Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (20 page)

He had to force himself not to go to her, for he wanted
nothing more than to take her in his arms, to hold her and keep on holding her
until hell froze over and Adair Ramsay be damned.

Gazing around the crowd, Fletcher felt his blood run
suddenly cold, for there, just a few feet from Cathleen, stood the bastard
himself. Adair. That he could be the cause of David’s death and then attend his
funeral, cold as charity, infuriated Fletcher. With a thin thread of control on
his anger, Fletcher managed to keep from confronting Adair then and there.

Standing on one side of Adair were two men Fletcher did not
know. On the other side, he recognized Gavin MacPhail. Just then, Adair glanced
up and looked straight at Fletcher, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

Something inside Fletcher exploded, shattering his emotions
beyond control. He felt his face turn red and his hands curl into fists. Adair
was guilty as sin and Fletcher knew it. It was high time everyone else here
knew it—after he got through smashing his murdering face. Consumed with a rage
that had an intensity he had never known, he took a step toward Adair, when suddenly
Cathleen moved, the back of her head coming into his line of vision.

Fletcher swore silently and stopped.

Seeing Cathleen was a reminder—a reminder as effective as a
cold bucket of water thrown in his face. He could not confront Adair here, at
her grandfather’s funeral and in front of her, for to do so would only bring
her added grief, and God knew she had more right now than she could bear.

He clenched his jaw and told himself there would be another
time.

Fletcher looked at Adair again. The bastard was guilty as
hell. Never before in his life had he had to control such a feeling of menacing
fury. He could kill the man with his bare hands, and by God, he wanted to. He
wanted to choke him until his eyes bulged out of his head. He wanted to watch
him die as he had watched Fletcher’s father die, and David, too.

With mastery he did not know he possessed, Fletcher turned
toward Cathleen. As he did, he tore his thoughts from confronting that
deceiving, murdering, thieving little bastard who had ruined so many lives.
With an iron will, he forced those thoughts to the back of his mind, calming
himself, knowing that Cathleen would sense his anger the moment she saw him.

Cathleen
, he thought, looking at her.
You are my
refuge and my strength. Give me your love, your generosity, your kind
understanding. Temper the anger, the resentment, the obsession for revenge that
eats away at me. Love me. Forgive me. Help me to be whole.

Reaching her side, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze.
He said nothing, but stood silently beside her, hoping she could feel his love
for her, as if the very hand that held hers was capable of conveying all he
felt, when words seemed so inadequate.

When it came time for Cathleen to toss a handful of dirt
over her grandfather’s coffin, Fletcher saw her shoulders shake. He heard the
soft, muffled sounds of her sobs against the handkerchief she held pressed to
her mouth. He wanted to take her into his arms, to hold her close, to give her
all the comfort he was capable of, but he dared not. To do so in front of Adair
would endanger Cathleen. So, doing what he could to play the part of the
concerned friend, he released her hand but remained silently next to her,
hoping that she understood…praying that Adair did not.

Looking around, Fletcher noticed that every face was filled
with sorrow. Even the toughest Scots, the most hardened men, seemed unable to
hide their emotions.

Only one man appeared unmoved. With a blank expression,
Adair Ramsay kept his gaze on the gaping hole into which they had lowered David
MacDonald’s coffin, as if he wanted to make certain David stayed there.

Fletcher moved to stand behind Cathleen and gave her the
support of his body, warm against hers. He offered her the comfort of whispered
words of solace, the assurance that he was there, behind her—all the while
forcing himself to look concerned and at the same time detached and impersonal.

Once, he glanced over the top of her head, his eyes falling
again on Adair, who stood beside his carriage watching them. As if he sensed
Fletcher was looking at him, Adair turned around. Just before he stepped into
the shiny black carriage that bore the Duke of Glengarry’s crest, he paused to
say something to Annora.

