Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (27 page)

“Laugh at you? I would never be so despicable,” he said, “even
though your legs are scraping the ground.”

“Aye,” she replied, “you would laugh, and my legs are not
scraping the ground.”

“I’ve seen bigger goats.”

“In America, more than likely. Everything is bigger there, I
am told. Even braggarts.”

He was laughing so hard he had difficulty mounting his
horse, but he managed. He followed her then, wondering if she felt the chill of
the evening now that the warmth of the sun was gone.

They kept off the main road, following narrow trails or
blazing their own, riding beneath the crags that sheltered the valley,
following for a while the meandering path of a gurgling beck that seemed in a
hurry to reach the river Garry. They passed a few farm houses and abandoned
crofter’s huts, keeping to the hollows of the fells, startling a flock of
sheep, and finding themselves chased by a barking dog.

He did not realize they had reached her cottage until he saw
the burned-out shell of the crofter’s hut where he had once stayed. They rode
into the front yard.

She did not dismount straightaway, but waited a moment,
staring at her house. Her pause of inspection seemed to satisfy her, for before
he could dismount and come to help her down, she had both feet firmly planted
upon the ground.

“Here,” he said, taking the pony’s reins from her, “I’ll put
fat Flora away for you before I go, and don’t tell me Robert will do it. I know
he doesn’t come here after dark.”

“Go easy,” she said, handing Flora over to him. “She has
been quite skittish since our accident with the cart.”

“I can be gentle,” he said, wondering if she heard the
implication in his voice.

Apparently she did, for even in the darkness he saw signs of
her sudden shyness, the way she dipped her head and turned toward her house,
stepping across the lawn and opening the front door, slamming it with just
enough force to let him know that she had.

He chuckled, then led the pony to the paddock, whistling a
little ditty as they went. A short while later, he made his way back to the
house.

He found her in the kitchen. She had a fire going and was
putting on the kettle for tea. She did not hear him come in, and that gave him
a moment to study her.

Although she was still a young and vigorous woman, obviously
in the prime of health, she had lost weight since her grandfather’s death, for
the lines of her form were rather thin and spare, softened somewhat by the
long, full skirt and the looseness of her bodice, which was almost hidden
beneath the folds of a large white muslin fichu that she had crossed over her
breasts and tied behind her.

She turned around then. “Oh!” she said, startled, her hand
coming up to her chest. “I did not hear you come in.” She frowned, and he knew
she was thinking that she should send him packing, and yet that good and kind
part of her wanted to invite him to stay for tea. He stood there watching her,
waiting to see if it would be her wounded pride or her infinite goodness that
won out.

“Would you like some tea?”

He grinned. Her goodness was too ingrained for even her to
overcome. “I’d love some,” he said, coming farther into the room, stopping a
few feet from her and leaning against the hutch, where he could watch her.

He studied her face, wondering why it was that he found her
beautiful, for in truth her beauty was spoilt somewhat by the prominence of her
cheekbones, the fullness of her mouth, and the pointedness of her chin. Perhaps
it was her eyes, that lovely shade of blue-violet that seemed particular to
her, sparkling and full of life. Or was it the delicate nose, the perfectly
smooth brow? And then again, it might be her skin, which seemed to catch and
hold the freshness of Glengarry’s air and running becks.

“I’ll only be a moment,” she said, and he sensed that her
words were inspired more from self-consciousness than from any idea that he was
impatient.

Watching her, he decided that there was something about her
face and figure, something that seemed in harmony with the bare stretches of
moor and the lonely crags of the fells, something that seemed to mark her a
true daughter of the Highlands, a partaker of their sadness.

A silence fell upon the room.

At last, when she spoke, she seemed too nervous. “If you
would like to go into the parlor, I’ll bring the tea in there.”

“I’m off to the parlor, then,” he said, with as much
good-natured charm as he could muster.

