By Fire and by Sword (24 page)

He decided it was best to go back, even on a wild-goose chase, than stay away and learn later that something happened he could have prevented.

Dancing Water
was anchored in Dunnet Bay, with Alejandro in command of the gold and the ship, while Colin called on his grandfather.

Colin waited for the baron in the library, where he refreshed his memory of the maps hung on the dark stone walls, the old, leather-bound books crowded into bookshelves, and the compartments overhead crammed with manuscripts, journals, loose papers and a few unidentifiables. He was about to peruse the items on the library table when the baron entered the room.

From his earliest recollections of his grandfather, Colin always thought the baron’s entry into a room should be accompanied by music, so commanding a presence had he.

“Each time you leave, I know it will be the last time I see you, and each time you come back, I am forced to admit I am wrong.”

“I know how you hate to be wrong,” Colin said, “so perhaps you should learn from your mistakes and stop
predicting my comings and goings. You are looking well, Grandfather.”

“I don’t know why I should be, when there isn’t a part of me that isn’t wearing out. I couldn’t live long enough to list all my aches and pains.”

Colin smiled in spite of himself. “I see you are as cantankerous as ever, so you must be in better health than you think.”

“What brings you here this time? I know this isn’t a social call. The American branch of the family seems to have lost all memory when it comes to social graces.”

“I still remember how to curtsy.”

“Don’t be flippant. That is a woman’s foolishness.”

“If I had said I remember my social graces enough to visit you each time I come to Scotland, you would have labeled me deceptive. Either way I lose.”

Enveloped in silence now, the two of them stared at each other from opposite sides of the room. Colin could see his grandfather had aged a great deal since he was here last, and there was something else…not age, but more a battle weariness that had settled over him like a mantle.

“Well, I suppose there is a reason you are here… God knows you did not come to forge a bond with me.”

“You are right about the first and could not be more wrong about the second. But, if you mean by bond, my willingness to become the thirteenth Baron of Fairlie, you are right. Thirteen is an unlucky number, and I have enough bad luck on my own, without inheriting thirteen centuries of it.”

“You have the devil’s confidence…superstitious, are you?”

“Only when I’m in Scotland.”

Colin thought his grandfather came quite close to smiling. “I am going to need a cart or some strong horses.”

“Did your ship run aground near here?”

“No, the news is better than that. You might say I ran into some good fortune, and I have two chests of gold on my ship that I want to leave with you.”

The baron’s face turned a deep red, and his voice was rock hard and laced with anger. “I’ll not hide your ill-gotten loot for you.”

“I don’t want you to hide it. I am giving it to you. I want it distributed in the Highlands. I know you will know the best way to get the gold into the hands of those who need it the most.”

“How did you come about it?”

Colin grinned and walked to stand in front of the baron. “If you will pour the both of us a glass of whisky, I will tell you everything.”

They had two glasses of whisky while they waited for the baron’s men to fetch the chests and lock them in the dungeon. They had a third glass after dinner, as they continued to discuss the distribution of the gold. His grandfather might be old, but he was as sharp-minded and as shrewd as he had ever been.

Colin saw the weathered face and the shock of white hair, but those light blue eyes were as young as they had ever been. He saw something different in the baron, something that seemed to have energized him, but
whether it was his enjoyment of having something exciting to do for a change, or the result of too much whisky, Colin might never know.

“So, you will be staying here until tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, at least until I can get passage to Durness Castle.”

“Why are you going to Durness?”

The question threw him off, and the baron was quick to pick up on the fact, for his eyes twinkled with a sort of glee as he said, “So it is a woman who draws you there?”

The answer was written all over Colin’s face.

It did not evoke a laugh from the baron, but he did manage a chuckle, and Colin could never remember his grandfather doing that before.

“Is she a MacKay?”

“Her mother was the daughter of the earl.”

“Aah, she married the youngest son of the Duke of Sutherland?”

“Yes.”

His grandfather seemed to go off somewhere and did not come back for a little while. “Tell me, does your lass have red hair?”

“Oh, does she!”

