Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (37 page)

For it was love that had taken him by the hand and guided
his steps from America to Scotland. It was love that had willed that they
should meet, love that had drawn him to ride that day by the hay field where
she was drawing water.

And it was love that had made a place for her in his heart.

He felt her hand come up to stroke his cheek. He looked down
and saw her smile. He shook his head. “Somehow, I feel you have plucked my
destiny out of my pocket.”

Her smile deepened, and, tucking her arm through his, she
rested her head against his shoulder. “Aye, and saved your soul in the doing of
it. You won’t regret it, Fletcher.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her. “It will be your
lifelong task to see that I don’t.”

“I ken I am up to the task,” she said. “It is good to learn
life’s lessons and to benefit from them.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “And what lessons have you
learned?”

She took his hand in hers and placed the signet ring on his
finger.

He looked down at the ring. “You didn’t answer me,” he said.
“What lesson have you learned?”

“That love is the strongest bond of all.”

Adair Ramsay was furious. He walked into his study, where
Gavin MacPhail waited. The room was dark, with only one low-burning candle on
his desk, casting its stingy light in a small semicircle. The shutters were
closed, keeping the evil within.

Darkness lay all about.

Adair liked the dark. He felt at home in it. It was like an
aphrodisiac to him. It gave him a feeling of power to know he enjoyed what others
feared. He felt safe in it, as if no one could see what he was doing, could
know what he was about.

He did not look at Gavin, but he did not need to. He could
smell the man’s fear. It gave him an exhilarating feeling, like the moment of
ejaculation.

Seeing the duke come in, Gavin rose to his feet, seeming to
shrink before him, his eyes cast down, looking like a whipped dog.

Fear was power.

Adair crossed the worn oriental carpet. He could smell the
candle wax, and he smiled. His senses were more acute now. Power did that to
him.

Without a word, Adair walked behind his massive oak desk and
took a seat, his gaze locked on Gavin. “So,” he said, “the faithful chronicler
coming to report.” His voice was as mild as mead. “What have you to say?”

Gavin licked his lips. His forehead was glossy with sweat,
and he shifted nervously in his chair. “I…we didn’t get him. He killed one of
the men I sent. The other was badly wounded.”

Normally, Adair would have jumped to his feet, ranting and
raving, making threats. But today he did none of those things.

Today he was as serious as a barrister, his face a hard
mask. He sensed that it was this cool detachment, this iron control that
worried Gavin the most. Ranting and raving he was accustomed to, but this new,
icy control would leave him shaken. Adair smiled. Now, for the first time,
Gavin would realize what he had gotten himself into, and what could happen to
him if he did not get the results Adair wanted.

Adair balled his hands into fists, feeling the power there.
It coursed through his veins like warm brandy. He looked at Gavin, then
steepled his fingers as he asked, “What else is there? What haven’t you told
me?”

Gavin swallowed. “He found the proof he needed.”

“‘He’?”

“The Earl of Caithness. He found the proof of his ancestors.”

“In France?”

“Aye, in Honfleur.”

“Are you certain?”

“Aye.”

“And how do you know?”

“There was a priest who helped them. A priest by the name of
Father Sebastian.”

“You talked to him?”

“Aye.”

“And he told you?”

Gavin’s eyes traveled around the room before coming back to
Adair. “No, he wouldn’t talk.”

“Torture?”

He shook his head. “No. Not even then.”

“Bloody fool! If he didn’t talk, then how did you find out?”

“I went into town and learned that the earl had hired a
scribe to go out to the church and copy the records.”

“You talked to this scribe?”

“Aye.”

“And silenced him, I hope?”

“Aye.”

“And the priest?”

“Him too.”

“And the books this scribe copied from—you destroyed them?”

Gavin licked his lips and swallowed again. “No.”

“Fool! Have you found them?”

“No.”

“Well then, you leave me little choice,” Adair said.

“It isn’t too late,” Gavin said as if pleading. “We can
still get him…and the girl.”

“Where are they now?”

“I think they are in Scotland.”

“You
think!
Idiot! You do not know?”

Gavin looked down at his feet. “We lost them after they set
sail for Scotland.”

“Edinburgh,” Adair said. “That is where he would go. He
would not want to waste a moment of precious time. If he has copies of those
documents with him, he will want to see them into safe hands as soon as
possible.”

“Aye, you are right. He would go to Edinburgh.”

