“We can stay, Daisy,” Kate said, crossing the courtyard to touch her on the shoulder. “His lordship has given us leave to remain.”
“And what’s the devil demanding as his due?” The older woman asked her brow beetling with indignation. “Same as last night? If it were, than ‘tis best that we take ourselves away from here, I’d say.”
“No, Daisy,” Kate began to explain, shaking her head. “He-”
“Think upon it, my lamb,” Daisy pleaded, putting her hand on her mistress’ arm. “Time comes when you got to be considerin’ of your own self. It ain’t right, even for little Anne’s sake. Think upon what manner of man he is to be forcin’ you to this pass. They say in the village that there’s a curse upon them, The MacLeans; with good reason, seems to me. ‘The sins of the fathers,’ the Bible tells us-”
“I will leave you to finish your sermon,” Duncan said, his teeth clenched tight. “If you find you wish to remain after contemplating my illustrious sire’s wrongdoings, my man and I will take our evening meal after the child is abed. If not. . .” He reached down and dug into his saddlebag, pulling out the purse that Dewey had given to him. The leather bag flew from his hand with all the force of Duncan’s frustration behind it. With a clinking thud, the drawstring burst open upon the flagstones, spilling its golden contents at Kate’s feet. “This will more than suffice for the value of the livestock and whatever repairs you have made. Take it and leave me in peace.”
He was about to walk away when he heard a burst of barking. Instinctively, Duncan turned.
“How’d he get loose?” the maid asked, lunging to grab at the streak of fur but the dog slipped past. “Cur, come, Cur,” she called in vain.
Duncan raised a shielding hand to his throat, warding off the attack that never came. The dog stopped just short of him, sniffing the air as if in puzzlement. It was not possible. Yet, even though Duncan knew full well that Piper had been long past his puppy days twenty years ago, he could not help himself. “Piper?” he asked softly, slipping to his knees. This canine had the self-same look, down to the white patch on his left flank.
With an intelligence that seemed almost human, the hound cocked his head to one side in an expression of dog disbelief. Giving throat to a whimper that was part greeting and part bewilderment, Piper’s great, great-grandson acknowledged the homecoming of Eilean Kirk’s master. Duncan felt the rough texture of the pup’s tongue against his cheek. For one brief moment, he felt like a boy again, reveling in one of the only genuine loves that he had ever known. “Piper,” he whispered, wanting to believe that this soft fur against his cheek belonged to the one creature that he had wept for all those years ago.
A small shadow blocked the light and Duncan looked up, reluctantly facing reality. Anne had obviously slipped from the servant’s grasp, but when she made a move as if to retrieve her, Kate held the woman back. The girl planted herself opposite Duncan, her hands on her hips in a gesture that made her seem like a charming miniature of her mother. With a pout, she stamped her foot.
The pup raised his head at the child’s unspoken command and then turned back to Duncan. His feathered tail wagging in agitation, the dog eyed the man and the child as if torn between the two. “She needs you more, caraid gaoil,” Duncan said softly, addressing the descendant of his dearest friend in the Old Tongue. The mutt gave him a look of canine approval, seemingly concurring with Duncan’s decision. He padded to Anne’s side and the child’s pudgy arms twined about him. Silken curls mingled with mottled fur as she locked the dog in her embrace.
“You can take him with you, if you would like,” Duncan said. “It seems that he prefers you to me.”
The corners of Anne’s mouth trembled. Had she suddenly realized that she was confronting the gargoyle? For one agonizing second, Duncan thought that she was going to cry. Then it dawned, a shy hint of a smile that disappeared so quickly that he knew he must have imagined it. Before he could look again, her face was buried in the animal’s furry neck.
“Just like a man, to vex one,” the older woman complained with a snort. “Here I was tellin’ the child how we have to ditch Cur because he ain’t ours! What will we be doin’ with a dog, I’ll ask you?”
Duncan rose and left without a word. He had caused enough trouble. Much as he hated to admit it, Kate’s servant was right. His offer of the dog had only added to Kate’s distress. They were going to go; there seemed no question now. It would be best if he were gone when they took their leave. A bracing morning swim in the loch might help to put jumbled thoughts in order. Perhaps, when he returned, he would have the solitude that he craved. Why had that thought become strangely depressing?
