Mary put her burdens on the bedside table and sank down onto the bed. What should she do? The implications that could be drawn from the conversation between Kevin and Sophie were very clear. Kevin might stand to gain a lot if William didn't marry her. And produce an heir, as she'd learned from Chancey the night before. That was something she was going to have to take up with William. She still could not understand why he hadn't told her about that himself.
Unable to sit up any longer, Mary flopped back onto the bed. It was more than she could bear. Someone— and this she no longer doubted— had been tampering with William's food. But everyone around her was a suspect, even those who lived down the road. If this was the benefit of wealth, power and prestige, she wasn't certain it was worth the price. Maybe it would be better if William didn't inherit. Then they could go back to Edinburgh and resume the old life they'd built together.
Music, pubs with good food and entertainment, the casual ease of her friends around her. William had enjoyed that life. Was it too much to ask to live someplace where people weren't trying to poison, frighten or maim one or both of them? She didn't think so. Coming to Mayfair had been a terrible mistake. It had nearly cost her William and, very possibly, Sophie.
She closed her eyes for a moment to ease the pounding in her head. She would clear her mind of everything and relax for five minutes, and then she'd get up and go talk with William.
Mary's chest rose in a shallow rhythm as she drifted into a light sleep. She did not awaken when a portion of the stone wall beside the fireplace eased open. Lips slightly parted, she slept as the tall, strongly built man moved beside her bed and stopped.
He held a sword in his hand, the hilt splotched by a small patch of dried blood. Dark hair curled around his face.
Very carefully, he picked up the pestle and the glass of port. "The past is never dead at Mayfair, lassie," he said in a voice rippling with brogue. "You'll learn you're never done with it. 'Tis a pity, the lesson may be costly. Especially for you."
Chapter Thirteen
"Mary! Mary, wake up. It's Eleanor on the phone!"
Mary felt as if a steel rod had been welded to her spine. She tried to sit, but her back was stiff and unyielding. To her horror, she discovered sunlight was streaming into her bedroom window. Bright sunlight— as in noon. She'd fallen sound asleep, legs dangling off the side of the bed.
William was standing over her, his face flushed with excitement. "Eleanor has some news. She said we'd want to hear it together. Take the phone in the library, and I'll pick up an extension in the hall."
"Okay." Mary struggled to sit up.
"Here." William gave her a hand and then rubbed the small of her back, loosening the muscles that had tightened from her unnatural sleeping position.
Moving as fast as she could, she stood and hurried down the hall, down the stairs and into the library.
As soon as she picked up the receiver, she could sense the tension on the line. "What is it, Eleanor?"
"Good, we're here," William said. "What news, Eleanor?"
"It's taken me forever to find the right musty old stack of records to dig into, but I've found something that may well throw an entirely differently light on your situation."
"What?" Mary hummed with the sense of excitement, too.
"Well, it would seem that the legends about old Slaytor aren't exactly on the up-and-up."
"What legends?" William asked.
"The ones about him and his wife, Lisette."
"You can't mean that they weren't married?" Mary heard the distress in her voice. Another complication of parentage would only add to the mess, especially with Kevin's claim hanging in the wind.
"Oh, no, quite the contrary." Eleanor's voice bubbled. "You see, Lisette was never really kidnapped. The entire kidnapping was staged by Lisette and Slaytor because Lisette's father would never have consented to his fair, English daughter marrying a savage Scotsman."
"If she wasn't kidnapped, what about the turret room and all of the moaning and hand wringing?" William asked. "That's the major portion of Mayfair's legendary past."
"It was all staged, for the benefit of the servants. So the tales of mistreatment would get back to Lisette's father. Then when she became pregnant, and Slaytor made her his wife, it was a much better fate than any her father could envision for her if she were simply a captive. Lisette's father didn't want the marriage, but it was better than a pregnant daughter held as little more than a slave. He accepted the marriage, with apparently some degree of grace. Voila`, a happy-ever-after ending MacEachern style."
