by Alisa Adams
“I do not want to see her miserable,” Daniel assured him. “I know her too, and I want to see her settled and secure. She will have no chance to escape, believe me. This time she will not have you to help her, and she will not have the free and easy life she has enjoyed up ’til now. She will be unwilling to escape anyway; she will have the best of everything. You will be dead in a few days and she will have a new man to love.”
“Pah! She despises Hugh Devine!” he spat. “She will never accept him.”
“Oh, but she will,” Daniel said silkily. “She has her sisters to look after, remember? She will never abandon them. But I really do not know why I am even speaking to you about this. You should never even have been involved in the first place. You are an illiterate peasant, and you have done nothing but cause trouble since the day Vanora met you. Well, thank goodness she is going to be rid of you now. We all will.” His voice was full of malice and spite, and it did not help that the man standing before him was extremely handsome and towered over him by at least a foot. Daniel felt completely inadequate as a man, and this made him even more vicious.
“An’ ye think all yer troubles will go away as soon as I am gone?” Rory stepped back, folded his arms over his chest, then threw his head back and laughed heartily. “They will have only just begun. Vanora will defy ye, McKay, no’ in the way ye think, but in stubbornness and silence. But dinnae listen tae me. Ye will do what ye must anyway. If I am no’ there tae soften her, she will become as hard as stone, an’ I warn ye, she will never smile again. She will embarrass ye at dinner parties wi’ yer friends because she will say nothing, an’ although she will obey ye, she will be sullen an’ sad. I know a’ these things because she has told me an’ I have seen them because she did the same tae me for a while. Hugh might take her tae the church and make her his bride, but mark my words, McKay, she will never be his wife.”
“He will make her his wife!” Daniel growled. “He is stronger than she is.”
Rory did not answer for a few moments. “Ye are not much o’ a man, are ye McKay?” he asked contemptuously, raking Daniel with a scorching glance.
“At least I am not a murderer and a poisoner!” McKay sneered. “Unlike some I could mention.”
Rory completely infuriated him then by smiling. “And who might that be?” he asked innocently.
“I am not dignifying that with an answer!” Daniel said loftily. “And I am not wasting any more time on you, Murdoch, but I will see you in a few days at the execution, and I will send a priest to hear your confession.”
“Make sure ye send a real one!” Rory called after Daniel as he strode away. He was seriously concerned that any priest McKay sent would be a spy.
Rory sat down and poured himself some ale, then sat drinking it thoughtfully. Too many things had happened—the murder of Vanora’s father and the poisoning of Hugh Devine were not just random acts of evil. There was a cold, malicious mind behind them...but whose mind? Who was cunning enough and ruthless enough to plan and carry out such a scheme?
The more he thought about it the closer he came to arriving at the only conclusion possible. If Vanora and her father were both dead there would be no possible heir to the Weir Brae estate. Marion was only fourteen, and although she was a clever and capable girl, she was far too young to pick a suitable husband for herself, and running the estate was, of course, impossible.
Obviously Ella was out of the question. At twelve, she was still playing with dolls and kittens and had no experience of anything at all.
Rory was lost in thought for a long time, and bit by bit Daniel’s plan unfolded. The estate would go to the nearest living relative, who happened to be Vanora, but she was a woman and had to marry. If both Laird Weir and his daughter had died, it could have been so easy for him. He could have persuaded Devine to be his partner, bought the estate, and killed him later.
However, Nora had confounded all his plans. She had survived against all the odds, and he, Rory Murdoch, was to blame. Now Daniel had to re-think his strategy.
It did not take him long to come up with the idea of marrying Vanora to a weak-willed, stupid creature like Hugh Devine, whom he could mold to suit his own purposes. Hugh would, in the fullness of time, inherit an estate of his own, and Daniel had found a means of getting his hands on it. If he could make a show of teaching Hugh how to run an estate while making him totally dependent on him, he could kill Hugh and Vanora and make it look like an accident, but not before having Hugh will the estate to Daniel. Then he would be laird of both Weir Brae and the Devine estates after Hugh the Elder died. Perhaps another accident could happen to him too.