. . .
Daisy knelt on the flagstones, for once, heedless of the dirt. Eagerly, she sifted through the debris until she had found every last coin. “The man must have his attic to let. Far more than the animals are worth, he gave us. Nigh on to fifty pounds here, I’d say. More than enough here to get us to a port for passage money and maybe more. Nothin’ fancy, mind, won’t be private cabins with places at the captain's table, but it’d get us to America. With your Mama’s brooch and that signet ring that you got, we might even have a decent stake to give us a start.”
“I thought that you feared for your scalp, Daisy,” Kate said, a wry smile touching her lips.
“Rather savages than that one,” Daisy said, nodding in the general direction that MacLean had followed. “A dangerous man, no mistaking it. Give him so much as a finger and he’ll be to your wrist and once he’s past the wrist, my girl, there’s no tellin’ where he’ll go-”
Kate flushed.
“I can see what’s what,” Daisy continued, heedless of Kate’s discomfiture. “Ain’t but twice I’ve come face to face with the man, but it’s plain as that scar, that hunger in his eye. Looks like a man starvin’ and you a prime roast.”
“Beef or mutton?” Kate asked.
“Now don’t you be mocking me,” Daisy said, wagging a warning finger. “He wants you, wouldn’t have said what he did last night if he hadn’t.”
“Daisy, I spoke to him this morning. He said that we may stay, without any obligation,” Kate explained. “He was badly provoked last night, after all we-”
Daisy rolled her eyes heavenward. “It’s startin’, heaven help us all. Now you’ll be askin’ me to be puttin’ my own self in his shoes. Next you’ll be tellin’ me how kind he really is.”
Kate shifted uncomfortably. “He did leave us nearly fifty pounds.”
“Aye,” Daisy chuckled, “so he did. And seems to me we ought to take it and quit this place while we still can. While he’s still willin’ to let you go.”
“I think you are misjudging him, Daisy,” Kate said, recalling how gently he had treated Anne. “Sometimes wounds run far deeper than scars.”
Daisy looked at her mistress anxiously. “Don’t be doin’ that, now. Just like your Pa you are. He was a soft touch and it was everyone from the drummer boy to Wellington what knew it. There ain’t a man who came to him with a tear in his eye and a hard luck story that came away with an empty hand,” she recalled. “'Twas my milk that suckled you, Kate, and ‘tis hopin’, I am, that you got some common sense from it. Sometime there ain’t no shame in blowing the bugle for a retreat.”
Kate considered her friend’s words, weighing all the possibilities. She was honest enough to admit that Lord MacLean did present a danger, but not because she worried that he would break his word. Somehow, she knew that his oath would bind him. It was herself she feared, this strange reaction to a man that she barely knew. But was that small risk worth leaving the isolated haven of Eilean Kirk? It was foolish to hope that John had given up on locating them. There was far too much at stake.
Kate looked at Anne, happily playing with Cur, almost as if the night before had never happened. Twice, the child had defied MacLean. To be sure, in the first instance, Anne had reacted to a perceived threat to Kate’s well-being. But the second time? Kate regarded at her daughter
thoughtfully.
If Anne were truly frightened of MacLean, then there would be no question of staying. Kate had watched the confrontation in the courtyard carefully. If anyone had seemed intimidated, it had been MacLean. The tension in his expression would have been almost comical were it not so pitiable. His fear of the child’s reaction to him had been an almost palpable force. Perhaps that was why Anne had behaved with such odd fearlessness. Kate had little doubt that even a child could easily read what was so obviously writ on his countenance. Besides, if Anne was in terror of MacLean, she would never have dared to approach him, much less remain near him once her objective was achieved.
