Elusive (17 page)

Even with her dear Julien, she had never felt
the tug of attraction that she felt when she was around Alexandre.
He unnerved her by simply looking in her direction. She thought it
best that she just cut the ties cleanly, before she ended up in
more pain than she was in already.

Sadly, she looked around the elaborate lobby
and tried to memorize everything about it, so that she could look
back later on her memory of these weeks and see something besides
those blue eyes.

There was heavy, plush, upholstered seating
set on the wooden floors covered in lush, thick carpets in rich
colors. The dark, wooden tables gleamed with lemon wax that wafted
on the air. They held fresh floral arrangements that were reflected
on the shining surface of the wood, thanks to the lovely glow from
the chandeliers high above.

The walls held gilded mirrors and paintings
of monarchs and dignitaries of the distant past. Heavy draperies
surrounded the large windows that reached from just above the
floors to a height of ten-feet or more. There were two large
fireplaces on opposing walls. Glass sconces on each side of both
mantles held candles that still flickered in the faint early
morning light.

She sighed as she stepped through the door to
the outside. The doorman helped her into a taxi, and she left for
the train depot determined
not
to give Alexandre Maigny any
more thought.

Despite her intentions, all the way to
Donnach, she thought of little other than Alexandre. Finally, as
they pulled into the station later that morning, she once again
pulled herself together with determination. She would never see him
again. There was no use in spending any more of her time feeling
sad about it. She exited the train, gathered her baggage and set
off to find lodging in the village.

**************************

Chapter 21: Fruitless

Donnach, Scotland – 1733

It seemed that Macrath would have no heirs,
at least by Seonaid. Unfortunately, Seonaid suffered three
successive miscarriages within the next two years. She died giving
birth to a stillborn son in their fourth year of marriage.

Seonaid had been the only woman to claim even
a small portion of Macrath’s black heart. Her loss, however, was
mourned no longer than that of the stallion whose fall had broken
his fetlock the year before.

***

Macrath no longer believed in fate—only in
his own determination. He married again the next year. Margaret
MacMillan was a handsome. young redhead whose father pushed her
into Macrath’s path, despite his reputation. But the sweet,
milky-skinned Margaret also proved to be barren, and Macrath still
had no heir. It was as if God himself was conspiring against
him.

In the meanwhile, young Fergus McDonnough,
the young son of Mordag, grew into a teenager with a personality,
selfishness, and innate deceit that exceeded that of his eldest
half-brother. Had Macrath been able to read Fergus’s mind, he would
have recognized the cunning and deceit. Fergus watched and learned
from his half-brother—set him up as an example. But Fergus wanted
more—he wanted it all. What he
didn’t want
was Macrath in
his way! He would bide his time—for now.

***

Macrath saw the writing on the wall. He’d
heard that Bonny Prince Charlie was planning a return to Scotland.
As certain as he was that the prince
would
return, he was
just as certain that the prince was not going to win his fight for
the crown. Oh, no doubt the Jacobites would give it a good try, but
ultimately they would fail. They needed the support of the French.
But the French couldn’t be trusted to keep their promises—he never
trusted the damned French.

Some fools would gamble everything on the
prince, but Macrath was determined to protect all that was his. As
the years preceding 1746 wore on, Macrath secretly rode to
Edinburgh where he made his feelings known to those who could
protect him. If the prince ever made an attempt to return to
Scotland to reclaim the crowns of Scotland, Ireland, and England,
it would be reported that Macrath was
not
a Jacobite.

Let his father hang—Macrath McDonnough would
not tie himself to a loser! If Mordag wished to fight alongside the
other Jacobites, let him. Macrath would not join those forces. If
Mordag didn’t get killed in battle, the Crown would see him dead
for his treachery. With his own feigned loyalty to the Crown
clearly defined in the eyes of his supporters, Macrath sat back and
waited.

