by Marie Laval
‘He was my father, but …’
‘Listen to me, girl,’ Morag interrupted, ‘we must go to the Lodge at once. I can get into the castle without being seen. There are tunnels linking the cliffs, the caves and the Lodge’s cellars – that’s the way the McGunns and their people used to escape when the castle was under siege in the olden days, and the way Bonnie got out when she wanted to meet Niall.’ She bit her thin lip, hissed a breath as if in pain, and Rose stared at her as the truth suddenly dawned on her.
‘You knew! All along you knew who Bruce’s father was and you never told him.’
Mrs Fraser looked at each of them in turn, a puzzled expression on her face.
‘What good would speaking out have done?’ Morag’s eyes narrowed to slits.
‘Dougal McGunn would have thrown me out if I’d said anything to the lad, and God knows the boy needed me to look after him. Dougal was a drunken brute, he would have beaten Bruce to death had I not been there to soften his moods and pour more whisky into his cup to make him pass out.’ Morag chuckled. For a few seconds, she looked completely demented.
‘What Dougal enjoyed the most was to drip hatred and contempt for the McRaes into the lad’s heart and bring him up hating his own kin. He used to say it’d serve Lady Patricia right if Bruce and Cameron were to kill each other in a duel one day. It sounds like he’s finally getting his wish.’
Mrs Fraser put her hand in front of her mouth and stared at her. ‘Dear Lord, you don’t mean to say that Bonnie’s lover was —’
‘Niall McRae,’ Rose finished.
Mrs Fraser narrowed her eyes. ‘Then he and Lord Cameron are brothers, and yet you said the man meant to hurt him. Why would he want to do that?’
‘Because he fears he’ll lose his inheritance should the truth be known, that’s why,’ Morag cut in. ‘That’s what his mother was afraid of all along. I know what he and Morven are after. They want Niall’s letter – the one your father scribed for him. It’s at the Lodge, in Bonnie’s room.’
Rose recalled the austere and sparsely furnished bedroom in which she had spent two troubled nights. There was nowhere a document as important as Niall McRae’s letter could remain hidden all these years. Except …
‘The letter is in the clock.’
Morag nodded and pulled the sides of her black shawl across her chest. ‘It’s been there ever since that Frenchman brought it to the Lodge.’
‘What was in the letter?’
‘Niall’s medallion and some papers about Bruce’s inheritance.’
Rose couldn’t stop herself from touching the necklace and the medal attached to it which she had worn under her dress these past few days.
‘If she had it all along, then why didn’t Bonnie use the papers to prove Niall was Bruce’s father?’
Morag hung her head. ‘When Niall died, it was as if Bonnie had died too. She didn’t want to fight any more, didn’t want to confront her father or Lady Patricia. Nothing mattered to her.’
Morag heaved a sob. Her eyes filled with tears and she bent her head. ‘Well it mattered to me! My husband and son had just been arrested on McRae land for sheep rustling. It was a lie, of course. My Alick would never have stolen anything, and even less when he had our lad with him, but the judge found them guilty. I grew more and more desperate as the date of their execution loomed. I pleaded with Bonnie to give me the letter so that I could take it to Lady Patricia and trade it against my man and son. She didn’t want it, so why should it matter what I did with it?’
Her voice broke. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and carried on. ‘But she refused. The selfish girl didn’t even want to tell me where she’d hidden it. So I set off for Westmore on my own. I waited three days before Lady Patricia and Morven deigned to receive me.’
She shivered. ‘They listened to me when I pleaded for my man’s and my son’s lives and at the end they laughed. I couldn’t believe they could be so heartless. But they didn’t laugh for long. As soon as I told them about the letter, Morven sprung to his feet and grabbed hold of me. As for Lady Patricia, she ranted and shouted like a fury.’
The woman’s voice became dull and devoid of any emotion as she carried on. ‘I promised to get the letter for them, but it wasn’t enough. In return for my husband’s and son’s lives, Lady Patricia asked that I kill Bonnie and Bruce too.’ She paused and stared into the distance. ‘I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t kill that bairn.’
Mrs Fraser let out a tiny cry. ‘What about Bonnie? Did you … kill her?’ she asked, a look of horror in her eyes.
