah.” I blinked. “When are you free?"

  Cayden shrugged. “How about now, then?"

  For a moment, I was tempted to protest. It seemed too spontaneous, and I thought I might need time to prepare myself.

  On the other hand, I didn't have a whole lot else to do.

  "Let's go,” I nodded.

  His truck was parked in front of the house, and rather than go back inside and have to explain myself to anyone, I opted to slip around the side and past the barn. The only person I saw was old Mack Piper, walking back up the road towards his shop in the village.

  "Isn't it odd that the cemetery isn't near the house?” I asked, as Cayden revved the engine.

  "A bit, aye, but it's where Colin Murray wanted it to be,” he explained. “And since he was buryin’ his own children in it, ‘twas really up to him, wasn't it? And it's not so far off, just the other side of Beinn a'Choinn."

  "Is it near your place?"

  He nodded. “Just up the hill from the broch."

  I frowned. I didn't remember seeing it on either of my excursions to Cayden's. Then again, the first time had been in the middle of a monsoon, so it was really no wonder I hadn't noticed it.

  We drove south along the Loch, and then turned abruptly left. In a few moments, we were headed up the hillside.

  "How come there's no road?” I asked conversationally.

  "Don't really need one, do we? Look over there, do you see that clump of trees?"

  Being December, the trees didn't look especially hardy, and combined with the gray skies and the chilly wind, it lent sort of a surreal quality to the prospect of visiting a cemetery.

  The Murray family graveyard was a good-sized square area, perhaps fifty yards across, with a wrought-iron fence around it. The stones were grouped into two clusters, and between the two groups sat a solitary grave.

  "The Murrays are on the left, and the Spaldings on the right. That's Catharine in the middle,” Cayden pointed. “Since she was both, aye?"

  I hesitated. “Do you mind if I...."

  "I'll wait at the truck."

  "Thank you,” I smiled. It meant a lot to me that he understood my need to be alone for a while.

  I pushed the rusted gate aside, and slowly wandered around the cemetery. I didn't know specifically where my father was, but I didn't need to just yet. I would find him soon enough.

  I paused here and there to look at the weathered stones. For the first time ever, I traced my fingers along the names of my ancestors, people whose blood ran through my veins, people of whom I had never even heard until just a few months ago. I whispered the names under my breath, as though they were all part of some strange mantra that my soul was compelled to chant.

  Colin Murray, Master of Kilgraeme, 1695—1760.

  Margaret Murray, dau. of Niall Gregor of MacGregor, beloved wife of Colin, 1700—1762.

  Mary 1728—1728.

  Isobel 1729—1729.

  Margaret 1732—1732.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat. Three babies, three tiny little girls, dead in infancy. It hit me, then, how precarious life must have been in those times. No immunizations, no anesthesia, no emergency room visits when one got sick. I wondered how it had been for Maggie Murray, how she had managed to go on after the deaths of three of her children.

  The headstones went on, marking lives from the past to the present, through another nine generations of Murrays. Most of them were men, I noticed. Colin was the only one whose daughters lay beneath the earth at Kilgraeme. Maybe the rest of the women had grown up, married and moved away.

  Archibald Murray, 1757—1840, beloved husband of Bess.

  Robert Murray, 1908—1962. Robert. Old Ranald's younger brother, and my own great-grandfather.

  Alfred Murray, 1925—1977. Son of Robert, husband of Betty, father of James. Betty's grave lay nearby.

  Ranald Murray, 1900—2003. Beloved uncle of James.

  I gulped again. Ranald died childless, but was loved nonetheless.

  And then I saw it.

  It was towards the center of the graveyard, nearer the Spalding side, and set at a somewhat off angle. The grave was marked by a simple stone just like the others.

  A single, perfect, white rose lay at the base. I shivered, wondering who had left the flower, and where they'd found it in this weather, and then squatted down for a closer look at my father's grave.

  James Gregor Murray, 1955—2005. May those who come after me follow my eternal gaze.

  My eternal gaze? What the hell was that all about?

  I glanced around. Cayden Spalding was fiddling under the hood of his black pickup truck.

  "Cayden?” I called, and he looked up. “Can you come here a second?"

  He ambled over to stand beside me, and I was reminded how fluid and graceful his movements were, which seemed strange in a man so tall. He moved like a part of the ground upon which he walked, like some great red-headed migratory oak tree.

  "What does this mean?” I pointed to Jamie's grave.

  "It's what he wanted on his stone when he died, aye? It was in his orders."

  I frowned. “Follow his gaze? Pretty cryptic. In fact, it makes no sense at all."

  "Your Da's idea of a joke, I suppose,” he replied, and I noticed a slight crease of a grin appear. “He had it down, specifically, that he wanted to be buried here in this spot."

  "Why is that?"

