Dancing for the Devil

by Marie Laval

  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 thickset face became deadly pale, he gasped and recoiled. ‘Leave me alone, you witch,’ he shouted, staring at the blade with renewed terror.

  He crumpled to the floor, 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 feather-light 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 any more. ‘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 gunfire 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 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.’

  ‘Enough!’ Bruce said through clenched teeth. ‘Do you know where they went?’

  ‘She said she wanted to kill Cameron on top of the tower, and forced the doctor and my son to follow her. She wasn’t making much sense.’ Lady Patricia closed her eyes and let out a sigh.

  ‘I’m going after them. Rose, you stay here.’

  He didn’t wait for her answer but strode out of the room, claymore in hand.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The door at the top of the spiral staircase was wide open to the foggy night. Like every night, a fire blazed high in the beacon at the centre of the tower to warn passing ships of the dangers of the rocky coastline. Muffled voices drifted towards Bruce, among
which he recognised Kilroy’s and McRae’s. He heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God he wasn’t too late and Morag hadn’t shot either of them yet. Despite the pain pulsing through his chest, he hurried to the centre of the platform.

  ‘Give me that rifle, Morag,’ he said when he was close.

  She swung towards him, alarm painted on her gaunt face. ‘Bruce. My God, you’re hurt! Your face, your jacket … you’re bleeding.’

  ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry.’ He held his hand out. ‘Give me the rifle, please.’

  She shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. Lady Patricia must pay for what she did to my family, and the best revenge I can think of is to take her worthless son from her.’

  She pointed to McRae with the barrel of her rifle.

  ‘Morag, please listen to me,’ Bruce coaxed in a softer voice. ‘I don’t want you to shoot McRae. He may be a pathetic excuse for a man, but he’s my …’ he swallowed hard as the words stuck like fish bones in his throat, ‘… my half-brother.’ ‘That’s right, McGunn,’ McRae cut in then, ‘tell your housekeeper to stop her nonsense. Let’s all go back inside. It’s freezing out here and I could do with a drink.’

  ‘I know full well who he is and it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference to me,’ Morag said, ignoring McRae. Her hair flew around her face and her eyes were like dark pools. In the space of two weeks, she had become an old woman – a woman dangerously unhinged.

  ‘Why do you think Lady Patricia wanted me to get rid of you and your mother?’ Morag carried on. ‘She was consumed by hatred and jealousy. She knew Niall only married her because he had no choice, and that the woman he really loved was Bonnie. She wanted the letter, but most of all she wanted you and your mother dead.’

  He frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

  But suddenly he knew. So that was why she’d begged for his forgiveness over and over again after being taken ill in Balnakeil cemetery.

  ‘Are you saying that my mother didn’t kill herself …’ He spoke slowly, detaching every syllable, ‘… but that you killed her? Are you saying that that you pushed my mother to her death?’

  Chilled to the bone, he stared at the woman who had raised him. The only mother he’d ever known. It was like seeing her for the first time. She was a madwoman, a liar and a murderess. How could you live with someone for so long and still not know them?

  Morag shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t push her, I only gave her a little draught to make her sleepy, and make her forget her pain. It wasn't my fault she went out on the cliffs that night and fell to her death. I told Lady Patricia I’d done it so that she would release my man and my son from prison, but she wanted you dead as well, and that I couldn’t do … I could never hurt you.’ She let out a whimper. ‘Please don’t hate me, Bruce. I always loved you like a son. Please …’

  Something broke inside him but he ignored it and instead focussed on hardening his face, his voice, his heart.

  ‘Get out of my sight. I never want to see you ever again. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as good as dead.’

  With a heart-rending sob, Morag dropped the rifle to the ground and stepped out of the light. The fog clung to her silhouette like a shroud before swallowing her as she ran away.

  ‘Where is she going?’ Kilroy asked.

  Bruce shrugged. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’

  ‘It wasn’t really her fault, you know,’ Rose’s voice said close to him. ‘She told me it was an accident your mother fell to her death.’

  He turned to stare down at her. Once again the woman had followed him and disregarded his instructions. And what’s more, she was taking Morag’s side. ‘You knew about this?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And you weren’t going to say anything?’ he asked in a low, growling voice as bitterness and anger burned his insides.

  ‘It wasn’t my secret to tell.’

  ‘No, you’re dead right. It was mine. It was about me and my mother.’

  So Rose too had betrayed him. Pain tore at his flesh like poisoned claws.

  ‘McGunn, watch out!’ Kilroy shouted out.

  Too late. McRae had picked up Morag’s rifle and was pointing it at him. Bruce pushed Rose behind him to protect her with his body and lifted the sword in front of him.

  ‘You shouldn’t be so careless, McGunn, and leave weapons lying around,’ McRae chuckled before turning to Kilroy. ‘Go back inside now and take care of my mother.’

  Kilroy started to protest but McRae pointed the rifle at Bruce’s chest and he had no choice but to turn round and do as he was told.

  ‘Drop that sword, McGunn,’ McRae ordered then. ‘It’s useless, anyway, you don’t stand a chance against the rifle.’

