by Marie Laval
Unless …
She lifted her hand to the necklace tucked under her dress and felt for Bruce’s medallion. Bonnie must be the woman Niall had sent his half of the medal to, together with that third letter her father mentioned in his diary. If these were to be found, Bruce may be able to argue his case and save Wrath from ruin.
‘If people knew about Bonnie and Niall McRae,’ she started again, ‘then why did nobody ever tell Bruce who his father was? He had the right to know.’
Eilidh shrugged.
‘What good would that have done? The lad grew up loathing the McRaes. He would probably have knocked down anyone suggesting he was one of them. And, should he ever believe it and try to claim his due, that witch Lady Patricia would have ordered Morven to get rid of him. Nay, lass, it was better all round that things were left unsaid.’
The implications of what Eilidh said dawned on Rose.
‘It’s so sad … Cameron and Bruce are brothers, and yet they hate each other so much all they can think about is destroying one another.’
A fracas of angry male voices and the thumping of horses’ hooves outside almost made her jump out of her seat.
‘That’ll be my two lads back from Durness.’ Eilidh got up and walked to the door. ‘They’ll be wondering about yer friends in the barn.’
As she finished her sentence the door opened on a large man all wrapped up against the cold night.
‘Maither, are ye all right? Who are those men sleeping in the barn? They claim ye told them they could stop over.’
‘I did, son.’ Eilidh gestured to the door. ‘Ye’re letting the cold in. Close that door and wipe the muck off yer boots, I’ve no intention of scrubbing the floor again.’
The man did as he was told and stepped inside. Only then did he notice Rose standing near the hearth.
‘Who is she?’
He stared at her open-mouthed and Eilidh gave his arm an angry slap.
‘Show yer manners, Duncan, or I’ll have to tan yer backside to remind ye how. This is Rose, a friend of our laird. He’s in trouble and she and her companions are trying to get to him before McRae and Morven do him any harm.’
He nodded. ‘Sorry, miss, but my brother and I have heard so many tales of farms and crofts being torched down today, we thought our mother and our farm were in danger and we came back as fast as we could.’ He rubbed his ruddy face and sighed. ‘MacBoyd and his men left Wrath this afternoon to chase after the gang who’s doing it. We swung past the Lodge before coming back. Just looking at it gave me shivers. It’s empty and dark – except for the beacons on top of the towers as usual.’
Rose gasped as images of Wrath Lodge standing cold, dark and deserted on the misty cliff top sprung into her mind, like in her nightmare.
‘We must leave at once,’ she declared, taking hold of her cloak and slipping it on. She pulled her blue bonnet out of her pocket and tried to fasten it but her hands shook so much she couldn’t even manage the ties under her chin.
‘Where do ye think ye’re going, lass?’ Eilidh asked.
‘Wrath Lodge. How far is it from here?’
‘About eight miles, but ye canna go now – not at night.’ Eilidh’s son shook his head.
‘I must go! Don’t you see? They’ll kill him when there’s nobody to help, nobody to see what they’re doing! The fires are just a diversion to lure MacBoyd and his men away.’ She looked straight into Eilidh’s eyes and added in a shaky voice. ‘I dreamt about it. I saw him plunge to his death. Please. I know Bruce is there, and that he’s in danger.’
The old woman nodded slowly. ‘Fair enough. Duncan, go tell yer brother and all those fine men in the barn that ye’re leaving for Wrath at once.’
Her son looked at her, astonished. ‘But we’ve only just come back.’
‘Don’t ye argue with me, lad. I’ll pack ye somethin’ to eat.’
Less than half an hour later, they rode alongside the loch and past the shadowy silhouette of the tower where Niall McRae sang his lament to young Bonnie. The thud of the horses’ hooves echoed Rose’s heartbeats. Her fingers gripped the reins tightly. Would they get to Wrath Lodge in time? ‘I don’t know how you can bear living in such a dreary, stinky place,’ McRae snorted as two of his men pulled Bruce across the hall.’ He shook his head, slid a finger along the top of the hall table and grimaced. ‘And it’s dusty. You should get rid of your housekeeper. Dear Morag is clearly too old and frail to carry out her duties these days.’
