The Devil's Heart The Chattan Curse

Chapter Fourteen


Owen Campbell fancied himself of the Corinthian set. He was a handsome, lean man ten years Heath’s elder. He wore his graying hair in the windswept style, a silly affectation where the hair was combed forward over the brow and ears as if a great wind blew it from behind. The style also hid Campbell’s growing baldness.

Heath didn’t trust a man who spent a goodly amount of time thinking about his hair. Yes, all the young bucks in London were vain but there came an age when a man put a comb through his hair in the morning and didn’t think of it the rest of the day.

Campbell’s hair wasn’t his only pretension. He sported a spur on one highly polished boot just for show. Heath had noticed that single spur even in church. No true horsemen would ride around with one spur. He’d be riding in circles.

It stood without saying that Campbell’s clothes were finely tailored and definitely from London. His greatcoat had no fewer than seven capes, and it must have taken a bevy of tailors to style his breeches just right so that the padding used to fill out Campbell’s manly form would not be noticed.

The man had built his fortune with the East India Company. Heath had met a number of nabobs during his naval career and there wasn’t one whose greed didn’t turn his stomach.

Campbell stood by the fire and as Heath walked into the room, he swept back his elegant coat, placing one gloved hand on his hip as if posing for his portrait. Heath could even imagine the title, “Corinthian Visiting Lowly Country Laird.” Campbell’s hat was on small table by the door and Heath was determined to put it in his hand and direct him out onto the front step as quickly as possible.

He had a conversation to finish with Margaret, and she was far more entertaining and interesting than Campbell.

Campbell smiled his greeting while giving Heath’s rough appearance a critical once-over. “Good of you to see me, Laird.” Campbell didn’t have a title, not even a lowly one like Heath’s, but he would like one.

“You said you have business of an urgent nature?”

“I do.” Campbell’s voice was full of confidence. He walked over to the liquor table that held the decanter of whisky and glasses. He poured himself a healthy measure. “You should be a better host. Always offer your guest something to quench the thirst from the road.”

Heath frowned. This was strange behavior from Campbell. Because he coveted Marybone, his manner was usually obsequious.

This boldness, while not new to Campbell’s nature, was new to their dealings together.

“What have you done?” Heath asked quietly.

Campbell raised his eyebrows in a parody of surprise. “What makes you believe I’ve ‘done’ anything?”

Heath answered him with a bitter smile.

“Very well,” Campbell said. He downed his whiskey, the gamesmanship leaving his manner. Holding the empty glass, he announced, “I own your paper.”

“My paper?”

“Your debts. I’ve bought them up. I’ve been in the process of it for a long time. There was one creditor who was loyal to your brother. Brodie Macnachtan inspired that in men.”

He was right.

“Do you mean Angus Trotter?” Heath said.

“I do. He refused to sell your brother’s note. Said he’d promised you that he’d give you the chance to pay it off.”

“He did.”

“Did you know he passed away several weeks ago? He was visiting his daughter on the Isle of Skye when he took ill. He was an old man and it wasn’t unexpected. The family didn’t have Trotter’s reluctance to sell me your debts, and at a very good price, I might add.”

Heath’s temper was a boiling stream in his veins. It took all his control to not grab Campbell by his windswept hair and the collar of his tailored coat and toss him out the door. He willed himself to stay still. “Marybone is my birthright.”

“Yes, well, your predecessors shouldn’t have mortgaged it to the hilt. I gave you a fair opportunity to sell to me and keep your respect. Your solicitor urged you to consider my offer. So, now we do this the disagreeable way.” He walked to the door and picked up his hat. “You and I know you can’t pay your debts. Here is my new offer—you will either pay off your debts or vacate these premises within the week. I don’t like you, Macnachtan. You are an arrogant sod. I would be happy to start proceedings to send you to debtors’ prison.” He smiled, pleased with himself. “I can see you are upset with me. I don’t blame you. You’d like to throttle me. String me up. But you can’t. You don’t dare. You have that much sense. If it were just you, well, then you’d do what you wish. But you have your sisters, and their fates are in your hands.”

He was right, damn his soul.

Campbell started toward the door. “I expect your decision by the morrow. You know where to reach me—”

Margaret stepped into the doorway, startling both men with her sudden appearance. She had to have been listening to be this close to block Campbell’s path. Her expression was one of an avenging angel.