“And that is where you will go. Take as many men as you
need. I want him stopped this time. Before they can talk to anyone. Is that
clear?”

“Aye.”

“The bastard means to do away with me. I will see him in
hell—and you along with him—before I let that happen. If you fail this time, it
will be the last time you fail anything.”

“Yes, Your Grace. You can count on me.”

“For your sake, I hope that is so. If you don’t stop him
this time, my days are numbered…and so are yours. Now get out of my sight!”

After Gavin MacPhail had left, Adair began to think about
the girl.

“Of course!” he said, slamming his hands down on the desk
and rising to his feet. He began to pace the floor. “The girl changes things.”

There was no doubt that Fletcher Ramsay was in love with
her, for he had gone to too much trouble to keep her with him. Only a man in
love would be so obvious or so foolish.

Perhaps that could be used to his advantage. Adair smiled.
The girl changed things, and he could use that bit of information to predict
what Fletcher would do.

Of course he wouldn’t go to Edinburgh first, because he
would want to protect the woman he loved.

Adair felt foolish. How could he have forgotten about her?
Poor, stupid Gavin. He had sent him on a wild goose chase. But perhaps that,
too, was a blessing. Of late, Gavin seemed capable of nothing but failure.

And failure was something Adair could not tolerate.

If he knew anything at all, it was that Fletcher would see
to Cathleen Lindsay’s safety before he took his proof to Edinburgh.

And what better place to ensure her safety than his home at
Caithness Castle?

Immediately, he dispatched a man to watch Caithness and to
report back to him the moment Fletcher Ramsay arrived.

Then Adair poured himself a glass of Scots whisky and sat
back, waiting to see which of his traps would catch the young Earl of
Caithness.

Adair blew out the candle, letting the darkness settle about
him. His title was safe. Fletcher Ramsay would never be the Duke of Glengarry
for one simple reason. He was a fool, a fool just like his father.

Riding across the moor in the coach with Fletcher, Cathleen
stared out the window. It was a dark night. The coach lamps cast rays but a
little distance, but enough that she caught a few glimpses of things as they
passed.

On and on through the night they went, past villages of
whitewashed cottages, past full public houses and inns posting signs that they
were full for the night. They passed a church and a parsonage and she thought
of her grandfather, feeling his loss so much more now that she was back on
Scottish soil.

After a few hours, the coach slowed as the horses began
climbing. Looking out, she now saw nothing but darkness and a rough-looking
road that sliced through heather and gorse, while all about them the wind
seemed to be rising, making a wild rushing sound, like a low, wailing moan.

She closed her eyes and slept.

It was much later when Fletcher woke her, for they had
arrived at Caithness.

She looked out the window and saw nothing more than the dark
turrets rising before them, the windows all dark, but it was enough to tell her
they were home.

Having helped Cathleen out of the coach, Fletcher banged on
the front door, rousing the entire household, for immediately after he knocked,
lights went on all over the house.

They heard Mrs. MacCauley grumbling as she furiously yanked
the door open. Holding a lamp aloft, she barked out into the darkness, “Who in
the name of heaven is it out here on a night like this?”

“It is I, Fletcher,” he said, stepping into the foyer,
Cathleen in tow.

“Weel, you made enough noise to wake the devil,” she said.

“Apparently,” Fletcher said, giving her an appraising
glance.

Cathleen heard a chuckle and looked up to see Aunt Doroty
coming down the broad, curved staircase, tying her wrapper.

“I see success written all over your face,” Doroty said.
“The title is yours, I take it?”

“Aye, if we live long enough to get to Edinburgh with the
proof.”

She looked from Fletcher to Cathleen and back again. “You
didn’t go to Edinburgh first?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because of me,” Cathleen said.

Aunt Doroty nodded. “Of course,” she said. Then, smiling and
giving Cathleen a pat on the arm, she added, “It was the right choice, my
dear.”

Cathleen stared at the floor to keep from looking at
Fletcher, wanting to avoid the expression of I-told-you-so that she would see
there.

Fletcher turned then, asking Mrs. MacCauley to bring them
something to eat in the library. “We’ve got work to do,” he said.

Immediately after Mrs. MacCauley left, they sequestered
themselves in the library with Aunt Doroty, with Fletcher hurrying them along,
telling them that there was no time to waste.

