Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (16 page)

Why was her success so bitter?

For a time, his cause had become her cause, but only for a
time. Soon he would finish his work here, and he would leave, and then it would
be as before, with her and her grandfather working on their translations and
forgetting all about the time when a man named Fletcher Ramsay was part of
their lives.

The afternoon was almost gone by the time Fletcher returned
to the crofter’s hut after spending the day in Glengarry. He had arrived in
town feeling guardedly optimistic, hoping to find something—Bible records, old
deeds—anything that might give him a clue as to where to look next. He returned
home feeling frustrated and angry, as if his inability to find the proof he
needed were an insult to the memory of his father.

After all, he had taken a vow the day that he had stood
beside his father’s grave, listening to the words of comfort David MacDonald
offered those present at the duke’s funeral. Fletcher hadn’t listened, however,
for even then, at the age of eight, he somehow knew that there would never be
any peace for him until he restored his father’s honorable name. The
frustration he felt now did not lie so much in his inability to find the proof
he needed—for he knew that he would find it—but more in the fact that for
twenty long years he had erroneously thought that the proving of it would be
relatively easy.

Now he realized what a task he had set for himself.

As he rode toward the paddock, he was thankful not to see
Cathleen or David. In his present state of mind, he wouldn’t be the best of
company.

As he unsaddled his horse, he thought about Cathleen and how
odd it was that he had spent half of his life torn between two decisions: to
return to Scotland to prove Adair a fraud, or to give his mother what she
wanted most, by staying in California, and now he was once again faced with two
decisions. While his obsession for proving Adair to be a murderer and a liar
had not waned, his goal was now tempered somewhat by his desire for a certain
fire-haired lass named Cathleen. The two goals were infinitely different,
infinitely desirable, infinitely in conflict with each other.

It wasn’t Cathleen who was causing his frustration, nor was
it his obsession with taking back his title. It was his inability to give of
himself completely to one or the other. He felt like a man trying to ride two
horses at the same time.

Still thinking about his dilemma, he gave the gelding a
measure of oats, then closed the paddock gate. A few minutes later, he walked
into the crofter’s hut, only to find a surprise waiting for him. Someone had
been there.

As soon as he opened the door, he saw the chaos. Canisters
of coffee and sugar had been dumped across the floor, making a gritty sound
beneath his feet as he walked in. A jar of honey left a glossy trail across the
top of Cathleen’s tablecloth, then dripped into a puddle on the floor. The
kitchen chairs had been overturned, while the chairs next to the fireplace had
the stuffings ripped out. Pictures had been knocked off the wall, his trunk
overturned, its contents scattered about.

In the bedroom, the down that had filled his mattress was
spread across the room, leaving a dull grayish cast over everything. At the
foot of the bed, his chest had been thrown over, its contents littering the
floor.

Seeing his letter box, he opened the lid. The letters from
his mother as well as the two papers he had found in the trunk with Douglas and
Bride Ramsay’s names on them were gone.

“Son of a bitch!” he shouted, kicking a chair across the
room. Anger, white-hot and raging, seemed to explode inside his head. He kicked
a boot out of the way, then picked up an armful of clothes and, unable to find
a place to put them, threw them back on the floor.

Never could he remember being so angry or feeling so
helpless. He felt violated, wronged, and angry enough to kill. His first
reaction was to go to Glengarry and see this thing out between himself and
Adair. He wanted to finish what had started twenty years before. Cursing, he
left the crofter’s hut, not bothering to close the door, and headed for the
paddock.

By the time he bridled his horse, his anger had cooled down
a little—enough to make him realize the consequences of what he was about to
do.

That was exactly the kind of thing Adair wanted him to do.
Whatever happened, whatever approach he decided to take, Fletcher realized he
must learn control. Rash, hot-headed anger would never accomplish his goal.
Only clear, concise, rational thinking would do that.

He returned to the crofter’s hut, now knowing that Adair was
not only aware of his presence in Glengarry but knew the reason why he had
come.

He stayed up until four in the morning, putting the
crofter’s hut in order, knowing that if he did not, Cathleen would add it to
her endless list of benevolent responsibilities.

