Twenty-Two
TRAQUAIR HOUSE
1993
I walked Ian to his car, conscious of the possessive curve of his hand under my elbow.
“Are you going to tell me what happened in there?” he asked.
“Maybe you’d better tell me,” I said, looking at my watch. An hour and a half had passed while I had watched Scotland fall to her knees.
He frowned and leaned against the car. “You were unusually quiet when your parents first came down,” he told me. “Do you remember that?”
I shook my head. “The last thing I remember is your face after you finished stoking the fire. You looked as if you were in shock.”
The look on his face told me he knew much more than he was saying. “You’re tired,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. “This business about your mother must have affected you more than you realize. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
His back was toward me as he opened the door of his car.
“Jeanne Maxwell is dead, Ian.” My words stopped him cold. There was no need for further explanation.
The silence stretched out between us. “I know,” he said at last, his voice low.
“What are we going to do?”
He must have sensed my desperation because he turned back to me and took me in his arms. “We’ll work it out, Christina,” he said. “Somehow we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
“Jeanne found the stone,” I whispered into his shirt. “But it wasn’t there when she looked for it again. Why wasn’t it there?”
“I don’t know,” he confessed. “Maybe the timing was wrong for her. Maybe it was already too late.”
“How will we know when it’s too late for us?”
“It won’t be,” he said fiercely. “Trust me. It won’t be. I’ll come back tomorrow, and we’ll look together. Do you remember enough to recognize familiar landmarks?”
“I think so.”
“Good.” He squeezed my hand and released me. “Get some rest. I’ll be here early. Ask Kate to fix her famous scones but tell her—”
“What?”
He shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell her myself.”
I wasn’t sure that I wanted to tell Kate anything, but since I really had nothing but intuition on which to base my suspicions, I kept silent. When Ian’s car disappeared through the gates, I walked back into the house.
“He’s certainly a personable young man,” my father said, “but marriage? Are you sure, Christina?”
“Why do you ask?”
He frowned. “You didn’t say a word the entire time he was here.”
“I’m perfectly sure. We have a lot in common,” I assured him.
“Such as?” My mother smiled expectantly.
“An interest in history, our ancestry, the fact that our families have been neighbors for centuries”—I ticked each attribute off on my fingers—“books, food, music, education. Just about everything.”
She sighed. “Your living in Scotland will be hard on us. Boston was far enough, but Scotland.” She looked at me and smiled tremulously. “I’m very happy for you, Chris. Now, before I get emotional, I’d like to look around the house.”
I left my mother to her wandering, said good night to my father, and started up the stairs to my room. The day had been too long already. At the landing, I turned and nearly bumped into Kate. The moment stretched out, and neither of us spoke. Finally, it was too late to pretend politeness. Without a word, I moved around her and continued down the hall toward my room.
“May I offer my congratulations, Miss Murray,” she called after me. “Your mother told me the news.”
There was no reason to keep silent. After all, neither Mother nor I had done anything to be ashamed of. I turned around. “Do you know who my grandmother was, Kate?”
Something flickered in her eyes and then disappeared. “Why would I know anything of the sort?”
“We both know Lord Maxwell was my grandfather. You must have known it from the beginning. I want to know who my grandmother was.”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“Don’t you know, or are you honoring a confidence?”
“My loyalties are to the people of Traquair.”
She had cleverly twisted her answer, but I was too tired to pursue the issue. I rubbed my aching temples. “Ian will be here early tomorrow,” I said. “I know you’ll be busy fixing breakfast for everyone else, but he’d like a batch of your scones if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Ian Douglas has never caused me trouble, Miss Murray.”
Obviously my engagement had her approval. “Oh, by the way.” I’d almost forgotten. “Tomorrow the house will be closed to tourists. Ian and I will be working upstairs.”
“You’re looking pale, Miss Murray. Is there anything I can get you?”
Was it my imagination, or had she deliberately ignored my comment? She didn’t seem at all curious to know the reason Traquair would be closed or what Ian and I would be working on. It was very unlike her.
I looked at her closely, hoping the implacable calm of her face would crack and reveal something of her thoughts. She stared back without blinking. Her eyes glittered. Kate Ferguson reminded me of a witch in a fairy tale. Suddenly, I was afraid. I turned away. “No, thank you,” I murmured. “All I need is sleep.”