  His eyes darkened. “Maybe he knew he'd want to be buried near Melissa some day. Though I'll wager he didn't plan on the two of them ending up dead at the same time.” He pointed to another stone, directly across from where we stood, on the Spalding side of the cemetery.

  "Oh.” I shifted uncomfortably. This was all very awkward. It was apparent that Cayden had looked at Ja
mie as an older brother or even fatherly sort of figure, and yet Jamie had, in the end, betrayed him. “I didn't realize she was buried here too,” I added lamely.

  "Aye, well, my Mam didn't want her to be, but I knew it would mean a lot to Mary Much,” he said, and I heard a slight catch in his voice. “So, even though there's nothing beneath Jamie's stone, at least it's close to hers."

  I didn't say anything. I was acutely conscious of his nearness, and the soft scent of woodsmoke. Even with the cold breeze blowing through the skeletal trees, my body felt suddenly warm. I glanced sideways, and realized he was staring at me.

  "What?” I blurted.

  "Nothing,” he said innocently. “Just looking at you, is all."

  "Why?"

  He sighed, and I saw his gaze shift to the southeast, the banks of Loch Lomond not far in the distance, and the once-green moors now brown and dead with the coming winter. “He was ... a friend,” he said quietly. “When I worked it out that he and Melissa had been, well, I really had no say in it, aye? We'd been apart for a while. I knew she was with someone, I just didn't expect it to be Jamie, because he'd been seeing Trish, you know? I guessed he was too old for her, but it would rather appear I was wrong.” He exhaled. “I never thought it would be him."

  "What was she like?” I asked gently, watching his face.

  A short laugh escaped him. “She was wild, spontaneous, beautiful, and totally unsuited to marriage. Melissa was a free spirit. She should have left Kilgraeme and gone off to a big city somewhere, London or Paris or even New York,” he murmured. “But she stayed here for her mother, and then she stayed here because of me."

  I waited.

  "Melissa liked men. She wasn't a whore, she just liked men, and couldn't pass them up,” he continued. “When she was about eighteen, she thought she was pregnant by some lad she'd had a fling with, and she told Mary, who promptly threw her out. Mary Much was a lot more conservative back then. I offered Melissa a place to stay, and by the time it turned out she wasn't with child after all ... well, by then I couldn't very well ask her to leave. So I married her."

  Cayden shrugged, and pulled his coat tighter. I stepped in front of him, to shield myself a bit from the harsh wind. “Anyway, it wasn't much of a marriage after the first year or so. She wanted to go out and drink in the clubs down in Glasgow every weekend, and I wanted to raise a family. She moved back in with her Mam, into the main house, and she got her freedom. At least for a time, aye?"

  "You loved her,” I said, oddly touched.

  "Aye, well, I was young and randy and I loved her wildness, but when I wanted to change her, I couldn't,” he said simply. “It was a long time ago."

  I shivered despite myself, and he opened up his coat, gathering me inside it with him, his arms around me. I buried my nose in the soft warmth of his wool sweater, and inhaled deeply, closing my eyes.

  We stood that way, silent, for a long time as the icy December wind whipped across Beinn a'Choinn. I could feel his breath in my hair, warm and even, and his hands on my back, keeping me close.

  His hand slid up, and began stroking the nape of my neck. I gasped as a million tiny sparks ricocheted through me. His fingers in my hair, he tipped my head back so that I was looking directly into those steel-gray eyes.

  "Brynne,” he rumbled softly.

  I blinked once, and then his mouth was on me, devouring ruthlessly the way he had that night in the barn, rough and passionate. A large hand slipped inside my jacket, cupping my breast and pressing hard. I emitted a small squeak of pleasure, and slid my arms around his neck.

  Finally, his lips released mine, and traveled along my cheek to begin nuzzling my ear. He hadn't shaved today, but I wasn't bothered in the least.

  "Come with me, back to the croft."

  I nodded, at a loss for words. I wanted Cayden Spalding more than I had ever wanted any man in my life, and would have walked barefoot to Timbuktu if he had asked me.

  Without speaking, we hurried back to the truck. He fired the ignition, and pulled away from the cemetery with a squeal of tires. As we bounced down the rocky hillside towards Broch Caidil, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the middle of the seat. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, and he slid his arm around my shoulders, moving me tightly up against him. For once, I didn't bother with my seatbelt.

  Once at the croft, he pulled me out of the pickup, and kissing me the whole way, maneuvered me gently inside. The croft was like an icebox, and my breath came in short, ragged gasps, forming misty little ghosts in the air.

  "We'll start a fire,” he said, eyes boring into mine. I shivered, but not because of the cool temperature.

  I sat on the floor beside him, watching as he piled logs and kindling into the hearth. There was the quick flash of a long match, and the fire was soon crackling heartily. Cayden crawled over beside me, and took my hands.

  "You're cold,” he observed.