When he finished, he crawled wearily into bed, glad he had
finished the task. There were many things Cathleen needed, but more work was
not among them.

A few days later, David and Fletcher sat at the dining table
long after Cathleen had cleared away the dinner dishes. They were discussing
the ransacking of their two cottages.

“You know, in a way I’m almost glad it’s out in the open,”
Fletcher said. “If Adair is sending his men to search our houses, it’s proof
that he is getting nervous.”

“You say that like it pleases you.”

“In a way it does,” Fletcher said. “Nervous people make
mistakes.”

“How far do you intend to go with this? Will you be content
to simply get your tide back, or is revenge written upon your heart?”

“My mother tried to talk me out of killing Adair a long time
ago.”

“And did she?”

“Perhaps.” Fletcher paused. “At times I feel she did, but
then something like this happens and I find myself wondering. I cannot lie and
say I have not thought about putting my hands around Adair Ramsay’s scrawny
neck and choking the life from him.”

“There are other ways to seek revenge besides murder…none of
them wise.”

“I know, and I am probably guilty of them all. For as long
as I can remember I’ve lived with the idea of returning to Scotland to set
things to right between Adair and myself. If that means his death, so be it.”

“And that doesna bother you?”

Fletcher shrugged. “It bothers me, although I sometimes
think it does so only because it bothered my mother so much. She was fond of
reminding me
, ‘The prayers of the righteous availeth much.’
”

“She was right, you know.”

A smile flickered across Fletcher’s face, then faded, the
memory of Maggie strong within him. “My mother is a woman of strong faith and
many quotes. I have had them hammered into me since I was in nappies. I grew to
manhood with her quoting, “‘
Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord.’
”

“But it didna change your mind?”

“No, I cannot say that it has—but who knows? Perhaps her
sermons have greatly watered down my thirst for revenge, without my really
knowing it.
She
was confident that it would.”

David laughed at that, his face alight with recollection.
“Aye, Maggie would be.
‘Raise a child up in the way that he should go, and
when he is old, he will not depart from it.’
That would be her guide and
her assurance.”

Fletcher frowned. “Yes, but it is not necessarily mine,” he
said, speaking with much passion. “Adair’s death may not be foremost in my
mind, but I have not wavered in my desire to regain what rightfully belongs to
me. Like Esau, I have been cheated out of my birthright.”

David’s dry smile made Fletcher think he had not missed
impassioned tone in his voice. “Weel, perhaps like Job, whatever has been taken
from you will be returned threefold.”

Fletcher grinned, seeing why David was such a good minister.
“I could live with that,” he said. “I surely could.”

They lapsed into silence.

Since the rifling of his crofter’s hut, Fletcher had
realized he needed to move on, to look for his proof in other places. He knew
that he could not, in all conscience, involve David and Cathleen in his search
any longer, for to do so would be to endanger their lives. Secondly, Glengarry
seemed to be a dead end for him.

David offered him more tea, but he shook his head and said,
“No, thanks. I’m not in a tea-drinking mood tonight. Now, if you had some good
double-malt Scots whisky…”

“Something is bothering you,” David said. “Would it help to
talk about it?”

Fletcher had never been one to hedge, so he blurted out,
“I’ll be leaving here in a few days.”

David put down his teacup, his face registering surprise.
“You are going back to Caithness?”

“I was, but I’ve had a slight change of plans.”

David said nothing.

Fletcher went on talking. “I’ve been thinking it might be
worth my while to go the Lowlands—to where Adair Ramsay lived before coming to
Glengarry.”

“There is a reason for that, I am certain, although it
escapes me.”

“If I cannot prove my lineage, then perhaps I can find some
way to disprove his.”

“And where will you be going?”

“To St. Abb’s.”

David’s face registered surprise. “St. Abb’s…that’s a
stone’s throw from Abbey St. Bathan’s.”

Fletcher knew that David was getting at something. “Abbey
St. Bathan’s? I have not heard the name before. Is there some reason you think
I should go there?”

“No…at least no reason that I know of. I just found it
coincidental.”

“You found what to be coincidental?”

