No Other Woman (No Other Series)

by Shannon Drake

  By daylight, she thought, he was as dazzling as the rays of the sun. She wanted to run to him. She wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to be plucked up in the strength of his arms, held tenderly against him. But suspicions and accusations remained, and only in the shadow of night could she allow herself to touch him.

  He paused before her, the breeze catching his dark hair, blowing it against the strong contours of his face.

  "David. In the flesh. By daylight. My laird, I am honored," she said, and curtsied, a small smile playing upon her lips.

  "Honored, indeed!" he retorted, and she was suddenly where she wanted to be, lifted into his arms, held against his chest...

  And hurried into the shadows of the copse.

  Still, the sweet scent of the foliage surrounded them; streaks of crimson and gold fought their way through the high-arching branches of the trees to continue to cast the colors of daylight upon them. He strode with her to a group of huge rocks that sat by a bubbling stream as if they had been cast there by the careless hand of a Titan. He seated her upon one, then set his own booted foot upon it before crossing his arms over his chest in what seemed to be the stern mode of the Highland men who filled her life.

  "What in God's name are you doing alone?" he demanded.

  She smiled, smoothing back a stray strand of hair. "I'm not alone. I'm in the company of an extremely powerful and annoying ghost."

  He cupped her chin, raising her face to his. "Shawna, not even powerful ghosts can be everywhere. You've—"

  "You seem to have a knack for being everywhere."

  "Well, my lady, I do try—but I fear that not being among the truly dead, I am not infallible. Shawna, you are not to ride alone."

  "But David—"

  "You are not to ride alone!" His touch upon her tightened. She gritted her teeth, ready to argue. But he released her chin, stroking her cheek with his knuckle, and he repeated himself softly. "You are not to ride alone!"

  "I had to get away from the tavern, from the others," she said.

  He shook his head. "Never alone, Shawna, and never with just one member of your family."

  "David—"

  "Please."

  She sighed.

  "There is an answer, and I will find it. Bit by bit, the secrets that have been kept by people here will begin to unravel."

  "What have you discovered?"

  He hesitated. "Let's say for the moment that I've discovered new ideas regarding where to search," he told her.

  "Where?" Shawna demanded.

  "When I've a better idea of exactly what I'm up to, I'll tell you."

  "Really?"

  "I promise to keep you advised. If you promise not to be alone."

  "As you wish, Laird Douglas," she told him, not trusting herself to say more. She lowered her lashes, lightly biting into her lower lip. She looked at him again. "But, David?"

  "Aye?"

  "I have ridden here now, and there are remnants of daylight about us. And it is really beautiful here, David, isn't it? The rocks strewn about the valley, the crystal stream, the color of the coming night. It's something of why we've always fought to be Highlanders, fought for Craig Rock itself, and her people, isn't it?" she asked wistfully.

  He smiled. Leaning toward her, he again touched her face, this time, his palm cradling her cheek. His face was very close to her own. Within the copse of trees, it felt as if they were alone at the ends of the earth, the shift of the breeze and the bubbling of the brook a melodic song about them. His mouth touched hers... so gently at first and then his tongue caressed her so deeply, awakening a delicious ache within her.

  He suddenly drew away from her. "Horses," he said.

  "What?"

  "The others are coming from the tavern, I can hear the horses. There, that way, get your horse, and join them."

  She hadn't heard a thing, but as she turned in the direction he had pointed, she heard the sounds of laughter and voices in casual conversation. She turned back to David.

  But he was gone.

  The brook continued to bubble. The breeze rose and whispered.

  Her ghost had vanished along with the last golden streaks of daylight.

  Chapter 12

  Shawna quickly leapt from the rock and found her horse, mounting just as the others came around the outskirts of the trees.

  "Shawna!" Gawain said with a frown. "What are y'doing here alone, lass?" he demanded. She was somewhat startled to realize that Gawain didn't seem happy that she wasn't safely within the walls of the castle.