  The man was right. He had the upper hand for now, so Bruce let the claymore fall to the ground.

  ‘Now give me my father’s letter. I’m sure Rose handed it over to you.’

  Bruce narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders. ‘Why don’t you shoot me now and be done with it?’

  ‘Bruce, no,’ Rose whispered as she clung to him, so close he felt her warmth and the hard beating of her heart against his back.

  McRae smiled. ‘Tempting proposition, but I’d rather make sure I have the letter before I do anything rash.’

  What choice did he have? He was going to die anyway. If not there and now, shot by his half-brother, he would hang for murder at the next Thurso assizes, or he would be killed by the datura that had already destroyed his body and mind.

  All that mattered was to secure Rose’s safety.

  She pressed her body against Bruce’s back, in a futile attempt to give him some of her strength and warmth.

  ‘If you want the letter, then you must swear you’ll let Rose return to Algiers unharmed,’ Bruce said. ‘You owe her that much, don’t you think?’

  Cameron snorted. ‘You’re far too chivalrous … what about you? Don’t you want to save your own skin? You could leave Wrath with Rose on the Sea Eagle and settle in that God-awful land of hers.’

  Hope filled Rose for the space of a heartbeat, then shattered in a thousand pieces.

  ‘McGunns don’t run away,’ Bruce replied in a cold voice. ‘I won’t abandon my people. I told you before. I’ll stand trial and clear my name – or not.’

  Cameron narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. ‘As you wish. I promise I’ll take Rose to the Sea Eagle and ask Captain Kennedy to sail back to Algiers with her when he’s ready. Are you satisfied now?’

  Bruce drew in a long breath. ‘I suppose I’ll have to be. Here you are, then, take that blasted letter.’ He pulled the envelope he hadn’t even opened out of his coat and handed it to Cameron who stared at it for a few seconds then walked straight to the beacon and threw it into the flames.

  Rose gasped. ‘You didn’t even read it!’

  ‘Why would I want to read it? I have no interest in my fool of a father's love life, or in what he planned to do with his fortune – with my fortune. That bloody letter cost my poor mother far too many tears.’

  ‘Somehow I can’t imagine your mother crying,’ Bruce remarked dryly. ‘She didn’t hesitate to blackmail Morag into committing murder, and then she sent her husband and son to their death. Who else, I wonder, did she dispose of? Donald Robertson, for one. The man was stabbed before he could reveal who had paid him to get rid of Captain Pichet.’

  ‘She did what she had to do to protect Westmore,’ McRae spat, anger twisting his mouth. ‘And I shall do the same.’

  He let out a curse as he tripped on the claymore which reflected the beacon’s tall, golden flames like a smooth, shiny mirror. Like Morven before him, Cameron’s eyes darkened as he stared at the glowing blade.

  ‘What on earth?’ He swung round to look behind him then looked at the sword again.

  ‘How is that possible? There’s the shadow of a woman on the blade yet there’s nobody here.’

  ‘I can’t see anything,’ Bruce said.

  ‘She’s there, I’m telling you, and she’s comi
ng towards me,’ Cameron’s breathless voice replied.

  ‘You’re imagining things, McRae.’

  Rose narrowed her eyes to peer into the night. Perhaps Morag had come back to help Bruce … or perhaps it was just a shadow dancing in the foggy moonlight.

  ‘I don’t want her anywhere near me,’ Cameron said in a panicked voice as he waved the rifle around. ‘Tell her to leave me alone …’

  ‘Tell who? I told you there was no one here.’

  Look out for him, dancing girl.

  It wasn’t even a whisper, but a sigh, a breath of warm air tickling her hair and cheek. This time, she knew who was talking. It wasn’t Morag, and it wasn’t a dream.

  ‘Noelie,’ she said softly as the air around her moved and shifted and a faint scent of pine surrounded her like a fine mist. Noelie – the Dark Lady – was there, watching over Bruce once again, like she had downstairs with Morven.

  Look out. It’s the end, I’ll take the devil with me. ‘Who are you talking to?’ Cameron asked, a hard, murderous glint in his eyes. ‘You can see her, too, can’t you? Or is it some trick you and McGunn are playing on me? Yes, that’s it. I understand now. You’re both trying to drive me crazy.’

  He lifted the rifle, aimed at Bruce and crooked his finger on the trigger. ‘Well, I won’t let you, brother. I’ll kill you now, take your woman and rule over your land. And the McRaes will be avenged.’

  Just then his eyes opened wide in terror and he stared at the sword glowing on the ground once more. ‘Tell her to leave me alone. Tell her to go away,’ he screamed.

  Like a drunken man, he staggered forward, straight into the beacon which tipped over and crashed to the ground with a thundering noise. Flames immediately leapt and clawed at his legs like hot, greedy fingers, and he howled in pain as they crept up his body, and set his body, his face and hair alight.

  Rose pressed her fist hard against her mouth. Even Bruce stood still, seemingly unable to move as his half-brother lurched across the platform and waved his arms in a useless plea for help. Cameron fell back against the battlements with such force he dislodged several stones. Now there was nothing between him and the roaring abyss below.