The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

  “Colin didn’t kill Fiona and you know it. Why do you so dislike him?”

  “He did. There was no one else to have done it. She’d played him false, aye, with his own brother. That’s a nice shock for you, isn’t it, you ignorant little English twit. Well, it’s true. Colin found out and killed her, and I wouldn’t doubt it if he didn’t also kill his brother, the beautiful boy, my beautiful clever boy, but that wretched Fiona flaunted herself to him and seduced him all unawares, and he couldn’t help himself, and look what happened.”

  “Aunt Arleth, you are saying a good many things and all of them are quite confused.”

  “You stupid girl! Taken with Colin’s good looks, weren’t you? You couldn’t wait to bed him, couldn’t wait to have him make you a countess! All the girls want him, no sense at all, none of them, no more sense than you likely have and—”

  “You said that Fiona didn’t want him, and yet she was his wife.”

  “He didn’t like her after a while. She wasn’t pleased with how he treated her. She was difficult.”

  “All I know for certain is that Fiona wasn’t a very good housekeeper. Just look, Aunt Arleth, everything is falling to bits and much of it has to do with a dusting cloth, or a mop and bucket—not my groats. Now I suggest that you calm yourself and have a cup of tea. I intend to set things aright here. You may either help me or I will simply go through you.”

  “I won’t have it!”

  “I’m speaking truthfully, ma’am. Will you cooperate with me or will I simply pretend you’re not here?”

  Goodness, she sounded firm and wonderfully in charge. Sinjun wanted to throw up she was so scared in that moment. Her first ultimatum. She’d pictured her mother as she’d spoken, and that had given her a goodly dose of confidence. No one ever gainsaid her mother.

  Aunt Arleth shook her head and left the hall, her shoulders squared. Sinjun was rather relieved she couldn’t see the good lady’s face. She’d won; at least she could believe that she had.

  Why, Sinjun wondered, staring at a thick, deep cobweb that was draped over the immense chandelier overhead, hadn’t Mrs. Seton done any housekeeping? She seemed competent; she seemed eager. She got the answer to her question an hour later, once the Great List was done and each of them was sipping a cup of tea.

  “Why, my lady, Miss MacGregor didn’t allow it.”

  “Who is Miss MacGregor? Oh, Aunt Arleth.”

  “Aye. She said that if she saw anyone doing anything to make this pile of filthy rubble look cleaner, she would personally take a whip to them.”

  “But she just told me how much she hated how everything was going to rot and how the crofters’ children were crying with hunger.”

  “What wickedness! Our crofters’ children are never hungry! Och, if the laird had heard her say that, he’d have lost his wig right ’n tight!”

  “How very odd. She’s trying to sow dissension. Now, why would she want to do that? Surely it couldn’t be just for my benefit.” And Sinjun wondered about the other things she’d said. Were they lies, too? Very probably.

  “After her sister, Lady Judith, died some five years ago—that was his lordship’s mother—Miss MacGregor believed that the old laird would wed her, but he didn’t. I believe he bedded her, but it wasn’t marriage in the kirk he had in mind. Men, och! All alike they are, save for Mr. Seton, who has no interest at all in the desires of the flesh.”

  “I’m very sorry, Mrs. Seton.”

  “Aye, my lady, I am, too. In any case, Miss MacGregor was very angry, and as time passed she became more and more bitter. Petty, I guess ye’d say, with all of us. Ah, but she loved and pet Malcolm—the Kinross laird for such a short time, he was—and she treated him like a little prince. Malcolm even preferred her to his own mother, he did, because she spoiled him into rottenness and his mother swatted his hands but good when he was naughty. He’d run to Miss MacGregor and whine. Och, it wasn’t good for his character, needless to say. A wastrel he became, beggin’ yer pardon, my lady, but a wastrel he was, truly, just like his pa. Then he died all unexpected like, and Master Colin became the Kinross laird. We’ve yet to see what he will do. At least he isn’t a wastrel, and he’s fair. Perhaps there is more, but I don’t know of it. As to the state of the castle, why, gentlemen rarely notice the state of things, until the cobwebs fall into their soup an’ wind about their spoon. O’ course, my lady, Fiona didn’t care. When finally I did mention it to the new laird, he said we had no money for anything.”