Bruce looked around. The Lodge was empty and dark. Morag must still be at Kilroy’s, but where the hell were MacBoyd and the rest of his staff?
‘Move faster.’ One of the men punched Bruce in the back, the other gave him a kick to trip him and Bruce almost fell to his knees onto the floor.
McRae grinned. ‘Oh dear, you’re still a little wobbly, aren’t you? Let’s find somewhere more comfortable to talk, if such a place exists in this pitiful excuse for a castle. I have a proposal to put to you … not that you have much choice, mind you.’
The men half dragged, half shoved him along the corridor to the dark, cold drawing room. One of them lit an oil lamp and made a fire. As soon as the flames rose in the hearth, Fergus’ claymore gleamed softly on the wall.
Struggling to stand upright, Bruce gripped the back of an armchair to prop himself up.
McRae must have decided he posed no threat to him whatsoever because he ordered his men to leave and stand guard outside the Lodge.
‘Here is what I suggest,’ he started as soon as they were alone. He patted the breast pocket of his smart grey jacket. ‘We do a straight swap. I let you have the affidavits our two madames signed against you and forget all about alerting the Procurator Fiscal, and you hand over the letter my father wrote to your mother.’
Bruce closed his eyes. Malika. The women from the Inverness brothel said he hurt and killed her. Were McRae and the two women from the brothel right? He just didn’t know. If only the dream-like images he’d been chasing after these past few days made any sense, but each was more elusive than the last.
Yet there were so many things that didn’t add up in the two madames’ story. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t work out how he could have managed to carry two women out of the brothel when he could hardly stand, and how the hell was he supposed to have taken them back to Wrath?
What’s more, if he had indeed killed them both that night, why bother to take their bodies back with him only to leave them on the beach two days later? His memories of the journey back to Wrath might be hazy, but he would damned well remember travelling with a dead woman’s body – or two – strapped to Shadow! And what about McNeil? Surely he would have stopped him from killing the women or asked why he was bringing a body back to Wrath.
Another thought struck him then – a thought so horrid it made him want to be sick. If he had indeed killed Malika and Fenella McKay, maybe there were others too. Had he become so mad he didn’t remember raping, torturing and killing lasses?
He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. His head ached, his heart gave a few hard thumps again and a fresh wave of nausea rose inside him. It took a few deep breaths and all his willpower to remain standing and gather his muddled thoughts about what to do next.
‘Perhaps I want the truth to be told,’ he said at last in a low voice and his eyes still closed. ‘I’m not the kind of man to run away from what I’ve done. If I am guilty, I should be tried and punished. And if I’m not, then …’
He opened his eyes and took a shaky breath. ‘If I’m not, then you’ll have no hold on me, McRae. I think I’ll take my chances with the judges. You can go to hell.’
‘I thought you might say that. The brave and noble Lieutenant McGunn to the bitter end, aren’t you? Well, I think you’re a bloody fool.’ McRae sneered as he walked across the room and stopped in front of the claymore. ‘Ah, the old weasel’s sword. It’s hard to imagine your drunkard of grandfather ever being good enough to wield that sword in battle.’
He
lifted his hand to touch it, immediately withdrew it with a sharp hiss and turned round, his eyebrows arched in shock.
‘Damn it, it’s hot! How can that be?’
Bruce glanced at the sword. He’d lost track of the times he had lifted it from the hooks that kept it secure against the wall and carried it outside to train. He hadn’t touched it, hadn’t even looked at it, in the eighteen months since being discharged. Somehow he had considered himself unworthy of it.
Now the palm of his hand tingled and he could almost sense the cold, smooth handle against his skin, and recall how the sword always felt like an extension of himself.
An imperceptible whistling filled the silence – the sound of a blade slicing through the air. He was delusional again.
McRae frowned. ‘I can hear something, can’t you?’
Bruce nodded slowly. ‘I reckon that’s Dougal’s ghost longing to give you a good tanning with his claymore. I’d step away from that wall if I were you.’
