Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (21 page)

She blinked.
No…it can’t be!

“You dinna know me, Annora?”

“My God! Angus MacTavish!”

“Aye.”

“I had no idea you were here. It’s been such a long time.”

“Aye, it has at that. Ten years, to be exact.”

She looked around the stable, then back at him. “What are
you doing here?”

“I am in the duke’s employ. I have charge of his horses.”

She smiled. “I should have guessed. You were always a lover
of horses, as I remember.”

“If you remember that, then you must remember there was also
a time when I was in love with you.”

She looked away. “That was a long time ago. We aren’t the
same people anymore.”

“No, we aren’t. At least you aren’t, but still, one cannot
forget.”

“Some things are better forgotten,” she said, taking her
gloves out of her pocket. “I have put that life behind me. I want no reminders
of it.”

“Aye, I can see you are a fancy lady now, but it isn’t the
fancy lady I’ve come to give advice to. I don’t give a tuppence for what you’ve
become. It is only because I cannot forget the lass you were, the way things
were between us once, that I interfere in this at all.”

“Interfere in what? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t involve yourself with the Duke of Glengarry. He is a
treacherous man. This thing between him and Bruce Ramsay’s son doesn’t concern
you. Leave it be. It could be very dangerous for you.”

Annora laughed and began to pull her gloves on. “I see you
haven’t changed so much after all. You were always overprotective of me, like a
clucking old broody hen.”

“I loved you.”

Annora’s voice grew soft, and her eyes held a gleam of fond
recollection. “Aye, I know, and I loved you…once. But that is over now. A lot
of time has passed. Things have changed. I’ve changed. The past is dead to me.
I don’t want to be reminded.”

Annora looked away again, her mind pulling up memories she
had long thought forgotten. She remembered the bothy her father had owned, its
heavy, peaty smell of whiskey and smoke, and the sweaty men and the sound of
their boisterous laughter, the feel of their groping hands.

Only Angus MacTavish had been different. He was such a
handsome man then, tall and strapping, and he had treated her like a lady.

Working for her father gave Angus plenty of opportunity to
be around Annora. She was young and impressionable. He was young and full of
optimism. He filled her head with fancy talk about how he was going to own a
fine string of horses one day, and how there would be enough money for him to
support her in the style she deserved.

Even before then, Annora had known that Angus was in love
with her, and she found herself drawn to his handsome face, his fancy talk, his
worshipful attitude toward her. She returned his affections and fell in love
with him, for it was Angus who showed her the beauty of lovemaking, the way
things could be between a man and a woman.

Young and in love, Annora gave herself to Angus frequently,
and just as frequently they talked of marriage.

But then a wealthy landowner by the name of Simon Fraser
began to frequent the bothy. Drawn by her youth and her extraordinary beauty,
he began to pay attention to Annora. Attracted by his wealth and position and
her father’s encouragement, she found herself responding to him. Soon he began
to court her openly. Angus was forgotten.

A few months later, she became another man’s wife.

Although she had married Simon Fraser, Angus MacTavish had
sworn to her on her wedding day that he would never forget her and would never
marry anyone if he could not have her.

The past began to fade away then, and Annora looked at
Angus.

“Have you a wife?”

“No. I told you I would never marry if I couldn’t have you.”

She had never thought he meant those words. It pained her
now to know he had loved her so much and so deeply. “Did you ever get your herd
of horses?”

“No,” he said. “I lost the dream after you married.”

She put her gloved hand on his arm, and the words she spoke
were from her heart. “I’m sorry, Angus. I never meant to hurt you. I always
thought you would find the love you deserved, that you would be a wealthy man
with a lovely wife who suited you and many children to love.”

“I meant what I said that day. Somehow I never felt you
believed me.”

“No, I don’t think I did. But now it doesn’t really make any
difference,” she said.

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at him and feeling something
she rarely felt anymore: remorse.

He was a great-boned, ruddy-faced man, who reminded her of
her past, yet she could never be unkind to him.