The wind blew, rattling a loose shingle and causing it to slide to the ground. To be sure, the castle of Eilean Kirk was not a mansion in Mayfair, but it was far better than the alternative. Kate’s throat tightened as she recalled those first frantic weeks, when she had felt like a fox with the pack’s breathe on her tail. It had taken every stratagem she could muster to evade John’s hounds. They had hidden among the briars and brambles of London’s stews, trying to cover their scent at Dover before backtracking and heading north. The journey had almost been beyond endurance, especially with a young child in tow. The possibility that they might have to run again was almost beyond bearing.
Still . . .
“Anne!” Kate called, beckoning her daughter to her.
The little girl hesitated, but after a moment, she led the dog to her mother’s side.
Kate knelt and cupped the child’s face in her hands. “Sweetheart, I want to ask you a question and I expect an honest answer from you.”
Anne nodded slowly, her eyes filled with curiosity and not a little apprehension.
“You know that we are prepared to leave here,” she continued. “But Lord MacLean has offered us the opportunity to remain in his castle for the time being. Would you like to stay?”
Daisy uttered a sound of protest, but a look from Kate quelled her.
“Lord MacLean will be living here too, Anne, as well as his servant,” Kate continued, watching her daughter closely for any change of expression. “It is his home, but he has agreed to share it with us for now. Do you understand Anne?”
Once more, Anne nodded an affirmative.
“Do you wish to stay, Anne?” Kate asked. She could almost see the thoughts whirling through the girl’s head, the same uncertainty and trepidation that Kate herself felt. “Or shall we leave here and find a new place for ourselves?”
“What are you thinkin’ to be givin’ this to the wee one to decide?” Daisy asked, unable to contain herself any longer. “We’re goin’ and that will be that!”
“If Anne fears Lord MacLean, then we shall go, regardless of any other risks,” Kate agreed, dusting off her skirt as she rose. “I will never allow Anne to lie awake in terror again, Daisy, you know that.” Kate felt a tug at her knees and looked down at her daughter. “Do you have your decision, sweetheart?”
The little girl nodded.
“Is it your wish to go?”
Anne shook her head in a vigorous negative.
“We can stay?” Kate asked again to be absolutely certain of Anne’s answer.
Anne nodded a ‘yes.’
“If you ever are afraid and change your mind, you will tell me?” Kate knelt before the child, resting her hands on Anne’s shoulders. “Do you promise?”
Once again, Anne indicated her emphatic agreement, her eyes going to Cur, then back to her mother in an obvious question.
Kate nodded. “Of course, you may go back to playing, my dear.”
“‘Tis because of the mutt, she wishes to stay,” Daisy grumbled. “Anne would keep company with Lucifer himself for that mangy hound’s sake, I’m thinkin’.”
“No, Daisy, I believe not,” Kate said, slowly. “You recall when we ran from Steele House; she left everything behind without a murmur, all the things that she had loved, her toys, even the kitten that I gave her last Christmas. If MacLean truly worried her, I wager that the dog would make no difference.”
“Aye, like a puppet the poor mite was,” Daisy recalled, sadly. “Might have been a stick of wood.”
“It took months for her to come this far.” Kate pressed her point home. “She is almost happy here. If we uproot her again . . .” She shrugged her shoulders doubtfully.
“But to stay here with that man!” Daisy shook her head in vehement disagreement. “I say take the money, sell your Ma’s brooch and the ring too and go while we can. It’s been months now since we-”
“You know that the ports will still be watched,” Kate argued. “As for the signet ring, it is not mine, but Lord MacLean’s. The ring and the book of poetry that he left for Marcus are in a packet upon my bed. I felt that he was entitled to have his things back, particularly the ring. He looks as if he is not particularly well to do.”
“Might’ve known you’d do some fool thing like that,” Daisy grumbled in exasperation. “But that was before his lordship was flingin’ purses of gold at your feet. Don’t seem like his pockets are to let to me! It would fetch a tidy sum, that ring, with that big ruby in it. Besides, leavin’ that behind for his lordship is good as leavin’ a callin’ card with your name upon it.”
“I had not thought of that,” Kate said ruefully. “It would surely give us away.”