  "Dusk is such a beautiful time in the Highlands. I stopped to watch the sun fall. But I shall rejoin you all now if you don't mind."

  "You must do so," Hawk told her.

  Shawna urged her horse along with their party. Sabrina, she noted, was riding ahead just a bit. Concerned, Shawna trotted her mount until she had caught up with her. "Sabrina?"

  The young woman turned to her, startled. Still ashen.

  "I..." Shawna began awkwardly. "I just want you to know that it's all right, really." She realized she was blushing herself. "I mean, Edwina does tend to be right about such things, and if you are expecting a child, I don't intend to say anything to anyone. I understand—"

  Sabrina slowed her horse and swung on Shawna. "No, you don't understand, you can't possibly understand, how could you even begin to say that you understand this, Lady MacGinnis?"

  Consequences... Shawna thought. She couldn't begin to explain.

  But she tried to keep her peace and her temper. "Fine. I don't understand. But I won't say anything to anyone since it's apparent this is one matter you've not chosen to share as yet with your sister."

  "I haven't yet shared it honestly with myself," Sabrina murmured, her beautiful cobalt eyes closing for a moment as she pressed her temples between her thumb and forefinger. "Everything happened so quickly. My stepfather's death, the trip out West, the journey here..." She opened her eyes, glancing sharply at Shawna. "I'm sorry. But truly, you don't understand."

  "Does the father know?"

  "Good heavens, no!" Sabrina said in horror.

  "Then perhaps—"

  "This is nearly impossible!" Sabrina said, more to herself than to Shawna. "How in God's name could that woman know?" She stared at Shawna then. "And she—she knew about David."

  "Yes. And Fergus heard her. The entire village will be running around, whispering about David's rising from the dead."

  "Well... he did rather do that, didn't he?"

  "Yes, but he's really alive."

  "Perhaps he should just be alive then," Sabrina said.

  "I've suggested that," Shawna murmured. "But he's determined—"

  "That someone in your family tried to kill him, and he doesn't intend to be killed again?" Sabrina asked.

  Shawna flashed her an angry glare, only to realize that Sabrina was sitting her horse easily and watching her sympathetically. "He's wrong," Shawna said, alarmed to realize that her voice held a note of uncertainty.

  "Then you have to prove him wrong," Sabrina said. "Shawna, if you'd already been left for dead once, you'd be very careful in the same circumstances a second time."

  Shawna shook her head. "You can't have the same circumstances a second time. And you've managed to talk about me instead of yourself."

  "Have I? Well, there's not much to say about me at the moment."

  "The father really has a right to know—"

  "Indeed, he does not!" Sabrina hissed with an anguished vehemence that silenced Shawna for a moment.

  "If I can help in any way—"

  "You can't. I shall manage. I'm telling you, you can't begin to understand—"

  "I'm telling you, I can."

  Sabrina shook her head. "You don't know—him. Or the circumstances. It was entirely accidental. I can't—I just can't believe this!" she whispered.

  "But—is the father a terrible person? A madman? A monster of some sort—"

  "No, no, nothing like that."

  "We
ll, is he a handsome man? A young one, an old one?"

  Sabrina looked at her irritably. "Oh, he is quite striking," she murmured, then her words suddenly came forward in a rush. "When he walks into a room, every woman there is instantly aware of his presence. He is tall, lean as a whipcord. He can be quite incredibly charming, but he can be completely merciless. He is unique in all that he is, and we met under the most ridiculous circumstances. Oh, it's all so ironic!"

  "But you don't despise him?"

  "Yes. No. I don't know. He is so self-assured, so set in his ways, and so caught up in his own conflict! I don't—I don't think that we can solve my dilemma at all right now. Thank God I'm here, and I've got time to think. And—please, I don't want to talk about it anymore!"

  Shawna decided that she had best let the matter drop. She was being far too personal.

  Yet, so was Sabrina Connor, for—glancing back to assure herself that the others still rode far behind them—she again turned the conversation to Shawna's past sins.

