Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (26 page)

She had changed a great deal since that day, more than he,
she was certain. Whatever she had felt for him once, she had no illusions about
herself, her appearance, or her station in life. What was he thinking as those
blue, blue eyes swept over her? Was he wondering how he could have ever cared
for someone like her, or was he simply feeling sorry for the woman for whom he
had outgrown his attraction?

She turned her head and looked out the window, seeing the
well-manicured lawns of Dunston as they passed by.

“It’s good to see you again.”

She glared at him. “You can dispense with any attempts at
conversation. I have nothing to say to you.”

The look on his face told her that her words had found their
mark. Strange. Hurting him did not give her the pleasure she had thought it
would. She turned her face away once more, leaning her head against the glass
window. She felt numb.

“You look tired. Are you still helping with the fever?”

“Aye.”

“I understand there are fewer cases of it now?”

“Aye. We are praying the worst is over.”

“I hope so, as much for your sake as for anyone. You have
lost weight.”

She knew she had lost weight, but it hurt to hear him
mention it. He would have noticed the other things as well, things that he was
too gentlemanly or too kind to mention to her now, the deep purple circles
under her eyes, which seemed to have lost their luster, the dull cast to her
hair, which he had once called so vibrant.

“I’ve missed you.”

She felt a faintness overcome her and had to grip the seat.
Of all the things he could have said, this one hurt her the most. That he would
say things that he did not mean because he was struck with an attack of guilty
conscience…it was almost more than she could bear. She had never felt such
anger. “I find that hard to believe, touching sentiment though it is.”

He smiled and reached for her hand. “No sentiment, I assure
you.”

She moved her hand out of his reach. “All of that is
unimportant and has no bearing on the reason I came here.” She held herself
distant from him, willing herself to be separate, precise, and very
businesslike.

The look he gave her said he had decided to let things ride
for the moment. She found it both satisfying and disappointing that he would
not try to get things on a friendlier ground.

“You said you found something?”

“Aye. Something important. I know where Bride Ramsay is
buried, and Douglas, too.”

“Go on.”

He sat quietly as she went on to tell him in her
businesslike manner about the grave of Bride and her suspicions about Douglas
and Alexander being brothers. “Alexander’s wife was named Madeline. She is
buried there as well. Of course, you will want to see them for yourself.”

“You bet your sweet life, I do,” he said, then he took her
hands in his before she could draw them away. “Cathleen, you don’t know what
this means.”

She pulled her hands away. “I do, of course. It is the
reason I came here, but I don’t want to mislead you. There is no mention of
Douglas being Alasdair’s son, or Bride being his wife, nothing that would give
you the proof you need.”

“I understand,” he said, “but it’s the first break I’ve had.
I know now, for certain, that Bride and Douglas both existed. It’s something at
least.”

“Aye, it is a start,” she said, “but nothing more.” She
glanced at him, and when he looked at her, she quickly looked away. “You must
be careful going to Glengarry Castle,” she said.

“I understand. I, of all people, know Adair is a treacherous
bastard. I’ll be careful.”

“If you come at twilight, I will be finished then and I can
show you where the graves are located.”

His face hardened. “I don’t want you involved in this,
Cathleen.”

She smiled sadly. “We have had this argument before, or have
you forgotten?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. I will not allow you to involve
yourself,” he said, giving her a soft look that matched the softness in his
voice. “I am not happy to know you have been snooping about Glengarry. It is
too dangerous. I want you to promise me you won’t risk it again.”

“We will see,” she said, then leaned her head back against
the cushions and closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m too
tired.”

“You won’t stop, though, will you? You will keep on working
and keep on giving to others until there is nothing left. I—”

As if he had suddenly noticed the dark circles beneath her
eyes, the way she seemed to be sinking into the deep sleep of someone overly
fatigued, he did not finish what he had intended to say. He gently pulled her
into his arms.

Even in her extreme weariness her mind was telling her to
fight, but her body was simply too exhausted to obey. With a sigh, she gave
herself to the feeling of being held in his arms again.

