by Alisa Adams
"It is very unlikely you will find the truth lurking around here," Davina observed dryly, "it is an elusive beast and does not want to be found, so go and see Lyle. If you can't find it there, then talk sheep or play chess or wrestle or whatever else overgrown boys do to amuse themselves." Davina was in a frivolous mood.
"You do not have a high opinion of your husband, madam," he laughed. "You will be living in his home soon, so have a care."
"It will be our home," she pointed out.
"And we will have the most gorgeous bedroom." Athol nuzzled her neck with soft lips.
Davina cast her eyes heavenward. "You have only one topic of conversation!" She pretended to be outraged. "Go!"
Laughing, Athol kissed her and left. He began to think about all his options in the Maura matter as he ambled along the road toward Lyle's house. Nothing was going to be easy. He could try to find out the identities of the other people she was blackmailing. He could try to find out who her lover was. He could try to find one of her slanderers, and with all that information he could, he thought, piece together a case against her.
And what then? He would be saved the blackmail money and so would the others, whoever they were. The men who had spread the false rumors could be dealt with by a spell in his dungeons. But proving that she had committed a murder would be much more difficult, and when it was proved, Athol would have to tell Grant, and he would be devastated.
In Maura's original plan, Grant would never have found out about anything, but the scheme had been a costly failure. He turned off the cliff path to go to Lyle's house and alighted at the front door just as Mary came out.
"Athol!" she cried in delight. "I am so glad to see you." She embraced him quickly and then grimaced. "He has six lairds in there! Six! He is right in the thick of it. God alone knows how much whiskey they will drink, but I think I must brew him a gallon of willow bark tea for the morning. Be careful and keep a tight rein on your appetites, now. If anyone needs me I will be in the parlor with Maura and Finella."
Just make sure that witch stays there, Athol thought savagely. The idea of Maura being a few yards away made him sick to his stomach.
It was a measure of the lairds' regard for Lyle and Duncan Shaw that they accorded father and son the same status as themselves. As he went into the dining room where the games were being played, Athol was greeted by a roar of welcome. There had obviously been an early start to the drinking, for some of the men looked distinctly under the weather already.
Lyle stood up to embrace Athol, and said very quietly, "I have been doing some investigating."
Athol raised his eyebrows in a silent question.
"Some very interesting truths are coming to light with the help of our good friend John Barleycorn." Lyle held up a bottle of whiskey and gave Athol a wicked grin. "And I still have three bottles left!"
Athol sat down at the gaming table, having first served himself a small whiskey with a generous amount of water in it and some game, fish, cheese and fruits from the buffet. He began to play dice with the lairds only after having received a stern warning from Laird McNeil.
"Now you know what happens to cheaters, Laird Murray the Younger!"
"I do." Athol laughed. He took the lozenge-shaped die and spun it between his forefinger and thumb.
"You will impale my palm on it. M'laird, be at ease. My code of honor forbids me from doing such a wicked thing." Then he laughed. "And anyway, I have no idea how to cheat."
"Athol Murray always tries to appear stupid," Laird Young observed, "when in fact he is one of the cleverest men I know."
Lyle agreed. "We have been friends since we were boys," he said, pointing at Athol, "so I know. He can run faster than I can, lift heavier weights, and punch his way out of any fight, but he has never beaten me at chess."
"I beat Maura McKay," Athol pointed out, spreading his hands. "That must be worth something." He looked around them as if to seek their opinion, but they were all looking at the table, and on each of their faces was an expression of utter disgust.
"She wasn't a bad player." He appeared to be reasoning with them, but in fact, he was watching their eyes. "What's wrong?"
"She's not a fit person for decent company," Laird McTavish said, frowning.
"She's very beautiful," Athol pointed out.
"Beauty is only skin deep," Laird Nairn countered, his eyes hostile.
"What has she ever done to you?" Athol was rolling the die between his fingers and looked up at the other man innocently. He noticed some glances between the others but said nothing.