"She was never a prisoner in the turret room?" Mary asked, but she knew the answer.
"Never. In fact, the records I've discovered, some ancient, crumpling letters, indicate that the entire kidnapping scheme was Lisette's plan. She even rode over to Scotland by herself so that Slaytor could more easily kidnap her."
The night of the wild ride she'd taken with William came back to Mary. He'd gone to meet someone. A woman who'd crossed the border alone. A woman willing to risk everything for her man.
Mary clutched the telephone to her ear. "You're sure of this, Eleanor?"
"Positive. The legends about Slaytor— the savage kidnapper of women who kept them locked in a turret until they yielded to his carnal desires— it's all pure fabrication. Just another example of how a story can supercede historical fact. Slaytor and Lisette were so effective in creating the tale, and spreading it, that it is now regarded as the true history of Mayfair."
"Amazing," William said. "But how does that relate to my problems here?"
"Don't you see? You're being possessed by this brutal, angry, savage ghost of Slaytor. But he was never that man. Whoever is setting you up, however they're doing it, they don't know the real history of Mayfair at all. If you were really being possessed by Slaytor MacEachern, he would be a firm but gentle man."
"Who loves Lisette." Mary had whispered the words.
"What?" Eleanor asked. Her voice crackled again. "This line isn't the best. You'll have to speak up."
"How's Peter faring?" Mary asked instead. She had to think about this wrinkle. About the kiss that "Slaytor" had given "Lisette" in the cold moonlight. Possessed. They had been, indeed, by a powerful passion.
"So far, the MacEachern family medical history is boring stuff. There's no heritage of lunacy, delusions of grandeur or of any other kind. No brain tumors, religious fanatics, or even heart disease. Other than a fondness for the bottle and a tendency to work too hard, a very uninteresting bunch."
"That's good," Mary said automatically.
"Mary, are you okay?" Eleanor, even at such a distance, was quick to pick up on Mary's tone.
"Fine. Just a lot to think about. Eleanor, will you and Peter be coming back here soon? I have something I need tested. Dr. Sloan said he could do it, but he'd have to send it away to a lab. He doesn't have the equipment at his office."
"Peter would face the same problem," Eleanor reminded her. "What is it?"
"Two things. I think both of them contain some kind of poison. Something that has made William, and Familiar, act out of character. It could explain a lot of things that have been happening here."
"Yes, it certainly could. If we can identify the substance. Why don't you express them to us here? We have the lab facilities, and we could test them right away."
"Excellent idea." Mary felt a great relief.
"What did you find?" William asked.
"I'll show you when we're finished. In my room," Mary said. "Thanks, Eleanor. I may send them up with Sophie." She felt her voice thicken at the mention of her friend. One thing she'd decided was to get Sophie out of Mayfair. The sooner the better. Her "friend" could hardly refuse to run this errand. It would be the perfect excuse to put her on a train.
"Send her on. Just call and let us know when to expect her."
"First thing in the morning," Mary said. "I'll see she gets on the seven o'clock train out."
"Well, goodbye for now. Give my
cat a hug for me."
"Familiar is fine," William reassured her. "In fact, we don't know if we can do without him."
"None of that talk," Eleanor warned. "He's going back to the States with me, as soon as we get to the bottom of the haunting of Mayfair Castle, and my cousin."
"Goodbye," they said in unison as they replaced the receivers.
Mary met William at the head of the stairs. Neither spoke at first as they tried to gauge the other's reaction to the news they'd just learned.
"Who?" William finally asked.
"It could be anyone, William. I have to tell you something about Kevin. And Sophie. And about a MacEachern baby."
William took her arm. "Let's go for a ride, Mary. At least that way we'll know no one can overhear us."
"Let me get the port and pestle from my room. I want to seal the liquor in something and get this package ready to go before I let it out of my sight."
