A Scottish Love (35 page)

She’d simply misjudged, that was all. All she had to do was to remain calm, trace her fingers up the stone wall, pull down on the handle as she had so many times. The door would open slowly and she would slip into the library.

When she pulled on the release, nothing happened.

She was not going to panic. She was, after all, an Imrie. But even more than that, she knew the passages well. How many times had she traveled through them? A hundred? Two hundred? If there was something wrong with the door release into the library, there were at least ten other doors.

All she had to do was remember how to navigate the passages.

She sat, knees drawn up, with her back to the door. The effect of pure darkness was disorienting. Even if she blinked, she couldn’t see anything.

A sound startled her, sounding so much like a sigh that she called out. “Who’s there?”

No one answered.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, wishing she’d worn anything but the crimson dress. Her arms were cold, and her back felt like ice where it rested against the door.

The next closest door was in the Clan Hall. She got to her feet, turned left, and slowly began walking, counting her paces. Her right hand stretched out to the stone of the far wall, and she fervently hoped she didn’t encounter any insects going about their lives in perfect darkness.

Ahead was a small rectangular bar of yellow-white light. She began to smile as she made her way to it.

Standing on tiptoe, she looked out into the Clan Hall. The dancing had spilled out from the Family Parlor, and now people were engaged in one of those country dances she’d learned as a child.

She was certain to scare the lot of them when she emerged from the passage. Then, too, she would reveal the presence of the secret passages. But she wasn’t about to wait here until the room was cleared of guests.

Reaching up, she pulled on the bottom of the torch holder. The door didn’t open. She pulled on the latch again, and only heard a noise like metal grinding on metal. Had something been wedged between the opening mechanism and the door? In the darkness, she traced each part of the latch as far into the door she could. The hasp ended in a sharp edge, as if it had been sawed through.

Had that happened with the door to the library?

The faint panic she’d been able to subdue earlier was growing now.

She banged on the door with both fists. This section was brick on the other side. That, coupled with the noise of the party and the music, meant that no one heard her.

“I’m in the passage!”

Not one person turned to look toward the fireplace.

“I’m here!”

Another minute of banging on the door brought the realization that she wouldn’t be heard in the Clan Hall. But she could make her way back to the larder. There was a small door below the bottom shelf. Granted, she would have to crawl on her hands and knees, but she didn’t care. Right now, she very much wanted to be out of the passages however it was accomplished.

She turned back the way she’d come, following the passage as it sloped downward. The closer she came to the kitchen, the more she could smell the food they’d served tonight. Smells of salmon, claret-cooked beef, shortbread, cottage pie, and Gairloch cake, a confection filled with fruit and nuts, flavored the air.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten.

The moment she entered the larder, she’d prepare a plate for herself.

She felt the wooden framework of the door and slowly slid to her knees, all the while conscious of her pounding head. Blood had dried on her cheek, and it itched. She hadn’t used this door since she was a child, but the mechanism was the same.

Reaching for the latch, she pulled at it with all her strength. When it didn’t budge, she braced her shoulder against the door and pushed.

Nothing happened.

Too late, she recalled that they’d moved the barrels of flour and salted fish against the door. Sheer force would not open it.

What was she going to do if she couldn’t open one of the doors? What if she couldn’t get out?

Shona Imrie, calm down.
She had at least eight more doors to try. Surely they couldn’t all be broken.

But was that the right word? It felt as if they’d been damaged on purpose, as if someone really didn’t want her to escape.

Had Miriam done this? Had the American woman not forgiven her after all, and this was some horrid joke at her expense? Was Miriam going to release her after a few hours when she was suitably chastened?

Miriam could release her right at the moment and she’d be grateful. She was cold, hungry, and didn’t like being in the secret passages when they were so dark.

But she was not going to cry. She was an Imrie.

Oh bother that. When had being an Imrie ever given her an advantage? When had being herself ever given her an advantage?

Shona Imrie, proud and arrogant. Look at Shona now, on her knees, fighting back tears. She pressed her hand against the clan brooch. Her heart and her head hurt. Her heart because of what she’d said and done. Her head because of someone else.

The dark, dank silence stretched until Shona could hear only the booming of her heart, its rhythm oddly worrying. Was it beating too loudly, too fiercely? Was it going to stop in fright?

For pity’s sake, Shona, you’re an Imrie. Be a little more courageous.
But she couldn’t see anything, and courage was infinitely easier in the sunlight.

Something filmy and sticky touched her face and she impatiently brushed it away. She didn’t mind spiders, actually, as long as she could see them. Right now, she couldn’t see anything.

Wasn’t there a torch at each door? What did it matter when she had no matches?

She made her way down the passage, realizing that she was so disoriented that she wasn’t certain exactly where she was. Sitting down on the dirt floor, she drew up her knees.

Two choices faced her—to wait until morning when she was bound to be discovered, or find her way to the door to the loch. The journey was so familiar that she should be able to do it even in the darkness.

The idea of waiting wasn’t appealing at all, especially since she was growing colder by the moment.

“W
here are you going, Anne?”

A shudder traveled through her.

Slowly, she turned and faced her husband. Magnus stood holding a torch, the passage door closed behind him.

“With a pack and your best dress on, and your hair fixed as it was the day we wed. Where are you going, Anne?”

“What are you doing here, Magnus?” she asked.

He advanced on her, his thin, cruel smile warning enough.

“Where are you going, Anne?”

“Why do you care?”

“You’re leaving with him, aren’t you?”

Once, he’d been a handsome man, but cruelty had marred his features, making them sharper. “Brian, the piper. The one man who owed me nothing but friendship.”

“He’s your friend, Magnus.”

“What kind of friend steals my wife?”

