Thirty
TRAQUAIR HOUSE
1993
A sting in my thigh woke me. Groggily, I tried to open my eyes but couldn’t quite manage it. The sensations of damp and cold penetrated my sweatshirt and leggings. I was still on the ground, my body twisted into an unnatural position on the stairs. Someone crouched beside me. It was a woman. I could tell from the cloying floral scent of her perfume.
“I know you’re coming around, Christina,” Kate Ferguson said in a voice that wasn’t the least bit servile. “There is no use pretending. I’ve brought you some orange juice. I want you completely alert when I tell you what I’ve planned.”
The insulin traveling through my veins renewed me. With only minimal effort, I opened my eyes. It was no longer dark. Kate stared down at me, holding an empty syringe in one hand and a thermos in the other. A flashlight sat on the step beside her, its circle of light reflecting off the ceiling and capturing the two of us in its artificial glow.
I wet my lips. “What are you doing here?”
She smiled contemptuously. “Do you really believe that I’d take orders from someone like you? Traquair belongs to me. I’ve no intention of ever leaving it.”
I sat up and reached for the thermos. She surrendered it immediately. Twisting off the top, I drank directly from the container, gulping the liquid down in huge restoring mouthfuls. The sweet juice cooled my parched throat and cleared away the remaining cobwebs from my brain. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and replaced the cap.
“How did you know where to give me my shot?”
“I took care of Ellen Maxwell for years. This isn’t the first time I’ve administered an injection.”
I needed time to think. Grasping at the first words that entered my mind, I spoke. “Maybe I was rather unfair,” I said, setting the thermos on the step. “Why don’t we see if we can come to some kind of arrangement.”
“I don’t think so.”
I looked up quickly, surprising a look of pure hatred on Kate’s face. The hair lifted on my arms and the back of my neck. “What do you mean?”
“Your time is up, Christina Murray.” She laughed, but the sound was humorless. “Did you think to escape your fate? I knew it was you the moment I saw your face.”
“How?” I whispered.
“The portrait of Jeanne Maxwell.”
“You hid it from me, didn’t you?”
She shrugged. “I needed more time before you learned of the connection between yourself and the others. But I misjudged you, Christina. You were such a shy, rabbity little thing when you first came. I didn’t believe that you’d take charge as soon as you did. It took me until now to plan a way to be rid of you.”
“You can’t mean that. Why would you bring me medication and juice if you planned to kill me all along?”
“I’m no murderer. I have no intention of killing you. That will be taken care of for me.”
I stared at her in fascinated horror, a germ of awareness growing inside my brain.
Her dark eyes glowed with a fanatical light. “You’ll never find it,” she crowed. “You’re doomed just like they were.”
Suddenly, I realized who she reminded me of. “You’re insane,” I whispered.
“I’m not the one searching for a stone to end a curse that began over seven hundred years ago.” Her gloating face was painful to look at. “When they find you in here, you’ll have died of natural causes. What does three days without insulin do to a diabetic, Christina?”
Desperately, I searched the stairs for a way out. Kate stood above, blocking the only escape route. There was one way to go and that was down. I considered pushing her aside but discarded the idea. Although Kate was older than I and not nearly as tall, she outweighed me by twenty pounds. One slip on the damp stairs would leave someone injured. The odds were against me. I decided to stall for time, hoping for an inspiration. Maybe there was some way I could get around her.
I stood and leaned against the wall, crossing my arms in what I hoped was a nonthreatening posture. “What exactly do you want from me, Kate?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it again without speaking. Her brows drew together, and a look of confusion crossed her face. “What did you say?”
“I asked what you wanted from me,” I repeated. “There should be some way to work this out. After all, we are related.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There is no blood tie between us.”
Now it was my turn to be perplexed. “Of course there is,” I argued. “My mother is your half sister. Your father and my grandfather was James Maxwell. I know everything, Kate. I found the documents in the Hall of Records in Edinburgh.”
“What did you call me?” Her voice had changed. The consonants were softer, the brogue stronger. Something was definitely wrong.