As they walked to her room, she told him of her findings and her suspicions. "Odorless, as far as I could tell. Yellow in color. Remember the night Familiar went wild? You fed me fresh berries in the bath."
"I well remember that night." He couldn't stop himself from touching her arm. The feel of her warm, smooth skin was easy to remember.
Mary ignored the flush of heat that sprang from his touch. "You put your custard down on the floor and didn't eat it."
"I had other things on my mind."
She couldn't help but smile at the memories he evoked. "Yes, well, Familiar ate your custard. That's when he had his fit, or whatever you want to call it."
"You're right!" He twisted the knob of her bedroom door and pushed it open. "You're absolutely right. And my attacks have come after eating, as you said a while back."
"Or after drinking. The night we were going to hear your friend play, you drank port while I went to change. In an instant, you reverted. I know there's nothing wrong with you, William. It's just a matter of figuring out who's trying to do this to you."
"I hate to admit it, but I believe you're right about Clarissa and Chancey. If I had to pin the guilt on anyone right now, I'd say them."
"The only trouble with that theory is that there are other people who have access to your food. Chancey and Clarissa weren't around every time you've had trouble." Mary didn't want to look at him.
"Who are you thinking of?"
"Abby. John." She sighed. "Kevin, and Sophie. Kevin has reason to believe he's your half-brother. That's more of a claim to Mayfair even than Erick. And Sophie may be reluctantly helping him."
"My half-brother? This must be some kind of joke. I've known Kevin since he was born."
"He isn't Abby and John's son. His mother, who claimed that he was your father's child, abandoned him. Apparently she worked in the house in some capacity. Abby and John took him in. All this time he's believed he was their natural son, but they told him recently, so that he could stake his claim to a portion of Mayfair after your father died."
William looked up and down the corridor. "This is incredible, Mary. Don't tell me any more until we get out of here. This place has ears, you know."
"I have to talk with you about something Chancey told me." Mary was determined to clear the air once and for all. "This is important, to us."
William put his finger to his lips. "Later. Now grab your riding boots, and I'll get the port and pestle."
"Beside the bed," Mary directed as she entered her room and went to the bureau to get her riding gear. She'd wait until they were mounted, but they were going to talk.
"Mary?"
The question in William's voice made her look up from the search for her right boot. "What?"
"There's nothing on the bedside table. Except a book."
"But I…" She dropped everything and walked to the bed. The small bedside table was still bathed in the glow of the lamp, but its polished surface was bare of everything except her book.
"I put it right there."
"Did you lock your door?"
She shook her head. "I didn't think. I didn't expect to go to sleep." William had been standing at the end of the hallway while they'd been on the phone. No one could have slipped past him.
William's face was white. "I think it might be best if you went with Sophie back to Edinburgh," he said slowly.
She could see the tension in him and understood the fear. "No, William. I won't be run off."
"If this person is creeping into your room, standing over you while you sleep, I can't protect you. There's nothing here at Mayfair I value more than you. I won't let anyone harm you."
"And no one can hurt me as much as you can." She grabbed his hand. "Chancey told me about the terms of your inheritance. That you must have a male heir within two years. Why didn't you tell me that?"
"Could we talk about this outside?"
"Just tell me when you were planning to tell me."
"I had hoped never to tell you. Now let's get outside." He took her arm in his left hand and her boots in his right.
They'd made it as far as the stable yard when Erick flagged them down. "William, Darren was looking for you. He said it was urgent. He was headed around the west side, and he seemed terribly agitated. You'd better go find him. He might have finally had enough and killed his wicked mother."
* * *
MARY SWUNG INTO the saddle with more confidence than she'd expected to feel. As she'd saddled and bridled Shalimar, she'd listened to every nuance of Kevin's voice. He was as kind and gentle as he'd always been. William had gone with Erick to find Darren, so Mary was going to have it out with Chancey— horsewoman to horsewoman.
"I think I'm going for a ride. Alone." She forced a confident smile.