  "Mmrph. Not for long,” I murmured, leaning up and brushing his lips with mine, pulling him down above me. For a brief moment, I thought about Kilgraeme, and the things that had taken place in the three short months since my arrival. I thought about Trish and her jealousy, and about the impetuous and tragic Melissa, and, somewhat guiltily, Evan Muncaster. Those thoughts were promptly replaced by much more appealing ones.

  I was brought harshly back to reality by a pounding on the door.

  "Who is it?” called Cayden hoarsely.

  "It's me, Trish! Open up! I need to talk to you!"

  I groaned. What in the world did she want? And did she have any idea how bad her timing was? My heart was pounding like it was about to jump out of my chest.

  A few other things were pounding away as well, and I sighed.

  "Just a minute,” he said loudly. He turned back to me, eyes searching. “If you'd like to disappear until I can send her off, you're welcome to. Unless of course, you'd like to sit and chat with her."

  I shook my head and scurried off to the bedroom, closing the door gently behind me. What could Trish possibly have to say that would be of interest to Cayden Spalding?

  * * * *

  Catharine sat happily before the great fire. She and Will now lived in a small croft at the rear of Beinn a'Choinn, but she spent a good deal of time at Kilgraeme's main house, tending baby Archie, as Susannah had not yet recovered from the difficult birth. Catharine doted on her nephew, and he gurgled with joy as she made faces at him.

  "Who's a good fat laddie, then?” she asked proudly. “Who loves his Auntie?"

  She bounced him for a while, and glanced up when a shadow fell over the boy. It was Will's brother.

  "Malcolm,” she smiled. “How goes things with you?"

  "Well enough, I suppose,” he said. He sat on the floor beside her, stretching his long legs out, and gave baby Archie a finger to gnaw on. “Getting a tooth, is he?"

  She laughed, and they played with their nephew in companionable silence. Finally, Mal spoke. “I'm worried about Lachlan, aye?"

  "How so?"

  Malcolm glanced around, to be sure they were alone. “He's become obsessed with this treasure he thinks your Da and mine stole from Montrose with Robert Ruaidh, aye? He's beginning to talk like a madman."

  Catharine sat up. “Lachlan has always been mad, Mal. He's always hated Dugald, and always hated me. It's simply the way he is,” she said. “If it gives him joy to seek out some treasure that's no more than a fairy story, then let him. My Da says it was all gone long ago."

  Malcolm looked up at her, and envied his brother's good fortune in marrying a woman such as Catharine.

  "Lachlan will never be happy,” she said, sadness in her green eyes.

  "I know,” he murmured. “Catharine, promise me you'll watch yourself. Watch out for yourself, and your brother. And for mine."

  Catharine stroked baby Archie's hair. “Mal, just as you would never let anyone harm Lachlan, Will would never let anyone harm Dugald."

  Malcolm nodded. “I know."

  Chapter
Nineteen

  Being naturally curious, and completely livid about having my first sexual encounter in two damn years interrupted, I had no qualms whatsoever about eavesdropping. Pressing my ear against the wall, I tried to figure out what was being said.

  "I need your help,” I heard her say once the front door had clicked open.

  "Well, you can't have it. Now go away,” came the reply.

  "Oh, come on, Spalding, you know about this kind of stuff. I think I know how to find the Murray treasure!"

  "You're a complete fool, just like Jamie was, Trish. There is no treasure, and you'd best be careful who you go spouting off to, or you may find yourself in over your head, aye?” I heard him say roughly.

  "Oh, good Lord, Spalding,” said Trish. “You're the one who's being a fool. I really think I'm on to something this time."

  There was a silence. Finally, Cayden spoke again. “And I think you're meddling in things you shouldn't be meddling in. Anything that's out there doesn't belong to you, it belongs to the Murray, aye?"

  "Ha!” she spat. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law, isn't it? Or, to put it in a more elementary form, finders keepers. Anything I find belongs to me and no one else, Murray or not."

  "You're wrong,” he said simply. “Jamie searched the whole of Kilgraeme, and he said that if anyone had hidden anything, and there's no proof that anyone did so, ‘twas old Colin himself, making it the property of Colin and his descendants, which does not include you."

  "But Colin stole it from Rob Roy MacGregor,” whined Trish. I imagined her stomping her foot and pouting prettily. “That means I'm entitled to it if I find it."

  I was half tempted to make my presence known, and simply embarrass her into leaving. On the other hand, if she saw me, the first thing she would do was go back to Kilgraeme Manor and announce my whereabouts, and state of disarray, to Evan, who would then cause a scene. I placed a hand on the doorknob, weighing my options.

  It was almost as if Trish was reading my mind, because I then heard her ask, “So what exactly is going on with the two of you?"

  "Is that your business?"

  Trish laughed. “It could be, if I wanted to let Evan know about it."