‘Nonsense, it’s the wind. Your old tower is full of holes and draughts.’ McRae shrugged but nonetheless moved back towards the centre of the room. ‘My men are getting restless, McGunn. The longer I have to wait for that letter, the more chaos they’ll wreak on your estate.’
Bruce took a sharp breath and tightened his grip on the armchair.
‘What chaos? What are they doing on my land?’
‘Only lighting up a few fires, here and there, to keep your people busy, that’s all.’ A smirk stretched McRae’s lips. ‘Anyway, I have another … er … argument which may persuade you to part with the letter.’
He pulled a small book out of his pocket. His fingers patted the cover then flicked through the pages.
Bruce felt the blood drain from his face. He let go of the chair and took a few unsteady steps forward.
Colonel Saintclair’s diary! If McRae had it, then he had Rose too.
‘How did you get hold of that?’
The man he couldn’t think of as his brother – not now, not ever – threw him a mocking glance.
‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’
‘Answer me, damn it. How did you get it?’
‘Morven stumbled upon your protégée in a country inn two days ago. The young lady was taken to Westmore and separated from her precious diary.’
‘Where is she? I swear that if you hurt her …’
‘Don’t worry. I believe she’s safe and sound at Westmore – or at least she was when we left. Her precious diary however is … no more.’
And before Bruce had the chance to do anything McRae tossed the journal in the fire. The flames licked the cover, flared and shot up with a hiss. Soon the diary disappeared, engulfed in flames.
‘I should have done that months ago.’ McRae glanced up with a triumphant smile. ‘Now, tell me where that blasted letter is or I’ll order my men to ride back to Westmore and deal with Rose once and for all. To tell the truth, that little bitch has all but exhausted my patience – and I’ve have never been a patient man.’
‘What have you done to her?’ Bruce clenched his fists. If only his strength could flood back into his body, along with his anger and frustration.
McRae shrugged. ‘Nothing yet. In fact I haven’t seen her since leaving Algiers after she made that stupid scene because I’d … manhandled her a little. Well, if you don’t give me that letter, I swear I’ll do worse than mishandle her, and once I've finished with her I'll pass her on to Morven and his men.’
He took hold of the poker and stabbed at the burning remains of the diary in the grate. Colonel Saintclair’s diary was lost forever.
Next to McRae the claymore glowed, red hot on the wall. A shadow shifted on the blade – the reflection of a dark-hooded silhouette. Bruce blinked. More hallucinations, no doubt.
It was hopeless. What chance did he have to fight McRae and his men, and protect Rose from harm, when he was so weak already and sinking deeper and deeper into madness?
Chapter Twenty-nine
‘We’ll head for the Old Norse’s Inn first,’ Wallace decreed as they rode through the deserted streets.
He probably wanted to recruit more men before riding to Wrath Lodge, and the tavern was a good place to start. Rose pulled a face at memories of the scene with the landlady. For a moment she could even smell the beer on her hair and clothing, and hear the villagers’ heckling when Bruce had slung her over his shoulder like a sack of grain after she tried to run to the Sea Eagle.
The Sea Eagle, of course! Captain Kennedy would help them, she was certain of it. He was a good, honest man, and there had been admiration in his voice when he’d spoken about Bruce’s reputation and his years of service in the army. She turned to Duncan, Eilidh’s eldest son who rode at her side.
‘Is the Sea Eagle still in the harbour?’
He nodded. ‘I heard today that it was ready to sail.’
‘Then I’ll go to the harbour and speak to Captain Kennedy. I’m sure he’ll help us rescue Bruce.’
Wallace turned round and glanced at her over his shoulder.
‘I don’t think so, miss. The man works for McRae, therefore I don’t trust him or his crew. Their loyalties are bound to swing towards the man who pays their wages.’
They were now in front of the tavern. Wallace gave the signal to stop. The door was closed, no light filtered through the shuttered windows.
‘We’re too late to ask people to help,’ Rose said, disappointed. ‘Everybody’s gone home.’
‘That’s not why I came here, Miss Rose,’ Wallace replied as he dismounted. ‘You’re staying at the inn tonight. I’ll knock on the door and ask the landlady to give you a room.’
