Mia Marlowe (23 page)

“And now I’ve been grieving all these years. Not only for me lost love, Brodie MacIver, but also for ye, Alex. Ye and yer brother. I’m sick at heart that ye believed I chose to leave ye. Never.”
She moved closer to him and stretched out a thin hand in entreaty.
“Never would I do such a thing.”

If she was telling the truth, it changed everything he believed about his childhood. About his father. About himself.

His mother had loved him, after all. And he had a wife who loved him now. Lucinda hadn’t answered his declaration in so many words, but love poured from her actions. If she didn’t love him, she was doing a damned good imitation of it.

Love and bitterness wouldn’t fit in the same heart. He had to release one. Alexander drew a deep lungful and breathed out all his old hurt.

It had no hold on him. Or on his mother.

“There’s nothing to forgive, but if it makes you feel better, I do forgive you,” he said and then added, “Mother.”

She couldn’t embrace him, so she washed over him instead. Her essence passed through him, radiating love and bone-deep peace. His mother left a benediction in her wake, the gathered force of all the good she wished for him. It smelled soft and powdery, sweetly infused with attar of roses and honeysuckle—all the scents he associated with her. Then the fragrance faded. When he turned to look for her, she wasn’t there.

“She’s gone on, lad,”
Brodie said.
“Ye released her. And now that she’s moved on, I must too. Where Finella goes, there I’m bound. Tell my wee lassie I’m sorry I canna say good-bye to her meself, but me time is short now. Remind Lucinda that she’ll always be the apple of me eye.”
Then his expression turned stern.
“But dinna ye think for a moment I willna come back to haunt ye if ye bring my girl a moment’s grief.”

A smile twitched the corner of Alexander’s mouth. “I’d expect no less. Go with God, Brodie MacIver.”

The ghost cast him a lopsided grin.
“If I do, it’ll be Finella’s doing. They’d never let the likes o’ me into heaven elsewise.”

The ghost faded, becoming more and more transparent, till he finally winked out entirely.

Then the floor of the dungeon opened beneath Alexander’s feet without warning and, turning end over end, he tumbled into the void.

Alexander woke with a jerk, his heart pounding, his lungs starved for air. He gasped noisily and blinked hard, taking in his surroundings.

The banked fire had burnt down to glowing embers, but he knew immediately where he was. And with whom he was. He pulled a sleeping Lucinda close. She nuzzled his neck, settled her head on his shoulder, and snugged her naked body against his without waking. The feather tick enveloped them in a deep, soft embrace.

His heart rate began to settle as the sensation of falling receded.

It was just a dream,
he told himself. And yet, it had seemed as real as the woman in his arms. After all these years, he’d spoken to his mother. His questions had been answered. The root of bitterness in his soul had been yanked out.

Even if it wasn’t real, he decided to pretend it was. The conceit would hurt no one. He hadn’t felt this light of heart in years.

As he gazed up at the high ceiling, a pinpoint of light began to flicker. At first he thought it was his imagination, the product of a mind still on the edge of dreams. But then the single light multiplied, spreading across the distant beams, in a thousand shimmering bits. They began to drape down from the ceiling like falling stars, drifting to settle over Alex and Lucinda.

Since Farquhar told him the fate of Bonniebroch was in his hands, Alexander had felt as though he carried a boulder on his back. As the twinkling lights trickled down the bed frame to cover them, a part of that weight was lifted and, in its place, came the glowing warmth of peace.

He didn’t need the old steward to tell him. He knew. Somehow, he’d chosen the correct path for the first of the three mysterious tasks that would come to him before Twelfth Night.

The lights around them began to fade, so Alexander closed his eyes.

The mid-morning sun burned brightly through the unshuttered windows, setting dust motes swirling in bright slabs of light. Lucinda finally rolled over and opened her eyes. Alexander’s pillow was cold, but he’d left a note on it that said he was off to ride Badgemagus. He admonished her to get plenty of rest. She’d need it when he joined her in bed again.

A satisfied smile stretched her lips till her cheeks hurt.

Alexander finished the note by saying he’d see her at the midday meal. She ran a fingertip over the simple “A” which served as his signature. It was like him. Strong. As aggressively male as the tip of an arrow it resembled.

Funny how even his handwriting made her feel softly feminine by comparison.

Lucinda rose, stretching. All her joints were pleasantly loose and a little achy. The price of a night of loving, she supposed as she slipped into her wrapper and rang for breakfast.

