by Jill Barnett
But Georgina Bayard moved. She ran around Amy and punched Fate right in his square jaw. Destiny took one horror-filled look at Georgina’s raised-and-shaking fist and he just melted back into the mist.
Amy blinked, turned, and looked at Georgina who was just sitting next to her. She wasn’t staring at Amy, like Amy thought she might be. Instead, the other woman was looking down at the water.
Her expression changed suddenly, her dark slash of brows frowning together for a brief instant before she looked up. “I think the tide is rising. Look.” She pointed at the water, which had risen and was only about an inch from the rock shelf where they sat.
“It is getting higher. What should we do?”
“Leave.” Georgina started to move.
Amy got to her knees and dusted off her skirt, which seemed a futile effort since her clothing was tattered like rags. She shook her head, looked up, then froze. A second later she jabbed an elbow into Georgina’s ribs.
“Ouch!” Georgina flinched and scowled at her. “What did you do that for?”
Amy nodded at the mouth of the cave and she heard Georgina, who was on all fours, inhale sharply.
Standing at the entrance to the cave with eerie lantern light cast over her was a little girl with curly golden hair. She was dressed in a white high-necked nightgown with lace at the hem where her pink bare toes peeked out and curled over the edge of a flat rock. She looked like an angel who had appeared out of the mist.
For just a second Amy blinked, thinking what she saw was just a vision. But the angel child was all too real.
The look on the child’s face, however, was anything but angelic. She scowled at them as if she faced the devil and his entire horned and cloven army. Then very slowly the child raised her small hands and aimed a large quivering pistol right at them.
Chapter 17
I’m not denying that women are foolish. God Almighty made them to match the men.
—George Eliot
“The woman is a perfect match for you.”
“I don’t need a woman.” Calum scowled at Eachann while they worked their way through the thick forest near the cove. He stopped to bat a low branch out of his way, then had to swipe a shower of dew and pine needles off his face and head. He glared at Eachann’s broad back while he picked his shirt clean.
Eachann turned to face him. “Not even a woman who is a victim?” He clapped Calum on the shoulder and got that goading grin on his face. “What happened to you, brother? And here I thought you wanted to single-handedly save the world from injustice.”
Calum’s nerves were worn thin and he told Eachann in a foul but explicit term what he could go do. But his brother wore an expression he knew only too well.
Stubborn. Pig-headed. Too damn smart. Every trait that got Eachann in trouble, which usually meant Calum was in trouble right along with him. Like now. “This woman is just what you need.”
“How would you know what I need?” Eachann laughed. “I know better than anyone else.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Fergus.” Eachann stood in the center of the woods, looking as keenly attentive as a staghound waiting for the wind to bring the scent of game. Calum moved to join him and his boots sunk deeply into thick mud. He looked up. The mist hovered in the trees above them as if the thick spruce branches were arms ready to drop the heavy fog right on their heads.
Scowling, he stood there and impatiently picked pine tar from his hair. The stuff was like molasses. He looked down at his hands, then tried to wipe them clean with his handkerchief. It stuck to the tar on his palm. He shook it a few times and watched the white handkerchief wave from his palm like a flag of surrender.
Now Eachann was walking around the clearing, obviously looking for signs of the women. After a few steps he paused and shook his head. “They’re not here either.”
“Why are we standing around? Instinct is no way to find anyone. We need to comb the area from the house in a methodical way. Use thorough patterns so we cover every inch of ground. There have to be footprints somewhere around here.”
Eachann spun around and began to walk back toward the quay as if he hadn’t heard a word Calum had said. So Calum shouted after him. “We’ll never find them this way. They could be anywhere.” Calum tried to pull his boots from the sucking mud. There was a loud slurping pop. “Hell and blast!” He glanced up at Eachann’s back. “You should have left things as they were. This is the most foolish trick you’ve ever pulled!”
Eachann just kept walking, but his voice traveled back. “I’d be willing to wager half my stable that had you been where I was, and had you seen what I saw, you’d have rescued the lass faster than I did.”
Calum jammed his handkerchief into a pocket and went after him. “It would serve you right to lose those horses of yours. I just might take that wager.”
“No. You won’t.” Eachann’s tone was certain.
“Aye, I will.”
The stable was Eachann’s territory, and to Calum’s never-ending surprise it was usually clean. But it was in sore need of some organization: a well-planned workspace, a sense of order, and everything stored in its proper place. There were plenty of times when his hands itched not with pine tar, but with the need to fix up Eachann’s workplace.
The bags of feed could be in one area and stacked neatly, perhaps according to the date purchased. The tack could use some polishing—Eachann wasn’t good with those kinds of details—and Calum could hang proper-sized hooks for bridles and halters that were in easy reach, aligned and placed in the order of frequency of use.
“If you touch my stable I’ll blacken your eye. I know you, Calum.” Eachann faced him. “The first thing you’d do is board the horses in their stalls by name. Alphabetically. Then you’d plan a feeding, training, and breeding schedule. Next you’d probably make one of those blasted charts for the organized placement of all the tackle and gear.”