Campbell took a step back. His gaze rolled over her, and Heath could see he was impressed. “Lady Margaret Chattan?” His whole manner changed. He became the courtly gallant as he made a bow. “I’d heard you were in the neighborhood. What a pleasure it is to meet you. Let me introduce myself, I am Owen Campbell—”

“I know who you are and I don’t like you,” Margaret announced. “Furthermore, you may have your answer about Marybone’s debts. We shall pay them off. Immediately. Please provide a complete accounting to Sir James Smiley, Esquire of London and submit them for payment. And then don’t ever show up here again with your threats. Marybone is staying in Macnachtan hands.”

If she had planted a facer on Campbell he could not appear more surprised. “But I thought the Chattan and the Macnachtan are enemies.”

“Not any longer,” Margaret informed him. “I have accepted Laird Macnachtan’s offer of marriage.”

Heath was stunned by Margaret’s claim, but it was also a good moment. Campbell was receiving his comeuppance.

However, having Margaret rescue Macnachtan pride was not something that set well with Heath. He had been willing to protect her honor, but he didn’t expect her to protect his.

Campbell looked back at him. Heath didn’t speak. He was too angry and he didn’t know if he was angrier with Campbell or Margaret.

“You have your answer,” she said to Campbell, dismissing him with a queenly disdain. “Now leave.”

Campbell glanced one more time at Heath and then muttered something about how they hadn’t heard the last of this as he slapped his expensive hat on his head. He left the house.

Margaret was immediately surrounded by Laren and Anice. Their appearance was so quick they must have been on the stairs eavesdropping. Dara entered the room with them as well.

Laren and Anice threw their arms around her. “Thank you,” Laren said. “Thank you so much.”

“This is the best news,” Anice said. “I like you so much and now we shall be sisters through marriage. This is wonderful.”

“Congratulations,” Dara said, the felicitation sounding almost cold in its reserve. She’d taken a moment to see Campbell out the door.

Laren looked over at him. “Why didn’t you tell us, Heath?” she asked.

“It was a sudden decision,” he managed to say through tight jaws. “Will you excuse us? I need a moment with my future wife. And don’t let me catch you listening on the stairs.”

Laren and Anice exchanged a look, and for a second, he anticipated them making him truly angry by refusing his order. Damn women. They were impossible to control. They never followed a direct order.

Dara came to his rescue by placing a hand on each of his sister’s shoulders. “Come,” she said. “Lady Margaret and Heath have much to discuss.”

She whisked them down the hall.

Margaret eyed Heath warily. “You are not happy with me.”

“That is an understatement,” he answered. He stood a moment and then picked up a glass from the liquor table and threw it into the fire, where it smashed into pieces. There had been a bit of whisky in the glass and the flames hissed.

Margaret was not accustomed to anyone’s anger but her own. She straightened her back. “What have I done to make you furious?”

“I don’t know,” he said with a false note of mild amusement. “I believe you announced we are marrying. Tell me, was I going to have any say in this?”

For a second, Margaret’s cheeks burned. This was awkward. “We had not completely finished our conversation in the library but were you not going to suggest we marry?”

“Ah, yes, the offer you refused before I could make it.”

“You make me sound bulling,” she said, reaching for her pride as a shield. “I have just agreed to pay all your debts. You should be pleased.”

“I pay my own debts,” he said, his brogue coming out. “I don’t need you or anyone else to pay them.”

“Because you were doing so well on your own,” she couldn’t resist pointing out, and that was not the wisest thing to say. But no one, absolutely no one had ever questioned her actions. She was Margaret Chattan. She did as she pleased.

A fierce light came to Heath’s eyes. “What you don’t realize, my lady, is that the rest of us have just as much right to our pride and our choice of action as you do. Furthermore, I seem to remember you informing me that marriage was not in order. What made you change your mind? Pity?”

Too late, Margaret had a clarity of vision that allowed her to see how he had interpreted her actions. “No,” she said, taking a step toward him. “I—I overheard—”

“You were prying,” he corrected. “Let us be clear about that. My interview with Campbell was none of your business.”

“It is if you consider that I have come to think highly of all of you,” she responded in her defense. “And your sisters were on the stairs. I merely joined them,” she threw out, a weak excuse for poor manners if ever there was one.

“Think highly of us?” he said. He snorted his thoughts on that. “Doing what you did, and the way you did it, tells me you don’t think about any of us at all. We are a means to an end.”

Margaret wanted to stamp her feet with frustration. “Owen Campbell was going to take Marybone away from you. I have the money. It’s doing nothing but sitting in the funds drawing two percent.”

“And now I am in debt to you,” he snapped.

Margaret shook her head. “No, that is not it at all. You needed help and so I offered it.”

“You didn’t offer it, Maggie. You rammed it down my throat.” He started to walk past her but then he stopped, turned and faced her. “And the worst part is, there is nothing I can do about it. It’s done.”