Even if it was only for a little while.

Annora went to Glengarry Castle early the next morning, but
Adair was not there. She inquired about Angus. “He is ill, Your Ladyship,” the
housekeeper informed her. “He has been at death’s door with typhoid these past
weeks.”

“Take me to him,” Annora said, and when the housekeeper gave
her a surprised look, she added, “He is an old friend. He worked for my father
when I was a child.”

The housekeeper nodded. “This way, please.”

A few minutes later, Annora sat beside Angus’ bed. “Are you
certain there is nothing I can do for you?” she asked him.

Angus shook his head weakly. “I am much better,” he said.
“Miss Lindsay has been here every day. I don’t think a doctor could have done
more.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I had no idea you were
ill.”

“How did you find out?”

“The housekeeper told me.”

“You came here for another reason?”

Annora shifted nervously in her chair. “I had business with
Adair.”

Angus’ expression darkened. “Have no dealings with him,
Annora. The man cannot be trusted. I did not tell you before, because I did not
want to frighten you.”

“Tell me what?”

“What I’m going to say will shock and horrify you. You may
not believe me, although it is the truth. I swear it upon the love I have always
held for you. I know Adair was responsible for the death of Bruce Ramsay.”

“Fletcher’s father?”

“Aye.”

Annora’s breathing quickened. Her hands began to shake. “How
do you know?”

“How I know is not important, but I got it from someone who
was in the duke’s employ for a long time. He told me, just before he died.”

“Why have you stayed here working for him when you know
something like that?”

“Because it’s too late for me. You know his power, his
wrath. I fear what would happen to me if I ever left. Those who leave the
duke’s employ meet with fatal accidents. Leave here and you die.”

“But if you stay…”

“You grow too old to work and the duke continues to take
care of you—as long as you keep your mouth shut. But you never leave his
employ. Never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He ignored her and went on talking. “Like you, most of us
became involved—innocently, of course—and now it is too late to get out. We are
part of his treachery. To talk would be to implicate ourselves.”

Annora was more afraid than she had ever been in her life.
She decided not to go to Adair with this information, because if Angus was
right then Adair might do something to Fletcher and to Cathleen Lindsay.

She did not want Cathleen to have Fletcher Ramsay, but that
did not mean she wanted to see her dead and Fletcher along with her.

Annora studied Angus’ features. His face was a frozen mask
as he spoke. She had known Angus for a long time. She realized now that he was
telling her the truth, horrible as it was.

She did not want to tell Angus that she was already
involved, and that she too would never leave the duke’s employ.

“Promise me,” he said. “Promise me you will get out while
you still can.”

“I will think about it,” she said. A few seconds later, she
stood. “I must go now. I’ll come back to see you.”

“No,” Angus said. “Don’t come back here for any reason,
especially to see me. I would not want it on my conscience…if anything happened
to you.”

Annora gave him a stiff smile. “Nothing will happen to me,”
she said, wishing she could believe the words as easily as she said them. She
felt sick inside. She could not stop thinking that Adair had caused the death
of Fletcher’s father. The thought disgusted her. She was not above doing a
little snooping here and there, but she wanted no part in it if things went
further.

She wanted no blood on her hands.

But how could she stop now? She was in this thing whether
she liked it or not. Adair was not a man to reason with, nor was he prone to
pity. She had struck a bargain with the devil, and, as Angus had said, once you
were a part of Adair’s treachery, you never escaped.

Her hands trembling, fear drawing the moisture from her
throat, she decided she would have to continue with the charade, at least for a
while. As long as she gave Adair the information, what harm could it cause if
she waited one day? That way, she would still be giving him the information he
wanted, but
after
Fletcher and Cathleen went to see the graves. After
all, Cathleen had already seen the tombstones and said there was no proof
there; nothing to give Fletcher the advantage he needed; nothing to cause Adair
to lose ground. What could be the harm in that?

