No Other Woman (No Other Series)

by Shannon Drake

  "That she is!" Gawain said angrily.

  "Sabrina was found in the McCloud vault," Alaric said.

  "We looked there because I was certain that anyone who was up to evil would try to blame what had happened on the witches if Sabrina was found."

  "Perhaps," Aidan said slowly, looking around the table at all of them, "it's exactly the opposite. Perhaps Sabrina was taken by Edwina's people, and kept prisoner in the McCloud vault so we'd think that she had to be innocent!"

  "What?" Hawk said.

  Aidan shrugged. "I realize you've just arrived, after a very long absence. And you know that the people can easily be swayed. But the mines themselves seem to come alive at times with tappings—some of the men claim they hear singing. A lot of people believe that the witches are up to evil deeds."

  "Ah, 'tis the wind in the rock!" Lowell said impatiently.

  "Then Sabrina was taken," Alaric said.

  "And found in the graveyard last night," Gawain reminded them all.

  "And that strange Brother Damian has been about," Aidan commented. Smiling, he shivered. "He rather unnerved me." He hesitated. "Perhaps he has something to do with it."

  "Brother, my arse! He's probably one with the witches!" Lowell commented.

  "Uncle Lowell!" Shawna protested.

  Lowell snorted his impatience.

  "Then," Aidan continued, "there's also the nasty matter of a rotted corpse placed on the Druid Stone."

  "Ah, surely that was some prank by the village lads," Alistair murmured. "The sacrifice on the stone, and the like of it."

  "It was hardly a prank," Hawk said. He cast a barely perceptible glance his brother's way, and Shawna found herself irritated to see how easily they communicated. They were manipulating the conversation, throwing out information now to see what might fall back their way. "Hardly a prank. Unless the village lads find it humorous to dress up in dark cloaks and shoot at people."

  "Shoot at people!" Gawain exploded. "Nothing of this was said to me last night."

  "Nothing of anything has been said to me," Lowell added, shaking his head sorrowfully.

  "Would you mind explaining just what did happen when Sabrina was found?" Gawain demanded.

  Hawk shrugged. "Shawna thought that we had searched everywhere—except for the vaults in the cemetery. The McCloud vault seemed an obvious place to Shawna to start, as she has said. But when we went to search for Sabrina, the place suddenly seemed alive with black-cloaked and -cowled figures—firing at us."

  "But no one was hit?" Aidan ascertained gravely. He stared at Shawna. "No one was hit, no one was hurt?"

  "No," Shawna said.

  "They were firing at my wife, Shawna, Sloan, and me. I hardly find that a prank."

  "Creatures in cloaks and cowls!" Lowell muttered. He eyed his brother sternly. "Witches!"

  "How convenient that Mr. McGregor and Mr. Trelawny and that Brother Damian were so close," Gawain said, ignoring his brother. He frowned then. "Laird Douglas—where were you?"

  "Quite close behind them, actually," David said. He was making a lot of explanations, Shawna thought, but apparently, an explanation for Brother Damian was not forthcoming.

  Alistair, of course, knew that David himself dressed up as Brother Damian.

  Could it be true that he had kept secrets as completely as she?

  "Well, we've sent for the constable again," Gawain said, sounding tired. Then he smiled suddenly. "David, Laird Douglas! The fine thing about your being alive is that the responsibility for our troubles now lies with you!"

  "Aye, that it does," David agreed.

  "We need to announce to the village that David is alive and returned, and will rule over the festivities for the Night of the Moon Maiden," Alaric said.

  "I think that the villagers will know this morning that I have returned," David said.

  "How is that?" Gawain asked.

  "I paid a visit to Fergus Anderson last night."

  "Well, Laird Douglas, that does not particularly compliment us as a family," Aidan said. "Why would you spend time with that ratty old drunkard—before letting us know that you were alive?"

  David bit into a piece of bread before arching a brow and replying.

  "Owing to a most curious dilemma—I found a lad within the castle bearing a most curious Douglas trait. And doing a wee bit of sleuthing I discovered that until recently, the old drunkard had been rearing that child. The child bears a striking resemblance to the MacGinnis family as well, but that Douglas trait is quite undeniable. The lad was, therefore, my son."