“You don’t need to marry me, if that is what concerns you.”

“How little you know men,” he responded. “Of course, I must marry you.” He practically spit the words out.

“Well, you can’t,” she said, her pride rising. “I don’t want to marry you. And I don’t care about the money. I have plenty of money. I have so much money, I can’t stand it.” And then she walked out of the room, determined to be the first to leave. Men didn’t reject her. She rejected them.

“Margaret, come back here,” he ordered.

She ignored him. She climbed the stairs two at a time and raced to the haven of her room. She slammed the door behind her. Her whole body was shaking.

How dare he speak to her in that manner. She had been trying to help and he made her feel as if she had pushed her way into the conversation . . . and into his life.

“He would have lost the house,” she said to her reflection in the looking glass.

And she’d meant what she’d said about letting him have the money. Money meant nothing to her, while it obviously meant everything to him.

The bath he had ordered had been prepared for her. The tub was an old wooden one. The servants had set it in front of the hearth although there was no fire in it. That was done to conserve money. She would be expected to light the peat—used instead of wood because there was no money—which she should have no problem doing if she hadn’t started crying.

Margaret knelt in front of the cold hearth, the flint box in one hand, and let the tears fall.

She didn’t understand what had come over her. She’d never in her life cried as much as she had in Scotland.

Then again, she’d never allowed herself the emotional freedom she’d discovered here.

In England, her life was controlled. No one argued with her or mistook her best intentions or accused her of overstepping boundaries. She had servants who jumped to her bidding.

No one expected anything of her or told her nay—until Heath Macnachtan. He had no difficulty putting her in her place. No wonder she didn’t like him. He was unreasonable.

And she was still going to pay his debts—for no other reason than she did want him beholden to her because she knew how angry that would make him.

A soft knock sounded at the door. The girl Cora’s excited voice said, “Lady Margaret, your servant has awakened. You said you wanted to know when that happened.”

Rowan. Guilt flooded through Margaret. She’d been so enmeshed in Heath Macnachtan she’d almost forgotten her brave servant.

She wiped her face with her hands. “Yes, I did.” She rose from the floor and crossed the room to the door. Cora waited outside. “When did he wake?”

“Just a few moments ago. His eyes opened and he blinked.” She opened her eyes wide and blinked to demonstrate.

“I’ll go to him right now,” Margaret said, suddenly anxious to connect with someone from her other life. Rowan would help her make sense of all this. He was her connection to her brothers, who always knew what to do. They were stronger and braver than she.

She dashed up the stairs, gave a knock at the door and entered Rowan’s room without waiting for permission.

The valet looked to her. Tears filled his eyes. His dusky skin had a tinge of ash to it and deep circles underlined his eyes. His face was still swollen from bruises.

“It is all right,” Margaret said, coming to his bedside and pulling the chair Cora had been sitting in closer. “There was a terrible accident, but you are going to be all right.” She tried to smile encouragement. It was difficult. “You’ve broken many bones and so sleeping has been a blessing for you, Rowan. No, don’t try to move. If it is possible, please, keep still.”

“Where are we?” Rowan asked. His voice sounded as scratchy and hoarse as hers had right after the accident.

“At Marybone, the family estate of Laird Macnachtan. Do you remember the accident?”

Rowan slowly nodded.

“We are the only two to survive.” She touched the fingertips of his bandaged hands. “I don’t know if we are going to win, Rowan,” she confided. “There is a force here, the same one that tried to stop us on the road to Loch Awe. Do you remember?”

“The wind.”

“Yes, the wind . . . but it wasn’t really an act of nature, was it?”

“No.”

Margaret nodded her agreement. “You are not in danger,” she said, wanting to give him some reassurance. “But I don’t know what is afoot, and I fear, Rowan, that any opportunity we had at defeating Fenella is past. She’s too strong. I feel like a child in a dark room. I’m afraid to move. I’m afraid to do anything because I sense she is watching.”

He moved his fingers, a motion for her to lean forward. When she did, he said, “Why did I wake?”

The question surprised her. “What do you mean?”

“Why did I wake now? What has happened?”

“I assume your body decided it was time,” she said.

He shook his head, his expression tired. “There is no such thing as chance,” he murmured. “Always a reason.”

This was more of his unorthodox beliefs. However, Harry always listened to him, and perhaps Margaret should as well. “If it isn’t chance, then could it be that Fenella wants you awake? Owl saved my life,” she whispered. “Remember the cat only I could see? I was not going to live after the accident and Owl came to me and performed some sort of protective magic. I didn’t even have a scrape on my skin.”

His eyes narrowed as he listened.

