Sword Dance

by Marie Laval

  ‘Which way now?’ he asked, pulling her to her feet. ‘And don’t try anything stupid.’

  She gestured towards her old room – Bonnie’s room.

  He frowned. ‘Are you sure? It’s where Lady Patricia is resting.’

  The door creaked softly as he pushed it open. The curtains were drawn and a blazing fire made the room hot and stuffy. Dr Kilroy sat on the bed, watching over a woman who was asleep.

  So this was harsh, merciless Lady Patricia locals had nicknamed the female Black Donald. She didn’t look so formidable now with her grey hair stuck to her pale forehead, her eyes sunken in deep orbits and her hollow cheeks.

  ‘Rose?’ Doctor Kilroy let Lady Patricia’s arm down gently onto the counterpane. He stood up, strode towards her and took her hand. ‘My dear, I had no idea you were here. Do you know what’s going on? I couldn’t get any sense out of McGunn earlier, and even less out of McRae and his men.’ Turning towards McNeil, he added, ‘I see you chose your camp, you traitor.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with you, doctor, so shut up,’ McNeil retorted in a harsh whisper. Gesturing to Rose, he urged, ‘Get on with it.’

  Rose’s throat was tight as she stepped towards the fireplace and her fingers shook as she reached out to touch the clock. Was Niall McRae’s letter still in there? Had it ever been there? Perhaps Morag was mistaken or deluded, or she’d made the whole story up.

  She lifted the clock off the mantelpiece and shook it slightly. There was the rattling sound again, just like the first time she touched it. ‘I need something sharp to open the panel at the back,’ she said.

  Doctor Kilroy looked puzzled, but pulled a scalpel out of his medical bag. ‘It’s very sharp,’ he said, taking the clock from her hands. ‘I’d better handle it.’

  He unfastened the tiny screws at the back of the clock then delicately lifted the panel off. ‘Here you are.’

  ‘Give it to me.’ McNeil snatched the clock. Shoving his fingers into the opening he pulled out pieces of yellowed paper and a medallion hanging at the end of a leather thong. Niall’s half of the medal.

  ‘You were right, lass,’ he said in a surprised voice. ‘It’s here, it’s all here.’

  Just then the clock made a clinking sound, so loud in the silent bedroom that McNeil recoiled in shock. The clock and the papers fell to the ground.

  Rose quickly bent down and clutched the letter and the medallion against her chest.

  ‘Give them back,’ McNeil snarled. ‘Give them right back or I’ll…’

  ‘If you value your life, you won’t do anything at all,’ Doctor Kilroy said, slipping behind the man and holding the scalpel to his throat. The sharp point dug into his skin.

  ‘You’re making a mistake, doctor,’ McNeil grunted, standing still but with a murderous glint in his dark brown eyes. ‘You won’t get away with it. Neither of you will.’

  ‘We’ll take our chances,’ Doctor Kilroy answered calmly. ‘Rose, please bring me the roll of surgical tape in my bag so that I can secure our friend to that chair.’

  A few moments later, McNeil’s hands and feet were tightly bound to a chair and his mouth tapped shut. Doctor Kilroy unscrewed the top of a small flask and poured some liquid onto a pad which he pressed hard against McNeil’s nose. Almost immediately, the man slumped into the chair, unconscious.

  ‘We can’t risk him calling for help, though all of Morven's men seem to have left,’ the doctor explained. ‘I heard rifle shots, a lot of shouting and sounds of men riding out, then it all went very quiet.’

  ‘Bruce’s friends must have lured them away.’ Rose unfolded the documents. Her heart tightened as she recognised her father’s handwriting. The ink was so pale it was hard to read the tightly written words and she stepped closer to the fire to have more light.

  It was all there, in that short but poignant letter: Niall McRae’s burning declaration of love for Bonnie and their baby son, together with the assurance that he had sent his last will and testament to Langford and Stewart in Inverness and warned Lady Patricia about his decision to give half of the McRae fortune to his illegitimate son Bruce.

  ‘Alas, our plans to forge a better life in Canada for the three of us will not become reality, but at least tonight I die knowing that Bruce and yourself will never want for anything. I am only sorry that I wasn’t a, stronger man to oppose our fathers when they forced our separation and my marriage to Patricia. My love for you will never, ever die.’