**************************

Chapter 22: We Meet Again

Donnach, Scotland – July 1912

When Alexandre arrived at the castle, he was
taken to the Laird’s Suite. He had hesitated to move into that
particular suite of rooms, but his dear mother had insisted. As
Laird,
it was his now and should be used by him, he had been
told. He didn’t know where his mother got her strength, but he had
seen her in a whole new light over the last few weeks. He had
always admired her, but now she simply amazed him.

He walked into the suite and the memories
flooded him. The sadness became a physical reality in the form of a
lump in his throat and tears threatened to fall. Despite the fact
that his parents’ personal effects had been removed from the
dressers and armoire, his father was everywhere here. He had yet to
allow himself to fully grieve the loss of his father. There was so
much to be done. Now was not the time, he thought.

He forced himself to put away the sentiments
and try, once again, to accept the loss—as difficult as it was, he
had to do it. Making an effort to look at the suite
dispassionately, it was a tad dreary for his taste, but he could
certainly change everything to suit him later.

He smiled as he recognized his mother’s
humor. She had left behind what she knew would affect him the most.
Well, all the damned gargoyles his father had been so fond of would
have to go, he thought, grinning.

Slipping easily into a memory he hadn’t
thought of in years, he’d never been comfortable with their
sneering little faces hiding there in the dark. He could remember
crawling into bed with his parents during a storm. Already
frightened by the lightening, its illumination of the little
grimacing creatures had frightened him half to death.

He smiled again as he remembered his parents
holding onto him in the dark to ease his fears, his mother singing
softly to him until his fears subsided and he slipped into sleep.
The memory brought him a degree of peace and the lump in his throat
lessened its grip ever so slightly.

There stood the custom-made, four-poster bed
he remembered from their home in France. In the tall headboard, the
dragon, the symbol of Celtic fertility, was carved. Its wings were
spread as it breathed its fiery breath and spanned the full
ten-feet of the bed’s width. Ironically, only this one son had
resulted from their many years of nights in this bed.

His arm was feeling almost normal, so he
required no additional treatment. There was still some pain, but as
long as he didn’t overuse it, he was alright. He reached for a
fresh shirt which a servant had already unpacked for him. Thinking
of
her
, he slammed the armoire door shut. She had snuck out
of the hotel without telling him she was leaving.

Obviously, he reasoned, she was off somewhere
working on another scam. Then he was hit with sadness. When had he
gotten fond of her? When had he started looking forward to seeing
her when she came to check on him? Well, she was gone now. Whatever
she was up to, it no longer mattered—except, apparently, to
him.

Feeling wound up and much too restless to sit
still, he took a car, left the castle and headed into the village.
He parked and then strolled around town enjoying seeing the
people—his people—and their enterprises. There was a sound of
joyful singing coming from a little pub as he strolled by. People
were eating their noon meal at a little café. Then he spotted the
bookstore and decided to go in. He wanted to be around people right
now, but he didn’t want to get into any conversations quite
yet.

The bell on the door rang as he entered. The
clerk was a round-faced lassie with spectacles sitting on a pert,
freckled nose. That nose peeked out from under a head of curly,
brown hair that shone of red in the light from the window. She
looked up and smiled broadly. “Welcome, Sir. May I help you?” She
knew this was the new Laird but she didn’t want to embarrass
herself or him by making a to-do about it. She all but drooled—he
was even more handsome than she remembered.

“Thank you, no. I’d really like to browse.
You have a lovely shop here,” he said, as he rubbed his index
finger over the row of leather and clothbound books. “Lovely
indeed,” he said, more to himself than to the clerk as he found a
rare copy of Burns complete with a red leather binding.

He felt her first, smelled the faint
fragrance she wore, before he saw or heard her. She turned the
corner of the bookshelves where he stood frozen in place.

“Alexandre?”

“Rachel? What are you doing here?” he asked.
“More
holiday
?” he added with mockery in his voice.

“Are you angry with me?” she asked.

“Should I be?” he answered in a mocking
tone.