“Good night, Miss Murray.”
I closed the door and, for the second time since I’d arrived at Traquair House, slid the lock into place. The woman was evil. I could sense it. The pieces were coming together. I knew there wasn’t much time left. I sensed that Kate knew it too.
The headache came just as I was drifting off to sleep. This time I was ready for what came with it.
SHIELS CASTLE, SCOTLAND
1278
“Ring around the rosies,
Pockets full o’ posies,
Ashes, ashes,
All fall dead.”
The circle of children dropped their hands and fell to the ground, shrieking with laughter. The air smelled of smoke and charred flesh. White flakes, soft and warmer than snow, drifted down, settling on their heads, their clothes, the grass where they played. Clouds of ashes rose where they fell, burning their lungs, rendering them invisible from ten feet away.
At first, caught up in their private world of illicit glee, no one noticed the small boy standing by himself, his brow furrowed, his bottom lip thrust out in a scowl. Finally, a girl smaller than the others turned around and saw him.
“There you are, David,” she called to him. “Come and play.”
Mutinously, he shook his head.
“Come,” she begged. “We are uneven without you.”
“I don’t want to,” he mumbled.
Another boy with thick legs and matted hair rose to his feet. He swaggered toward David Murray until he stood within an inch of the smaller boy’s chest. Thrusting out an accusing finger, he poked him roughly. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “Annie wants you to play.”
David’s stomach clenched. He was only twelve, no match for the burly fourteen-year-old Donal MacPhee. The bully outweighed him by more than a stone, but today it didn’t matter. Today, David wanted to use his fists, to feel bones snap and skin give way. Today, he wanted to assuage the ache in his heart with physical pain.
He took the first hit directly in the face, and his nose broke. There was no pain. Anger gave him courage. Clenching his fists, he charged the bigger boy and knocked him to the ground. Instantly, the children rallied around, urging them on, the blood lust strong in their hearts and voices.
Out of nowhere, into the concealing circle of ash and smoke, ran a child, a girl of no more than eight years. Her eyes blazed with fury. Fearlessly, she threw herself into the midst of the writhing bodies. “Stop,” she shouted. “Leave him be. Leave him be, at once.”
Instantly, the circle of children backed away, their eyes lowered. Donal MacPhee, his hand raised in a punishing fist, looked up through a swollen eye and grimaced. Slowly, he lowered his arm, pulled away, and stood up. David lay on the ground, his face a smear of blood.
Trembling with anger, the girl turned on the children. “Go away,” she said through clenched teeth. “All of you. Go away.”
Without question, they obeyed. All except David. She was Mairi of Shiels, daughter to the laird. It was unwise to cross a Maxwell of the borders. It was the height of stupidity to cross Mairi. She had a dreadful temper and a powerful father. There were those who swore she was possessed, not in the presence of the laird, of course, but in the whispered darkness and flickering fires of small crofts that dotted the countryside. Already, Mairi had enemies. There were only a few who called her friend and no one more than the boy with the bloodied face who lay at her feet.
From that first day at Shiels when David had found her in the woods, sobbing wildly as she attempted to free the mangled carcass of a rabbit from a poacher’s trap, she had claimed his loyalty and his love. That was two years ago, when he’d come to the borders to be fostered to the laird.
For David Murray, the only child of a kindly, but distant father and a self-serving mother, Mairi’s penchant for championing the abused and the lonely was a balm to his bruised spirit. The children were never far apart. When Mairi’s mother died, only David could comfort her. When David’s puppy was found in the woods, its small body dismembered by wolves, only Mairi had the nerve to brave the boy’s white-faced stillness and offer him another hound. When Mairi learned to ride her pony, it was David who boosted her to the saddle. When David learned his letters, Mairi sat at his feet. When he practiced his swordplay, she watched from her perch on the wall. When the fledglings she saved from the cat died in her hands, it was David’s arms that soothed her. Neither child minded not having anyone but each other. Together, they were enough. Until yesterday.