After much debate, they agreed upon one thing. Adair Ramsay
had to be stopped.

“It would take a silver bullet to do it,” Aunt Doroty said.

Fletcher and Cathleen laughed, Cathleen finding that a bit
of humor was just what she needed to relieve the tension that had been tightly
wound within her all day. She relaxed, feeling glad to be home.

In the end, they decided unanimously that what they really
needed was a foolproof way to get the information Fletcher had acquired in
France to the authorities in Edinburgh, without further loss of life.

“Do you think he’s gotten word so quickly?” Aunt Doroty
asked.

“Yes.”

“But you said you killed one of the men and the other was
badly wounded,” she replied.

“Yes, but I know Adair wouldn’t send just two men. I am
certain there were others there, and they would have gotten word back to him by
now. He knows we escaped.”

“Do you think he knows about the records we found?” Cathleen
asked.

“I can’t see know how he could. I am certain Father
Sebastian would not have said anything.”

“And the scribe?” asked Cathleen.

Fletcher thought for a moment, then shook his head. “If
Father Sebastian didn’t tell them anything, how would they know about the
scribe?”

“Didn’t you say they attacked Cathleen when she went to find
the scribe?” Aunt Doroty asked.

“Of course!” Fletcher said. “I had forgot about that. They
could have followed her…”

“And gotten word back to Adair as soon as they knew,”
Cathleen added.

“So, what will you do now?” asked Aunt Doroty.

“I don’t know. If Adair knows, and I am certain that he
does, then he will be watching Caithness.”

“What if you left for Edinburgh at night?” Aunt Doroty
asked.

Fletcher shook his head. “Adair is too shrewd. He would be
expecting that.”

“What if you acted as a decoy?” Cathleen asked.

“A decoy for what?”

“You could leave for Edinburgh in the afternoon. Anyone
watching Caithness would follow you, thinking you would be taking the documents
to Edinburgh. Only you wouldn’t be carrying the documents.”

“What would I be carrying?”

“Nothing.”

Fletcher crossed his arms and gave her a displeased look.
“And if I wouldn’t be carrying the documents, who would?”

“I would,” Cathleen and Aunt Doroty said at the same time.

Fletcher looked from one to the other. It amazed him how
quickly women could band together.

“That would be even better,” Cathleen said. “If your aunt
and I left together, no one would suspect anything. Even if they were still
watching Caithness, it would simply look as if we were going to rendezvous with
you in Edinburgh. They would never suspect we had the documents, simply because
they would never think you would trust something so important to the two of
us.”

“That is certainly true,” he said, “but I don’t want to put
you at risk.”

Cathleen sighed with exasperation. “Fletcher, you have no
choice. What will you do if you take the documents and they overpower you? We
are your only hope.”

“Then I am doomed,” he said, putting his hands over his head
and doing his best to look distraught.

“Do not make light of this. We are serious,” Aunt Doroty
said.

“All right,” Fletcher said. “I am serious now.”

“I think the documents can be hidden in the coach,” Aunt
Doroty said. “Even if we were stopped, they wouldn’t find them on us. They have
no reason to harm us if we aren’t with you.”

“She’s right,” Cathleen said. “We are your only hope of
getting those documents to Edinburgh.”

In the end, Fletcher agreed, not because he wanted to but
because he was outtalked and outwitted—and because they were right.

Much later that night, a rider came thundering into the
stables at Glengarry Castle, his horse lathered and heavily winded from a long
run.

Angus MacTavish took the man’s horse, but instead of
grooming him himself, he woke the young stableboy and assigned the task to him.
He then went to the gardens at the back of the castle. A few minutes later, a
light illuminated the windows of the library.

Making his way through the darkness, Angus went to the
library’s only open window, and crouching beneath it, keeping well out of the
light, he listened.

Inside, Adair was getting a report from one of the men he
had sent to watch Caithness Castle.

“They arrived there early this morning?”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

“You are certain it was the earl?”

“Aye. I saw him and heard him speak with his American
accent. It could have been no other.”

“And the girl?”

“She was there too.”

“You are certain?”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

“Good. That means he has not gone to Edinburgh yet, which
gives me the time I need.”

“Do you want me to take care of the earl, Your Grace?”

“No. I don’t trust the lot of you to do anything. So far,
nothing has been carried out the way I planned.” Adair paused, a gleam coming
into his eyes. “I will take care of the young earl myself.”