  No wonder Lady Patricia had blackmailed Morag into killing Bonnie and her baby, and ordered Capitaine Pichet’s murder. For years she must have believed herself safe in the knowledge that nobody would ever find out about Bruce having rights on part of the McRae fortune. Even her lawyers had chosen to side with her and keep her secret. Then Rose’s mother had written to her about the military diary…

  There was a postscriptum, and Rose opened her eyes wide in shock as she read it. ‘Should either Patricia or the lawyers fail to implement the new legal dispositions, I urge you not to remain your father’s prisoner at Wrath but to collect the gold from our hideaway on the island and sail with our son to this New World we dreamt so much about – the only place where we could be free.’

  This was extraordinary… Niall McRae and Bonnie had found the gold the Jacobite rebels had hidden when the English redcoats had caught up with them. Could the island Niall referred to be the one near old Eilidh Graham’s farm, where he and Bonnie courted in secret?

  Doctor Kilroy pointed to the papers. ‘What are these?’

  ‘Niall McRae’s last letter, written by my father after the battle of Quatre-Bras, and the proof that Bruce is Niall McRae’s first-born son.’

  He let out a cry of surprise. ‘Did you just say that McGunn was in fact a McRae?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘This is extraordinary. And that medal you’re holding looks uncannily like his own.’

  ‘It was Niall McRae’s. The man cut his medal into two and gave one half to Bonnie. Just before he died, he asked my father to send his half back to Bonnie, and there it is.’

  She let out a sigh. ‘Now I have the letter, I’m not sure what to do with it. Cameron is downstairs with Bruce and Morven. They are saying that Bruce killed…’ she swallowed hard, ‘…that he murdered Malika and Fenella McKay in a fit of rage.’

  ‘Nonsense! McGunn would never hurt a woman.’

  ‘The thing is, McNeil has been poisoning him with datura for months. That’s why he’s been so ill and why he believed he was going mad… and that’s why he thinks he could have hurt Malika and the McKay girl.’

  She heaved a shaky breath. ‘He said he would stand trial.’

  Doctor Kilroy combed his blond hair back with his fingers, his blue eyes grew serious. ‘Damn. This is serious.’

  Lady Patricia let out a few wheezy, whimpering sounds from the other side of the room, and Doctor Kilroy sighed.

  ‘Lord McRae’s mother is very ill, and I fear I can’t be of much help.’

  ‘What is wrong with her?’

  ‘Her heart has given up. Ironic, don’t you think, for a woman who is rumoured not to have one? It was pure folly of her to come all this way from Westmore, of course. I wonder why she insisted on coming here.’

  ‘She probably wanted to make sure Bruce was destroyed once and for all,’ Rose answered. ‘She isn’t likely to be overcome by remorse, is she?’

  ‘You never know, I’ve seen harder, meaner people repent on their deathbed.’

  Thoughtful, Rose pushed the letter back into the envelope and stuffed it into the pocket of her dress but she kept the medallion. Doctor Kilroy had just given her an idea – a rather daring idea – but it was better not to keep all the proofs of Bruce’s lineage together. Pulling her Ouled Nail necklace out, she attached the thong securely to one of the clasps before slipping the necklace back under her dress. She now had both halves of Niall’s medal.

  ‘I’m going to try and split Cameron from Morven and lure him up here,’ she said. ‘C
an you take care of him the way you took care of McNeil if he comes into this room alone?’

  The doctor glanced towards McNeil, tied up and gagged, and waved the roll of surgical tape with a smile and the pad imbibed with sleeping draught in the air. ‘I can certainly try,’ he smiled and added, ‘Be careful, my dear.’

  Rose gave him a valiant smile and rushed back downstairs. She’d never been so afraid in her life. Her heart beat so fast she thought she might faint and she had to lean against the wall to take a few deep breaths before walking into the drawing room.

  As soon as he saw her Bruce leaned forward as if trying to get up but Morven pulled him back sharply. ‘I told you before, don’t even think about it,’ he snarled.

  ‘You took your time.’ Cameron’s eyes were red-rimmed, the nervous twitch at the side of his thin lips more pronounced. He must have been drinking heavily whilst waiting for her to return.

  ‘Where’s McNeil, and more to the point, where’s the letter?’