Eachann was right. Calum had just been plotting his chart. But he would be damned if he would admit it. Organizing Eachann’s stable was a frequent fantasy of Calum’s, mostly out of a notion of self-defense. The last time he was there, he had walked around a corner and tripped over the handle of a muck shovel.
Eachann eyed him for a moment. “Wipe that scowl off your face, brother. You’ve lost your sense of humor. You never used to be so blasted bedeviled about everything.”
“I like my life calm and organized.”
“Aye. Boring.”
“I like my boring life. And you’d be getting piss-tired if those women were turned loose on you. Every time I turn around someone is sticking some woman under my nose.”
Eachann began walking again, but not before Calum heard him mutter just how he’d like to have that black-haired she-devil under more than just his nose.
He’d like to plant his fist under Eachann’s nose. He took a few more steps. The only place Calum wanted those women was off of his island. Now.
After a few minutes of walking in and out of the perimeter of the cove, Eachann said, “You do have to admit the lass I brought you is better-looking than any woman Fergus ever found. She’s a pretty little thing, even if she does cry too much.”
“She didn’t cry,” Calum said. His tone was defensive. Where did that come from? He ground to a stop, frowning and suddenly uncomfortable.
But try as he might, he couldn’t make himself angry at her. When he thought of her image, he remembered what he’d seen in her eyes, a look that struck him where he was most vulnerable. She needed saving.
Calum glanced up. He’d lost Eachann to the mist again. “Slow down, dammit! I can’t find you in this fog.”
“I’m over here,” Eachann called out.
Calum strode toward his brother’s voice and grumbled, “I still can’t believe you resorted to kidnapping.”
“It’s in the blood. You know as well as I do that many a MacLachlan has helped himself to a bride.”
“That was two hundred years ago. In Scotland.”
&n
bsp; Eachann shrugged. “I did it for your own good.”
“My good?” Even Calum had to laugh at that lie. “Oh, I see. Right now there are two women wandering this island because you were only thinking of me?”
Eachann didn’t respond, which meant Calum was right and his brother was too stubborn to agree.
Calum bent down and held the lantern close to the sand. He scanned the ground but still saw no footprints, just the skinny three-pronged impressions of seagulls and sandpipers and the smooth polished rocks tossed up by the sea. He was beginning to think their search here was futile. He straightened and faced Eachann. “I think we should split up.”
“Fine. You go in the opposite direction I am.”
Calum turned to walk the other way and ground to a halt. The opposite direction was the sea.
He spun back and caught up with Eachann who was smirking. “You can go straight to hell. You think this is all a joke. Their families are probably ready to storm the island and hang us by our necks . . . or something worse.”
“Aye, and the gravestone could read: ‘Here lie the brothers MacLachlan. They were well-hung.’ “
“Is nothing serious to you?”
“They have no families, Calum.”
“How do you know?”
“George volunteered the information.” There was a note of amusement in Eachann’s voice, as if he was the only one who knew the joke. He glanced at Calum and added, “Don’t worry. I asked a friendly little red-haired maid about your lass.”
Calum thought about that. “If you took the time to ask about their families then that means you had this planned.”
“No. I didn’t have this planned. I found myself in a difficult situation once I was ashore. It didn’t take me long to figure out I needed a woman.”
“Couldn’t you just visit Justine’s and pay for one for a few hours?”
“I didn’t need a woman for her body.” Eachann turned and went back toward the west end of the cove. “Besides, I didn’t have any plans to nab one for you until I saw the blonde and realized she was just what you did need, even if she is a little mild and meek.”
Calum tramped along behind him. “Considering what happened to her, I’d say she was showing more mettle than most women.”
“You think so? Didn’t seem like much of a fighter to me. Now, George, there’s a woman that puts up a good fight. Must have some good Scots blood in her somewhere. Not like your bride.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my—damn . . . She’s not my bride. I am not marrying anyone.”
“Fine. I’ll take her back.”
“Good.”
“I’ll just dump her right back into the hands of that fellow who hurt her.”
Calum stopped. “Someone hurt her?”
“Aye.” Eachann kept walking down the beach. “Some horse’s ass humiliated the poor lass.”
“How?’
“I found both women at a society party.”
“What the hell were you doing at a society party?”
“Just passing through.”
Calum knew that was another lie. His look must have said so because when he caught up, Eachann added, “Well, passing through long enough to see your lass—”
“She’s not—”
“Okay, okay . . . ” Eachann raised a hand. “I was there long enough to see the lass break her engagement. Her future husband didn’t much like it. When he saw he couldn’t change her mind he announced to everyone within shouting distance that she wasn’t good enough to carry the name of his blue-blooded family. He belittled her in front of everyone. She ran off crying and hid in the back of the garden.”
So that was the reason the lass seemed so broken. She was wounded. He followed Eachann down the beach in silence, thinking that his brother had just made things worse for the girl when he kidnapped her. The damn impulsive fool. He should have left her to her tears.