Cathleen watched him go, then went to her room. Taking her
Bible from her small desk, she picked up her pen, dipped it in ink, and wrote
the names she had seen on the gravestones today. After spelling out Madeline de
Compiegne Ramsay and Alexander Ramsay, she wrote the names Bride Ramsay and
Douglas Ramsay, then sat back with a satisfied sigh. The names were recorded.
There would be no chance of her forgetting them now.

After putting the Bible away, she returned to the kitchen to
get the tea.

A short while later, Cathleen carried in two cups of tea to
the parlor, where Fletcher waited. “I remembered you didn’t take anything in
your tea, so I decided not to bring the tray.” She placed the cup and saucer on
the table beside the chair he had taken.

She took a chair across from him, the one he had come to
think of as her chair.

“How have you been? Are you able to keep up with the chores
around here?”

“Aye. Robert and Fionn have been a big help, thanks to you.”

“It was the least I could do.”

She ignored that. “Everyone has been so kind. My grandfather
was a much loved and respected man.”

“Yes, he was. I’m glad to hear you’ve had plenty of help.
Are you sure there is nothing else I can do to help you?”

“No,” she said, obviously eager to change the subject. “I
will be going back to Glengarry Castle tomorrow, to check on Angus. Perhaps
while I am there I could ask him about the name Madeline Ramsay.”

“I don’t want you asking any questions, nor do I want you to
do any snooping around,” he said, feeling the worst kind of cad when he saw the
way his words seemed to puncture her and leave her flat. “Stay away from the
castle and from Adair Ramsay. It isn’t that I don’t appreciate your help.”

“What is it, then? Is it me? Are you afraid you will have to
spend time with me if I involve myself in this?”

He understood then the depths of the pain his rejection had
caused her. He sighed, uncertain as to what he should do. He did not want to
involve her further, yet to continue his farce with Annora would only cause
Cathleen more pain, and the more she suffered, the further away from him she
became. Now he worried that there would be a point of no return, a point where,
no matter how much of the truth he confessed to her, it would make no
difference.

He would not risk that.

He put his tea down on the table beside him, then rose to
his feet and moved his chair in front of hers, so that when he sat down, their
knees would almost be touching. Then, taking the cup of tea from her trembling
hands, he placed it on the table beside her.

“What are you doing?”

“You know what I’m doing.”

“I think you better go.”

He sat down. “I think it’s time we had a talk.”

“Put your chair back. You can talk from over there.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to be close to you, Cathleen.”

“
‘Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord’,
” she
said. “Proverbs.”

“It is no lie. I do want to be close to you, Cathleen. I
want to be as close to you physically as I feel in my heart.”

“As if I believe that.”

“What I’ve done…this thing with Annora—it means nothing.
Don’t you understand that?”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. What you do is
your own affair.”

“No, it’s not. I know what you are thinking, how you feel.”

She gave him a look that said he could not possibly
understand what she was feeling.

“You think I callously made love to you, to satisfy my own
lust, without any feeling for you at all. After all, I did go to Dunston to
stay. But it isn’t the way you think. I have never made love to Annora Fraser,
nor do I intend to.”

“Then why did you go there?”

He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet. He paced the
room two or three times, then went to stand at the window, his hands rammed in
his back pockets. A moment later, he threw his head back and closed his eyes.

What should he do?

He stayed that way for some time, weighing the consequences,
trying to decide what to do. At last, he decided he had to be honest with her.
He could not risk losing her, would not risk her continued involvement in his
search. If she understood the danger she was in, then she would stay away from
him and out of his quest for proof.

He turned around at last, and never took his gaze from her
as he spoke. “I was trying to protect you, Cathleen. All of this—my pretending
to care for Annora, my going to stay at Dunston…it was all to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

He shook his head, staring down at his feet for a moment.
“This is not going the way I had planned. I wanted to keep you safe, Cathleen.
I don’t want to frighten you or cause you more pain.”

“Keep me safe? Frighten me? What are you talking about?”

