Elusive (18 page)

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If he was going to show up at all, he would
be here any minute. She had just finally decided which of her new
outfits she should wear to dinner with an overbearing
beast
of a man. Her bed was strewn with her discards. She couldn’t
imagine why she had agreed to this. Fastening the last button on
the silk blouse, she heard him knock on her door.

He was almost struck dumb when she answered
the door. The deep, rich blue silk she wore turned her already
beautiful complexion to peaches and cream. Her hair was curled high
on top of her head, her mouth—that gorgeous mouth—was in a pout. He
thought angels must look like this.

She stood there looking at him. He was in
full Scottish garb. The kilt, the sporran made, she thought, of
horse hair; the stockings and black leather ghillie brogues, the
black dirk at his side, the raven black hair streaming behind him
under the feathered tam—the whole Scottish garb. He was the most
stunning sight she had ever seen.

He just stood there staring at her.

She came to her senses first. “Well? Are you
going to say anything?” she asked.

Instead, he just lifted her chin with his
finger and lowered his mouth to hers. He heard the little sound she
made as he took the kiss deeper and then pulled himself back and
away from her. Once he saw her relax, he released her and stood
before her smiling. “I think that says it all. Are you ready to
go?”

She could not focus her mind on what he was
saying. Thankfully he didn’t wait for an answer but grabbed her
handbag from the table next to the door, turned her around, and
escorted her out of her room.

With a quick glimpse of her room, he gently
led her out. Alexandre wondered at the heap of clothes on the bed.
He hoped the inn had good maid service.

“Where are we going?” she was finally able to
ask.

“I have a very exclusive place in mind,” he
helped her into the big black car waiting out front and then walked
around to the other door and got in himself. The driver did not
need any instructions. He just drove off without a word. She
assumed he had been given the destination before Alexandre picked
her up.

Moments later they were driving at a
leisurely pace into the countryside in the open car, and then they
came to a clearing along the loch. That’s where she got her first
sight of it—the castle—Castle Donnach. Her castle! She was
awestruck. It was beautiful!

With delight, he heard her gasp of
appreciation when she first laid those beautiful gray eyes on the
castle. It stood at the far end of the long, narrow, stone bridge
they were now crossing, along the edge of the loch.

Blair noted how the gray stone of her walls
caught the reflection of colors from the setting sun and how she
glowed. Yes, Blair thought, the castle was a she—standing there
beautiful, haughty, and proud surrounded by the green of the trees
of the forest behind her and the deep blue of the water on three
sides.

Behind the castle was a high hill covered by
dark, thick forest. She thought there must be beautiful views from
the high walkway and from the narrow turret windows—or from
somewhere high on that hill. Perhaps that is where the cliff is,
she thought. Yes, it had to be the site of Caena and Sòlas’s
cliff.

It was everything she had ever imagined.
Soon, very soon, this would be her home. But why was he bringing
her here? She remained confused. He remained quiet, until she could
stand it no longer. “Alex, what are we doing here? Isn’t this
Castle Donnach?”

“Yes, it is. This is my home now,” he said,
as the car stopped in line with the front door.

It was the most enormous door she had ever
seen. It must weigh a ton, she thought. “What? Your home?”

“Aye,” he loved the bewildered look on her
face.

“But, Alex…”

He was starting to like the way she called
him Alex when she was unnerved. Once she caught up with her nerves,
he knew he would be Alexandre again. He wondered how long he could
keep her using the short form. “Not now, lassie,” he interrupted
her. “We’ll talk during dinner,” he said, as he held out his hand
to hers and guided her into the huge foyer.

The stone walls in the castle were nearly the
same shade of gray as her eyes, he noticed. He watched as she just
took it all in. The very size of the place could be intimidating,
and then there were the suits of armor, the heavy beams, and the
iron chandeliers.

“Oh, Alex, it’s wonderful! It reminds me of
the restaurant in the hotel. I thought it was the loveliest place
I’d ever seen,” she said, as she turned in circles to observe
everything. “I was wrong. This is.”