  Now was her chance. She could only hope he would believe her. ‘McNeil stayed with Doctor Kilroy,’ she replied with as much assurance as she could muster. ‘I gave the letter to your mother. She said her dying wish was to make things right between you and Bruce, that it was high time you two behaved like brothers. That’s why she insisted on coming here despite being so ill.’

  Cameron’s face paled. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Rose nodded. ‘Yet it is true. Your mother deeply regrets having wronged Bruce and now she wants him to have a share of the McRae fortune.’

  ‘You’re lying. My mother would never give McGunn a farthing.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself? You should be with her anyway. The doctor says she is very poorly.’

  Cameron took a deep breath and walked to the door. ‘Morven, keep an eye on them both while I talk to my mother and get hold of that damned letter once and for all.’

  As soon as he’d left, Morven waved his pistol at Rose. ‘Stand over there where I can see you.’

  She crossed her arms on her chest, defiant. ‘No.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid and do as I say.’

  She tilted her chin higher. ‘Why don’t you make me?’

  He shrugged. ‘Very well. You asked for it.’

  Morven walked across the room, turning his back on Bruce for a second. Bruce rose to his feet and lunged at him. He grabbed Morven around the shoulders but was too weak and Morven slid out of his grip. He raised his knee into Bruce’s groin and slammed the butt of his pistol into his face. Bruce staggered back and crashed into the wall next to the claymore.

  Morven wiped his mouth on the cuff of his jacket.

  ‘Look at you,’ he said. ‘As helpless as a baby. Forget dragging you to the courts and getting you hanged for murder, I’ll finish you here and now, and never mind what my Lord McRae wants.’ He cocked the pistol back, extending his arm to aim at Bruce’s chest.

  Time ground to a sickening halt. Morven was going to shoot and there was nothing Rose could do to stop him. Just then there was a hissing sound as the claymore next to Bruce glowed so brightly it looked like a ray of sunlight.

  ‘What’s wrong with that bloody sword?’ Morven muttered, his eyes widening in awe. ‘And what the hell is that shadow on the blade?’ He was no longer looking at Bruce or Rose but at a dark form moving on the length of the sword.

  It took Bruce a split second to reach out for the claymore, slip his hand into the handle and wrench the sword off the brackets that attached it to the wall. Morven took aim again and fired. The blast reverberated like a clap of thunder and the stench of gunpowder filled the air. Bruce roared in pain as a dark stain grew on the front of his jacket and blood started dripping onto the floor. The sword shook in his hand.

  ‘Some claymore devil you are,’ Morven sneered as he took aim again. ‘You can’t even lift that old thing off the floor.’ Suddenly his thick-set face became deadly pale, he gasped and recoiled. ‘Leave me alone, you witch,’ he shouted, staring at the blade with renewed terror.

  He crumpled onto the floor at his feet, with Bruce staring over him.

  ‘What happened then?’ Bruce glanced at the sword, puzzled. ‘What did Morven see that scared him so much he passed out?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He was probably drunk…’

  Bruce rested the tip of the sword on the floor and sighed. With the claymore in his hand, the tips of his dark hair brushing his powerful shoulders, he looked more than ever like some warrior from a distant past. A wounded warrior. She ached to touch him, to soothe his pain, but the coldness and remoteness in his eyes stopped her.

  ‘You’re hurt,’ was all she said.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he replied.

  Why couldn’t he be strong? His people needed him to rid Wrath of McRae and Morven’s thugs. Rose needed him, and Kilroy too. He looked at the claymore, then at Morven on the floor. For a moment he was tempted to sink the blade straight into his heart, but he turned away. He was sick of death, of violence and hatred.

  Rose laid her hand on his forearm in a featherlight caress. ‘Bruce,’ she started, almost shyly, ‘I want you to know that I don’t believe a word Cameron said about you and Malika. I know it’s not true you hurt her, or the other girl.’

  He clenched his jaw, hardened his heart and made himself take a step back. ‘And how do you know that when even I don’t? I saw Malika in Inverness, that much is true.’