“Fenella’s book is gone,” she continued. “It was burned by this man called Swepston who came across the accident and stole it. He wants the curse to go on forever. Surprisingly, Laird Macnachtan does not agree. I had anticipated we would be enemies, but it is far different from that,” she said, her mind suddenly filled with the images of the two of them making love. Of their kisses. “He wishes us no ill will. Swepston did not like that fact and burned the book.”

Rowan’s frown deepened.

“I thought all was lost but then the laird took me to the island where Rose Macnachtan jumped to her death. There I saw Owl again, and she led me to two unmarked graves. They must be for Rose and Fenella, but, Rowan, beyond that, I know nothing else. Every direction I go has an ending without a solution. And I’m afraid time is running out. Laird Macnachtan sent a messenger to inform Lyon that I was safe. The messenger has not returned. I don’t know if that means Neal is still alive or not.”

“The messenger may not have reached Lord Lyon,” Rowan suggested. “My lady, you are on the right trail. The cat is telling you that.”

“By taking me to the graves?”

“If you see the cat, then your quest is still alive.”

That made sense. “But Owl comes and goes. She does not stay with me.” Margaret studied the weave of the bed sheet a moment before saying, “Laird Macnachtan saw Owl. When he woke this morning, Owl was watching him. He chased her and touched her but when he attempted to capture her, his hands went right through her body. And he says he doesn’t believe in ‘ghosties.’ ”

“What changed? What let him see the cat?”

They had made love.

It was so obvious Margaret was surprised she hadn’t realized it before now.

She looked at Rowan, who waited patiently for an explanation. Harry trusted the valet, so she would as well. “We were together. For the night,” she said. “On the island alone.”

He nodded as if he had already concluded that. “Perhaps that was meant to be,” he said.

Margaret leaned forward. “What? Am I to continue that behavior? Do you believe it seemly of me?”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of course not,” she said, quickly.

Rowan drew a deep, heavy breath. “My lady, I do not know. However, there is a force here. Something beyond our understanding. In India, we have a different view about what happens between a man and a woman. If you were not titled or an heiress, would it matter so much? Follow the way you must go,” he advised.

“And which way do I continue?” she asked, thinking about her recent words with Heath.

“You will know.”

That was no answer, but Rowan’s eyes were starting to droop with exhaustion. “Here, I have been selfish,” she admitted. “You must rest.” She started to plump the feather pillow around his head.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door and Laren entered with a tray of food. “How is he?” she asked Margaret.

“Healing,” Margaret answered. She gave Rowan’s fingers a small squeeze. “This is Miss Macnachtan, one of the laird’s two sisters. They have been very kind to us.” She meant those words. “Rest now. We shall talk more later.”

“I hope he doesn’t go to sleep immediately,” Laren said. “I carried this tray up all those stairs for him. It’s some of Cook’s good broth. It will lift your spirits.”

“Thank you,” Margaret said for both of them. She started to leave, but then stopped. Rowan was right. She needed to see this through. Perhaps she had not been wise walking away from Heath. “Do you know where your brother is?”

A worried look came to Laren’s eye. “He left.”

“Left?” Margaret repeated in surprise.

“Yes, he left the house. I saw Rowlly a moment ago. He said Heath saddled Admiral and took off in a tear.”

His leaving annoyed Margaret in a way that it shouldn’t have. What should she care what Heath did or where he went? He’d made it clear he wanted everything on his own terms. Apparently if he wasn’t satisfied, he rode off.

Then again, she’d stormed away from him.

But she hadn’t expected him to leave the physical boundaries of the house. Indeed, Margaret realized she’d assumed that eventually they would continue their “discussion.”

“Is there anything wrong?” Laren asked, concern in her voice.

There were many things wrong but Margaret didn’t know if she understood exactly what they were. “Everything is fine,” she murmured, and forced a smile at Rowan. “Please, rest.”

He gave a weak nod and she left to return to her bedroom. It was close to the dinner hour. This had been an event-filled day.

Cold bathwater still waited for her . . . as did the cold hearth.

And Heath had gone off to who knew where without a word to her.

And Margaret felt miserable.

She told herself to stop being foolish. She forced herself to concentrate on building a fire. The flint didn’t spark immediately so it was an effective distraction.

An even stronger distraction was the bath she took. It had taken great effort for Tully to bring the water to her room. She would not waste the effort. The temperature of the water was not unbearable but she made quick business of her bath. She then dressed and went down to dinner.

Heath did not join them. He had not come back from his ride.

Laren and Anice pretended that all was fine, although they had to have heard the arguing in the sitting room. Dara didn’t pretend, but offered Margaret consoling looks that annoyed her greatly.

