The Disappearance of Georgiana Darcy: A Pride and Prejudice Mystery (38 page)

He held her hand fast to his arm. “We should speak honestly of what happened last evening.”

Surprisingly, she raised her chin in a regal manner and stilled him with her gaze. “I spent most of the night trying to understand how you could permit men to be held as prisoners in your home. I thought I had taken a measure of your merit, but I erred completely.”

Domhnall's heart slammed into his chest wall. “I am not the ogre you describe,” he protested. “Again, you must believe that I was unaware of my mother's actions. When I discovered her deviousness, I put an end to her designs.”

“I do believe you did not participate willingly in what is happening here, but you have done nothing to release those imprisoned below,” she declared.

Domhnall caught her hand and brought it to rest above his heart. “I wish you to hear that my heart speaks the truth. I have not released those kept below because to do so would be to see my mother brought before the courts. She has committed a great crime, but I love her. She is my family. Yet, I have ordered extra food and blankets to increase the others' comfort until I can determine how best to proceed.”

Her countenance darkened. “It was you,” she rasped. “You brought me the extra warmth.”

Domhnall nodded. “And was mesmerized by your exquisite beauty.”

She blushed, but she did not look away. “Would you tell me how I came to be at Normanna?”

“I assume in the common way. My mother gathers those who travel alone. Some have lost their way and have sought shelter behind these doors. I was not in residence when you came here, but I understand that one of those loyal to my mother found you
alone on the moor. It is supposed that your horse had thrown you. The animal is housed in the Normanna stables if you care to see it. Perhaps it will jar your reminiscence.”

The girl appeared to be searching for the memory he had provided her. “Why does Lady Wotherspoon take them? Not everyone who is lost has someone who could pay a ransom for his return. What of those who have no families?”

Domhnall could not speak of the horrors he had discovered below stairs. Instead, he said, “It is complicated, but for now know that I will not condone what has happened previously as the normal for my household. I will make things right. I have pledged myself to see it so. Please say that you will permit me to demonstrate my sincerity.”

She touched his cheek in a tender caress. “I shall allow you time to recover your honor.”

“Would you also allow me the favor of a kiss?”

She grew quiet, and Domhnall knew her mind searched for a memory upon which to hang her hopes. Finally, she rose on tiptoes in acceptance, and he lowered his head to touch his lips to hers. Pure joy, the first he had known since the day he had learned of Maighread's being enceinte, rushed through his veins. Esme would accept him. Even with her doubts, Lady Esme would stand beside him. Just the idea of her brought contentment. Her lips held her doubt, but they also held gentleness. Warmth surrounded her, and Domhnall felt her innocence in his bones. His groin reacted to her closeness. He warned himself to go slowly. Instinctively, the girl pulled back, and Domhnall's gaze sought hers. Passion flickered but did not flare. He would have to wait to know the depth of the lady's desires, but he thought it possible that they could find happiness together.

“Thank you, my dear.” He motioned her toward the stairs. “I will return you to your room. We will dine together, but I suspect that you could use some rest after last evening. Meanwhile, I will proceed with my plans to unravel what this house hides.”

The girl allowed Domhnall MacBethan to escort her to her chambers. With his withdrawal, she locked the door, as he had suggested the previous evening, and then she collapsed into the nearest chair. “Oh, my,” she gasped. Overcome with emotions, she dropped her head into her hands. “What am I to believe?” she moaned. “Who am I to trust?”

She had not asked Lord Wotherspoon why the man cried out last evening. What had Dolina MacBethan done to the prisoner to bring on that agonizing scream? And what had the woman meant by “I expect no more trouble; I want him prepared by mornin'”?

“Prepared how?” she whispered to the empty room. “And for what purpose?” She knew of only one way to prepare a person: prepare a body for burial. Had Lady Wotherspoon permitted her henchman to kill one of the prisoners? Or worse yet, had she done the deed herself? “I would not place such an action outside the woman's realm,” the girl declared.

Silence surrounded her. Instinctively, she looked about the room for some sort of weapon with which she might protect herself if Lady Wotherspoon came for her. “It is time to escape the confines of these walls,” she declared as she stood reluctantly and walked toward the bed. For reasons she did not fully comprehend, she remained bone tired—barely able to move. “Is it the realization of what I must face within these walls? Or is it the weariness of not knowing my future? Or recognizing my past?” She glanced as the unkempt bed. “A few hours sleep while I design a way to leave this
madness behind.” She stretched out on her back and stared at the ceiling. “Lord Wotherspoon already trusts me. I can build on that. Perhaps I can convince him to take me away from here.”

“Where is my mother?” Wotherspoon demanded as he entered the final passageway leading to the cells. His heart thundered in his ears. All the anger and misery of his childhood had exploded before his eyes. Over the years, he had schooled his emotions never to show the feelings of loneliness. Of his mother's scowling indifference.