Fletcher did not get to observe them further, for at that
moment Cathleen turned to him. With a heart full of vengeance, Fletcher Ramsay,
possessor of a Scottish title and an old and noble name, stood looking down at
the woman he had come to love, seeing her grief, her pain, and feeling utterly
and completely helpless.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping the tears from her face. “I
wish I could stay here with you, but I must go. Robert is waiting for me.” She
rose on her tiptoes and pressed a cold kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for
coming. You don’t know what it means to know you are here. Please come to see
me later.”

Without another word, she turned and hurried to Robert, who
paused just long enough to help her into his carriage.

The carriage started off, and Fletcher could have sworn he
heard the sound of thundering hooves as a great black shadow seemed to pass
over his mind. About him the wind picked up, and a thick and heavy mist rolled
in from the sea. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, grumbling sound. He
felt the first splattering drops of rain as the mist turned too heavy to be called
mist. And still he stood there for a long time after Cathleen had gone,
wondering what he should do now.

A jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the sky, and
Fletcher looked at David’s grave, bidding him a final goodbye. He turned away
then and made his way to his horse, who was growing nervous with all the
thunder and lightning. Mounting, he rode off, his thoughts turned toward what
he should do.

Part of Fletcher wanted to stay in Glengarry and prove that
Adair Ramsay had had something to do with David’s death. Another part of him
wanted to get as far away from Cathleen as he could, in order to protect her,
for no matter how he looked at it, Fletcher knew in his heart that now that
David was dead, Adair would not hesitate to harm Cathleen if he thought she was
involved with him in any way, and that included friendship. For this reason, he
ruled out going to St. Abb’s himself. At least for now.

As he rode toward Glengarry, his mind was on going to
Cathleen.

But his prayers asked for the strength to stay away.

Adair Ramsay was a deadly man. He played no games. His home
was well guarded. He was a strong, cruel man without decency or compassion, a
man who had murdered before. He was not above doing whatever he deemed
necessary. He would go to any lengths to remove anyone he considered his foe.

Adair Ramsay knew he had a foe now. His name was Fletcher
Ramsay. Adair had already decided what to do. To help carry out his plan, he
summoned Annora Fraser.

Later that evening, Annora arrived at Glengarry Castle. Adair
was waiting for her in his study.

Upon entering, she paused a few feet from his desk and began
pulling the leather gloves from her hands. He knew she was doing her best to
look calm and impassive, but he had seen the way her gaze darted around the
room, the slight tremor in her hands. She would be easy to manipulate. He knew
it as soon as she walked into the room, and he felt a thrill of triumph at
seeing her cold shiver of fear. “You’re late,” he said.

“It was unavoidable.” She sounded cool and detached, but she
fidgeted anxiously with the gloves in her hands.

“I don’t like tardiness.”

When Annora didn’t say anything, he nodded toward a chair on
the other side of the desk. “Sit down.”

“Thank you.” She dropped gracefully into the leather chair.

He noticed the way she sat forward, her small frame looking
lost and vulnerable. He liked that. “I suppose you are wondering why I sent for
you.”

“I was curious, yes.”

“What did you talk to the Earl of Caithness about?”

“You mean today, at the funeral?”

“Aye,” he said, wondering if there had been other times.

“I ask him what he was doing here in Glengarry.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“That he came for David’s funeral.”

“And you believed him?”

“Should I not?”

Adair was silent, noticing the way her frightened eyes seemed
hesitant to look at him.

“If you will remember, Your Grace, I told you the last time
I saw you that I had seen him in town, that he said his mother had asked him to
come to Glengarry, to call on David.”

She spoke with a forcefulness he knew she did not feel. “Did
he tell you why?”

She shook her head. “He just said his mother was fond of
him.”

“What do you know about Fletcher Ramsay and his past?”

“Only that his mother was the sister of the late Earl of
Caithness and that she was married to an American.”

“Did you know that Fletcher’s father was the Duke of
Glengarry before me?”