She was not his to steal. She wasn’t his possession, like his horse or his sword, but saying such things to Magnus would only result in a blow. Her husband cared little for her, except as a vessel for his seed, or a mare to bear his children. Once her duty was done, he’d discarded her.

“You’ll not leave me, Anne.”

He grabbed her arm, but not tightly. Such kindness was not like him.

“Where are you meeting him?”

When she didn’t speak, he shook her. “Tell me.”

“I’ll stay with you, Magnus. Just leave him alone.”

“How sad you sound, Anne. Do you love him so much?”

She knew better than to answer that.

“Where, Anne?” His grip was tighter, and his smile had disappeared.

She shook her head, then closed her eyes when he twisted her arm behind her.

“Tell me.”

She would hold out as long as she could. Hopefully, Brian would wait for her only so long. When she didn’t come, would he return to Rathmhor? Or would he leave, as he’d planned?

Please, God, she thought, make him leave before she told Magnus that he was waiting for her at the end of the passage, where the door opened to Loch Mor.

By the time Magnus carried her, broken and bleeding, through the passages and into the cave, Anne no longer felt any pain. All she could think about was that she’d betrayed the one man she’d ever loved.

If there was a God, let Brian escape before Magnus and his followers found him.

Pride propelled Magnus forward, not love.

She and Brian had sinned, though, and because of that, she didn’t struggle when Magnus wrapped the chains around her wrists. When he spat in her face and told her, in words that reeked of blood and vengeance, what he was going to do to her lover, she only stared up at him weakly and wished him tormented to death.

When they brought Brian to her, only a spark of life left in his body, she curved herself over him, wept, and welcomed heaven.

H
elen couldn’t sleep.

A few minutes later, she crept into Shona’s room, her heart lurching at the sight of the empty bed. She returned to her chamber, dressing slowly, wondering if she dared do what she felt most compelled to do.

She might cause a scandal if Shona was with Gordon.

But what if she wasn’t?

She finished dressing, plaiting her hair and attaching it sensibly in a coronet. Smoothing her hands over her bodice, she stared out at the view. Fog skirted the ground, obscuring the dawn as well as the path to Rathmhor.

She’d be wise to simply remain at Gairloch until the morning was well advanced.

But something was wrong, a feeling that had been creeping up on her as the hours progressed. After settling the bonnet on her head and tying the ribbons with firmness, she nodded to herself just once.

For good or ill, she was going in search of Shona.

T
he cold woke Shona.

She was sitting with her back to the wall. Blinking didn’t make the darkness any less absolute. She’d had time to acquaint herself with the blackness, but familiarity made it even less tolerable.

How many hours had passed since she’d been trapped in the passages? Enough time to deduce that six of the doors she’d found had been tampered with so they didn’t work.

Enough time for the party to dissolve? If she could find her way back to the Clan Hall, perhaps someone could hear her now.

If she could find her way back.

She’d finally collapsed hours ago, when, despite how long she walked, she couldn’t find the door to the loch. Nor could she find her way back to the pantry door.

Had she ever been in this part of the passages?

She rose to her knees, brushing her hair away from her face. Slowly, she stood, wishing she wasn’t so confused. If she turned left, the ground sloped upward, but not necessarily to the Clan Hall; she’d discovered that a few hours ago. If she turned right, the ground sloped downward, but she’d learned that this passage didn’t lead to the loch. No doors opened in this section of passages. Nothing was familiar.

She had never been here before, and it was all too evident that she was, like it or not, on her own. Alone.

She was Shona Imrie and she was terrified.

Chapter 31

“I
do beg your pardon,” Helen Paterson said, her plain face contorted with worry.

She glanced toward the housekeeper, and Gordon nodded to Mrs. MacKenzie that he would handle their unexpected—and early—guest.

“Some tea, perhaps?” Mrs. MacKenzie asked, and he shook his head. This was not, he surmised, a call to discuss pleasantries.

“What is it, Helen?” he asked, when his housekeeper left the room.

“I didn’t know quite how to ask,” she said. “If she was here, asking might have caused a scandal. And if she wasn’t, just implying that she might be here might be shocking as well.”

“Are you talking about Shona?” he asked patiently.

She nodded, her bonnet bobbing up and down fervently.

“She isn’t here. Did you expect her to be?”

The bouncing bonnet was joined by flaming cheeks.

“She isn’t at Gairloch, you see, and I thought she might be with you.”

He grabbed her arm, and the bonnet abruptly stopped. “What do you mean, she isn’t at Gairloch? Where is she?”

“That’s it, Sir Gordon, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since she left the Clan Hall. I believe you followed her, did you not?”

He nodded. But their encounter had lasted only a few moments. Where had Shona gone, then?

“If she isn’t here, Miss Paterson,” he said, returning to the reason for her call, “where could she be?”

She blinked at him. “I don’t know, Sir Gordon. But I’m very worried.”

That simple statement from the eminently practical Helen Paterson concerned him more than anything else she’d said.

S
hona turned left at the crossroads, the disorientation making her hesitate. This couldn’t be correct. The floor of the passage was sloping uphill now, but she didn’t see the light from the Clan Hall.

Stopping, she placed both hands flat on the walls on either side, forcing herself to calm. She closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, and pushed back the panic. She wanted to race down to the loch, open the door, and breathe deeply of the chilled night air. She didn’t want to ever smell the sour tinge of old earth again. Or the dusty air of the passages.

Opening her eyes, she faced the blackness, retracing her steps mentally. Right now, all her earlier travels through the passages counted for nothing. She was truly lost.

Something skittered across her left hand. Jerking her hand back, she gripped her skirts, pulling them upward so as not to drag on the floor, and turned, going back the way she came.