by Dee Davis
"And you just stayed on at Duncreag," Iain remarked dryly.
"Nay, I took my leave shortly after we returned with the body. It was a day or so later that a messenger arrived at Tùr nan Clach. Your aunt was asking for me. I thought it best to come at once. I brought Ailis with me, thinking that another woman would be a comfort to her."
"I see." Iain moved away from the edge of the gorge across to where Sian waited. He pulled himself easily up into the saddle. "I want to see the bottom of the gorge."
Alasdair walked over to stand beside the horse. He looked up at Iain. "If you've no more questions, I'll go back now. I've no liking for the mist, and certainly no' in this place."
"Suit yourself." Iain turned his horse, ready to go. Ranald was already moving down the rocky slope.
"I always do."
Iain turned back to look at Alasdair through narrowed eyes, struggling to keep the disgust out of his voice. "I'll see you back at Duncreag." The words held the ring of a dismissal.
Alasdair gave a short mocking bow and climbed onto his horse. Iain swung Sian back around, heading down the narrow path leading from the promontory. The man was vile. But right now he had more important things to think about. Like what had happened to his father.
*****
At the bottom of the gorge, they dismounted and Iain strode over to the place where his father had been found. The ground was littered with debris. It seemed Angus had brought part of the rocky ledge with him when he fell. Iain squatted down and studied the area, not knowing where to start.
The morning had not brought answers. He had spoken with Sorcha just after dawn. Her tale matched Alasdair's, except that hers lacked detail. And he had spoken with some of the other men. Their stories, too, were the same. Still, even after talking with Alasdair, Iain was not any clearer about what had happened.
That his father had fallen he accepted as fact. But how had he fallen? Iain could not bring himself to believe the story that Angus' horse had thrown him. It was not impossible, of course, but it was highly unlikely. And why, by the Saints, would his father have brought a horse up here? He had climbed the rise many times with his father, but always they had left the horses below. The climb could be a treacherous one, and Iain had only allowed the horses today to see if it was, in fact, as dangerous as he had remembered. So why the horse? There was no conceivable reason. Unless Angus had been running from someone. Iain shook his head, trying to see it all clearly. Something was amiss here, but what?
"Do you believe him, then?"
Iain, startled from his thoughts, looked at Ranald in confusion. "Who?"
"Alasdair."
Iain paused to consider, rubbing a hand along the side of his jaw. "Aye, I do."
Ranald frowned, studying his cousin's face. "But you dinna believe Uncle Angus was thrown from his horse."
Iain picked up a rock and threw it across the clearing, his stomach churning. He knew his father was too skilled a horseman to be thrown from his horse—not without help anyway. "Nay, I dinna."
"Then I guess we will have to figure out what did happen."
Iain nodded, grateful for his cousin's support. He threw another rock and then rose to his feet, abandoning his search for clues; there was something more important he had to find. He began moving methodically around the clearing, his eyes scanning the ground.
"What are you looking for?" Ranald stared at the rock-strewn dirt.
Iain turned to look at his cousin. "My father's dirk."
"What?" Ranald's brows drew together in confusion.
"His dirk, 'tis missing. I asked Sorcha about it and she said he wasna wearing it when they found him. I thought it might have dropped when he fell." Iain pushed his hair out of his face with an impatient hand, his shoulders tightening with frustration.
"I'll help you look." Ranald squatted down and began to sift through a pile of fallen rock.
"Nay, 'tis good of you to offer, but I dinna believe it is here."
"You think someone took it? Maybe the man who killed him?"
As usual Ranald had read his thoughts. "I truly dinna know. But 'tis a question I'd like to see answered." Iain turned to Sian, reaching for the reins. "I've seen enough for now. Let's go. 'Tis still a good ride back to Duncreag."
Ranald nodded and swung into the saddle. "I'm right behind you."
*****
Iain and Ranald sat with Fergus in the great hall, by the fire. They talked in lowered voices, casting glances around the empty hall from time to time.