“Are you all right?” I asked, reaching out to touch her arm.
“Whore,” she said, deliberately stepping backward. “You dishonor me with your touch.”
The blood rose in my face. I took a deep breath, consciously dredging up what remained of my self-control. “In the name of fairness, I’m willing to overlook a great deal,” I said reasonably. “However, it would be wise to remember who is the legal owner of Traquair House. You won’t get anywhere by insulting me.”
“I need nothing from you.” She spat contemptuously. “Lord Douglas’s estates are vast. What would I want with Maxwell leavings?”
The tight bun she normally wore had loosened. Wisps of dark hair framed her face, emphasizing the pale skin and oddly slanted dark eyes. There was no longer any doubt. The woman was truly insane. Kate Ferguson, housekeeper of Traquair, had disappeared. It was Grizelle Douglas, her witchlike eyes filled with hatred, who stared back at me.
Words, questions, half-formed responses, crowded together in my mind, tangled in my throat, and froze on my lips. I was speechless.
“What is it, Mairi?” the strange voice continued. “Did you think I wouldn’t find you? Did you hope to succeed this time?”
“Stop it! Stop it!” I shouted, finding my voice at last. “Don’t do this. We’ve got to get out of here.” Responding to a primitive instinct, I reached out and clutched her shoulders in a desperate effort to shake the madness from her.
With surprising strength, she pushed me back against the wall, blocking my chance for escape. “You’re not going anywhere. This is your fate, Mairi of Shiels. This is where you’ll spend eternity.”
Hysteria began to close in. Forcing myself to concentrate, I sat down on the step and took several deep, even breaths.
I expected her to turn, walk back up the stairs, and leave me behind, locked away forever in the ancient burial vault of Traquair House. But she didn’t. She waited, watching me with a silent, empty expression while my breathing and my terror stabilized.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“You betrayed Scotland.”
I looked up quickly. Perhaps there was a way out of this after all. If it meant playing out the drama, so be it. Wetting my lips, I assumed the identity she’d given me. “You know I didn’t, Grizelle. If you have the sight, you know I did nothing to betray my country.”
“You were the English king’s whore. You bore him a child and then came back to my son. Your actions soiled the House of Murray. At court they laughed at David behind his back.”
What now? Could this really be happening? I’d read about schizophrenia, of course, but never before had I heard of anyone so skillfully concealing multiple personalities. Or was it something else? For how long had Kate believed she was Grizelle Douglas?
Again, I attempted to reason with her. “David didn’t agree. He married me of his own free will. We had a child, your grandson.”
She smiled triumphantly. “The child was better off without you. I raised him myself. Your name was never spoken. The taint of his Maxwell blood disappeared.”
Despite my fear, I was fascinated. How much did this woman who thought she was her seven-hundred-year-old ancestor really know? I couldn’t help myself. I had to find out. “What happened to David, Grizelle? Did he marry again?”
“He died at Bannockburn, fighting with the English against the Bruce.”
“Dear God.”
She nodded, and her mouth hardened. “That was your fault as well. He could not forgive Robert for your death.”
“You had a part in that,” I reminded her. “Did he forgive you?”
She brushed the question aside. “The hour grows late.” Picking up the flashlight, she turned to walk up the stairs. As an afterthought, she looked back at me. “I’ll not be seeing you again, Mairi Maxwell. ’Tis over between us.”
“But why?” I couldn’t let her go, not yet, not with the only available light. “You won, didn’t you? You wiped my name from the face of the earth. I’ve paid the price. Why must I die again?”
She turned back and stared at me as if I were a demented child. “Because of Ian Douglas, of course. You’ve bewitched another of my blood, Mairi. You carry his child. Your line must end forever.”
“No, please,” I begged. “Don’t take the light. At least leave the light.”
She considered my request and then shook her head. “You won’t need it.”
Heart hammering, I scrambled to my feet and followed her, staying just out of reach. I felt light-headed, but I knew that as long as I had strength there was no choice except to continue. If I reached the top of the stairs at the same time she did, I had a chance of overpowering her and pushing my way out of the door.
