An Introduction To The Eternal Collection Jubilee Edition (66 page)

Lord Niall’s last words rang out like a command, his voice echoing eerily in the cave behind them, and then, as he finished, Beatrice moved swiftly forward.

Before Iona knew what she was about to do, she snatched at the chain of diamonds that still dangled from her fingers. Quick and unexpected though the movement was, Iona instinctively tightened her hold on the chain.

For one moment the two women faced each other, pulling against the other’s strength, before with a sudden tug Beatrice was the victor and three-quarters of the collet were clasped in her hand.

At last Iona found her voice.

“No, no,” she gasped, “you shall not have them!”

But it was too late. With a laugh of triumph Beatrice turned away, the diamonds in her hand.

Then something happened!

Afterwards Iona could never remember exactly what had occurred, but suddenly, as if obeying an unspoken word of command or an irresistible impulse which affected them all at the same moment, the clansmen began to move. They neither raised their arms nor appeared in any way violent or unrestrained.

They only walked, man close against man, away from the Duke and Iona standing in the mouth of the cave, across the Black Rock to where it jutted out over the loch.

Slowly, peacefully they moved and yet relentlessly they advanced, their faces set and strangely frightening in their very lack of expression.

Instinctively Lord Niall and Beatrice backed before them, until after a few steps Lord Niall realised the danger.

“Stop!” he cried. “Stop, I command you”

His voice ceased and changed into the frightened snarl of an animal that has been trapped, to be followed almost immediately by the high, piercing scream of a woman – a scream of sheer terror.

Then there was silence. The clansmen stood still, for they had come to the very edge of the Black Rock.

16

Iona found herself clinging to the Duke’s arm, trembling all over, but she was conscious of his calm strength and that he had neither moved nor spoken since the moment of Lord Niall’s arrival.

At his other side Raild spoke in a low voice,

“None ca’ fall frae the Rock, Yer Grace, an’ live.”

It was a statement of fact. The clansmen turned again to face the Duke, and his voice rang out steady and unhurried.

“You will go at once to your homes,” he said. “You have none of you any knowledge of what has happened here this evening, nor will you speak of it again even amongst yourselves. In the morning those who are working by the loch side will find the bodies of his Lordship and the lady who has been staying at the castle. They will bring me news of their discovery, but it will concern no one else. Go now, and God be with you all.”

The clansman with the long white beard who had been first to arrive made an obeisance.

“Aye, we’ll dae as air Chief bids,” he said and led the way from the Rock.

Quickly, swiftly and silently, the others followed him and almost before it seemed possible the clansmen had gone, vanishing into the shadows as secretly as they had come.

Then at last the Duke drew a deep breath and turning to Raild, he laid the box containing the Prince’s bonnet in his hands. Raild looked down at it for a moment, then pressed his lips reverently to the unpolished wood. It was a spontaneous gesture and a simple hearted way of showing a feeling and a devotion that could never be expressed in words.

The Duke turned to Iona.

“Come, my dear, we must go home,” he said.

And now for the first time she looked down at what she held in her hand. Three diamonds only remained of the “Tears of Torrish”, three stones twinkling brightly in the moonlight – all that was left of the lovely precious chain. Iona would have spoken, but the Duke put his arm round her and drew her into the cave.

“We must get home,” he said, and there was an urgency in his voice that made her bite back the words that trembled on her lips.

Raild had kindled the lantern so that they could see their way through the small entrance into the inner cave, and there he set in motion the mechanism that revealed the steps leading down to the Chief’s cavern. Down, down, they went, the golden circle of light guiding their feet.

Now Iona felt a complete and utter exhaustion sweep over her, and more than once she would have fallen had it not been for the Duke’s supporting arm. It seemed to her that it took an immeasurable time to negotiate the steps, until at last they came to the end of them and were again at the foot of the mountain.

The Duke helped Iona out and she felt the rising wind blowing through her hair as Raild ran to the trees to come hurrying back with the black stallion. Quickly and in silence the Duke lifted Iona on to the saddle and sprang up behind her.

“Good night, Raild.”