However, standing in the way of all Daniel’s plans like a giant, impassable colossus, was Rory Murdoch. He had not only saved Vanora’s life, but he had made her fall in love with him, although he was sure that was nothing more than an infatuation.
Now he was going to dispose of Rory, worm his way into the running of both estates, then kill Hugh and Vanora. It sounded far-fetched even to his own ears, but Rory was certain now. However, time was short and becoming shorter every minute. He had to get out!
Think Rory, think! he told himself frantically. Fortunately, he was not the sort of man to buckle under pressure, and after a few minutes of hard thought, he came up with a plan.
He yelled as loud as he could a deep, booming blast that echoed off the stone walls and woke up both prisoners and sleeping guards.
“Help!” he cried at the top of his lungs. “Help me!”
A guard sauntered up, rubbing his eyes blearily. “What is the racket aboot?” he demanded. “Pants on fire?”
“No—” Rory pretended to panic. “Get me Lady Vanora at once or somebody will suffer!”
The guard looked at him pityingly. “And who dae ye think ye are, Mister Murderer? Milady is no’ going to talk tae the likes o’ you.” He began to laugh as he walked away, but Rory’s next words stopped him in his tracks.
“If ye dinnae let me see her someone else will die very soon,” he said heavily. “I poisoned someone else, an’ it should be in its last stages now. Hurry!”
“Who?” the man asked stupidly.
“Does it matter?” Rory’s voice was so loud it made the torches on the walls shake, and the guard put his hands over his ears. “Get Vanora!”
The guard scurried off to do as he had been told, and Rory began to pace his small cell frantically. He did not think Vanora was in any immediate danger but if he could not get out of his cell and stop the wedding in time there would be no one to step in when he was gone. Marion and Ella were still too immature and no one else loved Vanora enough to risk their life on her behalf. He forced himself to wait, and soon heard the ring of voices and the thump of footsteps coming down the corridor towards him.
Rory was disappointed to see that Vanora was not with Laird and Lady Devine and Daniel when they arrived, and was unable to hide his disappointment. If he was going to be executed, he wanted to see her one last time.
Margaret Devine looked terrified and clung to her husband as though he were a raft in a stormy sea. The laird was grim and furious, and looked as if he would strangle Rory with his bare hands given half a chance.
Seeing the expression on Rory’s face, Daniel gave him a spiteful smile.
16
“Is this a confession?” Daniel asked in a puzzled fashion as he stared at Rory. “Or have you really poisoned someone else?” He was simmering with anger inside because he knew that Rory was not only big, strong, and confident, but intelligent too. Rory had been in the cell for a number of hours, but even so, his story was perfectly plausible. He could have given whoever it was a slow-acting poison or left it somewhere that it was unlikely to be found for a while. The Devines had no doubt that Rory had done the deed, though, and the only person who could know the truth was the poisoner himself.
However, Daniel knew that Rory was lying. What he could not understand was why. He was going to die anyway, so why all the theatrics? Was it just so that he
could go out in a blaze of glory? For a moment he doubted himself. What if Rory had really poisoned someone? It could even be himself. Then he dismissed the thought. That was not the way Rory did things. He looked like a straightforward, direct man who tackled things head-on. He was not a poisoner, so what was he doing?
The Devines tried two different ways to get the information out of him. Margaret wept, went up to the bars, and pressed her face into them. “Please tell me it was not Hugh again,” she begged. “I would die if I lost him. Imagine if it were your son.”
Rory shook his head. He felt absolutely nothing for this weeping woman and her overbearing husband, and he disliked her sniveling son intensely.
“I have nae children, milady,” he answered tonelessly, “and it seems as though I never will, so I cannae imagine your plight.”
“Tell us who it is!” Hugh the Elder roared, his face crimson with rage. “Or I will execute you myself with my bare hands!” He held them up for Rory’s inspection.