Rose stiffened and held the reins more tightly.
‘No, absolutely not! I’m coming with you.’
Wallace shook his head. ‘You’ve been very brave but things are about to get nasty. I can’t watch out for you and fight at the same time, and I certainly can’t spare anybody to mind you either. There’re only ten of us, counting the old woman’s sons – but I don’t know how good they’ll be at fighting Morven’s thugs.’
Rose let out a resigned sigh. He was right. However much she wanted to help him rescue Bruce, she’d only be in the way. ‘All right then, but I won’t stay at the inn. I’ll go to Doctor Kilroy’s instead.’
After bidding the men a hurried farewell, she made her way through the village. Doctor Kilroy’s house was the only house in the street with light glowing behind the curtains. At least he was still up. She wouldn’t need to wake him.
She knocked on the door and listened to the sounds of hurried footsteps and bolts being drawn back. The door opened on the housekeeper’s pale, anxious face. Her hair was tied back in a long plait, the frilly hem of her white nightdress peeped underneath a green dressing gown, and matching green slippers covered her bare feet.
Her eyes opened wide with shock. ‘Goodness, it’s young Lady McRae. What are you doing here at this time of night, and on your own, too?’
‘I’m sorry to be calling so late, Mrs Fraser. Is Doctor Kilroy in? It’s imperative that I speak to him straight away.’ Rose bit her lip. ‘But first I must tell you that my name is Rose Saintclair, not Lady McRae. I’m not married, never was.’
The woman frowned. ‘But …’
‘Lord McRae is a liar and a cheat who tricked me into a fake wedding. Knowing what I know about him now, I am glad he did. I couldn’t bear being his wife for real.’
Mrs Fraser’s face broke into an unexpected smile. ‘Well, my dear, I always thought you were far too nice a young lady for a scoundrel like him.’
She opened the door wider. ‘Please come in. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait for the doctor. He left for the Lodge over an hour ago.’
Dread made Roses heart bump hard. ‘Why did he go?’
‘I don’t know. Two men – two ruffians more like – came to give him a note from Lord McGunn and demanded he follow them. The doctor looked baffled as he read it. He went into his study to fetch his me
dical bag then left. That was over an hour ago.’
‘What did the note say?’
‘I don't know.’
‘Could you please let me read it?’
‘Well, I’m not sure it would be proper for me to do so.’
‘Please, Mrs Fraser. Lord McRae and Morven are with Lord McGunn at the Lodge and I believe they mean to hurt him. I need to see that note.’
The woman narrowed her eyes to look at her.
‘Why would they harm our laird?’ Then she shrugged and gestured towards the mare behind Rose. ‘All right then. You’d best tie your horse to the post at the side of the house and come in.’
A few minutes later, Rose was in Doctor Kilroy’s study.
‘It’s a wonder he ever finds anything in this mess,’ Mrs Fraser muttered as her fingers patted files and books piled up haphazardly on the desk and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.
‘That’s the one.’ She brought it closer to the lamp to read it.
‘Lady Patricia is at the Lodge. She’s ill, and the doctor is required to attend to her.’
‘The old bitch is here, at Wrath?’ a hoarse voice spoke behind her.
Rose turned and gasped in shock as she faced Morag. With her hollow cheeks, her eyes sunk deep inside their sockets, her thinning grey hair brushing against her shoulders and the long white nightdress and black shawl hanging on her tall frame, Morag looked more like a ghost than a living being.
‘I want to see her,’ the woman said.
‘Don’t be silly, you’re in no fit state to go anywhere,’ Mrs Fraser remonstrated with a stern voice. ‘Come with me, I’ll help you back into bed. What would Doctor Kilroy say if he knew you were up at this time of night?’
She slipped her arm under Morag and tried to motion her out of the study but Morag shook free. There was a dark, wild look in her eyes.
‘He would say it didn’t matter much. He knows I don’t have long left.’ She turned to Rose. ‘I heard what you said about you not being married to McRae. Is it true?’
Rose nodded.
‘You also said your name was Saintclair. Are you related to Colonel Hugo Saintclair by any chance?’