After dinner, Dara managed a private moment with Margaret by following her upstairs when she went to her room. At the top of the stairs, she stopped Margaret and said, “You seem so unhappy. Do you wish to talk about it?”

For a second, Margaret was tempted. Then again, the habit of aloneness was strong within her. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing her doubts and fears. That was not what a Chattan did.

“I’m fine,” Margaret said. “I just don’t like arguments.”

“You will have plenty with Heath,” Dara assured her, shifting the candle for the two of them she held in her hand. “He has too much of the naval officer in him. You will do as he says or he’ll keelhaul you.”

Margaret rolled her eyes and Dara smiled before turning serious. “He did ask you to marry him, didn’t he?”

The temptation was strong to share the truth. Suddenly, Margaret didn’t want to have this conversation, but she would not lie. “We haven’t discussed anything about marriage,” she demurred, and that was true, in a way. “I wonder where he spent this evening.”

“Probably at the Goldeneye, drinking. He does that more than he should.” Dara smiled sadly. “I knew he was going to pounce on you. I warned you.”

“You did.”

“You don’t look happy. And the way he treated you this afternoon, that was humiliating. He acts as if he doesn’t know how important you are.”

Margaret stood with her hand on her door handle and decided that now might be a good moment for plain speaking. “You are working very hard at creating a division between myself and Laird Macnachtan. I’m beginning to wonder why.”

Dara took a step back with a dismissive gesture. “I told you earlier. I feel you are being rushed into something that I believe you will regret.”

“Did you regret your marriage?” Margaret asked. She’d learned that often people accused others of their own thoughts and sins.

“Of course, I didn’t. Brodie was a remarkable man. A kind man. I don’t know where I would be if he had not come to my rescue.”

“Everyone speaks highly of him. I wish I’d known him.” Margaret meant those words.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs and they saw the glow of candlelight. Laren and Anice joined them at the top of the stairs.

“We’d wondered where you had gone off to,” Anice said in her usual cheery manner.

“I’m surprised you are still awake,” Laren said to Margaret. “I’d have been to bed an hour ago.”

“I need to check on Rowan,” Margaret said.

“Here, take a candle,” Anice offered, and excused herself. Laren and Dara also murmured good nights and went to their rooms. Apparently Dara did not want to share her doubts in front of her sisters-in-law.

Rowan was asleep. His breathing was uncomplicated. He would heal. Margaret sat a long moment in the chair by his bedside, thinking about their earlier conversation and his words to her . . . and she could find no pattern or conceive of any new progress in the events of the last few days.

“I will have faith,” she told him. “I will not give up.” With those words, she rose from the chair and left the room.

Downstairs, all was quiet. The hall was dark save for her candle. She entered her room and shut the door. At some point in the evening, Tully had fetched her bathwater from her room. She went over to the fire and added fuel to revive the flames. She crossed to the bed and set her candle on the table beside it.

And she felt alone.

She wandered over to the window that overlooked the stables. All was dark save for the light of a full silvery moon.

Margaret started to turn away when she heard the sound of horse’s hooves. She leaned close to the window, waiting, and was rewarded with the sight of Heath’s silhouette on Admiral in the stable yard. He had returned.

For a second, she stood in indecision. Should she hurry into her nightclothes and ignore him the way he’d ignored her by leaving?

Or should she force a confrontation?

There were things they had to say to each other, and she didn’t want them said with an audience. The women in this house were very good at ferreting out information.

Movement on the path caught her eye, the shadow of a man walking from the stable to the house. He was coming.

She started to undress, determined to climb into her bed and not give him another thought.

But then she sensed, rather than heard, him enter the house. He would be coming up the stairs.

After what had happened between them last night, why should she be shy about going to his room? There would be privacy there. Everyone else was asleep. They could talk. She could explain that she wanted him to have the money and he could grumble all he wanted.

Time seemed to stand still. She listened, anxious to hear a sound from him.

She heard nothing . . . but he had to be upstairs. He must be. Once he had entered the house, it would not take him too long to climb the stairs.

But what if he’d stayed downstairs? What if he had decided to enjoy a bit of whiskey?

Then she would speak to him downstairs, she decided. That was a better plan anyway.

With firm resolution, she walked over to the door, opened it, and—

Heath stood there.

He still wore his coat although he was hatless. His hair was mussed, as if he’d combed it with his fingers. He didn’t smell of whisky but of the night air and the winter wind.

Her heart filled with joy at seeing him.

His eyes were very sober. “I don’t need charity.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“But I think,” he said, sounding hesitant, “I believe I might need you.”

Her response was to throw her arms around his neck.