  "Oh, God!"

  Anne-Marie, who had just been coming in with another tray, nearly dropped it, starting to fall.

  Sloan was quick enough to catch her before she could hit the floor. And strong enough to keep her from doing so.

  Alistair rescued the tray.

  "David, y'are Laird Douglas, and that's a fact, but I've worked long and hard here, and I would like to know what game y'are playing, man?" Gawain demanded angrily, standing and throwing his napkin down upon the table.

  "No games," David said flatly, looking around the group, staring hard into each set of MacGinnis eyes. "You all knew that Shawna was going to have a child. And since none of us is pretending not to know Shawna's role in luring me from the castle the night of the fire, any imbecile would have known whose child she awaited."

  Shawna felt her flesh burn. Her cheeks were afire.

  "Well, of course, we knew," Aidan exploded. "But—"

  "The wee bairn died!" Gawain grated out. "What cruel joke do you play upon us all?"

  "The babe did not die," David said firmly.

  "My brother does not play jokes," Hawk said warningly.

  "The game, it seems, was played upon Shawna. But it is no matter now. I've taken the child."

  "The Anderson child? Danny?" Lowell demanded, seemingly confused now by the turn of events.

  "That would be the one," David said.

  "Must we do this, here now—" Shawna gasped out.

  "Aye, that we must!" David declared angrily.

  "Have you gone daft?" Lowell demanded. "How could that lad be Shawna's—"

  "At least I'll no longer be accused for the boy's begetting!" Aidan said.

  "Nor I," Alaric mused.

  "Amen," Alistair murmured.

  "Y've determined that the lad is yours, when he's near on five years old, but now y'are back to your homeland, you sent the lad away?" Gawain demanded.

  "For the time being."

  Gawain stared at Shawna. "How did the boy come to be with the Andersons? Why did you tell us you had lost the child?"

  Sweet Jesu, she could not believe it! Her own family was staring at her as if she might have done such a thing out of shame of bearing an illegitimate child.

  "Because it was my belief the babe had died. I don't know what happened then, and I don't know how the boy came to be with the Andersons—from Glasgow here, alive and well. Fergus told David, however, that Mary Jane gave the lad over to the Andersons."

  "Get her down here! Demand an explanation!" Gawain said.

  "That can't be done," David told him.

  "Why not?"

  "Mary Jane has disappeared," David informed him.

  "Disappeared?" Lowell said, outraged.

  "The Saints preserve us, what in God's name is going on here?" Gawain bellowed.

  "All mysteries here will be solved," David said firmly. "I will find out what is going on here. And anyone who has anything to tell me is certainly more than welcome to do so!" He stood and surveyed the faces around the table once again. "My son will come back to the castle—in time. For today it seems we have the business of the Moon Maiden at hand. And by tonight, by God, I will have explanations!"

  * * *

  Shawna discovered herself a prisoner in her bedroom once again for most of the day.

  In the early afternoon, however—with James McGregor still dogging her heels—she went to the old turret room and dug through trunks with Sabrina and
Skylar, costuming them as ladies from days gone by.

  Skylar, sleek and beautiful with her long golden hair in a royal blue Napoleonic gown, swirled around. "This is lovely. Thank you so much."

  "All of these things are quite beautiful," Sabrina said, sitting in a pile of silks and velvets from the same era. "I believe I will wear Empire fashion as well. What do most of the people wear?"

  "Anything and everything," Shawna said. "Some of the lasses try to outdo one another dressing up as fairytale princesses. Some opt to dress as animals, some wear bizarre forest-type creations, even coming as fall foliage. It's usually great fun."

  "Dressing up is fun," Skylar murmured, looking at Shawna, "except, of course, it means that you must be ever more careful. You'll not know whom to trust."

  "I don't know whom to trust," Shawna said quietly, "when those about me are not wearing masks," She shook off the dread that seemed to be settling over her. "What is Hawk wearing?" she asked Skylar, trying to take her mind off the whirlwind of worry and fear and emotion that plagued it.

  "He's undecided."

  "Oh?"