She had loved him once.

Cathleen grieved over the loss of her grandfather. She
grieved also over the loss of Fletcher, for how else could she explain his
continued absence?

She did not understand. How could he have been so loving and
gentle the day of the funeral and then turn so cold? Why did he stay away?

Her heart breaking, she went about her life as cold and
lifeless as a stone statue. All of the warmth, the joy, the reason for living
was gone out of her. She could not believe that her grandfather was gone. He
was all she’d had. She still did not understand why he had to die. “‘
The
Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord,
’”
she whispered. “Job.”

As soon as she said those words, she had a flashing memory
of the duke’s face. She paused for a moment, deep in thought. Did Adair Ramsay
have something to do with her grandfather’s death? Was her grandfather killed
because Ramsey found out that the old minister was helping Fletcher? Her heart
began to pound. No, it couldn’t be. Not even the duke would stoop that low.
Grandpa was a man of the cloth, a man of God. Not even Adair would commit such
a crime.

She picked up one of her rabbits and buried her face in its
soft gray fur. Only the warmth of that furry body and the steady thumping of
its heart told her she was still alive. Inside, she was as dead as her hopes,
as cold as her dreams.

She put the rabbit down and forced herself to go into the
kitchen. Fletcher had not come, nor would he. She began to wash the dishes that
waited, finding herself taking a pause now and then to stare out the window.

The sun seemed to be waging a war with the dark clouds
overhead. One minute it was sunny, the next minute the clouds turned everything
dark.

Just like my life…

The sun came out from behind a cloud then, sending a burst
of light and warmth through the kitchen window. Feeling the penetrating heat on
her face, she found herself clinging to one small thread of hope. “
‘If you
have faith as a grain of mustard seed,
’” she whispered. “Matthew.”

The sun did not go behind the clouds again that day.

Fletcher would have returned to Caithness immediately after
the funeral except for two things. The first was that he wanted to do a little
snooping around at Glengarry Castle; the second was Cathleen.

After David’s funeral, Fletcher knew he could not go back to
the crofter’s hut because of the damage it would do to Cathleen’s reputation
and, more important, because it might make Adair suspicious.

He wanted to protect Cathleen, not draw Adair’s attention to
her.

At last he decided that if he could not be with her in
person, the least he could do was to find someone to help her. The very next
thing he did was to hire a neighbor of Cathleen’s to help her with the farm
chores and caring for the livestock.

Now that David was gone, she would need someone to help, and
he knew that asking for help was something she would never do. As it worked
out, the neighbor, Robert Skene, had a son Fionn, a strapping boy of sixteen
who had a way with animals. Fletcher decided that Fionn would be good to help
with the livestock as well as the orphan babies that kept turning up at
Cathleen’s. At the mere mention of Cathleen’s fawn, Bathsheba, Fionn’s eyes lit
up.

Fletcher had another, ulterior motive for wanting someone to
work for Cathleen. He would sleep much better knowing there was someone looking
after her.

After paying Robert and Fionn for six months in advance,
Fletcher took a room in the village from the Widow MacAlister, an absentminded
old woman who introduced herself to him each time he came home.

On the second day after David was buried, Fletcher was
surprised when the Widow MacAlister stopped him when he walked in the front
door.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m the Widow MacAlister. Who are you?”

He could not help smiling at her. “I’m Fletcher Ramsay, the
Earl of Caithness. Remember me?”

“No,” she said, looking him over critically. “Have I met you
before?”

“Yes, several times. I’m the earl you rented a room to, so
that makes me a guest here.”

“Oh, you are the earl’s guest!” she said her smile showing
her front teeth, which protruded just enough to give her a rabbity look. “How
lovely. Then you can tell the earl, when he comes, that he has a visitor…a
female visitor waiting for him in the parlor.”

Fletcher looked at Mrs. MacAlister, with her lopsided white
top-knot hanging almost above her left ear, and thought about reminding her
again that he was the earl, but thought better of it. An hour from now she
would have forgotten it again. Instead, he thanked Mrs. MacAlister, promised to
tell the earl, and offered to entertain the earl’s guest until he arrived.