“That St. Abb’s is so close to Abbey St. Bathan’s.” As if
seeing that this made no sense to Fletcher, David said, “I could save you a
trip.”

“How? By talking me out of going?”

“No, by going for you.”

“I would not allow that.”

“Not even if I was going anyway?”

Fletcher could not hide his surprise. “You are going to St.
Abb’s?”

“Well, not St. Abb’s exactly, but I am going to Abbey St.
Bathan’s two days hence. It would be easy enough for me to make the short jaunt
over to St. Abb’s. It is a small enough place. Whatever records that exist
there would not take long to check out.”

Fletcher gave him a skeptical look, but a hint of humor
laced his voice as he asked, “And when did you plan this trip to Abbey St.
Bathan’s? Five minutes ago?”

David laughed. “No, I have been corresponding with James
Buchanan, a minister who lives near Abbey St. Bathan’s. It seems he has some
old papers, copies of songs…hymns in French, many of them adaptations of the
Psalms. From what he says in his letters, he believes them to have been brought
over by some of William the Conqueror’s men. I just received a letter from him
yesterday, inviting me to visit him so that I might view the papers firsthand.”

Fletcher knew he could not even consider David’s offer.
Adair’s decision to violate the crofter’s hut on David MacDonald’s property had
put things in a new light. He would not allow anything to pose a further
threat.

“Well, what have you decided? Will you trust this mission to
me or no?”

“No.”

David’s face registered surprise. “But why?”

“When I made up my mind to leave here, I decided not to
involve you further.”

“Because of what happened to your place?”

Fletcher nodded. “And for good reason, I might add.”

“I understand your concern and I thank you for putting our
safety first, but I don’t think my going to St. Abb’s has much bearing on the
matter. I am going to Abbey St. Bathan’s on business, regardless of what you
decide to do. Who is to know if I stop by St. Abb’s on my way back?”

“What about Cathleen?”

“Cathleen has stayed alone before.”

“But not when your property has been ransacked. In view of
the situation as it now stands, I don’t think that would be wise.”

“Perhaps you have a point.” David was silent for a moment.
“Considering what you just said, I think the best plan would be for you to stay
here. Would you consider it a fair exchange—if I went to St. Abb’s for you,
while you remain here until I return? That way, you can keep an eye on
Cathleen.”

Fletcher grinned at him. “You mean to sit there and tell me
that you trust
me
, here alone with Cathleen?”

“No, but I trust Cathleen. Besides, I didna offer you the
use of our house. You will remain in the crofter’s hut…a safe, respectable
distance away.”

“You are certain you want to do this? I mean, if you go to
St. Abb’s, you will be involving yourself.”

“Laddie, I am up to my hipbones in this affair already, and
by my own choosing, I might add. Now that I have confirmation that you don’t
intend to do Adair bodily harm, I have no ill conscience about helping you set
things right. What say you?”

“I don’t know. A few days ago I would have jumped at the
chance, but now, in view of what has happened… You will have to agree that I
have cause for worry. I came here to bring a situation to rightstanding. I
don’t want to bring about more problems.”

“You have not caused any difficulties for us, Fletcher. In
fact, your presence here has been a nice diversion in our staid existence.
There is not much excitement in the lives of a retired minister and a spinster,
you know.”

Hearing David refer to Cathleen as a spinster took Fletcher
by surprise. Although he knew that she did not intend to marry, he had never
believed it as absolute fact. He was so shaken by what David had said that he
could not reply.

“Then it is agreed. You will stay here with Cathleen, and I
will go to Abbey St. Bathan’s and then to St. Abb’s—and somewhere in between I
plan to do a little salmon fishing.”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll be tempted to go to Abbey
St. Bathan’s for you.”

“I would turn you down in a minute. I have been looking
forward to taking a fishing trip for some time.”

“And you don’t think Cathleen will mind your leaving her
here alone with me?”

“Cathleen has stayed by herself before. I learned a long
time ago that I couldna drag her away from her generosity to Glengarry’s
humanity. The lass has too many causes. You could sooner wrest a rabbit from
the jaws of a wolf than you could pluck her from the midst of her commitments.
As for you, I would say the lass likes you well enough to tolerate you for a
week or so.”