by Marie Laval
In a gruff voice, he proceeded to tell his friend everything he knew about the affair between Niall McRae and his mother, which wasn’t much, since he hadn’t read the documents Rose had retrieved from the old clock before McRae burnt them. He talked about Cameron McRae, the half-brother who colluded with Morven and ordered McNeil to poison him.
‘I think he used his influence to get me discharged from the army, too,’ he added after a short silence.
Kilroy listened without interrupting to Bruce’s recollections of Colonel Saintclair’s military diary, the enquiry into Captain Pichet’s death and Donald Robertson’s arrest. He asked a few questions about Rose’s fake wedding in Algiers, about Bruce’s mugging in Inverness and about the brothel where he remembered seeing Malika.
‘Bloody hell,’ he breathed out when Bruce fell silent at last. ‘What a tale. So what do you intend to do now?’
Bruce looked into his friend’s blue eyes.
‘Now, you are going to write down everything I just told you – with the exception of the part about McRae’s and Rose’s fake wedding. Nobody needs to know about that. This way the girl may keep her reputation intact…’
Heavy footsteps resounded in the stairwell, the door to the study was pushed open and Wallace came in.
Bruce rose to his feet, swallowed hard. The moment had come. ‘Wallace. I want you to take me into immediate custody for the possible rape and murder of Fenella MacKay and Malika Jahal,’ he announced in a cold, flat voice.
Wallace stared at him, incomprehension clouding his eyes. ‘But Lieutenant…’
Bruce hardened his stare. ‘Please don’t discuss my orders. We will ride to Thurso where you’ll deliver me to the Procurator Fiscal. You will also carry the letter Kilroy will give you for safekeeping.’
Just under an hour later, Bruce rode out of Wrath Lodge with the men from his former regiment. He stared at the road ahead, without even looking back at the Lodge, or glancing once at the Sea Eagle still moored at the harbour.
As he rode on the cliff path, he had the crushing feeling of turning his back on everything that had ever mattered, on hope, love and life itself.
Chapter Twelve
Bou Saada
November 1848
Rose coughed and sat up, gasping for air. Her head hurt where she’d hit the ground, her throat was sore and her eyes stung. The intense heat and stifling smoke made breathing difficult. How long had she lain there unconscious with the old town ablaze around her?
The last thing she remembered was delivering a message from her brother’s childhood friend Ahmoud to the tavern in the medina, urging his rebel companions to leave Bou Saada immediately. A fight had erupted and in the general panic she had been pushed out onto the square. After that, nothing. She must have been knocked out and fallen to the ground.
All around flames roared, fierce and loud like a thousand mountain lions. Red hot ashes and burning debris rained down as houses crashed to the ground. Men and women ran towards the town gates, carrying their children and whatever possessions they’d rescued from the inferno. It was all in vain, of course. The French soldiers shot at anyone brave or crazy enough to try to leave. They had their orders, no doubt, and she could only hope Ahmoud and his friends had already managed to escape. Nobody would be allowed out of the town now.
An old man staggered towards her. Blood stained the front of his djellabah. ‘Save yourself, girl,’ he groaned in Arabic before collapsing onto the dusty ground in front of her. His eyes stared into hers for a brief moment then glazed over.
Rose scrambled to her feet with a cry of panic and started running down the street. The fire had destroyed much of the medina already, and there was only burning rubble where the bazaar and townhouses once stood. Breathless, her heart beating so hard it hurt, she turned into a narrow lane. A few more steps and she would be home.
She could see the thick white walls surrounding her family home and the large and ornate wooden gate when half a dozen soldiers suddenly appeared at the end of the street, blocking the alleyway. Immediately she swung round and started in the opposite direction, hoping to sneak away.
‘Arrête ou je tire!’ a man’s voice shouted.
Bedbugs and stinky camels! It was too late. They had seen her. She froze, held her breath and closed her eyes. What should she do now? Pull her veil down to reveal her identity or carry on pretending she was an Ouled Nail dancing girl?