“I know of no reason you might have.” The
nerve of the man! He’d had no use for her, now he acts wounded for
some reason. “You needed no further treatment. I had served my
purpose and decided it was time to continue my journey. Surely you
are not angry that I did so? You barely spoke to me for days!”

“Again, I ask—why would I be angry?” he
countered.

“Indeed, I do not know why you should! Since
you did not need any more help with your arm, there was nothing
more between us. I am a free person to do as I please! Why should
you be upset with me?” Her temper was now in full bloom.

“Nothing more…” he stopped himself. Perhaps
he should retreat, and start again, he thought. He gritted his
teeth and countered more calmly, “I was simply disappointed that
you didn’t stop by to say goodbye. Of course, you are free to go
when and where you choose. I would just have liked to take you to
dinner before you left. You were very kind to me.” Get angry with
that, woman, he thought to himself. It shouldn’t have surprised him
when she did
just that!

“Kind to you? You saved my life, Alex! Kind
to you? I would have done anything to repay you! There is no way I
can
ever
repay you, but…” lowering her voice which she now
realized was bordering on shrill, she continued more calmly, “Every
time we were together, we fought—just as we are now, I might add.”
Gritting her teeth to maintain some slim degree of control over her
temper, she said, “I prefer spending my time with those who are
less combative, thank you very much!” She put down the book she had
been perusing when he arrived and slammed out the door.

“Damn the woman,” he snarled, and shot out
the door after her. She was the most irritating female he had ever
had the misfortune to meet. And, damn it, they hadn’t fought
every
time they were together. No, by God, they had not!

The clerk in the bookstore just stood there
with her mouth open. She would have a very interesting story to
share with her mother that night.

His stride was one to her two, so it didn’t
take him much effort to catch her, even though she had a real head
of steam going. “Rachel!” She ignored him. “Damn it Rachel, stop!”
he said, as he grabbed her with his bad arm. He sucked in his
breath as the pain shot up to his shoulder, and his face flushed as
he cursed colorfully.

Hearing the pain in his voice, she stopped
and spun around and saw the grimace on his now very pale face. “Are
you alright?”

“Yes, damn it, I’m fine.”He took a deep
breath trying to wait out the pain. “Just put a little too much
pressure on the arm,” he winced.

“Well, that’s what you get for trying to
strong arm
me,” she pouted and turned to walk away.

“Strong…” Damn it all, he thought as she
strode away. “Rachel, please!” he called after her. He saw her
stop, then turn to face toward him. “Please, Rachel. Let me take
you to dinner, and let’s try to spend a few moments in each other’s
company without snarling at each other.”

“Why?” she said, crossing her arms in front
of her she shot out a shapely hip.

He recognized the now-familiar challenge.
He’d seen it when she threatened him with a
big needle
in
the hospital and a couple of times when he had snarled at her about
soup vs. steak while he was recuperating.

“Why?” he asked, trying his damnedest not to
smile. When she simply stood there waiting, he took his life in his
own hands and gave her the only reasons he was willing to admit. He
cleared his dry throat and dove in.

“Well…I enjoy our conversations—when we’re
not yelling at each other that is,” he was grinning at her now. “I
think you are uncommonly beautiful!” He thought the fire in her
eyes might have tamped down just a wee bit with that one. “I enjoy
having you around…” Uh oh, he realized he was losing ground when he
saw the expression on her face, and he shut up immediately.

“Well, aren’t you full of yourself,” she
huffed. When he continued to just stand there grinning at her, she
sighed deeply. “Alright, then. Dinner it is. I am at Fergus House.
You may pick me up at seven.” She turned on her heel and just left
him standing there in the street.

He watched her walk away and, feeling just a
little perverse, he shouted after her, “Would six-thirty be
alright?”

“Seven or not at all, Alex,” she shouted
without turning back to him and kept walking away.

He realized as he watched her storming away
from him, that she was even more beautiful when her color was up
and she was ripping into him. Grinning to himself, he turned and
walked back to his car. She had called him Alex!