  “Well, now we have money, and we have the will to do something, and you and I will see to it. By the time his lordship returns, Vere Castle will look like it did in his mother’s time.”

  “Och, ’tis a fine day indeed when his lordship found ye to buy him.”

  “I would prefer that you said that a bit more diplomatically, Mrs. Seton.”

  “Aye, my lady.”

  Sinjun left the housekeeper’s room whistling, tickled with herself that she’d had the foresight to remove her still nearly two hundred pounds from Colin’s keeping. She wondered what he’d think when he missed the money.

  Sinjun lay in the huge laird’s bed, aware that even though the sheets were clean and the covers well aired, there was still a clinging musty smell of a room left closed up too long.

  Her first three days at Vere Castle had passed quickly. Goodness, there was so much to be done. Mrs. Seton had already hired a good dozen women and another six men to come and clean the castle. Sinjun herself planned to scour this room. If she’d waited as her husband had demanded, her list for him would have stretched to the North Sea. Naturally, she’d never had any intention of waiting. She had visited Colin’s room in the north tower and had been charmed and dismayed. The stairs reaching the room were dangerous, the wood rotted in many places. Treacherous. The room itself was moldy, and all his books were in danger of rotting if she didn’t act soon. She intended it to be in perfect condition before her husband ever again ventured up to his tower room.

  Mrs. Seton; Murdock the Stunted, who came only to Sinjun’s armpit and was one of Colin’s most trusted servants, who did a bit of everything; and Mr. Seton the Kinross steward—the abstinent steward—all had accompanied her to Kinross the day before. Mrs. Seton, a fount of local knowledge, had been right: Kinross boasted both a seamstress and a man who worked with wood, and every sort of shop one could wish for.

  Kinross-shire was a small, quite pretty country town, mainly a base for the fishermen for nearby Loch Leven. A narrow road clung to the northern edge of Loch Leven, and the horses they rode knew the path very well indeed. The water was startling in its blueness and the hills that rose from it were alternately lush and green or barren and rugged and looked impassable. Nearly every foot of land was tilled, and now, in early summer, the land was covered with barley, wheat, corn, and rye.

  Mr. Seton had quickly pointed out the kirk when they entered Kinross, extolling the local minister’s virtues and condemnation of all those who were ripe for the nether regions. He pointed to the old town cross that was still attached to the iron collars for wrongdoers. As for Murdock the Stunted—all of four feet three inches in height, with a great head of red hair—Sinjun saw that he avoided going anywhere near the kirk or that town cross with its iron collar.

  She’d discovered quickly enough that she might be the countess of Ashburnham, but all the locals were leery of her ability to pay the bills, and she knew she had to hoard the two hundred pounds. After all, as old Toothless Gorm pointed out, the old laird had sold the Kinross Mill House, hadn’t he? And now a demned ironmonger was living there and lording it over all the locals. It took Mrs. Seton at her most undiplomatic—aye, my lady’s an heiress, just dripping groats, and the laird got her married to him right and tight!—to bring old Toothless Gorm and the others back to smiles and enthusiasm. They’d purchased materials for new clothes for the children, for the servants, and for Sinjun, new plates for the servants’ hall, new linens, and the list went on and on—Colin’s list that he would n
ever see, and many items were now duly crossed off. What a day it had been, full and satisfying.

  Sinjun now turned onto her side in the huge bed. She was tired but that didn’t help her to sleep. She thought of Kinross Mill House. She’d asked Murdock the Stunted to take her there. It was a lovely house with superb gardens planted in the seventeenth century and an old mill with its wheel still poised above the water of a rushing stream. She’d stood there, looking at the lovely fish ponds, the graceful statuary, the topiary, and the immensely beautiful rose gardens, and vowed that somehow she and Colin would bring Kinross Mill House back into the family. Their children and grandchildren deserved to have their heritage restored.

