By God's Grace (15 page)
Authors: Felicia Rogers
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Lyall found her father in the study. Memories from the past flooded her mind. Rab Burns spent most of her childhood in this room, plotting and scheming. He claimed that he needed to hide away because of grief from the loss of her mother. But she knew the truth. Rumors abounded about his real reason. His goal in life had been to acquire as much property and land as possible by any means necessary. Men were robbed blind, and they didn't even know it, as Rab Burns, master negotiator, exploited their weaknesses. Friends and enemies were both subjected to his charms.
The Burns's laird had used spies, servants, and even his own daughter to bring him financial gain. But this day he was hardly plotting. With a walking stick in hand, the once powerful man was now an ancient, struggling to get around a room.
“Father?”
Laird Burns stopped in mid-stride and glared. “So the wolf returns to the den. What do ye want?”
“Why, father. What a way to treat yer only living heir.”
A sad, sadistic laugh flowed from the depths of his throat. “What is the tale now, my sweet?”
Lyall avoided answering the question and asked one of her own. “Did ye hear of Cainneach?”
Rab faced her, a frown deepening on his wrinkled visage. “Nay, what news of Cainneach should I have heard?”
“Why, that he has been dead for many months.”
Impressively her father held his surprise. “If ye have come back for yer bard, the man left a long time ago.”
Lyall ran a finger across the sideboard, picking up dust. Disgusted, she grinned. “Father, I am not here for the bard. In fact, I knew he was no longer here.”
“But how could ye have known?” Pleasure consumed her as she watched recognition dawn. “Yer lover went with ye? He went with ye to the Sinclair keep?”
Lyall shrugged. “He followed a little behind me, but aye, he came.”
Rab sent a cursory look around the room. Lyall snickered as her father searched for the poet and musician. “Father, don't worry. He is not here with me.”
“Where is he?”
“Oh, he had to be taken care of. He betrayed us.”
“Us?”
“Sori and myself.”
“So Sori is still with ye, is she?”
“Aye. She never leaves my side.”
“Just lovely,” was muttered underneath his breath.
“What did ye say?”
“Nothing of any consequence. If ye didn't come back for the bard, why did ye come back?”
“Refuge,” escaped between her clenched teeth before she added, “I just need to visit for a few days. I will be gone before ye know it.”
As Rab struggled to devise a reply, Lyall stalked to the window and stared outside. The Sinclair men shifted and kicked at the dusty ground. They'd only been at the keep a couple of hours, and already they were restless and couldn't wait to return home.
She had considered staying here with her father and sending the Sinclair men back. Why, she might even stay and raise her daughter in the family keep. But, what of Duncan? Surely he missed her presence. Sighing to herself and allowing her shoulders to sag, she realized it wouldn't be right to make him worry. There might have to be a change of plans.
****
Rab didn't believe Lyall's story. His daughter could have stayed at the keep for days, and he may not have noticed her presence, but she had specifically sought him out. What could be her reasoning? Extreme caution was called for.
Although he'd never had any way to prove it, he believed Lyall and Sori had killed his second wife. This had caused him to hide his infant son from discovery.
If truth be told, she probably found a way to dispose of Cainneach as well. In the afterlife all these deaths would be blamed on him, he guessed.
When he could stand the wondering no longer, he asked, “Refuge from what?” How long could she mean to stay at the keep? Loath to admit it even to himself, the truth was nothing good ever came from his daughter.
“Like I said, it will only be for a few days.”
Rab hesitated. What was an appropriate reply? If he didn't answer soon, the risk of her voice deepening, eyes darkening, and her ”friend” rearing her ugly head was more of a possibility. Quickly he added, “Ye may stay as long as ye like.”
Without turning to face him, she asked, “Have ye fixed yer will?”
Rab swallowed. As far as Lyall was concerned, she was his only living heir. He would sooner leave his wealth to a herd of swine than to leave it to her. Sometimes he wondered what had made his little girl this way. Her mother had been such a sweet woman, who loved and took care of everyone. Unfortunately, she expired when Lyall was just a wee lass. In retrospect he should have married right away, giving Lyall another mother, but in his grief he'd hidden himself away from the world, taking solace in this very room. He'd rarely seen Lyall. She'd been forced to come up with her own entertainment. Thus Sori was born.