  "A Douglas tartan—or Sioux feathers."

  "Oh!" Shawna laughed. More hesitantly she asked Sabrina, "And... er... Major Trelawny?"

  "Oh, there's no question," Sabrina muttered, straightening one of the garments on her lap. "He'll be in feathers." She must have realized the bitter sound of her tone. She smiled at Shawna. "What will you wear?"

  Shawna offered her a wry smile in turn. "Again, there's no question. I will come in my MacGinnis colors."

  "You'll wear Douglas," came a harsh, masculine voice.

  Shawna jumped up. David was standing in the doorway, watching them. He came into the room, picking up an old dress, running his fingers over the fabric.

  "I will wear MacGinnis colors," she said firmly.

  "Lady MacGinnis, you've lived in the Douglas stronghold nearly five years now, taken charge of Douglas affairs. Tonight, you'll wear Douglas colors." He didn't wait for her agreement, perhaps knowing full well that she wouldn't give it. He would brook no argument; his mood was totally ruthless, as if he had completely lost patience. Yet the more tension that seemed to fill him, the less Shawna thought they might have any rational discussion on any matter.

  He was cold to her and distant today. But he had told her that if she fulfilled a promise, she'd have Danny back after the Night of the Moon Maiden.

  "The constable is downstairs," David continued. "He wants a word with us. Shawna, you'll need to explain how you knew where to look for Sabrina." He turned on his heels, leaving them. The women looked at one another, scrambled from their tasks, and hurried down the stairs.

  Two hours later, the constable left. Shawna and David remained in the great hall alone.

  Shawna was aggravated. David shrugged.

  "What were you expecting?" he asked of her.

  "He is the constable. I was expecting him to be more helpful."

  "I've warned you before that we have to solve this ourselves. The constable thinks that we are harboring a community of witches, and they are all protecting one another. He's glad I'm alive—I thought that was quite decent of him. And he seemed heartily glad that Sabrina is found, alive and well."

  "He hasn't taken much of this seriously at all."

  David watched her carefully, replying slowly to her. "To the constable, m'lady, it appears that I was merely knocked on the head, and consequently lost from my home by regrettable accident—an untruth I am quite willing to encourage at this time."

  "Why? Why don't you shout the truth, and force the constable to—"

  "Someone tried to kill me, but my life was saved. The truth could endanger Alistair. Then, as to the sounds the miners hear, the constable is a steady, intelligent fellow. He doesn't believe in ghosts. Like your great-uncle, he believes that the wind whistles through the rocks. In his mind, Sabrina was surely taken as a lark. And the figures in the cemetery, shooting at us—" He paused and shrugged. "Well, to the constable, that just proves that allowing women to practice Wicca here is dangerous. Scotland was right to burn witches all those years."

  Shawna groaned with impatience. "We've both known Edwina since we were children. She learned her herbal potions from her mother, and she and the other women practice earth healing, and a gentle way—"

  "I'm telling you what the constable sees. He's quite impatient. We should turn in the witches for whatever crimes we can find that we can accuse them of legally."

  "What about the body on the Druid Stone?"

  "Definitely the prank of errant young men. Their fathers should discover them, and see that they are all switched."

  She stared at him, her blue gaze sharp, hard, and cold. "And what about Danny?"

  He crossed his arms over his chest, returning her stare. "Ah, Danny. That's the most obvious—to the constable, of course. You were Lady MacGinnis. You couldn't bear the stigma of an illegitimate birth, and, of course, since it appeared the father was quite dead, there was no way you would marry. You wouldn't do anything truly terrible to your own child—such as doing away with it. Bringing the babe back to Craig Rock to be raised locally—and then adopted into the castle—seemed a well-thought-out plan."

  Shawna felt her anger seep into her. Dear God, it sounded as if that was exactly what David thought himself.

  "David, you are being wretched."

  "I'm telling you how the constable sees events, m'lady," he informed her.

  "And how Fergus Anderson sees them. Fergus has assuredly told you the truth."

  "Mary Jane most definitely gave him the child," David said. He sounded tired then. Bone weary.

  "And Mary Jane is gone."

  "With all of her belongings."