"Nothing. Not to me anyway," Nairn grunted. "Let us play."
Athol obeyed and started the game. Laird Patterson began to lose heavily and soon prepared to leave. "Before you go, Jamie," Athol said, "I need to talk to you all."
Jamie Patterson sat down again, frowning at Athol's grim tone.
"I wanted to talk about Maura." He took a deep breath. "She has been blackmailing me. Has she been doing the same to any of you?"
There was a long pause,
"Yes, me," Laird McPhee said, sounding as if the words were being dragged out of him.
"And me," Laird Young put in.
"And me," Laird McTavish said with a sigh.
"And I have a strange feeling she has another lover too." Athol's glance swept around the table. "Gentlemen, what we say must never leave this room. Other lives are involved. Agreed?"
There were nods and murmurs of agreement.
"Has any of you been approached by men from the south telling you to order your sons, not to court Davina?" He asked.
"Yes," Laird Patterson said. He and Laird Young looked astonished.
"How did you know that?" Laird Young asked. "We were told to keep it to ourselves under fear of reprisals."
"I think that she may have organized that too," Athol admitted grimly, "but her campaign did not succeed."
They laughed.
"My men captured one," Laird Young said suddenly.
"Why did you not say so?" Lyle asked, astonished.
"He would not speak. He was terrified," the laird answered. "I horsewhipped him and still he would say naught."
Athol winced. he would never have done such a thing. "Have you still got him?" he asked.
"Yes. His name is Stuart McDonnell."
"Where does she get these people from?" Athol thought aloud.
"He sounds as though he is from Clydeside," Laird Young replied.
"There is much unrest in the south," Laird McTavish said, "many people are desperate."
"One more thing," Athol's tone was grim. "I think she may have arranged or even carried out, the poisoning of Una and Ruaridh Anderson. I have no proof yet, but I know."
"That is a serious accusation, Athol." Laird Mullan said gravely.
"But that is all it is at this stage," Athol answered. "But the proof will come, I am sure of it. Now, if you would be so kind, John, please will you take me to this captive of yours?"
"Of course," he agreed.
Athol stood up and bowed to the others. "Thank you, gentlemen," he said politely, "and remember, not a word leaves this room."
There was a chorus of agreement and farewell.
On the way out, Athol saw Maura going to the corridor that led to the privy. He motioned Laird Young to wait for him then followed her at a distance with as much stealth as he could. She did not go to the privy, however. She stopped at the third door down the passage and knocked on it with a series of raps that sounded like a code.
The door was opened and she went inside, but Athol had not been able to see who was on the other side. He crept closer and heard a familiar voice. Maura and the man were talking and laughing, but it was what they said that made Athol glower with anger. It was all he could do not to kick the door down and throttle them.
34
Laird Young's Prisoner
The dungeon, like most dungeons, was gloomy and freezing. There was one guard on duty, a huge hefty man with a threatening appearan
ce, a chain-mail vest and a huge pike. The prisoner was small and skinny with sunken gray eyes and wisps of greasy gray hair sticking to a dirty bald scalp. His clothes were ragged and his expression was one of scowling defiance.
"Mr. McDonnell," Laird Young said, "this is Laird Murray. He has come to ask you some questions."
The little man backed away from them and bumped away into the wall behind him. "I dinnae knaw nothin'," he said, shaking his head frantically. "Ye can whip me a' ye like."
"I don't want to whip you," Athol said gently. He sat down cross-legged on the floor and bade the little man do the same. "You know what I am going to ask you, don't you?" Athol asked. "Please don't speak until I have finished. Someone told you to spread slanderous tales about my wife, and I want to know who." He paused to let that sink in. "Now, I have a feeling I know who this person is and if it is who I think it is you have nothing to fear. That person is safely locked away in my dungeon."