Angus raised himself in the bed, resting on his elbows. His
voice sounded weary and tired. “Promise me you won’t get involved, Annora. Swear
to me that you will stay away from this…this house of evil.”

Annora swallowed and glanced toward the door. She had never
wanted to run from a place so much in her life. She wanted to run and run and
keep on running until she was out of Glengarry, out of Scotland as well. “I
will stay away, if that is what you wish,” she said, turning toward the door.
When she opened it, Angus spoke one last time.

“Get out of this, Annora. While you still can…before it is
too late.”

She nodded, and with a sinking feeling, she left. As she
walked down the long hallway, she felt gripped by terror.

For her, it was too late.

The day after Annora’s visit with Angus, Fletcher met
Cathleen near the grove behind Glengarry Castle. It was dusk. The sun was
sinking low in the sky by the time she led him down the tree-lined path to the
fence she had found hidden in the grove. He stood nearby, waiting as she
searched the trailing vines of ivy looking for the door, and when she located
it, he stepped forward and pushed it open for her.

It was as if a magical opening had suddenly appeared in the
midst of the solid stone fence, and the two of them stepped inside. “It’s like
a secret cemetery,” she said. “I was thinking that perhaps Adair had this
particular plot walled off because he wanted to keep the graves hidden from
view.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Fletcher said.

“This way,” she said, starting off in another direction,
stepping lightly over the grass, weaving through the overgrown shrubbery,
ducking beneath creepers that dangled from branches. She stopped near an
ancient oak tree whose bark was covered with lichen, parting a curtain of
tangled vines. He watched her, seeing the way her simple green gown swirled
about her legs as she moved, graceful as a deer.

Reminding himself that this was neither the time nor the
place for softer things, he walked around her, almost passing a grave marker,
then stopped and turned around slowly.

Cathleen went to stand beside him as he stood looking down
at the simple stone.

Bruce Ramsay Duke
of Glengarry

His heart wrenched. It had been a long, long time since he
had been this close to his father. He dropped down in a crouch, his hand coming
out to trace the letters of his father’s name. “Someone tried to scratch out
the words
Duke of Glengarry
,” he said.

“Aye, I saw it earlier.”

“He will get a new marker,” he said, “when this is
finished.”

“Aye. One with the dates on it. It would be fitting.”

He clenched his fists at his sides, the muscle working in
his jaw. It was back: the anger, the rage, the desire to confront Adair.
Willing himself to keep his head, Fletcher pulled a few weeds from the grassy
mound that covered his father’s bones.

“I haven’t forgotten,” he whispered. “All the things you
taught me. All the things you stood for. I have remembered. All the time I was
away, you were always before me, like a beacon from a lighthouse, guiding my
way. I will never forget. I loved you then. I love you now.”

He felt Cathleen’s hand, light upon his shoulder; felt too
the warm splash of her tears upon his hand. “I wish he could have lived…that I
could have known him,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said softly, “so do I.”

Fletcher rose to his feet and turned toward her, having
pushed the feelings aside. His face was an iron mask as he said, “Lead on.”

She brought the back of her hand to her face. “The other
graves are over here.”

He gave her a smile. “It’s all right,” he said. “There is no
need for sadness. My father has been gone from my life for a long time, and yet
he was always present.”

“I love you, Fletcher Ramsay.”

“And I, you.”

She turned away from him then, and went ahead, going from
grave to grave, searching the names, until they came to the graves of Bride and
Douglas Ramsay.

Fletcher stood still, looking down at the names he had
searched for so long. As Cathleen had said, there was nothing more there than
their names and the dates of birth and death. Nothing to prove that Bride was
the wife of his Douglas, or that Douglas was Alasdair’s son. So much, and yet
so very little.

“I’m sorry there isn’t more written here,” she whispered as
she stood beside him, looking at the gravestones of Bride and Douglas.

“I am too. There isn’t much to go on, save the fact that
there was a Bride Ramsay and someone named Douglas Ramsay.”

“But that doesn’t prove it was your Douglas.”