"I tell you, Fergus, I've no call to doubt Alasdair. Have you been to the gorge?" Iain took a long drink from his pewter cup and eyed the old man over the rim.
"Aye, I went the next day. And I saw much as you did. But I still canna believe Angus Mackintosh was thrown from his horse." Fergus leaned close to the other two men, his voice lowering further. "And I'll tell you this: Your father didn't mention any meeting with Alasdair Davidson to me." He sat back with grim satisfaction, his eyes glowering below his bushy white eyebrows.
Iain slammed his tankard down on the edge of the bench. "What are you saying, old man?"
"I'm saying that I dinna believe there was a meeting. If Angus summoned him I would have known."
Iain nodded, understanding. Fergus had stood as Angus' captain for many years. There were no secrets between them. If there had been a meeting, Fergus would have known about it.
"Maybe he hadn't the time to tell you." Ranald put in, staring into the fire, obviously deep in thought.
Fergus drank deeply from his tankard and wiped the foam from his mouth with his sleeve. He sat back and pulled at his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps." He turned to Iain. "Any luck finding the dirk?"
"Nay, Auntie Sorcha had no' seen it. And it wasna at the gorge. We looked. You're certain it wasn't on the body?"
Fergus fixed him with a fierce stare. "I told you it wasna."
"Could he have left it behind, do you think?" Ranald asked.
"Nay," Iain and Fergus answered as one.
Ranald cocked his head to one side, his brows lifted in puzzlement.
"Angus ne'er went anywhere without the dirk. It was a gift from his father. His prized possession," Fergus said, then stood and went to stir the fire. "I remember when he got it. He was so proud. Malcolm Mackintosh was a hard man. And Angus, being the youngest, was always trying to win his praise." Fergus settled back down on the bench.
"We were little more than boys at the time," he went on, "learning the ways o' men. We were out hunting. There were six of us: Angus, his brothers Duncan and Lachlan, Malcolm, my father Reginald and me. We had been out most o' the day, with little luck. Suddenly, Angus pulled back from the others. He dropped off his horse and motioned for us to stop. We were just lads and had no reason to think anyone would listen to us, but something in his movement made them stop. He cocked his head to the left, and I strained to see what he saw. There in the gathering mist was the biggest stag I'd ever seen. Angus knelt quietly, drew his bow, and strung an arrow. His shot was swift and true. The stag fell where he stood. It was magnificent."
Fergus shook his head, pulling away from his memories. "Anyway, being just a lad, he had no dirk to skin the beast. So Malcolm pulled his from its sheath and gave it to his son. It was a beautiful piece, the hilt wrought from gold. Angus took it, and when he was finished he tried to give it back. But Malcolm told him to keep it. 'You're a mon now,' he said, 'and a mon needs a dirk.' After that, I never saw Angus without it. Never."
"So you're thinking someone took it then?" Ranald asked.
"Aye." Iain ran a hand through his hair and exhaled in frustration.
Fergus laid a hand on Iain's knee. "I say ye find the mon who has the dirk and we'll have an idea, then, what happened on that ledge." With that he rose and stretched with a yawn. "I'm no' getting any younger, and I tell you an old mon needs his rest. We'll talk more on the morrow."
"Sleep well, Fergus."
Iain watched as the old man ambled across the great hall and out
the doorway. He had quarters in the gate tower and slept there, probably with one eye open.
Iain turned back to the fire, certain that his desperation showed in his face. Sainted Mary, he wished that his cousin had the answers they so badly needed. He searched Ranald's face, their gazes locking. His heart sank.
"Iain, we may never know the truth of it. You have to accept that." There was compassion in Ranald's voice.
"Aye, I know. But I canna give up without at least trying to make sense of it."
"At least try and let it go until the morning then."
Iain nodded and then, with a sigh, drained the rest of his ale. He stared into the fire for a long moment, lost in reverie, the flames dancing in wild abandon. Finally, he pulled his thoughts back to the present and rose, turning to face his cousin again. "Thank you for being here, my friend. It makes it easier."