“Why, how verra kind of you,” she said. “I am sure the earl
will be pleased.”

“I know he will be,” Fletcher said. “Where is the young
lady?”

“She is in the parlor.”

Expecting Cathleen, Fletcher was surprised to find Annora
waiting for him. Disappointment lay heavy in his chest. There she sat—the wrong
woman, waiting for him and looking beautiful as always, with her black, black
hair and smooth-fitting blue dress with black braid and jet beads.

“Annora, this is a pleasant surprise,” he said, forcing
cheerfulness into his voice. “How did you know I was staying here?” He walked
farther into the room and sat in the chair opposite the one she occupied.

She smiled brightly. “Glengarry is a small village. Everyone
here knows everyone else’s business. You were not hard to track down. Do you
mind my coming?”

“Not at all. I’ve never been one to frown upon the visits of
beautiful women. What drew you away from Dunston?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Oh, come now, Fletcher. You are a handsome, titled man…a
prime catch for any lass about. And I know you are aware that I have been
chasing you shamelessly. Now, you can’t possibly tell me you are surprised to
learn that a woman will do whatever is necessary to spend time with you.”

He smiled, amused as he always was at her blatant honesty.
“Is that what you’re doing? You have come here to spend time with me?”

Her eyes gleamed with suppressed humor. “Ever on your guard,
aren’t you? All right. I’ll be honest with you. I came here to invite you to
stay at Dunston until you return to Caithness Castle. Dunston has much more to
offer you than this humble cottage of Widow MacAlister’s. She is so forgetful,
you know—always putting on things to cook and then forgetting about them… Why,
I wouldn’t be surprised to hear she had burned the place down one day.” She
paused. “I am known for being the perfect hostess. I promise you won’t lack
for…
entertainment
while you are there.”

He was amused and had to admit it. In spite of her forward
ways, Fletcher could not help liking her. Perhaps it was her straightforward
manner. Perhaps it was her charming nature, or her beauty. Perhaps it was all
three.

“So, what do you say, Your Lordship?”

“I’ll think it over,” he said, noticing the way her face
seemed to fall.

“What is there to think over?”

“I’m not a man to make rushed decisions.”

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Who?”

“I have been completely honest with you, Fletcher. I expect
the same from you. You have feelings for David’s granddaughter, don’t you?”

“Of course. I’m concerned about her. David MacDonald was a
longtime family friend and he was all she had. She is all alone now. Of course
I worry about what will happen to her.”

She rose to her feet in a rustle of taffeta. Her perfume
seemed to swirl about his head. Annora could be had, and for the flash of a
moment he found the thought tempting. A man would have to be dead not to find
her desirable.

“You are wrong about her being all alone,” Annora said with
a knowing smile. “She has you.”

Standing beside her now, he said, “Cathleen is a friend,
nothing more.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “and perhaps not. But that is not the
issue. I would still like to have you as my guest at Dunston. I will be in town
again tomorrow. I will come by then for your answer, which I hope will be yes.”

He walked her to the door. “Regardless of what I decide,” he
said, “I do appreciate the offer.”

She turned to him, leaning close enough for him to see the
invitation in her eyes. “You could be thanking me for much more than an offer.
You know that.”

“Yes, and you make it mighty tempting.”

“You’re a hard man, Fletcher Ramsay.”

Before he could respond, she stepped through the door. She
opened her parasol with a snap. “Until tomorrow, then.” And with a flip of her
skirts she was gone.

Half an hour later, Annora sat in the same chair in Adair
Ramsay’s study as she had occupied the day before. Adair got right to the
point. “You spoke with him?”

“Aye, I invited him to stay at Dunston.”

“Did he accept?”

“He wants to think about it. He will give me his answer
tomorrow.”

“Oh, come now, you are canny enough to entice any man. What
went wrong?”