“Aye,” Daisy nodded. “Best to take the signet with us, I’d say. Don’t sell it, if you don’t want, but keepin’ it against a rainy day seems good to me. Between the gold in that purse and the brooch we can-”
“Selling Mamma’s brooch would be as good as leaving a marked trail behind us, too, Daisy.” Kate pursed her lips. “It is a rather distinctive piece and John has surely given its description. Heaven knows it was the only piece of jewelry that he could not take away from me on the pretext that it was some family heirloom that was too valuable to keep about. How could I have been so very blind, letting him hack to bits any claim to independence that I had?”
“Tis not your fault, lamb,” Daisy said soothingly. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Couldn’t I have?” Kate said bitterly, watching her daughter fling a stick for Cur to fetch.
“We’ll be far enough away from him in America,” Daisy said.
“There is nowhere far enough,” Kate said, her fists clenching at her sides. “John would pursue us to the gates of Hell, even if he thought the devil himself was sheltering us. We will stay here for as long as we may, Daisy, and pray that we have covered our trail.”
. . .
By the time he reached the brink of the loch, Duncan barely had the patience to shed his travel-stained clothing. Clouds were rolling in from the west carried by a brisk breeze that ruffled the water with white. Without doubt there would be a storm by evening, turning the eastern pass into a muddy sluiceway, but they would likely be well beyond the mountain trail by nightfall even with a child in tow . . . or would they? He hesitated, glancing back up the path toward the castle. He shrugged.
They were likely gone. Even if he went back to warn them, the old biddy would likely ascribe the worst of motives to any recommendations that he might give. Once they were off of his property the women ceased to be any concern of his.
Their leaving was all for the best anyway. All he had wanted was to be left in peace, to be alone. Even Fred’s presence had been a grudging concession. Two women and a brat . . . he was well rid of them. No, it would be a waste of time and effort, he told himself as he fumbled with the fastenings of his worn trousers. Poised at the brink he stood, caught unaware by his reflection in the deep pool. Since La Purgatoire, Duncan had avoided any form of mirror, knowing, yet unwilling to see. Until now.
The gaunt man who gazed back at him in bewilderment was scarcely recognizable as Major Duncan MacLean. Waves of wild, dark hair fell well past the nape of his neck, a far cry from the fashionable Brutus that had once framed his face to perfection. The powerful body of Duncan’s recollections could ride, run and shoot till the day was done; wrestle
any challenger’s arm to the table and drink any man under it and then while the night away with some wench. The man in the lake seemed unutterably weary, fragile as thistledown. Scarcely a spare ounce of flesh covered that bony frame.
Strength and endurance would gradually return, Duncan knew. In that respect, each day was a bit better than the last. However, some things were forever beyond recovery. Slowly the reflection’s fingers rose to part the black curtain of hair, revealing the scarred track that led from the edge of his lips to the orbit of his eye. The beard provided cover, but he had seen the extent of the damage beneath.
The image’s hand trembled as he slid off the rough patch, allowing the concealing cloth to slither to the ground. The one-eyed creature stared back in stark horror, the hollow face contorting in a grimace of pain. A low, keening moan wafted over the waters as Duncan finally accepted the bitter reality. Mercifully, the marred visage in the pool wavered, blurring with the ruffling of the breeze. He knew that he did not wish to wait until it returned to clarity.
Duncan’s dive cut the water with barely a ripple, bringing him rapidly to the icy heart of the spring-fed depths. The cold was a welcome shock, clearing his mind of any thought. He let himself drift with the tug of the current, carrying him away from shore toward the channel at the center where his mother had warned him that the water-folk played. Bred in the Highlands, she was, knowing very invisible danger. Mamma had armed him with charms and incantations against the evil forces that craved nothing more than to snatch a small boy from his mother’s arms.
The “ghoulies, ghosties and weird beasties” that Burns had written of had always been lurking in the darkness just beyond the quilts during his childhood and now he was one of their ugly number. But all of Mamma’s lurid descriptions of hants and the banshees had paled in comparison to his father. The sobs and screams that rang through Castle Eilean Kirk always had their origins in earthly sources. Despite the hordes of hell-spawned apparitions that reputedly haunted his home, the only truly tormented souls that Duncan had ever met were all too human.
The Devil’s Due Page 7