  "I still can't believe—"

  He gripped her wrists. "Believe, Shawna. Believe, because all these things have happened. Believe, because you lost more than four years of your child's life, just as I believe, because I lost nearly five years of my own."

  He released her, and turned away.

  "It's growing dark. It's time to prepare for tonight."

  "I'm wearing MacGinnis colors."

  "Tonight, you'll wear Douglas."

  "I'll not—"

  "You will."

  His eyes narrowed. "MacGinnis colors would make wonderful confetti."

  "Since the world is aware that you are alive now, Laird Douglas, if you threaten me now, my cousins will be obliged to tear you apart!"

  "Do you think so?" he queried. He crossed his arms over his chest."Shall we risk battle within the house? Both Hawk and Sloan are experts with numerous weapons."

  "You are a madman!" she assured him.

  "A madman with a purpose." He reached out a hand to her. "You'll wear my colors, and you'll stay at my side. Throughout the night. Douglas plaid, m'lady. Now. And if you think that you're going to stand against me, I promise I will make confetti of your family colors, I do so swear it."

  "You truly are a tyrant."

  "Remember that. Test me tonight, and you will spend the evening tied to the Druid Stone," he said, his eyes hard on hers as he held her wrist.

  "You are so certain that something is going to happen tonight!" Shawna cried out. "What if—what if the night is uneventful, what if we learn nothing? Do we just go on, forever suspicious of one another?"

  "Something will happen tonight."

  "But if it doesn't... David, I want Danny back!" Shawna cried.

  He swung on her. Suddenly he had her shoulders in a rugged grip as he stared down at her. "Don't you understand. I took him away because it's not safe for him here, Shawna! Damn it, it isn't safe."

  "I want—my child!" she whispered.

  "I have told you, after tonight, everything will be different."

  She pulled away from his grasp.

  "Excuse me, Laird Douglas, the night does draw near!"

  Shawna escaped his touch. She hurried up the stairs, aware that Sloan lounged at the landing to the second floor—and Ja
mes McGregor kept watch when she entered her tower room. She stared at him balefully, then slammed her way into the bedroom.

  She came back out. "James, I'm quite sorry about last night."

  "I know, m'lady. You wanted to wander on your own."

  She frowned. "Aye. I am sorry."

  "Apology accepted. And now, m'lady, don't be trying to shake me this evening, eh?"

  "I shall be an angel. I promise."

  She hurried back into her room. She had beautiful long woolen skirts in her own colors—and in the Douglas tartan. She hesitated, then swore, and dressed in a white laced blouse, the Douglas skirt, and her black vest and jacket.

  Dusk was falling.

  Already, out by the Druid Stones, bonfires had been lit. She heard the sounds of pipe-playing, laughter. She turned to exit the room, and went still when she saw that David had come for her.

  David, Laird Douglas.

  He was kilted in his full dress tartan, black velvet jacket over his white cotton shirt, Douglas crest upon his chest.

  "It's time," he told her.

  She took his hand. His touch upon her still felt cold and hard.

  "I should be wearing my own colors," she told him, as they went down the stairs.

  "Soon you'll understand why you're clad this way," he told her.

  "My mode of dress is going to help us find those who attempted to kill you?"

  "Your mode of dress will serve as a warning that we stand together," he said.

  The castle's great hall was already empty. Myer stood outside the main doors with horses for them. Though the Druid Stones were an easy walk from the castle, as laird of Castle Rock, David needed to arrive on horseback.

  "Are you ready, m'lady?" he inquired.

  "For the night that we will meet our devils?" she inquired.

  "Aye."

  "How can you be so sure that someone will act?" she demanded.

  "Because," he said, "we are a unique people. The Highlanders of Craig Rock. Traditions are ancient—and the moon is very full."

  "We are Highlanders—not madmen!"

  David stared up at the full moon, his features as striking as those of any ancient warrior.

  "Aye, 'tis sure, we're not all madmen. But the moon has a powerful call, and the lore or legend is just as great. If we do have madmen among us, they will act. The moon will be as strong upon the blood in their veins as it is upon the tides in the sea. Shall we ride?"