His voice was hardly above a whisper, and Raild only raised his hand in response. Then they were hurrying away, the stallion seeming after his rest fresh and no longer tired, unless it were that instinctively he knew the comfort of the stable lay ahead.

Almost immediately they began climbing the hill, and even through her weariness Iona sensed that they were not going direct to the castle. She raised her head and the Duke understood the unspoken question.

“You must remember we are supposed to have come straight from Fort Augustus,” he explained. “By this path we join the road at the top of the hill.”

“I understand.”

Iona barely whispered the words and without slackening speed the Duke glanced down at her.

“Shut your eyes, my dear,” he said softly. “You have had much to endure – and there are still difficulties ahead of us.”

She obeyed him without argument, thankful that for the moment she need make no effort but could relax against him, happy despite everything because he was close, because his arm encircled her. At last they were trotting downhill and the lights of the castle drew nearer and nearer.

Suddenly Iona was afraid. If only she could lie like this forever. Already tomorrow menaced them, but for a few seconds more she need not think of anything save him whom she loved.

The Duke reined in his horse, grooms came running, the front door of the castle was opened and flunkeys hurried down the steps to help Iona alight. Her feet touched the ground but she felt as if her legs did not belong to her.

She stood there swaying a little uncertainly, a sudden dizziness making it impossible, for her to see the way. Then just when she thought she must faint, she felt herself caught up in strong arms and the Duke carried her up the steps and into the Great Hall.

A butler hurried forward to offer assistance, but His Grace brushed him to one side. Holding Iona close, he carried her up the main staircase and up the next flight to her own bedchamber. Cathy was at the door and as she opened it the Duke crossed the room to set Iona down on the bed, her head sinking weakly against the pillows. Before he let her go, his lips lingered for one moment against her hair, then he straightened himself.

“Put your mistress to bed,” he said to Cathy, “and see that she is not troubled until she has rested.”

“Aye, Your Grace.”

Cathy curtsied as the Duke went from the room without looking back.

Iona was barely conscious that Cathy undressed her, her faintness had passed, but she was weary almost beyond endurance, and when at last she could slip between the cool linen sheets faintly perfumed with lavender, she fell at once into a deep and dreamless sleep.

She was not aware that Cathy brought food and warm milk from downstairs only to find that it was impossible to waken her. She was indeed aware of nothing until her eyes opened to find the sunshine peeping from between the curtains and the hands of the clock nearing eight o’clock.

For a moment she lay half asleep, half awake, then she remembered everything. She sat up in bed and throwing back the clothes, crossed to the window and drew back the curtains. Even as she did so, her eyes instinctively avoided the loch. She could not look at the shining, silver water.

It was then she saw laying on her dressing table, sparkling and shining with a brilliance, which made them almost appear alive, the three remaining “Tears of Torrish”.

Iona looked at them and after a long moment she raised her fingers to her eyes. Her mission was accomplished and she had done all that she had been sent to do.

The seconds ticked past. Iona walked across the room to the bed. On the table beside it stood her Bible. She lifted it in her hands and found, as she had expected, that the notebook had gone. She had known that it must be so and it was with a sense of fatality that she sat down on the edge of the bed, her Bible still in her hands. The notebook was lost, and yet how much else she had accomplished.

It was then that there flashed into Iona’s mind a fact of which subconsciously she had been aware all the time. She knew quite clearly that she must go away. The Duke had said he loved her, and only her heart knew how much she loved him in return, but it was impossible for her to stay. She had not lived at the castle, had not come in contact with the Duke and those who served him without realising what a great and proud heritage it was to be the Duke of Akrae, Chieftain of the Clan MacCraggan, and although the Duke might lose his heart to an unknown young woman who had come to spy on him at the request of a Royal Prince, it was obvious that it would be impossible and indeed unthinkable for him to marry such a person and make her his Duchess.

Now that Iona faced the position frankly and without the distracting wonder of the Duke’s presence, she knew that the glory and rapture of their happiness together last night must remain only a sweet interlude in a night of adventure and horror.