Morag shrugged. ‘The girl wasn’t herself any more. She had no interest in anything, not even her baby. All she wanted to do was to walk on the cliff top and dream of Niall. She even talked to him as if he was there, right next to her. The only time she paid Bruce any attention was at bedtime when she would sing the song she liked so much – the song played by the old clock, My Fair Love’s Lament.’
Rose recalled what Eilidh Graham had said earlier, about Niall singing that very same tune to Bonnie when they met on the island.
Mrs Fraser’s voice broke the silence. ‘Did you push that poor girl off that cliff and let everyone believe that she’d killed herself?’
Morag stiffened and hissed. ‘So what if I did? My husband and my only son were in jail, waiting to be hanged. I was prepared to do anything in my power to save their lives.’ Her shoulders sagged. ‘As it turned out,
I didn’t have to push Bonnie off the cliff. I only put some of the sleeping draught Morven had given me into her tea before she went out one evening, and she was too far gone to take care about where she was going.’
She turned to Rose, her face ashen and her eyes hollow with grief. ‘But no matter how much I tried to harden my heart, I just couldn’t kill that baby. Lady Patricia must have grown tired of waiting for Bruce to die and for me to bring her the letter because after a few weeks she ordered that my husband and son be executed anyway.’
‘Oh, Morag …’ Rose’s heart tightened with pity. ‘Both her and Morven probably thought they were safe then,’ Morag carried on regardless, ‘especially after that poor Frenchman who had brought Bonnie her letter was murdered on the moors.’
‘How did you find Niall’s letter?’
‘I used to put the clock in Bruce’s room because the music helped him fall asleep. One night the music didn’t play. I shook the clock, the cover fell off and I found Niall’s papers and medallion stuffed inside. I read the letter, put it back in its hiding place and screwed the cover back on. The music never played again after that night. Until you arrived.’
‘Did you not think of giving the papers to Dougal so that he could claim Bruce’s inheritance?’
‘It was better for the boy to grow up not knowing about his mother and McRae. Dougal knew about it, though, and found a way of making Lady Patricia pay up. Every so often he’d take himself to Westmore and threaten to make Bonnie and Niall’s liaison public. As the years passed, she stopped giving him money. I suppose she stopped being afraid.’
Rose sighed. ‘And then my mother wrote to her about my father’s military journal, and Lady Patricia and Cameron decided to have Bruce killed. That man, McNeil, has been poisoning him for months.’
Morag started. ‘Poison? McNeil?’
‘I heard him talk to Morven a few days ago.’
Morag stepped towards Rose. ‘Come on then, lass, there is no time to spare. We must go to the Lodge at once. My time has come anyway. She’s waiting for me.’
‘Who is waiting?’
‘The Dark Lady. She wants me dead. She knows I killed Bonnie. I keep seeing her, everywhere.’ Morag’s lips hardly moved as she spoke.
‘Nonsense! There is no such thing as the Dark Lady. It’s late and you’re exhausted. I’m taking back to bed now.’ Mrs Fraser took hold of Morag’s arm and pulled her towards the door.
‘Mrs Fraser is right, Morag,’ Rose started. ‘It’s far too cold and dangerous for you to go out now. I’l
l get the letter, but first you must tell me about the tunnels.’
Chapter Thirty
After leaving her horse in a barn at the end of the village, Rose started along the cliff track. A wall of fog rose from the sea, swallowing everything in its path, even the sounds of the waves crashing on the rocks. Up on the cliff, the Lodge cut a bleak silhouette with its thick walls and the beacon blazing on top of the tower. Lights blinking at several windows indicated that there were people inside, but the cliff top was deserted, with no sign of Wallace’s or Morven’s men.
She walked past the landmark Morag had indicated – a derelict bothy standing a mere fifty paces from the cliff edge next to a scrawny, twisted tree – and took a few tentative steps towards the edge of the cliff. The track seemed to disappear into the void and she could see no further than the first few yards. Her fingers gripped coarse plants that sprouted out of the rock face as she started down the cliff.