The baron slapped his leg. “Tell me about her.”

Colin ended up having a fourth glass of whisky with the baron while he told him about Kenna.

By the time Colin finished his story, neither of them could have managed to stand if they had had a fifth glass of whisky, so they stumbled off to bed.

The next morning, Colin set off for Durness Castle with some of the baron’s men.

At length the morn and

cold indifference came.

—Nicholas Rowe (1674-1718),

English playwright.

The Fair Penitent
(1703).

S
he knew it was not going to be an ordinary day when she went to bed that night and heard the clock strike thirteen.

When she crawled into bed, she was distractedly conscious of Colin’s absence and haunted by the cold indifference of her goodbye. She could not do anything to change what had happened any more than she could call back the day, so she might start anew and live it all over again.

After much thought, it seemed to her way of thinking, that if she could not change it, she should not keep thinking about it. But she did.

Consequently, she did not fall asleep straightaway,
kept awake, as she was, by guilty thoughts about Colin’s departure, and later, by the dark menace of foreboding that persisted in lingering, even when she bid it to go. When sleep did take her, she was overcome with an emotional restlessness.

She did not know if she actually slept, of if she only imagined she did; whichever it was, she gave a start and sat straight up in the bed, gripped in a clammy, cold sweat. She thought she heard a sound, a tapping, like someone walking, or drumming their fingers on a table.

Her eyes were wide open now, and another noise crept into her consciousness, coming, she was certain, from outside, perhaps on the parapets beyond her window.

She groped across the small table by her bed, with hopes she would be fortunate enough to put her hand on the tinderbox, or bump into the candle. She located the tinderbox, and eventually, the candle, too, and tried again and again, but the candle would not light. She recalled prior to closing her eyes in what she thought was sleep, the sound of the candle guttering, before it went out.

It was darker than the blackest black in the room, and the velvet draperies were drawn so not even the moonlight could enter. Outside, she heard a gale blowing wildly and her spirits sank like cold dread, while everything inside seemed eerily quiet. She wriggled backward to brace her back against the headboard and sat quietly listening, afraid to breathe until the moment it was critical. She heard nothing but the wind, yet everything seemed out of harmony.

With a sigh, she decided it must have been a bad dream, and she worked her way back to a sleeping position. But her heart was pounding loudly in her ears and her mouth felt chalky and dry. She closed her eyes and heard the clock strike thirteen again. Eyes open. Did someone turn the handle on her door? Something creaked; a slice of yellow light appeared on the threshold and quickly disappeared. The hand was on her door again.

“Josette?” she whispered, and received no reply. Fear knotted in her stomach; cold fingers fluttered up and down her spine.

Something howled; something that did not sound like a dog. She recognized the sound of wind rushing up the chimney, as it did when a door was opened and the wind rushed in, drawn up the chimney in an up-draft. Somewhere in the castle, someone must have left a door partially shut and the wind had blown it open. That must be the explanation.

She reminded herself the dogs were belowstairs and if anyone entered, they would bark. Unless the dogs went out when the door was opened. She relaxed; she was not alone; there was the castle’s staff.

Her frantic heartbeat slowed. She sucked in a long breath and willed herself to relax. Her eyes were heavy now; heavier still, they closed.

The house settled about her; easing the nervous tension. It was too quiet…unnaturally quiet…quiet like death. She relaxed with a sigh, eager now to fall asleep and leave the menace behind. But it was not to be a deep sleep; it was fraught with dreams, strange and
creepy, until she could not decipher what was a dream and what was real.

A muffled sound, like something small being moved; a book pushed aside; the palm of a hand skimming along a stone wall. Her eyes opened again, straining now to see in the dark interior of her room where the creeping chill was unnatural and uncommon, yet it continued until she could feel the ice of it seeping into her bones.

There was something or someone in the castle who had no business being there; someone with evil in their heart. She sensed someone was in her room now, breathing and taking away her air; she gasped and felt a presence beside the bed. She was too paralyzed to move.