“Thank you for the compliment, but in all fairness, I wonder
if it is right for me to blame myself. It is possible that the problem lies not
with me but with Fletcher.”

“What do you mean?”

“Perhaps he finds David MacDonald’s granddaughter more to his
liking.”

“He told you that?”

“Of course not. And he might not be interested in her in the
least. After all, he did not hesitate to claim his only interest in her was
nothing more than concern for her welfare. However, it is always a woman’s
place to be suspicious…especially of another woman.”

“You must convince him to visit you at Dunston so you can
keep an eye on him. I want to know where he goes, who he sees, and just what he
is trying to prove.”

“I have done my best.” She knew immediately that this was
not the answer he wanted to hear. She braced herself.

He slammed his hand down on the desk, overturning an
inkwell. Annora watched the ink spread in a slowly widening circle, the dark,
shiny liquid reminding her somehow of blood.

“You will have to do better than your best, Annora,” he
said, his voice filled with sinister implication. “I warn you. Do not fail me
in this.”

She felt the blood run cold in her veins. She knew now what
it felt like to dance with the devil. A shudder passed over her. “I have extended
the invitation and made it quite clear that I would share his bed. What else
would you have me do?”

Adair turned his chair toward the window and stared out, his
mood suddenly pensive. “Perhaps we can use MacDonald’s granddaughter to our
advantage whether his heart is involved or not,” he said. “Even if he is only
concerned for her welfare, he would want to spare her any harm. His kind are
ever merciful and compassionate to those less fortunate.” He turned back to
her. “There, you see? There is always another way.”

“I won’t be a part of murder.”

“Annora, Annora,” he said, his voice surprisingly smooth.
“Was I speaking of murder? The chit is of no use to us dead. I only plan a
little surprise, one that will stir to action all that protective blood of the
Earl of Caithness.”

Annora frowned, suspicious of his congenial air. He was like
a demon who could take many forms. But his attempt to pose as an angel of light
did not fool her. She swallowed, dryness sucking at her throat. “I don’t know.”

“What’s the problem? You should be overjoyed. It is a way to
send the earl scampering into your arms. That is what you want, is it not?”

“Aye,” she said, feeling a sense of mounting dread, “it’s
what I want.”

Annora’s surprise visit and invitation to stay at Dunston caused
Fletcher to think not about Annora’s offer but about Cathleen.

By late afternoon, he knew he could not stay away from
Cathleen any longer. He knew how she would be feeling, that she would think he
had abandoned her. He could not hurt her like this without at least giving her
some explanation other than the truth—that he stayed away because he feared for
her safety. He had to see her, if only under the pretext of gathering his
belongings from the crofter’s hut.

As he rode toward her cottage, his thoughts conjured
Cathleen, the way she would smile when she saw him, the way her eyes would look
at him. He thought himself in complete control, for he had spent two days
priming himself for the moment he would see her again. He intended to be
diplomatic, courteous, understanding and gentle.

He had not expected to feel so very deeply in love with her.

The thought caught him off guard. This put up a whole new
set of circumstances to be dealt with. He had not meant to allow this to
happen. The timing was all wrong.

She had her grieving to do.

He had the mission he had waited all his life to accomplish.

It wasn’t the right time to fall in love.

But he had fallen in love. And now there was nothing to be
done about it. He would simply have to figure out a way to deal with it. Loving
Cathleen did complicate things, enough that he wasn’t certain how to handle it
or what he should do.

He decided that, for starters, he would not let her know how
he felt. To do so would only muddy up the waters more than they already were—and
the good Lord knew they were muddy enough. He would see her, but it would be
brief. No feelings exposed. No emotion.
I can do it. I can handle it
.

I’m a strong man…

She heard his horse approach, and even before she looked out
the window, Cathleen knew it was Fletcher. Pulling back the curtain, her heart
pounded with excitement, for as he rode into her yard, looking as bonny as a
Her Majesty’s Highland Regiment, a look of expectation upon his face.