A Scottish Love (36 page)

Where was the crossroads?

How did she lose it?

Oh, dear God, was she doomed to walk Gairloch’s passages like the ghosts were said to do? Right at the moment, she wouldn’t mind a ghost of two if, for no other reason than to keep her company.

As if hearing her thought, a plaintive sound hung in the air. The last, lingering notes of the pipes, or a ghost’s sigh.

She flattened her back against the wall, knowing that she was holding onto her courage by a thin hair, a filament as fine as the spider’s web that clung to her cheek. She brushed it off, repeating the words that hadn’t brought her any strength so far.
I’m an Imrie. I’m Shona Imrie.

Perhaps she was simply a foolish woman, one who’d been guilty of too much arrogance in the past. Gairloch, after all, had not been an accomplishment of hers, but that of an ancestor. Being the Countess of Morton was only a title acquired through an effortless marriage. What had she earned by virtue of her own effort?

She’d survived these past two years, handling circumstances that would have tried anyone. She’d cared for Fergus and Helen and kept a roof over all their heads, never mind that it looked as if she would be tossed into gaol for not paying her debts. Still, every morning she’d attempted to look on the bright side, and find a way out of her predicament.

There, an accomplishment of her own, but one about which she could hardly brag.

Her entire life was going to perdition, and she was tired of pretending that it wasn’t. Her marriage to Bruce had been a disaster, a polite, mannerly, boring disaster, because she’d been desperately in love with Gordon the whole while.

She’d been wrong. Love was necessary. It wasn’t separate and apart from other emotions. Instead, it wound itself through a person’s heart and mind and soul. She’d felt jealousy because of love, done stupid things because of love, risked everything because of love.

Once, she’d said that she, Shona Imrie, would be no man’s charity. She, Shona Imrie, would not go begging to any man. So she’d said seven years ago. So she’d said a few weeks ago. So she’d said a day ago. And now?

Gordon, save me.

W
hen Gordon and Helen arrived at Gairloch, Mr. Loftus was holding court at breakfast over a pile of rashers, scones, and what looked to be colcannon. The subdued clink of silverware on china, their murmured voices seemed normal, commonplace, and wrong to Gordon.

Helen made a sound of disapproval after a glance at the American’s plate.

“Rashers are not good for you, Mr. Loftus,” she said, making a clicking sound with her tongue. “Really, Elizabeth, have you no concern for your patient?”

“I’m afraid Elizabeth has resigned her position, Miss Paterson,” Fergus said, standing. “She has agreed to marry me.”

Gordon felt as if he were split into two people. One was standing there in the doorway to the dining room. The other was clapping Fergus on the shoulder and congratulating him on the news he just announced.

The bruise on his jaw still hurt, so he doubted Fergus would welcome his good wishes. His old friend surprised him by standing, saying something quietly to Elizabeth at his side, and rounding the table. He tensed, more than willing to fight him if that’s what the other man wanted, but later. Right now there was another, more urgent matter.

“Have you seen Shona?”

That stopped Fergus in his tracks. He frowned, and said, “When?”

“This morning. Or last night,” he said with a look at Helen. “Anytime.”

“She seems to be missing,” Helen said. “Her bed has not been slept in.”

Fergus didn’t say anything for a minute, then turned back to the dining table. “Has anyone seen Shona since last night?”

Miriam was picking at a piece of toast. “No, but I do hope something hasn’t happened to her. After all, that was a very expensive dress I loaned her.” She smiled up at them guilelessly, “She did realize it was just a loan, didn’t she?”

Fergus didn’t answer, moving on to Mr. Loftus whose attention hadn’t veered from his meal. Helmut wasn’t present again. Neither was Old Ned, but that was to be expected given his nocturnal habits.

“Sir,” Fergus said, “have you seen my sister?”

The American only shook his head.

Fergus turned and looked at him. He could almost hear the question Fergus didn’t voice in front of the ladies.
Did you take Shona home?
If she’d agreed to come home with him, he would’ve taken advantage of her willingness. Hell, he would’ve kept her there, and to perdition with the gossips and the whole of society.

He only shook his head.