  "You've raked me over the coals. Now it's my turn. What exactly happened the night when David was supposedly killed? If you could recall everything in minute detail, perhaps—•"

  "I have recalled everything in minute detail thousands of times. And I still have no answers."

  "Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help. Looking in from the outside, you know."

  Shawna felt her cheeks coloring. "Alistair had been guilty of shifting some money. I was quite sure of myself, certain that I could keep David talking long enough for my uncles and cousins to remove any incriminating evidence that might be found in either his office or the castle's master's chambers."

  "So what went so wrong?"

  "I don't know."

  "See, you're not giving me details. You kept David in the stables?"

  "Oh, aye. But then... I don't know. I had closed my eyes. Everything seemed surrounded by darkness. I had—■" She paused, shrugging unhappily. "The wine we were drinking was drugged. Mine wasn't supposed to have been drugged, but David suspected I was up to something, and switched the glasses. I was with David, then suddenly, I was not. I remember darkness and shadows—then the fire. And waking up. Next to..."

  "A charred corpse," Sabrina finished.

  "God, it was awful," Shawna remembered.

  "But it's quite incredible. Someone substituted a dead man for David in the stables. Well planned, don't you think?"

  "Evidently. But Alistair did no such thing, of that I'm certain. I think that David's death hurt him incredibly. He felt terribly guilty for what he had done to begin with, then he was ashamed of the way we planned to undo it—and then when David was discovered dead... or we thought he was discover dead..." She broke off, glancing at Sabrina again. "That's what Laird David doesn't understand," she said angrily. "He has simply condemned MacGinnises and has no idea what we went through, assuming he was dead!"

  "Shawna, you have to see that someone here did want to kill him."

  "Then why is he alive?"

  "That is the baffling part," Sabrina admitted.

  "Do you have an answer?" Shawna demanded.

  Sabrina thought a minute. "I've a hunch."

  "Oh?"

  "I think that several people must be involved—"

  "My entire family?" Shawna queried, a rush of anger rising within her.

  Sabrina shook her head. "I'm not saying that. I'm saying that a lot of things happened for just one person to be involved. The others are coming closer," she warned, lowering her voice, then keeping it quiet but fierce. "You mustn't say a word to my sister or brother-on-law, do you understand? I beg of you, you must keep quiet about—me."

  "Sabrina—"

  "You must promise me."

  "It's not my place to say anything," Shawna told her.

  Sabrina exhaled, then turned back to address Hawk and Gawain, nearing them as they rode.

  "What a beautiful night."

  "Not so lovely as the Night of the Moon Maiden will be!" Gawain assured her.

  "It's a guarantee, a promise," Alistair averred, riding abreast of them then. "We've never had rain, or fierce cold, or a touch of snow or frost, on the Night of the Moon Maiden."

  "Coming within the week," Hawk added.

  Shawna felt his eyes on her, and a sense of unease swept through her.

  "Three nights from this very evening," she agreed softly.

  * * *

  That night, her tower chamber was empty when she arrived there.

  Mary Jane had left her a warm bath, which could easily be made hotter by heating a few kettles of water at her own hearth. She stoked the fire burning there, heated her water, bathed, all the while, waiting.

  Expecting him...

  But he didn't come.

  When she slept, it seemed inevitable that she would dream.

  Tonight, she ran across the valley from Castle MacGinnis to Castle Rock, cresting that hill, well aware that someone was after her. She passed by Castle Rock, hearing a rustling, feeling the earth move with the heaviness of the footfalls upon it. Far, far before her, she could see the moonlight shimmering down upon the loch. She needed to reach the water's edge. A selkie would rise from the depths, its fur shed, its form that of a man. The selkie, though half-beast, perhaps demon, would save her....

  But the Druid Stones lay between her and the water. The main stone, the altar stone. She didn't know that she ran to it, but she was suddenly there, and she stumbled down because her would-be assailant was so close.

  So close she could feel breath upon her neck...

  So close she could feel warmth...