She remembered the
comte’
s sword was lying on top of the chest at the foot of her bed. She began to turn and move slowly toward it. Time stretched as thin as her nerves, and she was a hair’s breadth away from shouting, “I know you are in here!” But she said nothing.

The sound of a door opening and then closing came from far away, as if it were in a tunnel. Another sound near her window, the one that looked over the parapets. Perhaps someone in the castle had suddenly taken ill. What if Josette was trying to waken her because she needed help?

I might as well go and check, she thought, for I will get precious little sleep this night. She felt around for her dressing gown and her hand bumped against the handle of the
comte’
s sword. Relief
washed over her, even though the hand that held the sword trembled. She eased her feet to the floor and stood. She walked with slow, measured steps to the door and opened it cautiously. She could not see a thing, for it was as dark on the other side of the door as it was within.

A strange odor reached her nose. Her eyes began to tear. She returned to her room to fetch the tinderbox and groped her way back toward the desk, relieved to find a candle she had left there. It flared to life on the third strike of steel against flint.

She turned around to leave the room, and in a state of numb and bewildered curiosity, she remained trans-fixed as she watched a peculiar, swirling mist slowly encroach upon the privacy of her room. She wondered, what was this intruder that slithered uninvited into her bedchamber in the middle of the night? The gripping sense of fear within her screamed ghosts, but the logic of her mind searched for other clues, ones that were more explicable as well as reasonable.

She inched her way toward the door, breathing in the odd smell that was now choking her with a pungent bitterness. Scent and fog mingled in her consciousness as she searched to put a name to it. Hypnotic to watch, the eerie gray vapor tinged with brown crossed the threshold like searching fingers, so fascinating that she was completely absorbed in a drowsy consciousness as if from a sleep-inducing drug. Her sluggish mind had difficulty understanding this was not beautiful, but dangerous. This was no swirling mist that came slowly creeping into her room. This was smoke. The same
smoke that filled the room, choked her throat and burned her eyes; smoke that did not belong here.

Smoke, whose mate was fire.

She saw rays of light pushing into the room from the windows behind her drapes. She put the candle on a table and hurried to throw back the heavy velvet, hoping it was the sun and not a worse alternative. The light of early morning washed into the room to snap her from her trancelike state. Infused with a burst of energy that suddenly kicked in, she ran into the hallway and threw open the door to Josette’s room. A hot blast of smoke rushed over her; she could see flames now, flames that licked at the draperies over the windows.

The room was stifling hot; she dropped her sword by the door, put her hand over her mouth and moved into the room until she bumped against the bed. She groped for her friend and began to shake Josette. “Get up! Your room is on fire! Wake up, Josette! Please wake up!”

She shook her harder; the only response was a moan. She began to scream now, then she screamed louder, still shaking Josette, while she called for help. She had no idea how long it would take the flames to reach the bed. Panic beat in her lungs like a trapped bird. The fumes were starting to affect her. She ran to the stand that held a basin and a pitcher of water. She grabbed the pitcher, rushed back to the bed and threw the water in Josette’s face.

Josette sputtered and coughed and coughed again. Kenna dropped the pitcher on the bed and wiped burning tears from her own face and screamed for help again.

The draperies nearest her burst into flames. A second later they leaped like a devouring monster to the bed.

“Someone, please help!”

She smelled singed hair and reached for Josette again, just as she heard the sound of footsteps running on the floor below. Something crashed and a voice called out, but she could not hear as she tried to drag Josette from the bed. The flames were consuming everything in sight.

Someone was rushing up the stairs; the door to Josette’s room flew back and banged against the wall.

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pushed her out of the way; her head flew up as Colin scooped Josette from the bed and slung her over his shoulder. His other arm snaked around Kenna and drew her close.

“Hurry,” he said. “This way, quickly! Before it spreads and we can’t reach the stairs.”

Smoke was thick in the corridor outside the door, but it began to grow thinner as they approached the stairs. They were halfway down when they were met by a group of MacKays rushing up the stairs with buckets of water.

Colin managed to get both of them outside. Josette was coughing violently, but at least she was breathing.