It took longer than she expected for the tray to arrive and the girl who brought it was breathless. It was either Janet or Jane. Lucinda hadn’t much luck telling the two girls apart.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, milady,” the maid said as she swooped in with the energy of a whirling dervish. “But the whole of the castle is in sommat of a state on account of the visitors. We havena had anyone come to stay at Bonniebroch for ever so long a time, so naturally, everyone is all in a kerfuffle.”

“What visitors, Jane?” She thought it was worth a guess. She had an even chance of being correct, whichever name she chose.

The girl’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Beans MacFee turned up at the dock a couple hours after dawn with the first load,” the maid said. “I was down by the river hopin’ to meet up with Seamus Abernathy and—”

“Wait a moment.” Lucinda stopped the girl with a raised hand. “What do you mean, ‘the first load’?”

“Oh, that.” Jane trotted to the big bed and straightened the linens as she talked. “There wasna room on the barge for all of them and their baggage, ye ken, so Mr. MacFee had to make several trips.”

Lucinda sank into one of the chairs. It was one thing to be a chatelaine. It was quite another to play hostess to an unexpected party in a big rambling place when she really hadn’t found her feet yet. “Who’s here?”

“Oh, there’s more than I can count. Once ye get past me fingers and toes, numbers dinna mean much to me, aye? But the main ones ye’ll be wantin’ to see, I reckon, claim to be members o’ yer family, milady.”

Jane set out the tea things and served Lucinda a steaming cup with just the right dollop of milk and a single lump of sugar. “There’s two of yer sisters and yer father—”

“My father is here?”

“Aye, that he is. And taking on something fierce to anyone who’ll listen about how he missed yer wedding to his lairdship too. Seems he was in Edinburgh on Christmas Day, waitin’ at St. Giles to give ye away, but ye and Lord Bonniebroch didna ever arrive.”

Lucinda’s father had signed the contract that stipulated the Christmas wedding in Edinburgh right enough. But as absentminded as Erskine MacOwen was, she never dreamed he’d actually make an effort to be there to see the deed done.

“We wed in the chapel at Dalkeith instead,” Lucinda explained. “I’ll send a letter to my aunt Hester asking her to assure him that she witnessed our vows.”

“Is that Hester MacGibbon ye’re meaning?”

When Lucinda nodded, Jane made a moue of distaste. “Then ye can save yerself the trouble of a letter, milady. Mrs. MacGibbon is here too. There’s no missing her. She’s as here as ever anyone was.”

Lucinda smiled into her teacup. Aunt Hester would keep Jane and Janet both hopping. Seamus Abernathy would simply have to wait by the river by himself so long as Hester MacGibbon was in residence.

“Besides my family, who else has come?”

“Oh, there’s more Englishmen than we’ve seen around here since the reign of Edward Longshanks.” Jane helped herself to a dish of tea, oblivious to the fact that a servant and her mistress wouldn’t take tea together as if they were bosom friends. If Lucinda were the fashionable sort, she’d be affronted by the girl’s innocent presumption. Instead, she was charmed.

“The fellow makin’ the most noise is someone named Lord Rankin,” Jane said.

“Oh.” Lucinda set down her tea. She sensed without being told that Rankin did not have Alexander’s best interests at heart. “Why is he here?”

“I dinna know all the particulars, but word is he’s looking for a little sport in the woods. He heard there are wild boars hereabouts and expects Lord Bonniebroch to accommodate him with a grand hunt. Seems he thinks it would be a fine entertainment for the English king when he comes and—”

“Are there boars?”

“Oh, aye. And water horses and boggles and all manner of creatures. That’s why we never venture through the wood save to meet Mr. MacFee’s ferry. And I never linger by the river, no matter what Seamus says. So long as we keep to the path and stay well back from the water, we’re perfectly safe.”

“Water horses aren’t real, Jane.”

The maid snorted. “Aye, they are. Ask old Audra Cruikshank. She’ll tell ye about the one she saw when she was a girl near Loch Ness.”

“Nonsense. Those are only faery stories.” Even though Lucinda was sure she was right, a superstitious tingle crept down her spine.

“Nae, milady. Me hand on a Bible, Auld Audra saw one her own self. Reared its head out of the water it did, whilst its body trailed along behind in snaky coils.” Without being told to do so, Jane buttered a scone and placed it on a plate for Lucinda. Then she helped herself to one. “Now kelpies, them’s the river spirits, ye ken,” she said with a full mouth, “are no’ so big as a water horse, but they can still do a body plenty of mischief if they’re so minded.”