Annora’s face registered shock. “No…I…that is, I had no
idea. If Fletcher’s father was the duke, then how did you—”

“How is not important. Suffice it to say, Fletcher’s family
had wrongfully taken the title from my family several generations ago. Only
after years of intense searching was I able to find sufficient evidence of the
deception. The case went to trial and I was awarded the title. This, of course,
happened many years ago—before you married and arrived here. Everyone knows and
accepts
me
as the rightful duke.”

Her expression was drawn and scared as she asked, “What does
this have to do with me?”

“What is your interest in Fletcher Ramsay?”

She smiled slightly. “Is it that obvious?”

He stared at her. Her smiled faded. She sat still and blank,
rather like a stone statue.

“It is obvious, yes, but you didn’t answer my question,
Annora. What is your interest in him?”

“Personal.”

His eyes bored into her. “How personal?”

“As personal as I can get it,” she said, in an attempt to be
witty. But Adair was not amused. “He intrigues me. He is a very attractive man,
and I find him quite appealing. I would be lying if I said I was not interested
in things going a bit further. What I don’t understand is your interest in all
of this.”

“Perhaps it pertains to the mortgage on Dunston.”

She leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk in front
of her. “You promised you would never demand my complete and total devotion. We
made a deal when Simon died. My
occasional
favors in exchange for his
gambling notes. One favor, one note. You cannot—”

“Calm yourself, Annora, and let me finish. I have an offer
to make to you. I know you have not exactly enjoyed warming my bed these past
few years since my wife died. What would you do if I told you I would give you
all
the remaining notes I hold on Dunston?”

She looked suspicious. “All of them, at once?”

“Aye, all at once.”

She gave him a direct look. Annora was no fool. He knew she
liked the idea of having all of her late husband’s notes paid off, of course,
but she was smart enough to be cautious. He realized too that she knew him well
enough to know that he did not go around doing good deeds or favors unless
there was something in it for him.

“And why would you do that for me?”

Adair raised one brow. “Why? Because I want something from
you in return.”

“Which is?”

“I want you to involve yourself with the Earl of Caithness.
I want to know his every move, every plan he makes.”

Her features were stiff. “In other words, you want me to be
your spy?”

“If you want to call it that, yes.” He gave her a cold
smile. “I prefer to think of it as doing you a good turn. You want the earl in
your bed…and so do I.”

He could tell that Annora was liking this idea more and
more. He had observed Fletcher with Cathleen Lindsay the day of the funeral. It
hadn’t taken him long to see there was more between them than grief. If Annora
was as infatuated with the earl as she let on, then she too would have noticed
this.

“Well, what do you say?” Adair asked.

“I say I like the sound of that.” She gave him a thin smile.

“I always knew you were a smart woman.” Adair rose to his
feet. “I am sure you won’t have any objections to inviting Fletcher to stay at
Dunston with you.”

She looked relieved. “I have already invited him.”

“When he comes, just remember to keep your end of the
bargain. I don’t like to think about what might happen if you try to betray
me.”

Her face paled, and her hands began to tremble. Adair felt
power coming to him from her fear and weakness. “I understand,” she said, her
voice unsteady.

“Good. I am glad we understand each other.”

She stood. “You…you aren’t going to kill him, are you?”

He came around the desk. “Of course not. That is why I’m
going to all this trouble of having you keep me informed of his plans. I only
want to discourage him, to keep stumbling blocks in his path.”

“How can I be certain of that?”

Oh, he loved this. “My dear Annora, if I meant to do the lad
harm, I could have done so before now.” He knew by her expression that he had
her now.

“Aye, I suppose you are right.”

He smiled, feeling the power in him again. “I’m always
right.”

A few minutes later, Annora made her way to the stables,
where she asked a young groom to bring her horse around.

“Hello, Annora.”

Annora’s heart constricted. There was something familiar
about that voice.

She whirled around, stifling a gasp of surprise. The man was
huge, well over six feet tall, and massively built, with a dark, ruddy face and
kind blue eyes. Eyes that she had known before.