‘Well, lads, I’d say it’s our lucky night,’ the man sneered.
The men surrounded her, and a pungent smell of sweat, gunpowder and unwashed clothing filled the air. They were all young apart from the man one who had spoken. Sporting dirty grey whiskers, a poked-marked face and bulbous nose, he appeared to be in charge.
‘It’s about time we sampled the pleasures this shit-hole has to offer before we burn it to the ground, don’t you think?’ he said before tearing her veil off. He let out an oath as her hair tumbled onto her shoulders.
‘But she’s not a native, sir,’ one of the soldiers said. ‘She’s blonde and her eyes are blue!’
Pinching her chin between his dirty fingers the man lifted her face towards him. ‘I can see that, idiot. The question is, what’s she doing out? Maybe she doesn’t know there are dangerous men around, or maybe she does…’
The men's coarse laughter echoed around her. The soldier’s dirty fingers slid down her throat, leaving a hot, moist trail on her skin. His breathing became fast and raspy.
‘Come with me, my lovely,’ he ordered, narrowing his small brown eyes, ‘you and I are going to have a little… ahem… talk.’
She didn’t move but stared defiant into his eyes. ‘I want to speak to your superior officer,’ she said with more assurance than she felt.
The man laughed again. ‘Corporal Doisnel is busy tonight, chérie. In case you haven’t noticed we’re smoking and shooting rebels out of here. For some reason, they haven’t realised that their precious emir gave up the struggle a few months back and is now in prison in France.’
‘I must see him straight away. I have important information about the rebels,’ she lied. ‘I know where they’re hiding.’
Anything, she would say anything to get away from these thugs and send the French on a false trail, all the way to the salt marshes outside Bou Saada, where with luck they would get lost and drown.
The soldier leaned towards her, close enough for his greasy grey whiskers to tickle her face. His breath stank of wine and cheap tobacco and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
‘Sure you do.’ He chuckled then grabbed the top of her dress. The fabric was so flimsy it tore, uncovering her thin chemise.
‘Leave me alone, you stinking jackal, and go away,’ she hissed, pulling the ripped dress across her chest.
‘I suggest you do what the lady says and scoot,’ a deep, calm voice said in hesitant French – a voice she thought she’d never hear ever again.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Her heart stopped, then started again with a painful lurch. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t! Bruce didn’t speak a word of French, and he was miles and miles away, almost on the other side of the world. He had sent her away, rejected her, and by now certainly forgotten her.
No, she was imagining things. She did get a bump to the head in the medina after all.
The soldier stared at a point behind her, his eyes wide with shock. ‘Nom d’un chien! Who the hell are they?’ he said before gesturing to his men to step back.
Slowly, Rose turned her head to look over her shoulder. Three giants blocked the alleyway, their pistols pointed at the French soldiers. With the town ablaze behind them, they looked like demons stepping out of hell. Or at least that was what the French soldiers must be thinking because they retreated to the far end of the lane before taking to their heels and disappearing around the corner.
Rose did not dare move. She didn’t dare close her eyes either, or even blink. Any second now and the three men would vanish and she’d be alone. She wanted to beli
eve that he was here – and for the illusion to be real for a few moments.
‘Rose, graigheag, at last I found you. ‘The tallest, dark-haired man said, in English this time, as he took a step forward.
‘Are you all right? Your head is bleeding.’
She shook her head in disbelief. Unable to talk, she stared at the man she’d given up all hope of ever seeing again. Like the last time she saw him, his dark hair reached down to his shoulders and a thick stubble covered his cheeks. She had dreamt of him, ached and cried for him so much over the past year that seeing him now didn’t seem real at all.
She took a deep breath. ‘Of course I am,’ she managed to answer in a choked voice. ‘I told you life at Bou Saada was dangerous, didn’t I?’ Turning to the other two men, she added, ‘Wallace, Fraser, it’s nice to see you.’
‘It’s nice to see you, too, Miss Rose,’ they replied in unison.