Yesterday, David’s father rode across the drawbridge into the courtyard of Shiels. One look at his face had sent the servants scurrying to heat water for poultices. Their efforts were wasted. He lasted less than ten hours, and because of the nature of his illness, his remains were burned immediately. Nothing Mairi could do or say made a difference to David. He was an orphan, a child. Without a father, he was nameless and alone. What would become of him without his father? His mother would remarry. There would be other children. Her allegiance would be to them and to her new husband. He didn’t blame her. What else was there for a woman? But how could he bear to leave Shiels? How could he bear to leave Mairi? He could smell the fragrance of her hair as she bent over him.
“David,” she murmured, touching his swollen face with cool hands, “are you hurt?”
He turned his head to the side, avoiding her eyes, and kept silent.
“How dare they do this? Those, those—” she fumed, searching her eight-year-old vocabulary for language strong enough to suit the occasion. “Vermin.” She spat out the word. “I shall ask my father to kill them.”
Against his will, David started to smile, then grimaced. The side of his cheek throbbed unbearably. Mairi’s passions frequently took a violent turn.
“Are you too hurt to walk?” she asked anxiously.
He shook his head and sat up. “What are you doing here, Mairi? Your father will skin you alive if he finds you outside the gates.”
“I was worried about you,” she replied.
“You needn’t be.” He tested his cheek and the skin around his eye gingerly. “I can take care of myself.”
“I can see that,” Mairi retorted. “Where would you be if I hadn’t come?”
“I didn’t ask you to follow me,” he lashed out.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
Remorse flooded through him. “Don’t cry,” he said hoarsely. “I am not myself today.” He stood and held out his hand. “Come. I’ll take you back to Shiels.”
She took his hand. They walked in silence through the powdery grayness. “Are you dreadfully sad?” she asked at last.
David shook his head. “I hardly knew him.”
Mairi frowned. “Then why did you run away?”
He sighed. His nose throbbed, and he felt as if he’d aged a lifetime in the last day and in doing so left her far behind. “I didn’t run away.”
“What is the matter, David?”
Mairi knew nothing of subterfuge. She always came directly to the point and expected others to do the same. She would know if he lied.
Haltingly, he spoke. “Now that my father is dead, I am heir to Bothwell.”
She did not understand. “That is good. As the earl, you can do as you please.”
Gently, he tried to explain. “My mother will send for me, Mairi. I must leave Shiels at her command.”
Mairi’s face paled. Her fingers tightened over his palm. Words were beyond her. Only death would be worse than losing David.
One look at the despair in Mairi’s eyes chastened him. He uttered a curse he’d overheard from the groom. Whatever turn his future took, he had no right to wound Mairi. Clumsily, he attempted to reverse his mistake. “Pay me no mind, lass. I know nothing of what my mother intends. Worrying will do only harm.”
Her smile was a wonderful thing to behold. David, on the verge of burgeoning manhood, caught his breath. Mairi was still a child, but someday soon she would be beautiful. The promise was already there in the thin bones of her face, in the elegant sweep of her brows, in the perfectly formed lips and wide, clear eyes. He swallowed and looked away. There, on the ash-covered pony path leading to the castle, with the odor of smoke and death filling his nostrils, David Murray made a promise to himself. He vowed to return to Shiels when Mairi was a woman.
TRAQUAIR HOUSE
1993
For the first time since I was a little girl, I longed for the comfort of my parents’ king-sized bed. Snuggled between their bodies, wrapped in the warmth of unconditional love and a down-filled comforter, I knew that nothing would harm me. Now I had no such assurances. Mairi would find me no matter where I was. Her life would unravel before me in living color like a videotape whether I liked it or not. And with every heightened, larger-than-life experience, my time dwindled. What if I failed?
Cold sweat gathered in the hollow between my breasts. My heart pounded. I was afraid with a gut-wrenching, despairing kind of paranoia I’d never experienced before. I was afraid to sleep, afraid to confide in anyone, afraid to be alone. Good Lord! What was happening to me?
I looked at the clock. It was after eleven, and I couldn’t sleep. Hot tea and the warmth of the kitchen hearth appealed to me. The hall was dark as I closed the bedroom door and felt my way along the wall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. The glow of the banked fire cheered me. I filled the teakettle with water, turned on the burner, and pulled the rocker close to the hearth. It was easy to think here in the cozy darkness with the fire throwing an arc of light across the ceiling, leaving me and the rest of the room in shadow. Tomorrow Ian and I would begin our search. I shivered in anticipation. Somewhere inside these walls lay the secrets of my ancestors. With luck and perseverance, those secrets would be revealed for the first time in seven hundred years.