“Aye, lass, my property is set to be given out.”
A hand passed in front of her, encompassing the land as Lyall asked, “And which servant is set to inherit it all?”
Fear rose within. What would Lyall do once she knew she would not inherit the property? Head held high, Rab told the truth, praying it wasn't a mistake. “The head of my guard will inherit my land. He is extremely loyal. He has a young wife, and, andâ”
“And what, Father?”
“And nothing.”
“Well, I am sure they will be verra happy here.”
Curiosity prompted him, “What are yer plans, Lyall?”
Before she answered, the corner of her eyelid twitched. A hand reached up and touched the motion. Next her shoulder jerked. A pent-up sigh was released. “Thank ye for telling me this valuable information. Just to let ye know, I don't know about Lyall's plans, but I, Sori, plan to give Lyall's daughter to the captain of the guard, for every young family needs a child. That way after I kill ye, Lyall's blood will still have a claim to the keep.”
Rab was stunned by the unexpected mention of a child. Then awareness hit. His end would come by Lyall's hand. He found himself asking, “Lyall and Cainneach had a daughter?”
Sori snickered. “Are ye stupid, ol' man? Lyall and I told ye Cainneach would never touch us, and he never did. Lyall wanted to give in when she saw how handsome Cainneach was, but I refused to let her. Our bard lover, as ye called him, came with us. Stupid Cainneach gave him the job as taste tester, which worked perfectly for our plans. No, Cainneach wasn't the father. Lyall's daughter belonged to the bard.”
Sori picked up a dagger from a drawer in the desk and began digging under her nails as she spoke. “The bard, may he rest in peace, began to tell Duncan of Lyall's involvement in Cainneach's death, so we had to kill him.”
“Why?”
“Why? What a stupid question? If they discovered Lyall had spiked Cainneach's food with wisteria root, they might also have discovered I added belladonna to it.”
“So Lyall's intention was to make him sick to his stomach?”
“Aye, just as she did with her step-mother. Lyall never truly had the stomach to take another's life.”
Rab wept. Before him stood not one person, but two. A victim of loss in her young life had caused these woes. He now knew of four lives Lyall had needlessly taken, and he was sure to be the fifth.
“Would ye ask Lyall to speak with me?”
Sori stopped cleaning her nails and began tossing the dagger from hand to hand. “Why would ye wish to speak with her?”
“Perhaps I would like to say good-bye.”
Sori erupted in evil laughter. “Do ye think ye can change her mind?”
Sadly, he said, “Nay, I don't even think I want to try.”
“Ye are so pitiful,” said Sori.
In the next instant, Lyall's body relaxed. The dagger fell and clattered to the floor. With a sigh, she said, “I wish Sori wouldn't have told ye the plan.”
“It's all right.”
A crazy sound escaped. “Sori wants to kill ye, and ye think it is all right?”
“Aye. I guess I do. I need to tell ye something. I owe ye an apology.”
Lyall's body started doing a series of funny jerks, landing in a heap on the floor. Then she regained control and stood up, running to her father and dropping down onto one knee in front of him. A hand was placed on her head, “I forgive ye all ye have done, and I love ye.”
****
Lyall glanced up into Rab's aged face, smiled, and rammed the dagger into his ribcage, giving it a twist as she felt it pass bone. His life's blood spilled down his body and ran toward her hand and arm. With a rough jerk back, she made sure to keep clean. She straightened from the floor, doing a thorough inspection to ensure she remained free of blood.
“I told ye he would try to change our minds.”
“Sori, it was verra clever of ye to let him believe it was always ye doing the killing. Next time, don't take all the credit, or I might have to do away with ye as well.”
Sori laughed. “As if ye could.”
“Oh, enough of this. We have work to do.” With a swirl of skirts, Lyall left the study, closing the door behind her.