"Is that a good idea?" Kevin's worry was instant. "I'll come with you if William is too busy."
"I'm going to ride to Chancey's. I'm sure she'll be glad to show me more of the area." She watched for a reaction, but the only thing she saw was concern.
"Chancey isn't the most trustworthy companion," he said. "It would be better if you let me, or one of the grooms, take you around. You won't be calling on the gentry— " he lifted an eyebrow "— but you could see the country."
"I want to prove to Chancey that she can't frighten me." It was the truth, but Mary also wanted to test another theory.
"I think you've proven that, Mary. It would be a shame to snap your neck to make a point with the likes of Chancey."
No matter how she tried, Mary couldn't believe Kevin was a man who would stoop to any underhanded activities. Not even for an inheritance worth a fortune. But she'd heard him! He and Sophie.
"Perhaps to you, Kevin, but not to Chancey, or Clarissa, for that matter. Well, I'm going to serve notice to her and anyone else who endangers me, William or Mayfair. There will be a terrible price paid. I don't intend to give up William, or his heritage, without a bloody struggle."
"Spoken like a true MacEachern," Kevin said. He slapped Shalimar's rump. "Off with you, then. Sow your warnings on the women of Kelso." He grinned. "I fear it's barren ground you plough, but you must try it for yourself. Chancey and Clarissa will both make a hard end. Clarissa has been walking that road since Darren was born, and it looks as if Chancey will follow. But warn them if it makes you feel better." He turned and walked back into the barn, his back straight and his posture untroubled.
"Blasted inscrutable Scot," Mary said under her breath as she turned Shalimar toward Chancey's and the challenge that hung in the wind between the two women.
William had reluctantly given her directions. He'd been unhappy with her decision to go, and her insistence that she was going alone. What had to be said, though, was between only the two women. She'd heard another side of Sophie, and it had shocked her to learn that someone she'd known for so many years could have a hidden facet to her personality. Mary was discovering that she, herself, had a strength and aggressiveness that she would never have guessed at. It came into play only when William or their future together had been assaulted. Chancey, deliberatel
y and with malice aforethought, had done just that.
Sensing the renewed determination in Mary's seat, Shalimar lengthened her trot, stretching into a gait that smoothly covered the distance.
The day was bright, even though it was chill, and Mary found herself enjoying the ride. The borderland of Scotland was incredibly beautiful, a long, rolling land that lent itself to crops and pasture. Vistas of green dotted with sheep were broken by bands of hardwoods and cut with the fast flow of small streams. Large estates were set back in ancient trees, a reminder of a way of life when the very rich owned most of the entire country.
Chancey's house was old stone covered in a thick ivy on one side that gave it a look of sensual disorder. It was a modest size, but wonderfully built and decorated. Behind the house was a barn with four stalls and plenty of room to store the hay that would hold the horses through the winter.
Shalimar's hooves rang on the stone drive, and Mary kept a tight rein on the mare as she tried to look through the barn. There was a quiet, a stillness, to the place that made Mary suddenly ill at ease. She had the distinct sensation that someone was hiding, watching her.
"Chancey!" She called the woman's name and waited. There was no answer. In the barn, the horses shifted, and one neighed a greeting to Shalimar.
"Shall we?" Mary asked the mare. She rode up to the open door of the barn, noticing how thick the stone walls were. Chancey's place was old, historic, and it was kept in beautiful order. Funny, Mary had never thought to ask if it was an inherited home or one that Chancey had purchased on her own. In fact, Mary knew little about the woman. Did she work? It was an interesting thought. Mary considered the types of work Chancey would be suited for— in her opinion. Nothing she came up with was very flattering.
She had already dismounted when she noticed that the horse calling to Shalimar was saddled and tied outside the barn beside a large tree. Inside the barn, four horses shifted back and forth over the stall doors. Chancey's horses, or at least a full barn of them, were already in. Who did the fifth horse belong to?
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