There was enough light to recognize the landmark short step. Kate was just ahead, around the next bend. Suddenly, I heard a voice too low to be Kate Ferguson’s.
Hurrying, I followed the curving stairs and stopped short, almost dropping with relief. Ian Douglas, a flashlight in one hand, a jacket and paper bag in the other, was staring at Kate with a look of disbelief on his face. Whatever else I knew of Ian, I was confident that he meant me no harm.
“What in the name of bloody hell are you doing here?” he asked Kate.
“I might ask the same of you,” she replied. Apparently she was herself again, slipping into her present-day personality as easily as she had left it.
“Ian,” I cried out, stumbling in my hurry to reach the safety of his side.
Kate blocked my way. “There is no other way, Ian. She is the one who carries the curse. Without her, there will be no more of Mairi’s line. The Murrays will be avenged.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ian’s face was ashen in the pale glow of the flashlight. “This isn’t about a curse, and you know it. You’ve allowed this inheritance business to cloud your thinking. We’ve had enough.” He reached out his hand to me. “Come, Christina.”
“No.” Kate’s voice was shrill. “She stays here.”
Disregarding her completely, Ian shouldered his way past her and pulled me into his arms. “Are you all right?” he asked, relief evident in his voice. “Your mother told me about your conversation this morning. I assumed you’d be here. Thank God I was right.”
“I’m fine,” I mumbled into his shirt, “and very glad to see you. Did you bring something to eat?”
He laughed. “Of course. But it wasn’t my idea. Your mother deserves the credit.” He pulled away to look down at me. “I want no more half-truths between us.”
Neither of us noticed Kate coming down the stairs toward us. I was rummaging through the bag when her voice stopped me.
“Stay with her if you must,” she shrieked, brandishing a kitchen knife with a pointed blade. “The two of you shall meet your fate together.”
With a curse, Ian stepped in front of me just as she lunged forward. The knife caught his forearm in a deep gash. Blood soaked his sleeve and dripped down over the stairs. His knees gave way, and he doubled over. I screamed and cradled him in my arms, trying to pull him away from her.
Kate laughed and lifted the knife again. I closed my eyes, fully expecting that moment to be my last. One second passed, then two. Nothing happened. Cautiously I lifted my lids, a fraction at first and then completely. She had focused on something behind us. The glee on her face had been replaced by fear. For a full minute she stared, seeing something in the darkened space that I, no matter how hard I strained, could not. After what seemed an eternity, she snarled and turned away from us to climb the stairs.
Ian struggled to his feet. His left hand was clamped down tightly over his wound. “I’m going after her,” he said. “She’s obviously mad, and your mother is waiting for us at the top. With that knife, I don’t know what Kate will do to her.”
Ian handed me the light and started up the stairs after her. She was already far enough ahead of him to make my heart stand still. If she got to the top before he did— “Hurry, Ian,” I shouted. “Hurry.”
My head swam, and I sat down again, overcome by weakness. I couldn’t begin to think of following them until I’d eaten. It was a long way to the top. An endless climb of narrow passages and slippery steps, requiring complete concentration. I simply wasn’t up to it.
Positioning the flashlight on the step below, I reached into the bag and took out an apple. Blessing my mother’s foresight, I stared into the inky blackness outside my circle of light and ate down to the core. It wasn’t until I’d replaced the remains in the bag that I noticed the light. It came from somewhere below me, soft and comforting, nothing like the dim, murky battery light surrounding me.
Slowly I stood, forgetting the food and the flashlight, forgetting everything but the mesmerizing pull of the glow before me. As I continued downward, the stairs ended and leveled out until I stood before a wall illuminated by white light. There was a narrow opening on one end. Turning sideways, I squeezed through into a room so bright I was momentarily blinded. When my eyes adjusted, I saw exactly what I’d expected.
It was the burial vault of my dream, complete with death masks and shadows and thousands of flickering candles. Beneath a small altar on a raised dais was Scotland’s Stone of Destiny. Behind it, her hands resting at her sides, her eyes steady on mine, was Mairi of Shiels.