  She shook her head. ‘But you don’t know what happened afterwards, you said so yourself. We only have McNeil’s word for it, and he was paid by Cameron, as were probably the two women who said they would testify against you. Don’t forget that the dancers mentioned there was another girl locked up at the hunting lodge. What if it was Fenella MacKay, and she was abducted by Morven several months ago and held captive there? What if Morven took them to Inverness and asked McNeil to lay a trap for you?’

  Could Rose be right? Nothing seemed to make any sense anymore. ‘I don’t want to discuss it now,’ he said. ‘If I am in any way responsible, I’ll deal with it later. For now I have things to do.’

  ‘Bedbugs!’ Her eyes shining with anger, she stomped her booted foot on the floor. ‘It always has to be your way, doesn’t it? Never mind those who love and believe in you. It’s just like Ferozeshah and the soldiers you claim died by your fault. None of your men believe that for one second. Wallace and the others from your regiment didn’t hesitate to leave their farms and families to ride up here and help you. But all you ever care about is your pride and sense of duty, about blaming yourself and taking responsibility for everything that ever goes wrong.’

  He frowned. ‘Wallace is here, with my men from the 92nd Highlanders?’

  She nodded. ‘About eight of them. I think they drew Morven’s men out of the Lodge to ambush them. They want to help you, Bruce. They love you, respect you.’ Her breath hitched in her throat and she added in a choked voice. ‘Like I do.’

  He let out a shaky sigh, his throat suddenly too tight, but once again, he refused to be affected by what she was saying and the strength of his feelings for her.

  The sound of gun fire echoed into the Lodge.

  ‘It came from upstairs,' he said before storming out of the drawing room. He ran up the main staircase and into his mother’s former room – the place he now thought of as Rose’s room, and froze.

  McNeil’s body reclined into a chair, his head slumped forward, blood smeared the front of his jacket. He’d been shot in the chest, and there was no need to feel his pulse to know that he was dead. Damn. Now he would never be able to question him about Inverness, about Malika and the MacKay girl.

  He looked around the room, empty but for Lady Patricia asleep on the bed. ‘What the hell happened here?’

  Rose had followed him. ‘I don’t understand,' she said. 'Doctor Kilroy tied McNeil to the chair and gave him some chloroform to knock him out, but he didn’t hurt him.’

  ‘Where are Kilroy and McRae?’ He bent down to
pick up the pieces of the clock. ‘And why did they smash up this old clock?’

  ‘McNeil dropped it earlier. That was where your mother hid the letter, all those years ago.’ Rose pulled the crumpled envelope out of her dress pocket and handed it to him. ‘Here it is. Morag told me where to find it.’

  ‘Morag knew where it was? Did she…?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Did she know who my father was, too?’

  Rose nodded. ‘Yes, she did.’

  He took the envelope from Rose with a shaky hand. So Morag had known about him being McRae’s son all along. A wave of bitterness washed over him. ‘She was the one who told you about McRae and me being half-brothers, wasn’t she?’

  ‘No… As a matter of fact, an old woman who gave us shelter on our way to Wrath told me. She used to see your mother and Niall McRae when they were courting. She said both your grandfather and Niall's father knew about the affair and decided to put an end to it. If you read the letter you’ll see that your father seemed a decent man.’

  Suddenly the letter almost burned his hand and he stuffed it into his pocket without opening it. ‘I don’t want anything to do with that letter. Lies, deception, pain and death, that’s all it ever caused.’ His tone grew bitter. ‘That’s all Niall McRae had ever brought my mother and me. In fact, I should burn it straightaway.’

  A faint voice called from the other side of the room.

  ‘It’s Lady Patricia.’ Rose ran to the bed where McRae’s mother was trying to sit up. ‘What happened here and where are Cameron and Doctor Kilroy?’

  ‘Who are you?’ Lady Patricia stared at Rose with small, suspicious eyes. ‘Never mind… That crazy woman came in and shot that man over there’

  ‘What woman?’

  ‘Morag. She wants her revenge, after all those years. A son for a son, that’s what she said…’ Lady Patricia took a laboured breath. She pointed an accusing finger at Bruce. ‘It's all because of you!’

  ‘She must have followed me through the tunnel,’ Rose said. She turned to Bruce. ‘She’s very fragile, Bruce, and very ill.’

  ‘She didn’t look that fragile when she shot the man over there,’ Lady Patricia sneered. ‘But I suppose her sort are as tough as weeds.’