“Then we should do a thorough search of Gairloch,” Helen said. “I’ve only looked in the public rooms, Fergus.”

“I’ll take the second floor,” Elizabeth announced, standing.

Fergus nodded, moving to her side. Evidently, he had plans to accompany her.

Miriam didn’t bestir herself to offer to search. Neither did anyone ask her. Gordon didn’t have the patience for her apathy.

“It wouldn’t hurt to look through the public rooms again,” Helen said. “I might have missed her.”

He doubted that was the case, but smiled at her in reassurance. “Then do so, by all means. Perhaps Cook and Jennie can see to the third floor while I go search the outbuildings.”

“Where could she have gotten to?” Helen said.

He patted her on the arm, a touch to substitute for words he didn’t have.

Perhaps Shona had gone to Inverness to sell the clan brooch, an idea that had occurred to him on their walk back to Gairloch. He wouldn’t put it past her. Sometimes, Shona’s pride was almost a living thing, an entity of its own.

After reaching the stable, however, he realized that she couldn’t have traveled to Inverness. She didn’t have a carriage and the American’s coach was still in the stable.

An affable Ned was smiling and singing as he was mucking out one of the stalls. He studied the man for several moments. Ned wasn’t entirely sober. Instead, he teetered on the edge of drunkenness.

“Have you seen Shona, Ned?”

The older man whirled, pitchfork raised in front of his chest like a weapon.

“It’s like to scare a body to death when you come up on a man like that,” Ned said. “I thought you a ghost, I did.”

“A ghost?”

“The Gairloch ghosts, sir. The piper and his lady, wandering the passages trying to find each other.”

He only nodded, hoping he wouldn’t have to endure a drunken soliloquy. Ned’s addiction to the bottle had to be addressed before he drank himself into an early grave.

“Where’s Helmut?”

“The German?”

Ned walked to the door of the stable and pointed west. “Out riding one of the horses. He don’t like Gairloch, mostly. Dark days do him in, and he hates the rain, he do.”

“The other horses are here?” he asked. “None of them are missing?”

Ned shook his head.

“Do you think the Americans will mind if I borrow one of their horses?”

“Better to be exercised than standing in their stalls getting fat,” Ned said, and went back to singing his song.

He headed in the direction Ned had pointed, hoping to God Helmut held the answer to Shona’s disappearance.

T
he wall abruptly changed from a straight line to the beginning of a curve. Shona pulled back her hand, surprised. Her father had told her that there were places in the passages where previous generations of Imries had hidden their weapons. Or, as after the Forty-five, they used the caverns to hide their kilts and pipes and any silver that might be confiscated for their participation in the rebellion. She’d never found any such caches, but the experience of the last few hours had taught her that she didn’t know the secret passages as well as she’d always thought.

Another instance of her pride holding sway.

What good was pride when nothing else was left? Why should she pretend anymore? Pride hadn’t warmed her heart, or held her, or made life any easier. Let the world see exactly who and what she was.

She stumbled on something, the metallic clank unexpected and jarring in the silence. Bending down, she patted the ground until she found it, following the chain to the end.

Falling to her knees, she bit back a scream, knowing that no one could hear her anyway. No one but her companions in this secret cave.

B
y mid-afternoon, they’d finished searching Gairloch from the ground floor to the towers. Shona wasn’t to be found.

“Would she have taken the boat out on the loch?” Elizabeth asked Helen.

The three of them were standing in the Clan Hall, having separated from Mr. Loftus and his daughter. Neither of them seemed overly concerned about Shona’s fate. At the beginning, Miriam had treated her disappearance like a game. Now, it was evidently palling, since she’d retreated to her room for some occupation or another.

“It’s a damn deep lake,” Fergus said, frowning at both of them. “And cold. If something happened to her . . .”

None of them completed that thought.

“No,” Gordon said, entering the room. “She wouldn’t do that. Besides, all the boats are accounted for.”

“Then, we should start looking over the glen,” Fergus said. “She might have fallen and injured herself.”

Gordon nodded. “The drivers already are, with Helmut commanding them.”

“Helmut?”