“I saw her bent over and crying. She looked so beaten down I thought of you. She was rescue bait.” He looked up. “Stop glowering and admit it. You do have this driving need to save every downtrodden and unfortunate soul on the face of the earth.”
Rescue bait? Calum supposed in a way Eachann was right. But Calum didn’t care if his brother poked fun at him. Like most brothers, they had grown up needling each other. Eachann would goad him about his neatness the same way Calum needled him back about his sloth. Of late the source for Eachann’s needling had been Calum’s work.
But Calum believed in what he did; it gave him satisfaction and a purpose he hadn’t had before he’d discovered something worthwhile to do.
He’d heard about the clearances in Scotland, most of the Scots here had. They felt rage at the cruel injustice of throwing people off the land they and their families had occupied for hundreds of years.
The new lairds of Scotland had been slowly driving the Highlanders from their homes. It seemed there was more profit in grazing sheep than supporting clan families. Now there were more Scots in North America than there were left in Highlands.
But until he saw the immigrants with his own eyes, the horror of their situation hadn’t hit him. Most immigrated here with the promise of a fresh start. But the lairds lied to them more often than not.
Once here the Highlanders wandered the streets with nothing, not even a command of English. Most only spoke Gaelic. For too long before Calum knew of them, many had starved or frozen to death trying to get to the open lands of Canada’s upper provinces.
“Hell, Calum, you’ve managed to turn injustice into a profession.”
It was just like Eachann to change the subject, especially now when they were arguing. Calum knew his brother saw his idealism as a joke. But he knew Eachann wasn’t as disinterested in Calum’s work as he sounded.
When they were younger, Eachann had helped him with the Scots who came on those ships, like the ship he expected to arrive anytime. Eachann met his wife, Sibeal, while he had been helping Calum settle families displaced by the clearances.
Since Eachann had lost her, he had changed. There was more of an edge to his brother, a cruel and cynical side to him and his jokes. As time passed Eachann had done more foolish and impulsive things, like he’d done tonight and that day when he’d taken his children away.
Of the two of them, Eachann had always been the brother who was slow to anger but quick to act, too often acting without much forethought. After Sibeal died, Eachann became selfish and disinterested in anything except his horses. Those animals were like a refuge to him. So much so, he had all but abandoned his children.
At first Calum thought it was only grief that would pass. But with time Eachann hadn’t grown closer to Kirsty and Graham. Instead he let them do as they wished. When they grew wild and whiny and demanded his attention, he had just upped and taken them to the mainland where he put them away in a boarding school.
For months afterward, Eachann was seldom around the house. He was moody and he had stopped helping Calum altogether. He had stopped doing anything but raise and break and ride his horses, as if doing so were his only purpose. There was more and more that his brother sloughed off, until there was little in life that Eachann appeared to care about.
In fact, when Calum thought about it, he realized that Eachann had shown little interest in anything over the last two years. Until now.
His brother stopped in front of him and was searching around them. Calum held the lantern high as Eachann cursed and muttered, “Damn creatures could get themselves killed.”
For the first time in ages Eachann’s voice wasn’t caustic or amused, but filled with a sincere emotion.
Calum stood there thinking about that for a long time. He could let his brother get away with his actions like before, when he lost Sibeal. Or this time he could try to get Eachann to talk.
Calum stood there a moment longer, then reached out and placed a hand on Eachann’s broad shoulder. He could feel the tenseness. Very quietly and seriously he asked, “Why did you really do this?”
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br /> Eachann turned and gave Calum a snide look that melted away when he must have seen how concerned Calum was. Eachann took a deep breath, then looked around as if he were searching for the right words. “Why did I do this?” he responded quietly. He looked up at Calum. “The truth?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “The truth.”
Eachann’s expression became empty, a look that Calum remembered seeing before. It was the same look he’d worn years ago when their father died and they both knew they were alone, the same look he had when they’d found his wife Sibeal dead.
His brother took another breath and stared down at the ground. Tension was in the air, the kind of tension that felt alive and made the air suddenly thick and heavy.
Eachann looked up, his eyes not reflecting laughter or cynicism or icy disdain. Instead they were full of something that looked just like plain old fear. They both stood there in the fog, studying each other unguarded.
“Because of Kirsty and Graham.” There was pain in Eachann’s voice when he said his children’s names.
Calum didn’t criticize. All he could say was “Explain.”
But before either of them could move, before he could even take a breath or reach out a hand again, a shot rang out.
Chapter 18
The Proverb says that providence protects children and idiots. I know it because I have tested it.
—Mark Twain
The gun went off with a flash of light and a loud crack. Sudden and powerful recoil knocked the child off the rock and right into the sea.
Before the gunshot could echo around the walls of the cave, Georgina was in the water. She swam deeper, then pressed her hands against an underwater rock ledge beneath the cave entrance. She felt her way around it.