  She missed Colin dreadfully. He, on the other hand, didn’t appear to be in any hurry at all to return to her. She had come to realize that men had to have women, it was that simple. Not just kissing, but their sex had to come into a woman and they had to release their seed. She would have to suffer this to make him content with her. And it had doubtless been the three times that had hurt her so much, that followed by the hard riding the following day. If she could convince him that just once would be sufficient for his needs, she could bear that easily. Once a night? Once a week? These were things she didn’t know. As for her brothers Douglas and Ryder, she wondered how often they made love to their wives. Why the devil hadn’t she spoken to Alex and asked her some pointed questions? Ah, she knew why. She’d believed she’d known everything there was to know. She’d read all of Douglas’s Greek plays, after all, and they weren’t at all reticent about matters of the flesh.

  Blessed hell. She pictured Alex and Douglas, always touching, those two, kissing ardently when they believed no one was looking. And Ryder and Sophie were much the same. Ryder laughing as he fondled Sophie, teasing her even as he was nibbling on her ear. She would like Colin to do those things as well. It was just the other. Why hadn’t she asked Alex? And Alex was such a small woman, much slighter than Sinjun, and Douglas was as large as Colin. It didn’t make sense that Alex could possibly tolerate it. Blessed hell.

  She sighed and rolled onto her back. It was then she heard the noise. She cracked an eye open and stared off into the darkness in the direction of the noise. It was just a very low scratching sort of noise. She must have imagined it. It was a very old house. All old structures had strange, unexplained shudders and sounds. She closed her eyes and snuggled down.

  The noise came again, a bit louder this time. Scratching, as if something were trapped in the wainscoting. A rat? She didn’t like that thought.

  It stopped yet again but Sinjun was tense, waiting for it to resume.

  It did, louder now. There was another sound with the scratching. Behind it, sort of. It sounded like something dragging along the floor. Something like a chain, heavy and slow, dragging across a wooden floor but oddly muffled.

  Sinjun bolted up in bed. This was absurd!

  Then there was a moan, distinct, sharp, a human moan that made gooseflesh rise on her arms. Her heart pounded. She strained to see in the darkness.

  She had to light the candle. She reached out toward the night table to grab the lucifer matches, but she knocked them to the floor instead.

  The moans stopped suddenly, as did the scratching. But the chain, dragging slowly, was louder now, and it was coming closer, still muffled, but it was coming, closer. It was in the bedchamber now.

  Sinjun knew such terror she very nearly screamed. But the scream stuck in her throat. There was now a flicker of a light coming from the far corner of the bedchamber. Just a flicker of very white light, almost like smoke, because it was thin and vague, too. She stared at that light and knew such fear she nearly swallowed her own tongue.

  The moans came again, and suddenly the chain slapped hard against something or someone. There was a cry, as if it were indeed a person the chain had struck.

  Oh Jesus, she thought. She couldn’t just sit here trembling like a twit. She didn’t want to, but she forced herself to slither off the bed. She fumbled to find the matches. They’d slid somewhere and she couldn’t find them. She was on her hands and knees when the moan came again, sharp and loud and filled with pain.

  She paused. Then, still on her hands and knees, she crawled toward the end of the dais. She kept close to the floor. When she reached the end of the dais, she peered about the edge. There in the far corner the light burned more brightly. And the look of it was so very strange, so floaty and vague, yet so white.

  Suddenly there was a horrible scream. Sinjun nearly leaped to her feet to run from the bedchamber. The hair lifted off her neck. She was shaking with cold terror.

  Just as suddenly, the light was gone. The corner of the room was perfectly black again. There were no more moans.

  She waited, so cold now she was shaking from that and not fear. She waited and waited, nerves stretched to the limit.

  Nothing. No more scratching, nothing more.

  Slowly, Sinjun reached up and pulled the covers down to the floor. She wrapped herself in them and curled against the dais. Finally she fell asleep.

  It was Mrs. Seton who found her the next morning. Sinjun cocked open an eye to see the lady standing over her, saying over and over, “Oh, och! Ye’re hurt, my lady! Oh, och!”

  Sinjun was sore and all stiff from her hours on the hard floor, but she wasn’t hurt. “Mrs. Seton, ah, please help me up. Yes, thank you. I had this dream, you see, a hideous nightmare actually, and it frightened me so I curled up down here.”

  Mrs. Seton merely arched one of those tremendously thick black brows at her and assisted her to her feet.