“Well, actually I believe the restaurant was
decorated to resemble the old castles,” he responded, smiling at
her with those deep blue eyes. “The hotel building was from about
the same era, so it suits.” He turned, looking at it from her point
of view—that of someone who had never been here before. “I do have
some changes in mind, but they are very superficial,” he commented.
“My father and grandfather accomplished most of the
modernization.”

He noticed that she tensed up at the mention
of his family. Determined to keep her just
ever-so-slightly-rattled—and to avoid all arguments tonight—he took
her hand, kissed her palm, and watched as the confusion moved over
her face. Then he continued.

“My grandfather added the indoor plumbing and
some really lovely baths, complete with claw-footed tubs large
enough for two.” He watched her blush. “My father…had electricity
brought in a few years ago.”

She heard the slight break in his voice. He
was still mourning, as she was. She felt herself soften slightly.
The pain of loss was something she understood all too well.

“Come with me, Rachel. I’ll show you more of
the castle.” Gripping her hand, he took her on a tour starting with
the Great Hall.

It was an enormous room that was certainly
appropriately named. It had probably once been used for formal
social gatherings of lords and ladies wearing their finest clothes.
Perhaps even the royals had spent time here. The fireplace was so
huge she could not even fathom what it would be like to have a
blaze going in it. It would not be used to burn the usual fireplace
logs, she was certain. It would take entire tree sections.

Many rooms later she realized that she still
had not seen it all. He took her up, up, up the stone stairs. She
thought how difficult it would have been to negotiate these stairs
in the long, full skirts worn a century or more before. Just as she
thought her legs were going to give out, they stepped into the
turret room.

From there he took her out to the walk that
circled the castle walls between the turrets. There were ancient
stone benches sitting against the low walls that kept one from
strolling off of the walk and falling to the rocks below. She
immediately thought of Caena and a chill went down her back.

“Are you chilly?” he asked. “Perhaps we
should go back inside.” He took her hand in his and guided her back
to the top floors and then back down the stairs to the main floor.
Finally things looked familiar again.

He led her into the dining room. She was
aware that her mouth dropped open and she quickly tried to hide her
amazement. The table could easily have seated thirty people. The
two side tables that could be used for serving were each at least
twenty-feet long. The chandeliers were reflected in the highly
polished wood of the tables, and there was again the lovely scent
of lemon oil.

The only two places set for this meal were at
one end. They were set with the finest bone china, heavy silver
table settings, and crystal stemware—all prepared for at least five
courses. A bouquet of local flowers had been arranged in a huge
tankard of pewter etched with Celtic designs. It was all a lovely
mix of the past and present. Candlelight flickered over the
settings as he guided her slowly across the huge room.

After pushing her heavy chair toward the
table for her, he sat at the table’s end with her at his right. He
poured her wine. “I’ve asked the servants to give us as much
privacy as possible during our meal. I hope that is alright with
you?”

“Yes. Fine” She was still awestruck. “Alex, I
don’t understand. How can this be your home? I thought your name
was Maigny. The castle belongs to the McDonnough family, does it
not?”

“Yes, it does. It’s a really long
story—two-hundred years long—and I’m going to tell you as much as I
can while we dine. Some of it is sad, some wondrous, some deadly,
but I do want to share it with you, Rachel.” He found the truth of
that caught him by surprise.

The shock suddenly hit her. How dense could
she be? This is the very man she was supposed to avoid! He was the
man who they said wanted her dead. She had walked right into the
trap. Just as her side of the family had become ‘Delamare’, his had
become ‘Maigny’. Before she could bolt, he reached for her hand and
held it so gently that she just stayed put.

He saw her nerves, almost panic. It saddened
him that he didn’t know why she was using the name Rachel Wallace.
He decided he just did not believe that she was the evil, plotting
imposter his cousins had told him about. If she was a phony, why
were people trying to kill her?