“Evidently, the man has a dislike of Gairloch,” Gordon said, glancing toward Fergus. “He told me the ghosts are too brazen here, not like in his homeland. He’s been awakened for the last two weeks by their banging and tapping, but this morning was the last straw. The
bean tuiream
woke him up.”

“The weeping woman?” Helen asked.

Fergus nodded. “Shona used to say that the
bean tuiream
was a sign that something momentous was about to happen to the Imries.”

“Momentous? Or terrible?” Helen asked.

“The
bean tuiream
?” Gordon asked, turning. He stared at the brick wall, then walked toward the fireplace. “Has anyone looked in the passages?”

“No,” Fergus said, joining him. “But Shona knows these passages better than anyone.”

“Maybe something’s happened to her,” Gordon said pushing back his sudden fear.

Fergus reached up and pulled at the brick that released the door.

“It’s not opening.”

“She could be trapped,” Gordon said, tracing his fingers along the almost invisible line marking the hidden door.

Fergus didn’t comment, only pulled on the brick again.

The door wasn’t opening.

Fergus stepped back and looked at Gordon. “I’ll go to the stable and get some tools.”

Gordon nodded.

The moment Fergus left the room, Gordon walked to the fireplace, grabbed the poker, and in glorious disregard for the antiquity and value of the mantelpiece, raised the poker and began to break the bricks.

Shona was in there; he knew it. He knew it because of the sick feeling in his gut, the cold feeling down his spine, and the fact that the damn door wasn’t opening as it always had.

Chips of masonry went flying so fiercely that Elizabeth and Helen stepped back.

“What can I do?” Helen asked over the noise of his assault.

Get out of my way. Let me get to her. Dear God.

He only shook his head in response, unwilling to stop even to be polite. Grabbing the other end of the poker, he slammed it into the wall overhand, like a spear. A small opening appeared next to the seam marking the door.

“Shona!”

The larger the gouge appeared, the louder he shouted. The sound of her name became a rhythm, a drumbeat he shouted every few seconds.

“You’ll let the ghost out!”

He glanced over his shoulder to see Old Ned barreling toward him, a hammer clutched in his fist. He rolled along the wall just in time to avoid the blow.

Ned was as tall as he was, but not as fit, so he was easily subdued. Not before, however, landing a blow on his already bruised chin.

“What the hell have you done, Ned?” Fergus said, helping to hold the man.

“I trapped the ghost. You can’t let the ghost out!”

It took the two of them to lead him to a chair. Gordon handed the hammer to Fergus who stood over Ned with the hammer in one hand and his cane in another.

Gordon turned back to the fireplace.

What if Shona had been in the passage all this time?

And an even worse thought—had Shona been the
bean tuiream
?

Chapter 32

T
hey found her an hour later, in a small cavern off one of the passages.

The torchlight illuminated a scene out of a nightmare. One skeleton was chained to the wall. The other lay with head propped next to the first. By their clothing, he could tell one had been female and the other male.

Shona sat next to them, too close to becoming just like those lost souls.

A line of dried blood stretched from temple to cheek, and the rest of her face was spotted with dirt. Her lips were bitten raw, and the deep, shadowed crescents brushed by her lashes were the same color as her eyes.

He dropped to his knees beside her, pulling her gently into his arms. Slowly, and with great care, he removed her hand from atop the two still clasped together. The bones clicked as if to protest the loss of their living connection.

She moaned, and he brushed her tangled hair back from her face as he held her, cheek against his chest. He heard the others come in behind him, then just as quickly step back. In a moment, they would have time with her. Right now, she was his, just as she’d always been his.

“I love you, Colonel Sir Gordon MacDermond, first Baronet of Invergaire,” she said, her hoarse voice painful to hear. “If you’ve a woman in London, you’ll just have to forget her.”

He lowered his head until his cheek rested against her forehead, feeling his heart expand.

“I’ve no one in London, dear one.”

She pressed her hands against his chest. “I think I’ve loved you always, from the moment I first saw you, all those years ago.”

“And I you, Shona Imrie Donegal. You were Fergus’s annoying little sister for so long, until one day . . .”