Ranald smiled. "I wouldna be anywhere else."
*****
The room was dark. There was still a faint glow from the fireplace, but even it had conceded to the night. Iain paced restlessly, unable to sleep. Finally, with a sigh, he crossed the room, tugged open the door, and entered the adjoining chamber. He waited a moment until his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the shadow-shrouded chamber. He moved to the window and sat with his back to the wall. And waited. Waited for a dream. Waited for her.
All those years ago, she had appeared out of nowhere and irrevocably changed his life. She had filled an empty part of him that could now be filled by no other. Never since had he felt that kind of passion. Even thinking of it now, he felt his loins stir. He had not been chaste, but the couplings he had had over the past eight years had been just that: couplings, base fulfillment of a driving physical need, nothing more.
The first year afterward he had searched for her, looking for her in every woman, every face. Later, he had accepted the fact that she must have come by some magic. Something he could not understand. Yet, far from making him less determined to find her, the realization only made him more certain that he must have her, that their union had indeed been special. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his heart, he was certain she would return. And so, he guarded his heart and kept vigil through countless nights of waiting, wanting.
He leaned his head against the cold stones and closed his eyes. Perhaps tonight she would come. Perhaps tonight.
Chapter 4
"I’M GLAD I talked you into this." Katherine twisted, trying to settle more comfortably into the passenger seat of the rental car. It felt funny to be sitting on the left and not driving, like a Disneyland ride. Finally, finding a comfortable spot, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
"I was glad when you called. I needed a break from the architectural project I've been working on. You gave me a good excuse." Jeff glanced over at his sister. "I've been hearing about Duncreag since we were kids. Now I'll finally be able to put a picture with the stories."
"Stories?" She opened her eyes and looked at her brother.
"Yeah, Gram's and yours. You know, the lonely lady and the ravished virgin." Jeff darted another glance at Katherine. She wrinkled her nose in a grimace.
"Come on Kitty, you have to admit it all sounds a little hokey. First there's Gram telling us about this woman who lived in Scotland centuries ago. Forced to marry a man she didn't love and always pining for the one she did. Wearing a pair of earrings in his memory and then passing them down through the centuries. And then, right after college, Gram sends you off to Scotland, to Duncreag, in fact, and you come home spouting a tale of metamorphosing rooms and midnight lovers."
Katherine was silent, refusing to be goaded by her brother's words. They weren't covering new territory. Gram had regaled both of them with countless stories from Scotland, particularly clan legends and family history. Katherine had always loved the story about the lady and her lost love. Remembering the old story, she stared out the window absently fingering the cairngorm on its fine gold chain. She thought it was incredibly romantic that the lady in question had stayed true to her love, in her heart if not in her life. And the idea that she passed the cairngorms down to her female descendants as a tribute to him, practically under her husband's nose, appealed to her.
Jeff, on the other hand, thought it was all bunk. He also quite openly thought she was crazy to keep harboring hopes about what he called her "Fantasy Man."
She smiled at the thought of Iain, her mind turning to her summer in Scotland. It had been a dream come true, a wonderful graduation gift, first the trip from Gram and then the cairngorms. Just before she left, Gram had given her the small wood and gold box containing the earrings. Gram had smiled and said something about it being Katherine's turn.
Katherine closed her eyes, trying to recall the exact words Gram had used. She could see Gram standing at the airline gate, reaching out to brush back her granddaughter's hair and lightly touch one of the earrings. She could almost hear Gram's voice: "My darling, it's your turn now. Go and find your destiny. It waits for you in Scotland, at Duncreag." Now, the words sounded almost prophetic, but at the time they'd washed over her, simply a part of the magic surrounding the whole trip.