Perhaps if he shared some of his story, she
would share some of hers. He was fairly certain that most of what
she’d told him so far were lies. Why she had felt she had to lie to
him, he didn’t know, but he would damned well find out.

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Chapter 23: Watch Your Back

Scotland – 1746

As Macrath had suspected, the Bonny Prince
sneaked into Scotland, gathered what forces he could and, forced to
advance without the promised help of the French or retreat to
France, he pushed forward. Some might think him overly confident,
others would suspect that poor advice had caused his downfall, but
either way…the cause was lost.

Mordag died at the final Jacobite battle at
Calloden in 1746. The number of dead was staggering. When Mordag
didn’t return home with the few stragglers that eluded the English
forces, Macrath was certain he was dead. He gave instructions that,
if Mordag was found dead on the battlefield, the body should be
buried there instead of being taken home for burial at Donnach.
This was more than just an effort to reaffirm to the English where
his allegiance lay. It was a very purposeful slight to his father
who had shown weakness by joining the Jacobite cause and risking
the estate.

As expected, Macrath was allowed to hold onto
the McDonnough estate as a reward for his loyalty to the Crown.
Eleanor and Fergus were spared due to their family connection to
Macrath, not due to any direct efforts by Macrath on their behalf.
Happy to be spared, they hid well their fury at the slights and
treachery from Macrath. In their hearts, they raged!

However, as usual, Macrath’s focus was on
Macrath
. While all across the country the wives and children
of other lairds who had fought on the side of the Jacobites were
being mercilessly slaughtered—in their homes, in the fields, in
caves where they hid, wherever they were found—Macrath’s
family
sat safe and sound inside Castle Donnach. Macrath
completely overlooked the hatred that was building within the
castle walls.

After Calloden, the wearing of the tartan had
been banned! The clans had been forcibly disbanded, although the
people stubbornly remained loyal to the lairds that took good care
of them. It was another thing altogether in Donnach. It would take
a great deal of fear and intimidation to keep the villagers from
revolting against the laird they hated. Of course, Macrath was also
resented for not supporting the Jacobite rebellion.

Fergus, despite his youth, had long been
plotting to remove his half-brother and replace him as laird. He
had always played Macrath well. He fed his ego, pretended to kowtow
to his demands and drunken tempers—pretended to fear him which fed
Macrath’s confidence. Macrath should have paid more attention, for
Fergus had learned well from his older brother—too well.

The ever-opportunistic William tried to warn
his old friend, Macrath, that Fergus might be a danger to him.
Apparently Macrath, so certain of his own power, felt Fergus could
not be a viable threat at his tender age. If he had believed what
William tried to tell him, he certainly would have had Fergus
killed. That was a huge mistake on Macrath’s part.

Fergus’s allies spent months at court
spreading word, secretively and very, very cautiously, that Macrath
had used them in regard to the prince’s efforts. Slowly and without
alarm being raised to Macrath, word spread that it was indeed
Fergus that had supported the Crown and that they had been used by
Macrath.

With the boy still in his teens, supported by
allies gained at court and distant but influential family members,
Fergus slipped a slow-working poison into Macrath’s whiskey during
an evening in front of the fire in the Great Hall. While Macrath
was still in the throes of the pain caused by the poison, Fergus
dragged the screaming Laird to the castle courtyard.

There, in front of all the villagers they
could fit in the castle courtyard, he had Macrath disemboweled.
Then, where everyone in the castle could watch, the body was
burned. Thus was taught the lesson of what would happen to any who
opposed the new Laird, Fergus McDonnough—disbanded clans or
not!

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Chapter 24: Alexandre’s Story

Donnach, Scotland – July 1912

“This castle has been the home of the
McDonnough clan for well over two-hundred years. In the old days,
there were many intrigues. You have probably read enough of our
country’s history by now to realize that family ties could be as
dangerous as they could be loving and strong. It just depended on
the person’s temperament,” he grinned as he spoke.