“Or my Bride,” he said, unable to keep the disappointment
from his voice. “It isn’t proof of anything. They could have been cousins, or
even brother and sister.” He turned away, taking her arm. “Come on, there is no
reason to tarry here. I’ll feel better when I see you safely home.”

They started to leave, then Fletcher stopped suddenly, his
gaze locking on another grave.

Cathleen stared at the stone, the one she had seen earlier
with the name Madeline de Compiegne Ramsay written on it. “What is it?” she
asked.

“I’m not sure,” Fletcher said, not taking his eyes from the
marker. “It’s strange, but I have the feeling I’ve seen this stone before.”

“You couldn’t have seen it before. It is obvious that no one
has been in here for ages.”

“I know, but there is something oddly familiar about it.”

“Familiar?” Cathleen studied the headstone again, then
shrugged. “You couldn’t have seen this stone before,” she said. “Perhaps it’s
just the name that seems familiar. You’ve been searching records for a quite
some time now. I’m certain you’ve come across the name Madeline Ramsay more
than once.”

“Perhaps I have,” Fletcher said, shrugging, yet still
feeling a mysterious premonition about that name.

He turned then to see Cathleen standing quietly in the
shadows beside him. He gave her a tentative smile, then picked up her hand and
held it between both of his, his thumb rubbing lightly on the inside of her
wrist. “It looks like we are back where we started.”

“No, it only seems that way because you are disappointed.
Now you have proof that there was a Bride Ramsay, and you know she was buried
beside someone named Douglas Ramsay. Now all you have to do is find out why.”

“Oh, is that all I have to do?” He gave her a sad smile.
“Ever the optimist,” he said. “Do you know that just being around you seems to
lighten my spirits?”

“Hah!” she said. “It may be nigh close to dark, Fletcher
Ramsay, but I can see well enough to know that a more woeful face I have never
seen. If your spirits were any heavier they would be sinking into the soil.”

He looked at her, seeing her elfin face in the twilight and
the way she smiled up at him, knowing her words had been nothing more than an
attempt to cheer him. She had a smile that didn’t seem to know its own power,
and he found himself thinking he had never before met a comely woman who made
no attempt to charm. Everything about her was as natural and pure as the
evening air they breathed. He became aware, then of an odd tightening in his
chest, a fluttering in the vicinity of his heart.

Why her!

Why was it that this woman, out of all the women he had met,
caused such a response in him? Why did he delight in everything about her?

“Come on,” she said, taking charge and tugging his hand. “We
have been fortunate so far that no one has seen us. I am not in the habit of
pressing my luck.”

Her determination almost erased his disappointment. He did
not release her hand, nor did he allow her to pull him along. “What if I said I
like standing here in the darkness with you, that I would rather take my
chances on being discovered if it meant I could hold your hand a bit longer?”

“I would say you were daft! If it is my hand you want to be
holding, Fletcher Ramsay, then come along with you. There will be time enough
for that when we are away from here.”

“Is that a promise then?” he asked, drawing her closer. He
could tell by the panicked look in her eyes that he was being a bit too
forward, that she was uneasy about being here, because of her fear of the dark
and, more important, because she was still feeling the bite of his rejection.

Still, all he could think about was being with her again.
“What if I told you I wanted to make love?”

“Then I would tell you to hide yourself to Dunston and tell
that to Annora. You have made your choice.”

“Have I? Are you so certain?”

She gave him a frustrated look. “Aye, I am certain, but it
sounds like you are having a wee bit o’ trouble. If you can’t make up your
mind, then perhaps what you need is to get your mind on something else.”

That intrigued him. “Something else, hmmmm? Like what, for
instance?”

She yanked back her hand and gave him a shove. “Like
mounting your horse and getting out of here.”

She walked around him, and he followed her through the gate.
When they reached the place where their horses were hidden, it was hard for Fletcher
not to laugh as he watched her mount her fat, shaggy Highland pony, Flora. She
glanced at him, seeing his amusement. “I will thank you not to laugh. My cart,
as you well know, was smashed.”