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Arbella enjoyed their day together, from the horseback ride to the meal at the pond, the race through the heather, and the dinner with the keep inhabitants later that evening. They had one more day left before the wedding, and she couldn't think of anything Duncan could do that would top the day they'd just had.
While enjoying each other's company, they briefly discussed having a small ceremony. Arbella was set for a feast and a celebration, but Duncan feared the chaos of the event would encourage the murderer to strike again. Arbella asked Duncan if he wished to postpone the nuptials until his sister-in-law, Lyall, returned, but he assured her it was unnecessary.
Grant had left to escort Lyall, which kept Duncan busy running the keep. Since the last week was uneventful in the area of the unexpected or unexplained, most of the village inhabitants went back to their normal routines. They become lackadaisical in their pursuit of strangers. Even Arbella's guards were slacking.
Anticipation of spending time with Duncan caused her face to flush and her heart to race. Twisting her hands in the folds of her skirts, she paced. The air in the room was stifling. She needed to get out. Her boots clicked against the floor as she hurried to the door. Cracking it just a sliver, she glanced out into the hallway. It was empty. Not only her guard, but everyone else was missing.
Arbella waited. It was time for the mid-day meal, and Duncan had yet to arrive. Tamara had left earlier in the day on a visit to see her family. The maid had assumed Duncan would be coming for Arbella since this was their last official day to get to know one another before the wedding nuptials.
Arbella's mind wandered to food. Was there any coming? A dozen times she peeked out into the hallway, and still it was empty. With a brisk step she walked down the hall, facing an eerie silence. When the balcony surrounding the main hall was reached, there was not a single soul moving about. The door Duncan had repaired stood wide open and made a creaking noise as it moved with the breeze. As the wind drifted into the room, so too did a curious odor. A smell, which for any villager, was the embodiment of fear â smoke!
Arbella hiked up her skirts as she ran down the stairs, barely keeping herself upright in her haste. Outside the keep doors, black smoke could be seen clouding up the sky. The field of purple heather in front of the keep walls was disintegrating before her eyes. Duncan, Boyd, and Filib, as well as a slew of villagers, were on the front lines, trying to stop the flames from reaching the keep and the villager's homes. Some beat the fire, others dug ditches, and still others worked carrying water. All together they worked to save their little piece of land.
Women gathered around the pond that was situated outside the walls, with every available pot, pan, or container that would hold water. She wedged herself into the water line and helped to shift the full containers to the next person. Young children waited at the end, carrying empty containers back to the front to be used once more.
As Arbella passed bucket after bucket of water, she noticed Tamara in the line as well. Her hair was plastered to her head with sweat and her dress hung limply on her youthful form.
Any other day a light drizzle of rain would be covering these Scottish hills, but today a fire raged, and the rain clouds refused to open. Arbella rubbed a sleeve backward across her forehead, leaving a black streak of ash and soot.
All day long, the villagers fought side by side as the raging fire threatened to take their homes and turn them to dust. Arbella prayed God would help her new family. And just when all seemed lost, as flames licked at the base of the outside walls, a downpour set in upon them. The rain extinguished the flame.
All the Sinclair keep inhabitants dropped their containers and danced around, jumping for joy. Everyone hugged each other with wild abandonment. Congratulations went around like would have occurred after a wedding or after a birth. Until that moment Arbella hadn't realized how exhausted she was. An empty spot against the wall was sought. She sank to the ground. The rain continued to pelt her as she bent her knees and pulled them into her body, resting her head upon them while she offered a prayer of thanks.
The prayer finished, and she looked up in time to see Duncan coming toward the keep. The hairs on his forearms were singed, and every scrap of clothing he wore was covered in soot and ash. The whites of his eyes peered out from an otherwise blackened visage. Every few steps he stopped to thank men, women, and children for their efforts. Words of encouragement that all would be well were spoken.
With a brisk pace, Duncan walked to the well inside the walls. A woman waited there. She drew a bucket of water and handed Duncan a full ladle of the refreshing liquid. Finished drinking, he handed the ladle back and received a piece of cloth. He wiped his face. For a reward the lass received one of Duncan's devastatingly handsome smiles.