Lucinda let the girl rattle on. Someone who’d spent the last three hundred years squirreled away in this castle with little contact with the outside world was bound to have some odd notions. As soon as she and Alexander were settled, she’d arrange for a school for the children of the keep.

And for the adults too.

Water horses and kelpies weren’t real. But wild boars were and they were dangerous to hunt.

“Who else wants to go hunting for the boar?” she interrupted Jane as the girl was winding up for a big finish about someone named Balor, a one-eyed fellow who was supposedly king of the Formorians, a whole tribe of misshapen folk.

“Och, all the English I suppose. Besides Lord Rankin, there’s Sir Bertram Clarindon and any number of servants they brought with them.” Then Jane’s eyes took on a misty, slightly daft gloss. “And o’ course, there’s Sir Darren.”

“MacMartin?”

“Aye.” Jane bobbed her head so hard it was a wonder it didn’t wobble off her shoulders. “Turns out he’s English on his mother’s side. Now that I think on it, that’s just the opposite of our laird now, is it no’? Is that no’ the strangest coincidence?” Without waiting for agreement, Jane rattled on. “Ye ken as Sir Darren was Lord Bonniebroch for a time, aye? Hardly so long as it would take for a body to notice there was a new baron, but me and Janet thought as he was grand to look upon. Come to think on it, the boar hunt sounded like it was his idea.”

Which made Lucinda all the more certain that it wasn’t a good one. “Help me dress, Jane.”

“Oh, aye, will ye want to be on the ramparts to watch when they start beatin’ the woods tomorrow? I heard Sir Darren say it was as sure a way to scare up a boar as a royal progression was like to scare up Radicals.”

Lucinda froze in mid-step. She’d stopped worrying about Dougal and his Radical past since he’d told her he’d foresworn the movement. Still, any mention of the doomed rebellion boded ill for him. Even if his motives were pure now, there was still a price on his head. “Where did ye hear Sir Darren say this?”

Jane tilted her head to one side as if the information might spill out her ear. “Let me see . . . Sir Darren was heading out of the Great Hall after the breakfast and I heard him in passing.”

“Who was he speaking to?”

“Yer brother, Dougal, milady. Most intent Sir Darren was on it too, which strikes me odd as ’tis a most peculiar riddle. How is a boar like a Radical? And what is a Radical, in any case?”

Lucinda set a record for dressing, insisting upon a serviceable gray muslin instead of the woefully out of fashion sack dress and stomacher Jane wanted to cinch her into. She bolted from the room and clattered down the stairs.

She skidded to a stop at the ground floor when she saw Mr. Lyttle. “Have ye seen Lord Bonniebroch?”

“Aye, milady. He’s riding in the bailey, putting that demon horse of his through its paces.”

Thank heaven.
Alexander hadn’t left the castle. She hurried to the door.

“Wait, milady,” Mr. Lyttle said as he trotted after her with a thick cloak. “Ye’ll catch yer death if ye go abroad in naught but yer day gown.”

Sir Darren MacMartin was exactly the type who would turn him in for the price on his head. A cold wind whistled through the door that opened to the bailey, so she paused long enough to allow the butler to drape the cloak over her shoulders. She pinned it closed with a silver brooch as she strode outside.

Somehow, Sir Darren had realized who Dougal was. Why else would he direct that comment to him?

She’d hoped to put this off till much later. While she and Alex had forged a bond in the marriage bed, outside it their union still felt tenuous, a house of straw that might tumble down in the slightest breeze. Now she needed to tell Alexander about her outlaw brother before Sir Darren did something about it.

A goodly crowd had gathered to watch Alexander work Badgemagus through a series of controlled turns and leaps. While the laird of Bonniebroch on horseback was a sight to quicken any woman’s heart rate, Lucinda wished she’d caught him before he climbed into the saddle. Private speech with him was going to be a good trick.

“Lucy-girl, there ye are!”

She barely turned in time before her father caught her into a great bear hug.

“What d’ye mean by marryin’ the man without yer father to give ye away?” His broad grin told her the scolding words weren’t serious.

“I’m sorry, Father.” She planted a quick kiss on his cheek. “Things didna go as planned, but at least they went. Alex will be pleased to support yer invention.” Thinking of the incredible sum the estate had invested with the bank in Edinburgh, she added, “In fact, after Alexander settles yer accounts, if ye need more workshop space, I’ll see that it’s built for ye.”