“Nice hands,” he said admiringly, then held up his own, which were twice the size of Hugh’s. “Ye are welcome to try, M’laird. I have nothing tae lose, so if ye get the better of me then so be it, but somehow I think ye willnae.”
For a moment the two men glared at each other, each determined not to break eye contact, but Hugh looked away first. Margaret was still sobbing and the laird grabbed her by the chin and turned her to face him. “Shut up, woman!” he spat. “What good does weeping do? Go back upstairs and have some whiskey and do not set foot down here ’til you are calm again.”
Margaret looked back at Rory once, but the normally placid expression on his face had gone, to be replaced by a marble-like, expressionless mask. Margaret was still weeping as she scurried away.
“Can you please tell us the truth and end this charade for all of us?” Daniel asked wearily, passing a hand over his eyes for effect. “I am weary of this heartache, this uncertainty, and these lies. Tell us who it is, Rory.”
Rory shrugged. “Why should I?” he asked. “Ye are sending me tae the gallows. I am going to die anyway.”
“Because an innocent person will die,” Hugh pointed out, and now there was a light of desperation in his eyes. “Is it Alec, Fiona, or James?”
“Who said the person was innocent?” Rory taunted him, his eyes glinting wickedly. “I poisoned the poisoner. If I am going tae die then so is he.”
“What will make you tell us?” Hugh asked desperately.
A suspicion of a smile lifted the corners of Rory’s lips. “Send Vanora tae me,” he replied. “I will talk tae her and tae no one else. If ye had sent her when I first asked we could have saved a lot of time because she is the only person in this entire godforsaken place that I trust.”
“Bring her here,” the laird barked at one of the guards. The man bowed and left on his errand.
The sisters were glad to be together for a while even though the atmosphere in the castle left much to be desired. They had all got together to sew, read, and talk in Vanora’s room because it was the biggest and had the best views. Vanora was sunk in a deep depression, however. She was not permitted to see Rory, and he had become her fixation. He was all she could think about, worry about, and dream about.
Since the incident when she had struck the guard in the face she had not been allowed to see Rory at all, and she regretted it sorely, but at the time she had not been able to help herself. She smiled suddenly at the thought of her revenge, although her hands were still sore.
There was a woman with them who had apparently been trained in looking after young ladies. This consisted of sitting watching them with a grave and disapproving face from the corner of the room. Ella said she looked as though she had swallowed a wasp.
Vanora was sewing. She had bought a length of linen and was stitching a nightgown, more to keep her hands busy than for any other reason. She planned to give it to one of the housemaids whose clothes were absolutely threadbare; Vanora had no doubt that her nightgown was too. If she was working with her hands all the time she knew she was being useful, and it helped to keep her mind occupied and away from Rory, at least some of the time. However, it was taking every ounce of her willpower to focus on her task when all she wanted to do was fight her way past the guards at the dungeon gates and throw herself into Rory’s arms.
Marion looked into Vanora’s eyes with the penetrating gaze she used when thinking about something deep within someone’s heart. “He is not afraid, Vanora,” she said quietly. “He still has hope, and so should you.”
Vanora gazed back at her sister. Marion had always been wise, but Rory’s execution was coming closer, and she could see no way of stopping it. “They will not let me see him, Marion,” she sighed. “He may only have a few more days of life left, and I cannot even see his face.”
At that moment, however, one of the guards burst through the door, making everyone jump in fright. He was flushed and agitated, and looked absolutely terrified.
“Milady Vanora!” he cried urgently. “The laird an’ Mister McKay want tae see ye. It is somethin’ to do wi’ the prisoner.”
Vanora jumped to her feet and ran after him as fast as her legs would carry her. Was Rory in danger? Was he hurt? She hoped not, but all she could think of was that she was going to see her love.
She had been running so fast that she almost ran into the guard as he stopped at the gates of the dungeon. When they opened she shoved him rudely aside and sprinted along the passage to where her uncle and the laird were standing, looking at her disapprovingly.