This was a lie, but Athol was going to use any means possible to get the information he needed. He would make sure no harm came to the man. "Now, I swear on the blood of Christ and the life of the woman I love that you have my protection. What do you say to that?"
"Can ye protect my faimly an' a'?" he asked. There were tears in his eyes.
"Is that what is keeping you from telling us?"
Stewart nodded. "Aye sir," he replied, "he offered us a tidy few shillins' an' the wife an' bairns were hungry." He put his hand over his eyes, too ashamed to look at them. "I had tae dae it or they wid hae starved, but I felt awfy bad. There were six o' us," he went on, "a' desperate, like masel.'"
"Can you remember what the man who hired you looked like?" Laird Young asked.
"He was very big," Stewart frowned, trying to remember. "An' he had the blackest, darkest eyes I hae ever seen.”
"Yes, that's him," Athol said with grim finality. "Ewan Taggart. Now, there are six lairds in this area. We all have friends in the south, and we can flatten their men very easily. Where do you come from?"
"Dundee, Sir."
"Dundee, I thought they said you were Lowlanders." Athol looked puzzled.
"We're fae a' ower, sir," Stewart pointed out, "I am fae Glesca, but there's an awfy lot o' fightin' there so we came north, but we are hungry."
"I will send two of my best men-at-arms at once to guard your family until all this is over since you have supplied us with this valuable intelligence." Athol smiled at the little man, who looked pathetically grateful. "Laird Young, may I let this man out now? I can employ him in some way in the kitchen."
"It's one fewer mouth to feed, Athol. Take him by all means."
"Thank ye, sir!" Stewart said in a tone of deep gratitude. "I'm that thankful tae ye."
Athol smiled at him. "Come, let's get you fed," he said, putting his arm around the man's shoulders.
"So, how many lairds and men of wealth are you blackmailing?" Athol asked Maura curiously. "I am guessing it is at least three." He knew the answer of course, but he wanted to hear it from her lips. He had returned to Lyle's house later in the day after seeing Laird Young's prisoner to talk to Maura, and he was not in the mood for defiance.
Maura looked at him with withering scorn in her eyes, but he held her gaze. Little did he know that she was quivering inside. How can he guess so much just by looking at me? she thought, but she laughed, a tinkling musical laugh to hide her discomfiture.
"You are so funny!" she exclaimed. "I need no-one else's money but my own. And I have a husband who is very well off. Blackmail is such an ugly word."
"For such an ugly deed," Athol countered silkily.
They were sitting in one of the smallest rooms in the house, a parlor on the first floor looking out to the mountains. Athol had met Maura there since it was one of the coziest rooms in the castle, she liked to sit in it, since it was quiet and private. The weather was still inclement and it was impossible to go out riding, so everyone was housebound. The game of dice had finished early since Athol and Laird Young had left.
Lyle was working in the office, and Grant was with him. Davina was back at their estate, and Mary was visiting her own family. Unbeknownst to Maura, everyone but Grant knew what she had done. Lyle had gently told Mary the story too. She had been shocked but confessed that she had suspected something. Maura had expected Athol to start with a verbal attack and thought she was ready for it; however, she was not prepared for its sheer force and vitriol. But he did not hurry.
Athol was whetting a dagger as he spoke, raising it in front of his eyes every now and then to check his progress. Maura was trembling inside. She was apparently calm while she got on with her sewing, but she was trying to ignore the gleaming blade in front of her. However, it was hard to do so when it was right in front of her eyes.
Presently, Athol got up and locked the door then pocketed the key. When he turned around he stared at Maura straight in her eyes. "Now, Mistress McKay," he said grimly. "You are going to do two things for me. You are going to tell me what I need to know, and you are going to give me my money back."
"Really?" She looked at him in feigned fascination. "Now, pray tell me, how you are going to do that? And why should I do what you ask?”