The man known as Blane scrambled to his feet. “Me cousin and Aulay take out the wagon, m'Lord,” the man said in that mocking attitude that Domhnall had come to hate.

Without thinking, he spun the man about and placed a dagger to his throat. “Permit me to make myself clearer to your side of the family. Perhaps my mother's father raised simpletons,” he growled in the man's ear, “but the MacBethans do not sire half men.” Domhnall tightened his hold. “I am the master of this house. Whether you like it or not, you remain at Normanna only with my good graces. It would not be wise to cross me.” The man clawed at Domhnall's hold, but Domhnall never gave the slightest notice. “I want to know what happened last evening. I want to know why my mother has taken out the supply wagon this morning? Nod if you understand what information I seek.”

Blane's face had turned first red from anger, then pale from fright, and finally an ashen color as Domhnall increased his pressure on the man's throat. With the slightest of nods, Blane surrendered to Domhnall's wishes. Hating to release his maternal cousin, Domhnall gave Blane one more tight squeeze before physically shoving the man from him. “Now tell me what you know.” He brandished the dagger at the man for whom he had never cared.

Blane rubbed at his neck, and with some satisfaction, Domhnall noticed a trickle of blood from where his dagger had left a cut. “A man…” Blane began hoarsely. “A man…passed during the night. Dolina…takes the body…where no one…sees it.”

“Did the man pass of natural causes or did my mother aid his leaving this world?” Each time Domhnall thought the situation could not become more troublesome, it did.

“The man…be sick,” Blane offered lamely.

Domhnall groaned. “I see.” His mother had lied to him. Even though he had vehemently warned her against continuing her evil ways, she had defied him again. “This will be the last one. Make no bones about it. The last one!” His voice echoed from the stone walls. “I mean to have this house cleansed of blood!” He stormed away. When his mother returned, he would deal with her. Perhaps, he might even place her in the prison she had made.

“Damn,” Munro growled when he observed the wagon making its way toward him. He had purposely circled the series of lochs and had approached from the east. He had stopped only twice after he left the card game in Cumnock: once to question several of the temporary workers at Alpin Hall and then again in the late morning hours in Ruthwell. Some of his clansmen thought him foolish to leave his meager savings at the Ruthwell Savings Bank, but Munro had tolerated their taunts because he had his eye on a small piece of land near where Islav MacBethan had settled. He desired to be far from his aunt and the power struggle between her and his cousin. Domhnall had seen the evil too late to fully take control of Aunt Dolina's schemes. Once Munro had saved enough to purchase the land he had previously scouted on his journey to Crieff, he would
leave this craziness to his aunt. She might fight her own societal wars without his assistance.

As he approached the Awful Hand, he had thought himself safe, but Aunt Dolina and Aulay had made their way along the Hand's Merrick appendage, and in the moor's open terrain, a person could easily pick out his movements.

The Awful Hand, a series of north-south mountain ranges, had earned its unusual name because from Waterhead, the mountains formed a gnarled hand: Minnoch, Tarfessock, Kirriereoch, and Merrick made up the fingers and Benyellary the thumb. Kirriereoch and Merrick were some of the highest peaks in the Southern Uplands, but Munro realized Dolina was not out for a pleasure ride. His aunt had business on the moor.

“Ho!” she called as she brought the horses to a halt. “Ye be back early,” she noted suspiciously. “Ye found wot I ast?”

Munro knew better than to look away—to show any weakness. His Aunt Dolina observed him carefully for any signs of betrayal. He also knew she would have no qualms in killing him where he sat in the saddle. He had promised Domhnall to report his findings to his cousin before sharing them with Dolina, but neither he nor Domhnall had anticipated this scenario. “I did.” He brought his horse closer to where she sat upon the wooden bench.

“And?” she asked emphatically.

He could likely find a position on another estate, or he could borrow money from Lilias Birrel's husband. Domhnall's only sister had married well, becoming Lady Carmichael, the lady's husband heir to a viscounty. Lord Carmichael had always welcomed Munro to his home. The decision was made: he could no longer tolerate what went on under Dolina's reign at Normanna. He wanted away from the madness. Never one to walk away from a fight, he, at first,
thought it admirable that his aunt had discovered a way to make the estate profitable, but then he had discovered what Dolina did to innocent victims; now, he just wanted distance between him and Coll MacBethan's widow. He would leave for Knovdart tomorrow. He would no longer be a pawn in Dolina's games. He circled the horse in place so he might have a moment to school his countenance before facing her again. Should he tell her the truth?
Tell them both the truth
, he chastised himself.
Allow mother and son to fight it out while you escape north
.

He cleared his throat before saying, “I met a man in Cumnock.”