  Fingers, reaching out to draw her back, curve around her throat, steal the life from her.

  She fell upon the altar, but rolled, determined to rise upon the other side. Yet, as she turned, a vision of pure horror greeted her. She lay beside a corpse. Burned, charred, the face contorted, blackened mouth opened in a final, horrid scream of agony and death.

  She jerked herself awake, shaking, gasping, praying that she hadn't screamed aloud. Then a second cry nearly tore from her lips as she felt strong arms come around her.

  "What is it?" came David's deep whisper from the shadows, and she felt his weight as he sat by her side.

  He had been with her, she realized. Sitting sentinel before the fire, as often was his way.

  Taking her by surprise.

  Coming in silence while she slept, like a wraith.

  A selkie, risen from the water, slipping in upon her when he chose, disappearing again when he so chose as well. Determined, and taking complete advantage.

  "Shawna?" he prompted.

  She shook her head blindly. "It's nothing. Dreams, nightmares."

  "Of dead men?" he queried.

  She pulled away to try to study his face in the dim light of the fire. His eyes looked sharp, his mouth grim, yet he didn't seem to taunt or condemn her.

  "Dead and buried," she told him.

  "And burned?"

  She shivered fiercely. How uncanny. It was almost as if he had been where she had been, heard what she had heard. "Edwina McCloud spoke to me tonight."

  "She did?"

  "She spoke of a different body lying in your grave."

  "A perceptive woman."

  "How can she be so perceptive?"

  "How has she ever been so perceptive?" David queried. "Yet perhaps..."

  "Perhaps what? Perhaps it is time to announce that you live, that you were never buried."

  "That's not quite what I had in mind."

  "Then...?"

  "Well, I think I would like to try to ascertain if the man who lies in my grave is the convict whose life I led in his place."

  "Convict?"

  "A long story. And it does not matter tonight."

  "It matters to me."

  "Well, I'm not in a mood to share it at this time."

  "I want to know—"

  "Shawna, you tell me," he said gravely, "what happened to you on the night of the fire?"

 
"I was dragged from the stables. I don't know by whom. I only know that I awakened outside—next to your body."

  "It would seem, then, that there were two powers at work that night," he mused. "I was supposed to die in the flames, and it was made apparent that I did. But somehow, my body was exchanged for that of another man."

  "Perhaps some member of my kin attempted to save you," she suggested.

  "I'll allow that. But you needn't say it with such superiority!"

  "Really, my dear Laird Douglas. Well, what can you expect? It's incredibly distressing that you are just suddenly here—that you never so much as knock upon the door—or even the bedpost!"

  "Ghosts cannot be expected to knock."

  "Then perhaps ghosts should not expect to experience other earthly sensations."

  "How rude, m'lady. Especially considering the fact that I sat in a chair, awake, and keeping watch throughout the long hours of many a night, ever attentive to your safety."

  "Aye, for indeed," she taunted wryly, "if I'm to be throttled, you would choose to be the throttler."

  "That I would."

  "Then if you would keep watch," she told him evenly, "keep watch." She did her very best to keep her eyes completely level with his. Yet she felt herself shivering again, and her lashes fell to cover her eyes. Why was she so uneasy tonight?

  "You are afraid," he told her, "but you needn't be. Because I do keep watch. And because you're quite right. If you're to be throttled, I shall be the throttler."

  "Laird Douglas, your eloquence with women is unmatched. Please, do feel free to take your seat before the fire, where you so nobly and happily kept watch before I rudely interrupted you with my cry."

  "I was not happy where I sat."

  "A pity."

  "I didn't wish to disturb your sleep."

  "How kind. Then—"

  "You are no longer sleeping," he reminded her.

  Warmth pervaded her. She longed to tell him that she wished for nothing other than to find the deep solace of sleep again.

  But she didn't think that she could sleep now. Not with the visions that haunted her mind. She wanted to feel the flesh and blood of the living man, lie down with powerful arms around her, in order to shake off the fear of the cold and clammy grave that had settled upon her.