‘How did you get that gash on your forehead?’ Bruce stepped forward and frowned as he stared at her dress, her bare feet and the veil hanging loose on her shoulders. ‘Come to think of it, why were you out dressed like a dancing girl tonight when soldiers roam the town, torching buildings and shooting at everybody?’
She waved an impatient hand in front of her but the harshness in his voice and eyes cut deep. ‘I had things to do… But I can’t believe you came all this way to comment on my clothing. Why are you here?’
He bent down slowly towards her, held her in his serious, intense dark grey gaze. ‘I wanted to see you, to talk to you.’
Her head spun and all she wanted was to give in to the need to fall into his arms, feel his heat, his strength. Instead, she hardened her heart, crossed her arms on her chest and tilted her face up to look at him.
‘Perhaps I don’t want to talk to you. Perhaps I’m not interested in what you have to say.’
The words tumbled out before she realised what she was saying. All the pain she’d endured this past year bubbled up and pushed her to lash out and hurt him too. Of course she wanted to see him, talk to him, hold him close. That’s all she dreamt of for months.
She took a deep breath and looked at Bruce’s two companions who now guarded the end of the lane, hands on their pistols and anxious looks on their faces.
‘However, we can’t stay here. It’s not safe, the soldiers might come back. I’ll take you to my house. Follow me.’
As she started down the alleyway tears filled her eyes. She brushed them off with the back of her hands. This wasn’t the reunion she had dreamt of. She had imagined Bruce lifting her into his arms, kissing her senseless and telling her he loved her. Instead he was cold, distant, critical, and talked to her as if she was a dim-witted, silly girl.
She could hardly see where she was going and stumbled against a sharp stone and let out a whimper as pain shot through her bare foot.
‘Here, let me help.’ Bruce scooped her into his arms and pressed her against his chest. Instinctively her hands gripped his shoulders and her face nestled in the crook of his neck. At once his scent enveloped her – pine forest, salt and heat – and made her dizzy with longing.
She stiffened and tried to wriggle out of his grasp. ‘I don’t need you. I can walk.’
‘No, you can’t, and you do need me, whether you want it or not,’ came his answer, snarled through clenched teeth.
She looked up and shook her head. ‘Well, I see you haven’t changed one bit. You’re still the same charming Lord McGrowl. My house is just over there at the end of the lane, by the way,’ she said, pointing to the garden’s white walls and the thick, carved wooden door.
‘I know. We came round before with our guide but there was nobody there.’
‘I live alone these days.’
Bruce looked down. ‘What about your mother, your servants?’
‘My mother is in Djanet with my brother, his wife and their baby son. She turned our estate into a cooperative a few months ago and I stayed behind to oversee the transition and finalise the arrangements. Everything is sorted now and I too will leave for Djanet as soon I have packed everything up and closed the house.’
He glanced down, his gaze dark and stormy. ‘Living on your own is dangerous, isn’t it? It’s more than that: it’s downright irresponsible! You didn’t answer earlier when I asked what you were doing out tonight. Didn’t you realise how risky it was to go out'’
She shrugged. ‘Of course I did, but I had an important message to pass on.’
His face darkened further. ‘Don’t tell me you’re involved with those rebels the French are chasing all over town.’
His tone was so sharp that anger suddenly ripped through her and she squeezed her fists hard and pushed against his chest. It was pointless, he didn’t even appear to notice.
‘Whom I’m involved with is none of your concern. You made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me when you cast me aside, when you didn’t even say goodbye before the Sea Eagle left. I waited and waited that morning…’ Her voice broke as she remembered the heart-wrenching moment when she realised he wasn’t going to come to Wrath Harbour and Captain Kennedy said he couldn’t delay any longer.
‘I waited in Algiers for weeks, I wrote to you, to Doctor Kilroy, even to your friend MacBoyd, but you never wrote back. In fact, without the note doctor Kilroy sent me after the trial, I would still believe you in jail – or dead.’
He sighed and pain flashed through his eyes. ‘Aye, and I’m sorry for that. More than I can ever say.’