He went to her then, and taking her hands, he drew her to
her feet and gently enfolded her in his arms, holding her close. “I didn’t want
to tell you this, but you leave me no choice. In order to protect you, I have
to tell you the truth now.”

“I don’t understand.”

He saw the confusion in her eyes, the look of despair. Her
lovely violet eyes were stormy with panic. He was so acutely conscious of her
nearness, of the fragrance of her hair and her skin, of the natural tint of her
lips, which were too full for fashion but perfect for kissing. He clenched his
jaw, forcing back those thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to think of softer
things. Now he needed to be strong, for in a moment she would need his strength
as well as her own.

She seemed suddenly fragile to him and that made him want to
say the right thing to her, but that was no longer a choice for him. In order
to keep her near him, in order to protect her, he had to hurt her.

With a deep breath and a prayer, he said, “David’s death was
no accident.”

He had never realized you could actually witness the blood
drain from a person’s face, but he saw it now.

“No!” she whispered. “It can’t be true.” Pulling back, she
searched his eyes, as if looking for something that would assure her what he
said was not the truth. But she saw only honesty and sincerity there. Then she
buried her face in her hands, shaking her head from side to side. “Who would
want to kill my grandfather? Everyone loved him. He had no enemies.”

“No, he didn’t…at least not until I came to town.”

She shuddered and her hands fell away. He saw the glisten of
tears brimming in her eyes and he knew that in a moment they would spill down
her cheeks. “Adair,” she whispered, as if her chest were crushing the breath
from her lungs. “You think he killed Grandpa because he was helping you?”

“I am certain of it. Even the way he died…it was too much
like the way my father died. You never suspected he might be involved?”

“Only once. It was right after the funeral…but I could not
believe anyone could be so demented, so callous in regard to their immortal
soul that they would stoop to killing a man of God. No, I could not believe
that even Adair was capable of such.”

Suddenly she turned and dropped back into her chair. Her
face had a blank expression as she stared across the room, shaking her head
slowly, the anguish she felt so obvious in her voice. She buried her face in
her hands and sobbed. “Oh, Grandpa, not this way. Why did you have to die like
this? You always gave so much. It isn’t fair. You should have had an honorable
death, at least.”

Fletcher dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her
hands in his. “Now you see why I went to Annora’s. If Adair even so much as
suspected I harbored any feeling for you, he would use you to get back at me.”

“Aye.” Her lovely eyes held fast to his, but the tears would
not hold back. “I understand now,” she said. “I’m glad you told me. While I
understand why you left, it makes my grandfather’s death harder to accept. But
I ken even that will heal in time.”

He felt a quiver of desire and sympathy, a warmth that
wanted to reach out and touch her, a cold chill that swept down his spine.

He took her face in his hands, wiping the path of tears from
her cheeks with his thumb. “Once this is over, if I have it in my power,
Cathleen, I will spend the rest of my life seeing that you never have to suffer
again.”

Her eyes studied him, unconsciously wooing, responding to
the soft allure of his words. His hands slipped around to her neck, drawing her
closer. She turned her head to kiss his wrist, then pressed her cheek against
it.

He kissed her neck, feeling her breath coming quickly. His
hands were in her hair now, his mind paying no attention to the sound of her
hairpins hitting the floor. The silky, fragrant mass tumbled down around them,
like a waterfall they could secret themselves behind.

Whispering her name became a litany, a sonnet he committed
to memory. But that was not enough, he thought. No matter how close he got to
her, it was never enough. There was never a point that was sufficient, and he
thought that he would feel this same acute frustration even if he were able to
absorb her into his very bones.

Where did she begin and he leave off?

He quivered with excitement, his body hard and ready as he
covered her face with scattered kisses, dragging his tongue along the delicate
curves of her ear, his hands massaging her back. His skin was hot, as was hers.
She was the creation of his desire, a fantasy of his imagination, the invention
of a thousand dreams.