Athol sighed, then began to clean his nails with the needle-sharp point of the dagger. "Listen to me, Maura. I don't know if you know where everyone is today, but let me tell you." He drew his brows down and looked at her intensely out of his warm hazel eyes, now dark and threatening. "Davina is back at our home. Grant and Lyle are in the office on the other side of the house. Mary is down in the parlor, also very, very far away."
* * *
He paused then raised the weapon so that it was right in front of her eyes. "Everyone is too far away to hear you scream and this dagger could slice you open as if you were a sausage. I could kill you and make you disappear without a trace unless you do both of those things for me." He poured himself a glass of wine but pointedly did not offer Maura one.
"You are a mean, scheming, cold-hearted and selfish bitch." He began. Then he leaned so close to her that their noses were almost touching. "Look at me, Maura," he said in a venomous tone. "You are a slim, small woman. I am a large, tall man and I am very strong. Even if I did not have this wicked, sharp knife, I could strangle or beat you to death with very little effort. So, think."
He poured her a glass of wine and gave it to her. Her hands were shaking. She took it from him and swallowed it in one gulp, then held out her hand for another. He poured a second one.
"Sip this one slowly," he advised his tone and his gaze both menacing. Maura raised the glass to her lips, unable to take her eyes off his. "It may be your last ever."
"What do you want?" she asked, a tremor in her voice. For the first time in her life, Maura McKay was really frightened.
"I told you what I want," Athol replied. "And I want it now!" He thumped his hand on the table between them, making her jump.
She had abandoned all pretense of being calm. Athol was usually a very gentle man but in this mood was intimidating in the extreme. She had told herself he was not a killer, but she had been wrong; she had underestimated him. This man had a heart of flint.
"Let us do the easy thing first," Athol suggested. "Give me my money, please."
"It is hidden," she replied. "I do not carry that amount of money. If you kill me you will not find it, because it is very, very carefully concealed."
"No matter," he replied, "it is not real money anyway."
Maura froze. "What do you mean?" she asked faintly. Her eyes were round with horror.
"I had it made especially for the occasion," Athol informed her. "I know an obliging blacksmith, and he made them for me out of brass. It took a while, which is why I was late. My apologies." He gave her an ironic little bow. "But enjoy spending it, if you can," his voice was loaded with scorn, and he was rolling the dagger around by its handle between his palms.
"Let me tell you a few other things." He stood up and bent over her. "We caught one of
the nasty little men you used for intimidation purposes. We discovered that they did not only threaten the lairds, big brave men that they are, but their wives and children too. We know that you are blackmailing three other lairds, Laird McTavish, Laird McPhee, and Laird Young, as well as me. We know this because I played cards with them all, and each one of them told me the same story. They were hesitant at first, but once they knew that I had also been a victim of your greed, they opened up to me. Each one thought you were carrying his child, but none of us is its father, because his father is the ex-Laird of Doon, is he not?"
Maura went white.
35
Maura Speaks
"How did you know?" she asked. Her voice was hoarse with fear.
“How did we know it was him?" He paused. "I have a very perceptive wife, Maura. She saw the way you and Ewan Taggart looked at each other. After that, she began to notice a lot of other little signs. You stood very close, he put his arm on your waist when he was showing you something, little things like that. But it was when I saw you going into an empty room today and I listened at the door to hear a very revealing conversation that I was certain.
“During that conversation, you admitted the poisoning of Ruaridh and Una Anderson. You were gleeful about it. I could even say that you enjoyed the results of your handiwork. Ruaridh, as you know, subsequently died, so now you are a murderer, and so is your accomplice, because he procured the arsenic for you. And in case you are thinking of telling Davina about the baby, do not waste your breath. I told her a long time ago. You are never going to see her again anyway.
“We know why you wanted to destroy her family. It was to push her out of Craiglochan and Sutherland so that she would go somewhere else, anywhere else to be out of your way. Her parents were disposable."
"Why did I not murder her then?" she asked, thinking she had scored a point in the argument.