Thinking of him, of his height and breadth of shoulder and his arrestingly handsome face, Iona knew that never could she confess to him that not only had she come from France with forged papers, but also that she was in fact of such inconsequence that she did not even have a name.

It was obvious, of course, that the Duke had not believed her story of being the Lady Elspeth MacCraggan.

It was not as a half-brother that he had kissed her last night and told her that he loved her, but even if he had disbelieved her story, it was impossible for her to admit that she had known it untrue from the very moment when it emanated from the ingenious brain of Colonel Brett.

Yet were she brave enough to confess that she was both a liar and a pretender, there was something else – something far more important.

Family pride was a very real thing, and Iona had known what it meant to the Scottish from the very first years of her life. How often had she heard her guardian boast of the Drummonds, how often she had listened to other exiles speaking of their clans, their forebears and the part their ancestors had played in the History of Scotland. But sometimes there would be some scathing reference to a child who had been born out of wedlock, or to a base-born or illegitimate offspring of some great man who had caused trouble to other members of his family and brought an honoured name into disgrace.

Iona knew that never could she tolerate being spoken of like that by the generations to come. She loved the Duke, and would love him with her whole heart and soul all her life.

She could never forget him. Her love for him was not only inescapable, it was eternal. It would remain with her to her death and beyond, but she would never hurt his pride or do anything to injure or defame his family.

Iona set her Bible down by her bedside, and as she did so, the door opened and Cathy came in, an early morning cup of chocolate in her hand.

“Sae ye are awake, mistress,” she exclaimed, “an’ I’m hopin’ it is a guid nicht ye have passed, for it was tired tae death ye were wheen I disrobed ye.”

“Yes, I was tired,” Iona replied, “but now I am myself again.”

Her voice was strange and Cathy glanced at her with a sudden solicitude in her eyes, but Iona did not look at her.

“Theer’s strange happenins this morn, mistress. Are ye weel enough tae hear tell o’ them?”

“Tell me everything,” Iona replied quickly.

“‘Twas at dawn this morn,” Cathy began, “that twa o’ the woodmen saw sommat unto strange on the lock. They oot wi’ theer boat an’ found it was the bodies o’ his Lordship an’ ma Lady Wrexham.”

Cathy paused impressively.

“Go on,” Iona said.

“They brocht word tae His Grace who sent ’ethers tae bring back the bodies. They are lyin’ the noo in the Great Hall an’ His Grace is askin’ fae the minister.”

Iona took a deep breath and rose to her feet.

“Listen, Cathy,” she said. “I want your help. There is no time now for explanations, but I must leave the castle at once.”

“Ye wad gang awa, mistress?” Cathy’s words were a cry.

“At once!” Iona answered firmly. “But I cannot do it unless you help me. His Grace must not know, do you understand? On no account must he know that I am leaving. Somehow I must get away, and only you can help me.”

“Theer’s anither strange happenin’ I must tell ye, mistress – Her Grace went this morn at dawn.”

“Before the bodies were recovered?” Iona asked.

Cathy nodded.

“Aye, an’ maybe ’tis fae the best for Her Grace wad hae been grievin’ fae his Lordship, I make nae doot o’ it.” Iona pressed her fingers together.

“I must get to Inverness at once, Cathy, but first there is something of the utmost import – a little black notebook. Mr. Hector gave it into my keeping but it was stolen from me by either Lady Wrexham or Lord Niall.”

“To incriminate ye wi’ the English, mistress?”

“Yes, Cathy, but it is also of value to the Prince. Could you find it, do you think?”

“I ca’ but try, mistress,” Cathy replied. “Her Ladyship’s maid is in the housekeeper’s room awailin’ to wak’ the deid, His Lordship’s valet is doonstairs the noo.”

“Then this is your opportunity. Oh, Cathy, please contrive to discover it – a small black book which has been used as a diary.”

“I’ll dae ma best, mistress!”

Cathy slipped from the room. Iona listened to the minutes ticking past. Soon the room would be empty and she would be gone. She felt her heart contract at the thought, followed by a pain like a physical wound beneath her breasts.