This time she did not look tormented. In fact, she looked pleased. I smiled tentatively. She smiled back and beckoned me to join her. I crossed the distance between us and looked down at the stone. This was Jacob’s Pillar, the Royal Stone of the Belgic Kings brought from Dunstaffnage in A.D. 838, Scotland’s Stone of Destiny. Mine were the first human eyes to rest on it for over seven hundred years. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Thank you for helping me find it.”
She nodded, and we looked at one another, communing in silence for what seemed to be a long time.
“Christina,” Ian’s voice called out to me. “Christina, where are you?”
Alarmed, I looked at Mairi, a question hovering on my lips. Her eyes were kind and filled with understanding. Words were unnecessary. She knew my mind as well as I knew hers. The candles were the first to disappear, throwing the death masks and the ancient altar into deep shadow. The brilliant rainbow quality of light emanating from the stone faded until only a pale reddish glow remained. Mairi was gone for good this time.
I drew a deep breath. “I’m here, Ian,” I shouted, “behind the wall.”
Within moments he walked toward me, bandage around his arm, flashlight in hand. “Your parents have Kate,” he said.
“Is everyone all right?” I asked.
He nodded. “Everyone except Kate. She’s ill, Christina, really ill. She belongs in a hospital. I can’t believe that I didn’t see it before this.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go.”
Without a word, I pointed to the stone. He aimed his flashlight and stared. Disbelief on his face changed to awe. Reverently, he circled the dais, his flashlight moving over every inch of the glowing granite. “This is incredible,” he said at last. “There must be some kind of radiation coming from the rock, maybe uranium.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I’m not a geologist, but what other explanation could there be?”
“You still don’t believe in the supernatural, do you, Ian? Even after all we’ve been through.”
He waved the flashlight in the air. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. The point is, you’ve done it. You’ve proven that Scotland’s stone has been here at Traquair House all the time. You’ll be famous.”
I shook my head. “That isn’t what she would want.”
“What are you saying?”
I walked to where he stood and looked up at his face with eyes that finally recognized the truth. Without the blinders, I noticed the resemblance at once. The same thick, light hair and fair skin, the bluer than blue eyes, the masculine cut of nose and chin, the arrogant flair of nostrils. He was so very like him, a Saxon warrior thinly disguised by the clipped hair and civilized clothing of the twentieth century. Our lives had been linked as Mairi and Edward’s had been.
Gently, I reached up to touch his face and attempted to explain. “We were brought here and allowed to see this for a reason. Me, because of who I am, the last descendent of the Maxwells of Traquair. You, because you are a Douglas of Grizelle’s line. Don’t ask me to explain how I know that. It’s enough to tell you that without the two of us seeing this together, the curse wouldn’t be over.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Kate.” He sounded exasperated, as if his patience had finally worn to the breaking point. “Come now, Christina. You’re an educated woman. You can’t really believe in an ancient curse.”
“That isn’t important. You know as well as I do what will happen once we break it to the world that the stone in Westminster Abbey is a fraud. Teams of archaeologists and geologists and everyone else you can think of will park themselves on our doorstep and dissect our lives and our stories until neither one of us will be able to step outside again.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he countered stubbornly. “This is too valuable an artifact to be covered up and dismissed. It belongs in a museum.”
“What about your work? Do you really want your name to be a household word?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This is Scotland, not Hollywood.”
I gave up. There was nothing more I could say. “Have it your way,” I muttered. “I’m going home to Boston.”
“Christina.” He reached out to touch my arm. “You can’t mean that. What about the baby?”
He said something else, but I no longer heard. I was looking at the stone. The red glow had disappeared. Except for the flashlight, the room was shrouded in darkness. I reached out, groping for the warm granite. There was nothing. I turned back to Ian.
Slowly, he aimed the flashlight in the direction where the stone had been. It was gone. Even the dais had disappeared. Moments passed with the two of us staring at each other in frozen silence. Finally, as if some wordless message had passed between us, we left the way we had come, climbing the stairs to light and life.