Scotland had indeed been waiting for her with open arms. Everyone on the tour had been so warm and friendly, welcoming her into the group. She had loved every minute of it. But most of all she had loved Duncreag. It had been so much more than she'd ever imagined. She had felt a connection there, a kinship. And then she’d had the dream. Even now, so many years later, her body tingled at just the thought of it, awakening with pleasure. It was at Duncreag that she had been changed forever.
She had told Gram and Jeff about the dream, all of it. Gram had smiled and said something about Highland magic and holding on to your dreams. Jeff had laughed and asked her if she was feeling all right.
Jeff cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts, bringing her back from her memories to the present. "Kitty, you have to admit that you are somewhat obsessed with Fantasy Man."
His use of her nickname took the sting out of the comment. He had called her Kitty since they were kids. It had started out as a taunt, "Kitty Kat," but had gradually become an endearment, a bond between a sister and brother who found themselves alone in the world at a very young age.
Katherine had been eight and Jeff eleven when their parents had been killed in a car wreck. Theirs had been a close family, and the loss was devastating to them both. They had lost not only their family, but their home as well. The apartment in New York had been sold and they had had to leave an entire life behind. Gram had taken them in, bringing them to her hometown in Connecticut. It hadn't been a bad place—in fact, it had been lovely, just so very different from the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. Caught deep in the memory of those painful years, Katherine pulled her braid over her shoulder and twirled the end of it absently.
"Hey, are you even listening to me?"
Katherine smiled at her brother. "Oh, yeah. I hear you loud and clear. But if you're so sure I'm a nutcase, why are you here with me?"
"Hey, I figured you could use someone with a level head on this little adventure." Jeff grinned and then looked back at the road, his expression turning serious. "Honestly, Kittty, I'm glad you're doing this. It's time you put these dreams behind you. You need to accept them for what they are. Fantasy. You can't move forward until you do that. You've made these dreams into some kind of alternate reality, and because of that you've given your heart away to a dream lover."
"You're making me sound unstable. Besides, who says for sure it was a dream? There was the lost earring. I looked everywhere in that room for it and it wasn't there."
Jeff reached over with his left hand and patted Katherine's knee. "Look, for your sake I wish it were real. But how could it have been? There was no other room connecting with yours and there weren't any other guests at the hotel except the ones in your tour group. And you've said yourself that they were all elderly or happily married, hardly the type to seduce young women."
"I wasn't that young and
I wasn't seduced. It was mutual. My choice. So let's not talk about it anymore, okay?" She smiled crookedly at him, trying to soften her words.
Jeff ran a hand through his fair hair, leaving it all akimbo. "Look, Kitty, I'm not trying to make you angry. I'm just worried about you. This dream thing has been going on too long. It's not natural to give part of yourself away to a fantasy man."
Katherine twirled the end of her braid. "I can take care of myself, Jeff. I've been doing it since we were kids."
He burst into laughter. "Well that may be true enough but you have to admit you are a bit susceptible to what others want you to do."
"What do you mean?" Katherine watched her brother's eyes crinkle with amusement
"Actually, I was thinking of you with marbles up your nose. Remember when I dared you to do it?"
"You said I wasn't talented enough to do it, but that if I did, I'd be famous. Boy, was I a sucker."
"You said it..." He shrugged, still laughing.
"I didn't think it was funny. It took the pediatrician an hour to get them all out. And I swear sometimes I think there's still one up there somewhere." Katherine grinned. "So, since I don't have a love life, why don't you tell me about yours? How's Prudence?"
"History. She was way too interested in becoming Mrs. Jeffrey St. Claire. So there's no love life. Tell me what else is new since I left. How are all those budding young minds?"
"Fine, although I was just telling Elaine that sometimes I get tired of living in a world filled only with nineteen-year-olds."
"How is Elaine?"
"She's good, up to her eyeballs in some big case. Murder and mayhem—she loves it."
"Is she seeing anyone?" Jeff asked, a bit too casually. Katherine smiled. Maybe her brother wasn't immune to her friend's charms after all.