“Can you not act like a lady, Vanora?” Daniel demanded.
Vanora said nothing but gave him a venomous look then strode over to Rory’s cell. He smiled at her so joyously that tears sprang to her eyes. “Oh, my love,” she whispered so quietly that the other two men could not hear what they were saying. “How are you?”
He reached between the bars and stroked her lower lip with his forefinger. “I have had better times,” he admitted. “But I am much better now that I have seen yer face.”
Just then, Laird Devine stepped up behind Vanora. “When you two have quite finished...” he said sarcastically. He turned to Vanora. “Your ‘friend’ has something to tell you. It is very urgent. In fact, it is a matter of life and death—so listen to him now.”
Rory shook his head. “I will only speak tae her alone, and inside my cell,” he said firmly. “That is what ye want, Vanora, is it no’?”
“Yes,” she agreed at once, not taking her eyes off him.
“You are not in a position to be dictating terms!” Daniel’s voice was seething with fury.
“Oh, but I am,” Rory replied with a grim smile. “I have absolutely nothin’ tae lose, but ye do. Someone is dyin’ as we speak, an’ ye are standin’ around wastin’ time.”
Daniel and Hugh exchanged glances, then the laird ordered a guard to open the cell door, and Vanora rushed into Rory’s arms. As they closed around her, he drew her against his warm, solid chest and leaned his chin on her hair, so that she was enclosed in a nest made entirely of his body. A familiar feeling swept over her: she was cherished, comforted, and protected. She sighed with relief and contentment. This was exactly where she was meant to be.
Rory wanted to crush Vanora against him so tightly that there was no distance between them, and to make her part of him so that she could be with him forever. He loved her so fiercely that he could not imagine being with any other woman. He had killed for her and he was about to die for her, but he knew that it was a small price to pay for the feeling he had now.
“Oh, God, Vanora,” he whispered into her hair. “It feels like a lifetime since I last saw ye last.”
She said nothing for a moment, merely enjoying the sensation of nestling into his warmth, but as she raised her head to smile at him, Hugh Devine’s voice cut harshly into their intimacy.
“Get on with it!” he growled. “Someone may be dying here!”
Rory raised his head. “I will only speak tae Va
nora if we are by ourselves,” he declared. “Otherwise I will say nothin’ and I will let the person die.”
Again the laird and Daniel looked at each other, then Hugh nodded. “All right, but be quick about it!” he snapped.
Once they were alone, they sank down on Rory’s straw mattress and held each other for a while, then Rory sighed.
“I told them I poisoned someone else, but I would only tell ye who it was,” he said at last.
“You did what?” Her voice was a squeal of astonishment. “Why would you do such a thing?”
“I wanted tae see ye again,” he murmured sadly. “I have no one else, Vanora. I love ye...ye are my only reason for livin’ and I wanted tae see ye once more before they kill me. An’ I think yer uncle is behind a’ this.”
She burst into sobs at his words and he pulled her closer, making soothing noises until she calmed down.
“Why do you think my uncle is to blame?” she asked, puzzled.
“Who do ye think was behind the attack an’ yer father’s death?” Rory asked. “What kind o’ man could dae such a thing? You know yer uncle better than I do. Could it have been him? ”
“I know that he is sneaky and spiteful,” she mused. “And capable of much mischief—but murder? Rory, do you really think so?”
He looked down into her shining eyes and ran his hand over her glossy golden-brown hair.
“Do ye trust me, lass?” he asked, kissing her lips gently.
“Of course I do,” she whispered. “I believe you when you said you did not poison anyone, Rory, so who was it? Could it have been the same person who attacked us?”
“It was yer uncle,” Rory said firmly. “I worked oot his plan. He killed yer father, tried tae kill ye, but ye lived, so he came up with another plan. He would betroth ye tae Hugh, poison him, but no’ enough tae kill him, then make it look as if I had done it. Hugh is a weak man, Vanora, an’ Daniel McKay will soon bend him tae his will. Before long he will be daein’ everythin’ Daniel wants.”