I lifted the kettle off the burner just before it whistled. Shaking out the loose tea, I spilled some on the counter, swept it into my hand, and dumped it into the teapot. The tea had steeped and I had poured the first hot, sustaining cup when I heard them.
Voices raised in argument, loud at first and then lowered in furious whispers. They came from the entry near the main stairs. My hand trembled as I placed the pot on the counter. There could be no mistake as to the identity of the two engaged in their private battle, but I had to see for myself to remove the last shred of doubt.
Slipping out of the kitchen, I flattened myself against the wall, inching my way slowly toward the entry. Pale fingers of moonlight lit the hall, illuminating Ian’s blond head. Kate’s hand was clenched on his arm, and the features of her face were twisted in desperation. The intimacy of their position shocked me. Obviously they knew each other much better than I had realized, and whatever their disagreement, it wasn’t a small misunderstanding.
He shook his head. “Don’t be absurd,” he said in an angry whisper. “It isn’t the same thing at all. I had no idea what you intended. You lied to me. What you’ve done is dangerous, not to mention illegal. You told me you only wanted to know her, to convince her of your claim. For Christ’s sake, she’s pregnant. If the child is damaged in any way, you’ll be responsible.”
“You knew from the beginning what the outcome would be,” Kate reminded him. “Nothing’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Your request sounded reasonable and harmless. Now I find that you’re playing with her mind. She actually believes in all this.”
“Don’t you?”
He was silent for a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was low and careful. “I don’t see what she sees and neither do you. We both know that everything has a logical explanation.”
She refused to answer and gave him a long, assessing look instead. Finally, she spoke. “What I believe is that you’re a fool, Ian Douglas.”
He swore softly. “Christina had nothing to do with Maxwell’s will and neither did her mother. Everything is perfectly legal. I’m serious about this, Kate. It must stop immediately.”
“I won’t give up now.” Kate’s fingers curled around his arm. “Traquair is mine. No one else has worked for it as I have. I won’t have it go to someone who didn’t know it existed until a few weeks ago.”
“Aren’t you forgetting her mother? Surely, you can’t dispute her rights.”
“It’s mine.” Her voice was almost a wail. “It belongs to me and to my heirs.”
“Kate.” Ian’s voice had gentled, as if speaking to a child. “You have no heirs. Christina would eventually inherit everything that belongs to you.”
The woman tilted her head, measuring him with her sharp dark eyes. “On the contrary, Ian. You are my nearest blood relative.”
My heart raced. What could their disjointed conversation possibly mean? How was Kate playing with my mind, and how were they related? I nearly strangled from the effort to control my breathing.
“It’s all the same now,” Ian continued patiently. “My child will inherit Traquair. My child and Christina’s.”
In the faint light, I could see her eyes narrow and a small gloating smile transform her face. “How do you think she would feel if she knew your involvement in this, Ian? Do you really believe she would marry you?”
His expression was grim. “Are you planning to tell her?”
“Should a marriage begin with deceit?” she countered.
“No.” He stepped back, away from the touch of her hands. “But I don’t want you telling her. I’ll do it the first thing tomorrow. I hope you realize what this means. You’ll be forced to leave Traquair. You could go to prison.” He sighed. “You’re ill, Kate. You may even be mad. I understand your disappointment that Maxwell didn’t do enough for you, but life has its share of disappointments. You’ll have to live with it. I suggest you go somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Start over again.” He walked out the door, leaving it ajar behind him.
For a moment that lasted a lifetime, Kate stared out the door. Finally, muttering under her breath, she closed and locked it and climbed the stairs.
I waited a full fifteen minutes before even thinking of moving. Tiptoeing upstairs, I sat down and wrote a quick note to my father. Then, gathering my keys and purse, I made my way downstairs, unlocked the door, and crossed the courtyard to the carport.
An hour later I checked into an inconspicuous hotel outside of Edinburgh, turned up the heat, and stretched out between unfamiliar sheets. There was no point in thinking any further than I already had. It was nearly two in the morning. Exhaustion claimed me, and I fell asleep.