Morag’s words still rang in her ears. ‘Follow the path until you come upon a gap in the rocks, a recess large enough for you to sneak into. The passage was kept clear over the years. It shouldn’t be too hard to get to the Lodge’s cellars.’
When she reached the opening Morag had described, she pulled a candle and a box of fusees out of her pocket and struck a match to ignite the wick. Her breath steamed in front of her as she started into the narrow passage. At once, the damp air seeped through her clothing and the cold made her hand shake so much the flame threw strange shadows on the rocky walls.
Even though the tunnel was clear of any obstructions, the uneven ground made her progress difficult and it felt like a long time before she reached a flight of stairs carved into the rock. She blew the candle out and proceeded to haul herself up through an opening leading into the cellars. Still following Morag’s instructions, she counted thirty paces before forking right into the basement where another flight of stairs crept up into the kitchens. At last she was inside the Lodge.
The kitchens were empty, but a smouldering fire in the hearth, together with several half-eaten loaves of bread and plates filled with, what looked like, congealed broth on the table, indicated that people had left in great haste.
Rose held her breath as she tiptoed out of the kitchen. Angry male voices – among them Cameron’s and Morven’s – could be heard at the far end of the corridor. Fearful of bumping into Cameron’s men, Rose carried on along the dark passage until she was outside the drawing room.
She almost went limp with relief when she heard Bruce speak. Thank goodness he was alive … but what was he was talking about? Something about Malika, about hurting and killing her, and about standing trial for his crimes?
She pressed her hand against her mouth and shook her head from side to side. No! It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be true! Without thinking, she flew into the room.
Rose? Was she really here or was it another hallucination?
But no, it wasn’t a dream! Clumsily, Bruce rose to his feet. He had to protect her, shield her from McRae and his henchman. He wasn't fast enough.
Morven pushed him back into the armchair and pointed the barrel of his pistol at his forehead. ‘I wouldn’t move if I were you,’ he warned.
Rose stopped a few feet from him and stared into his eyes. ‘What you were saying just then about hurting Malika, it’s not true, is it? It can’t be true. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t hurt anybody.’
Bruce sighed. What could he say? He had been in Inverness. He had seen the dancing girl in that brothel, and vividly remembered speaking to her and seeing the fear in her eyes.
‘Why are you not talking, Bruce, and telling me this is a horrible lie?’ Rose pleaded again.
‘He can’t deny it because he killed that friend of yours and I can prove it,’ McRae sniggered, pouring himself a drink. He raised his glass in a mock salute.
‘And you, my darling Rose, are definitely full of surprises. I left Westmore two days ago thinking you were secure in the old dungeon, and here you are, looking even more lovely than I remember – my lady wife …’
The sound of McRae’s voice grated on Bruce’s nerves, the lust in the man’s eyes as he stared at Rose made his blood boil.
As if sensing his rage and frustration, Morven dug his pistol harder into the side of his head. ‘Steady on, McGunn,’ he growled, ‘unless you want to give me an excuse to put a few bullets into your sorry carcass.’
‘You slimy snake,’ Rose hissed as she swung round to face McRae, her fists curled on her hips and her face tilted high. ‘I’m not your wife. I never was, and you can’t imagine how glad I am about that! You lied about everything, about loving and marrying me, and about caring for your people when all along you instructed Morven to burn their houses down.’
McRae’s eyebrows drew in a puzzled frown. ‘What do you mean you’re glad we’re not married? You don’t care I took your virginity and used you like a common whore? What about your honour, your reputation, your love for me?’
She shook her head, her dark blue eyes sparkling in anger. ‘Ah! What love? I never loved you, you stinking jackal. What I felt for you was a pitiful, immature infatuation, and one that soon melted away when I realised what you were really like. How could I ever mistake that for love? Love is larger than the Sahara, higher than the Tahat peak, king of the Hoggar mountains. It’s deeper and more beautiful than the Mediterranean Sea. Love is …’
She turned to Bruce as if waiting for him to speak, and perhaps tell her he loved her, too. And how he did right now! The pain clawing at his heart grew sharper and made him dizzy and weak. These weren’t the usual aches caused by his illness, but ones caused by despair and self-loathing.
So he said nothing. He was mad. He was cursed –and perhaps even a murderer. He had no right to love any woman, let alone Rose.