Wallace opened the garden door and the three men walked into the courtyard.
‘Which way now?’
‘Through the archways across the courtyard,’ she said, tugging on the sleeve of Bruce’s black shirt. ‘I want you to put me down.’
Once again, he ignored her. Damn. Why did the woman have to be so contrary? Everything was going from bad to worse tonight. He’d had months to think about the moment he’d be with her again, able at last to hold her in his arms and feel her slender body against him. When they rode into Bou Saada earlier after a gruelling few months travelling from Algiers through mountain ranges, deep cedar forests and scented orange groves, through desert plains and parched, rocky terrain, he could hardly contain his excitement… He'd even asked their guide to teach him a little French so he could surprise her! Yet all they’d done for the past half an hour was snap and snarl at each other.
It was his fault, of course. He’d been arrogant, patronising and overbearing, but he just couldn’t help himself. It made him mad just thinking of Rose alone in this dangerous place, riddled with rogue soldiers and rebels. What made him even more mad was to see that she didn’t seem to mind the danger at all.
Ignoring yet another request to put her down, he strode into a vast hallway with mosaic-tiled walls and floors and into a large drawing room. Tall candles burned in cast irons candelabras, large, simmering tapestries and hangings embroidered with gold, red and blue silk adorned the whitewashed walls. Low divans covered with embroidered cushions, dark wood furniture inlaid with intricate mother of pearl and copper patterns and colourful rugs completed the décor.
He stopped in front of a lioness’s hide which was nailed upside down on the wall, its huge yellowing teeth sticking out of his open muzzle, its glazed, amber eyes forever blind. A shiver went through him – a mixture of pity and dread. Even the most lethal, the strongest and proudest predators could end up as a pathetic display like this, nothing but than a vulgar ornament.
At the other end of the room a dining table had been set for two, with white porcelain plates, silver cutlery and tall crystal glasses which sparkled in the candlelight. Jealousy ripped into Bruce’s heart, and his fingers tightened around her slim body. He could almost feel her bare skin under the light, sheer costume.
‘I thought you lived here alone.’ He pointed with his chin to the dishes of flat breads, meat and candied fruit laid out on the table.
‘A friend visited earlier.’
‘What friend?’
‘His
name is Ahmoud. Not that’s any of your business. He is a friend of my brother’s.’
‘Ahmoud the rebel?’ he barked as he remembered her telling him about the man once, when he was ill at the old cottage in Sith Coille… a lifetime before. He was the man who had fought with her brother against the French army, the man who had vowed never to surrender whereas her brother had given in.
‘Are you completely mad to shelter a rebel when the town is full of soldiers?’
‘And what would you rather have me do? Turn a man away when he is being chased like a wounded lion? Ahmoud asked me to deliver a message to his friends to warn them of the impending arrival of the French. They were in a tavern in the bazaar, that’s why I dressed like an Ouled Nail dancer. I can only hope they all managed to escape in time… Now will you let me down? I’m cold and would like to change.’
He nodded and set her gently on her feet. She said she wouldn’t be long and disappeared down a corridor.
As soon as she left, Wallace whistled between his teeth.
‘Miss Rose is as lovely, brave and feisty as I remembered.’
Bruce let out a grunt. ‘She’s all that, and more…’
She wasn’t a doubt-ridden girl any longer, but a confident young woman. Would she agree to listen to him, and forgive him? What if there was something other than friendship between her and that rebel, Ahmoud? What if he’d left it too late? He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. Well, he’d soon find out.
He asked Wallace to patrol the gardens with Fraser and keep an eye out for French soldiers or stray rebel fighters. The last thing he wanted was to be disturbed before he had time to talk to Rose – to talk to her properly.
Chapter Thirteen
Bruce stood alone, his hands clasped behind his back in front of the lioness’s hide. Her throat dry, her heart beating too fast, Rose pulled on the ends of the shawl she’d thrown on to hide her ripped dress and walked, still barefoot, across the reception room.