“Wait here,” he said, “and don’t go back in for any reason. Understand?”

She nodded and he caressed her cheek, then disappeared back inside the house.

It seemed he was gone for an unbearably long time…so long that she began to worry he might have
been trapped in one of the rooms above. She came to her feet and started to go back into the house, and remembered what he said.

“
Mon Dieu!
What happened?” Josette choked out.

Kenna turned around. “There has been a fire. I think it started in your room. When I arrived to awaken you, your draperies were alight.”

Josette coughed again. “Thank God you thought to come and help me.”

Kenna put her arm around her. “I would never leave you to that kind of fate, Josette. Never.”

She sat down next to her friend, holding her trembling hand, and started to cry when Josette squeezed it and put her head on Kenna’s shoulder.

They were friends now, truly, resolutely, and forever friends, and she knew that somewhere the
comte
was smiling.

More time passed and eventually the MacKays began to straggle through the door.

“Is the fire out?” she asked.

“Yes, it was only in the one bedchamber on the second floor,” a MacKay responded.

Kenna was starting to worry about Colin all over again when he stepped through the doorway and came toward them. He had a wet cloth in his hand and he handed it to Josette. “Put this over your nose and breathe through it. The moisture will ease the burning in your lungs.”

Josette covered her face and began to breathe deeply, in and out.

Colin stood near Kenna, while his gaze searched her face.

“Even with the charcoaled face of an urchin, you are still beautiful.” His voice was laced with sadness, and she was reminded of the mood between them when he saw her last. His hand stroked the top of her hair and she felt the singed ends break off at his touch. “Your lovely hair is burned, but not badly.”

A voice came from inside the cloth as it lifted. “I’m almost dead, and the two of you are making love?” The cloth fell back into place.

Colin gave a start and then laughed out loud.

“She is definitely feeling better,” Kenna said, and smiled with relief.

Josette removed the cloth and looked as cross as two sticks. “You would not feel so jolly if it were your breathing machine that was scorched,” she said in her grumpiest tone. “How bad is it?”

“Did the fire spread to my room?” Kenna asked.

“No, just the smoke, which will leave some damage,” Colin answered.

Josette frowned. “And my room?”

“The drapes and the bed are gone, I’m afraid. The rest can probably be salvaged.”

Kenna looked from Josette to Colin. “The fire was only in one room?”

Colin nodded. “Yes, we checked all the other rooms on that floor and found only lingering smoke, so we opened the windows.”

“That is strange,” Kenna said. “I don’t understand how it could have happened.”

“It could have been a candle,” he said.

Josette was quick to knock that suggestion down. “I
did not burn a candle last night. I had a headache and went to bed after dinner…before dark.”

Kenna was amassing the facts and put them together to form a mental picture. Slow awareness dawned. “I think it was started intentionally,” she said.

“But why…who…?” Suddenly, Josette paused and her gaze locked with Kenna’s. “Your friend,” she said. “The monster that killed the
comte.
”

“He was never my friend, but yes, I think it was Lord Walter. I think there is a calculated method to his madness. It isn’t only me he is after. He intends to kill everyone around me first, all those I care about, one by one, then he will kill me.”

Josette turned her head to one side with a questioning look. “How would that satisfy his sick hunger?”

“It will give him pleasure, satisfaction if you will. Do I think he is insane? Of course, but sometimes genius hides in the lunatic mind, which is even more dangerous. Each time he kills someone I know, he will see it as making me suffer twice, giving me as much pain as possible before he kills me is what it’s all about. A weird sort of satisfaction for a demented mind.”

Worry and concern produced a frown on Colin’s brow. “Don’t talk about that now. You’ve been through a great ordeal this morning. What you don’t need is more agitation. Let’s go inside. The mist coming in from the water is cool and damp. You don’t need to catch a chill.”

Kenna was the first to move, but Colin reached for her arm and detained her with a light touch. She glanced at his hand and back at him. “I want to ask you something.”

“You need to hold my arm to ask me something?”

He released her. “Do you have a knife…a dirk?”