  “I’ll be fine now. If Emma could fetch some water for a bath, I’ll be downstairs soon.”

  Mrs. Seton nodded and walked toward the door of the bedchamber, only to draw up short and stare at the floor. “Och, what is this, pray?”

  It was the far corner of the bedchamber.

  “What is what?” Sinjun’s voice sounded creaky and harsh.

  “This,” Mrs. Seton said, pointing to the floor. “It looks like some sort of ooze from the Cowal Swamp, all black and smelly and thick. Och, there are even wee lumps of—” Her voice broke off and she stepped back. “My mither always said it takes a lang spoon tae sup wi’ the devil.”

  Mrs. Seton, who normally spoke the loveliest English, had fallen into a very thick Scottish brogue.

  She got hold of herself in short order, however, and said thoughtfully, “However did it get here? Goodness, the swamp isn’t all that close to Vere Castle.” She gave Sinjun an odd look, then shrugged. “No matter. I’ll send someone to clean up the mess.”

  Sinjun didn’t want to see the mess up close, but she did. It was disgusting, as if something or someone had ladled out some of the filth onto the floor—that . . . or dragged it in, perhaps with a chain.

  It was really quite well done of them, she thought as she stepped into her bath. Really quite well done.

  CHAPTER

  11

  SINJUN MADE HER way around four local men yelling at one another in a language that wasn’t at all English. They’d lowered the huge chandelier, replaced the dangerously rusted chain, and were now cleaning off the years of filth before the women began to wash all the crystal.

  She spoke to them, smiled, and continued on her way to the smaller dining room, which was called the Laird’s Inbetween Room. She drew to a halt to see Aunt Arleth berating a serving woman who was on her hands and knees in the massive Tudor entrance hall, scrubbing the marble squares.

  “I won’t have it, Annie! Get up and get out of here!”

  “What is the problem?” Sinjun asked calmly.

  Aunt Arleth whirled on her. “I don’t approve of this, any of it, my girl. Now look what she’s doing! Those squares have been as they were for years upon years.”

  “Yes, and so filthy, poor Annie must have pads on her knees she’s been scrubbing so long.”

  “I told you that you didn’t belong, young lady, and I meant it. And now you have the gall to spend t
he laird’s money for this sort of nonsense.”

  “Oh no,” Sinjun said, smiling. “It’s all my money, I promise you.”

  “I think it looks nice, Aunt.”

  Serena, looking even more like a princess who’d lost her bearings than the last time Sinjun had seen her, floated down the wide staircase and into the entrance hall wearing a soft pale blue silk gown.

  “What would you know? You, who do nothing but take and take. Just look at you! You’re daft!”

  “Look at what, Aunt? I look beautiful. Mirrors don’t lie. You’re old, so I understand that you would be jealous. Now, dear Joan, how may I be of service?”

  “Well, that is very kind of you, Serena. Why don’t you come into the Laird’s Inbetween Room now and we’ll discuss it over breakfast.”

  “Oh, I don’t wish breakfast now. I believe I will pick some purple thistle, it’s the emblem of Scotland, you know.”

  “No, I didn’t know.”

  “Oh yes. It seems that some Vikings came ashore to rape and plunder, but one of them stepped on a bed of thistles and cried out in pain. It alerted all the native Gaels, and they were able to escape the enemy.”

  “Silly nonsense,” said Aunt Arleth. She added under her breath, “Why don’t you go sit under a rowan tree?”

  “That is unkind, Aunt. Even if I did, nothing would happen. I become stronger by the day. I’m a witch, you know, Joan, but a good witch. I will speak to you later, Joan.”

  She floated through the massive front doors, humming softly to herself.

  “What’s a rowan tree?” Sinjun asked.

  She heard Annie suck in her breath.

  “Just never you mind.”

  “Very well. You will kindly leave Annie alone, Aunt Arleth. Should you like to have breakfast with me?”

  “I will rid this place of you,” Aunt Arleth said in the meanest voice Sinjun had ever heard. Then she turned on her heel and walked quickly from the entrance hall, not outside, as Serena had done, but upstairs. Now what was upstairs for her to ruin? Nothing, Sinjun thought, relieved.