‘I don’t believe it. Scatterbrain Rose and grim old McGunn are in love. What an unlikely pair,’ McRae sneered, but a nervous twitch pulled the side of his mouth down and his eyes looked at Rose and Bruce in turn.
‘You don’t mind bedding one of my cast-offs, McGunn? You don’t mind if I used her, enjoyed her, touched her and made her scream …’
A red haze misted in front of Bruce’s eyes, a burning hot firebrand speared his gut and he leapt to his feet.
‘Rose isn’t yours, McRae. Whatever you did to her doesn’t matter, she was never yours,’ was all he had time to say before Morven pushed the pistol into his spine and barked at him to sit back down.
‘She may not be mine, but she’ll never be yours either, McGunn,’ Cameron snapped back, ‘because you’ll soon hang for what you did.’
Rose glanced uneasily at him then turned to McRae once more. ‘You lied about everything, and now you’re lying about Bruce having … having …’
‘You think I’m lying, do you?’ McRae arched a quizzical eyebrow. ‘McGunn, why don’t you tell our lovely friend here how you met Malika in that brothel in Inverness?’
Bruce swallowed hard and closed his eyes. His head spun. His throat felt too tight to speak. Defeated, he let out a sigh. He was trapped in a never-ending nightmare, from which there was no way out. Except one.
‘Bruce,’ he heard Rose plead once again. ‘Please tell me it’s not true.’
‘That part is true,’ he started slowly. ‘I did see Malika in Inverness, but I can’t remember what happened before, or after.’
‘We all know what happened,’ McRae pursued, relentless. ‘There were witnesses. The ladies from the brothel will testify at the trial. But they’re not the only ones. There’s someone else too.’
Bruce flicked his eyes open. ‘Who?’
‘Me.’ McNeil entered the room and looked straight at him, his bushy eyebrows drawn into a scowl.
‘But you work for Morven!’ Rose cried out. ‘I heard you when you boasted about poisoning Bruce’s drinks with datura – that very same plant that grows in the orangery at Westmore.’
She turned suspicious eyes towards McRae. ‘In fact I wouldn’t be surprised
if you were behind it all, if you were trying to kill your very own brother.’
This time it was McRae’s turn to look surprised. ‘So you know about that, too?’
Bruce too stared at Rose. How had she found out the secret of his birth? His gaze returned to McNeil as the understanding of what Rose had just said dawned on him. He wasn’t terminally ill or plunging into madness like his mother before him, but being poisoned.
‘You’ve been feeding me datura all this time?’ he asked McNeil.
The man stiffened then shrugged. ‘Aye. I brewed the concoction and mixed it with your tonic, your whisky, your tea … pretty much everything you drank and ate, and you never even noticed anything.’
‘I don’t understand. Why did you do it?’
McNeil shook his head but didn’t answer.
‘Damn it, man, you owe me an explanation,’ Bruce insisted. ‘I trusted you. You betrayed me, tried to kill me. I want to know why.’
‘You stole my woman, that’s why.’
‘What woman?’
‘Priscilla. Priscilla Andrews. Don’t you even remember her?’
Bruce frowned. Priscilla … the redhead who tried to trap him into marriage, the one he had sent back to Tongue when he couldn’t take any more of her silly tricks and tiresome recriminations.
‘She said she was a widow. She never mentioned being engaged.’
‘She promised she’d marry me when I returned from the army, but by then you had given her a place in your kitchens, and in your bed, and she didn’t want me any more. You used her, humiliated her and spat her out. When she arrived back home, she refused to have anything to do with me and took off for Glasgow.’
Bruce let out a sigh. ‘I’m sorry, McNeil. I didn’t know the woman was spoken for.’
It was pointless to say any more. He could see from the man’s stubborn stance that he wouldn’t listen to a word he’d say. Right now, it didn’t matter anyway. He had questions that needed answering. Lots of questions.
‘So you’ve been working for McRae all this time. It really was you I saw at the Nag’s Head at Porthaven, wasn’t it? You were in league with the men who attacked me at the harbour. Come to think of it, I thought I recognised the voice of one of the thugs who attacked us on the docks in Inverness.’
