Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (28 page)

She was his.

His breath was rapid now, mingled with hers, and his mouth
sought the warmth of her with a kiss. He stroked her mouth gently, his chest
pressing hard against her breasts. His thoughts no longer rational, he wanted
her to the point of desperation, but even then, deep inside, he knew it would
be a mistake to take her here, now. He could not use her grief as a way of
drawing her into his bed.

It was this knowledge that gave him the strength he needed
to break the kiss and pull away.

His body responded with fury, and not even his mind seemed
to understand. For a moment he could not say anything, so he simply sat there,
with her head pressed against his chest. Then, after a long while, he found the
strength to speak. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

Her head came up and she stared at him oddly, then dipped
her head, turning it away. “What made you stop?” she asked.

She wanted him and she was hurting. He could see that, and
it made it all the more difficult for him. “Because you deserve so much more
than what I was offering you. I have done nothing but bring death, grief, and
amorality into your life. I have taken and taken and given nothing back. You
are too innocent, too trusting. You have never been taught to watch out for
people like me. As Ben Franklin said,
‘A man in a passion rides a mad
horse’.
”

“Ben who?”

He could not help smiling at the way her nose seemed to turn
up in unison with her question. “Benjamin Franklin is…was… Oh, never mind. What
you really want to know is why I stopped.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It
couldn’t be honor.” He gave a sort of laugh. “I haven’t had an honorable
thought since I met you. Maybe it’s just because I see something beautiful in
you, something I don’t want to take away or destroy.”

“I’m not that fragile.”

“No, but you’re vulnerable.” He came to his feet, drawing
her up with him, then he picked up her hand, kissed it, and turned to walk to
the door. He understood now how a condemned man feels walking the last few
steps to the gallows.

She followed him, stopping just a short distance away.
“Would you like to stay to dinner?”

“If I stayed, sweet Cathleen, it wouldn’t be for dinner. I
would want far more than you are offering.”

She said nothing, but he could see in her eyes that his
words warmed her. “And if I offered it?”

He smiled. “Sleep on it,” he said, “and if you still feel
that way, then we’ll see what we can do.”

She gave him a shy smile. “I’ll sleep on it,” she said
softly.

“Sleep,” he said, then nodded, reaching out to caress her
cheek. “I’m glad one of us can.”

When he was outside and she had closed the door, he made his
way to his horse. It wasn’t until he turned up the road to Glengarry that he
said, “It must be love, because I would love to sleep…just sleep, beside you.”

Annora glanced nervously at Adair, wishing she had not
involved herself in this affair. She did not feel well. Her head ached
abominably. Her body felt warm. And for good reason. She was worried now,
worried just how far this thing would go before someone was hurt. She was not foolish
enough to think there was a point at which Adair would stop. He would not
quietly submit to Fletcher’s inquisitiveness, his nosy prying. He would keep
Glengarry at all costs. A shudder passed over her at the thought.

“Come, come, I haven’t all day. What do you have to report?”
Adair asked, his eyes boring into her with an intensity that made her remember
all the things Angus had said.

Annora moistened her lips, finding her mouth almost too dry
to speak, yet her palms were damp. “Cathleen Lindsay came to Dunston to see
Fletcher. It seems she discovered some graves…”

“Graves? Here? At Glengarry?”

“Aye. She said they were the graves of Bride and Douglas,
and a woman named Madeline.”

He brought his palms together, his long fingers extended,
the index fingers resting against his mouth as he listened, but when Annora
finished speaking, he nodded. “In the old cemetery,” he said. “Did he say
anything about coming here to see them?”

“Yes, but Cathleen told him there was no information on the
stones…nothing that would give him proof.”

“That much is true. There isn’t any useful information
there, or Bruce Ramsay would have used it years ago, but that does not matter.
The Earl of Caithness will want to see for himself.” Adair came to his feet.
“I’ll put extra guards around there.”

She shifted uneasily in her chair, lowering her gaze to
study her hands, which were clasped tightly together in her lap.

He stood there for some time, looking down at her as if
considering something. “When did Miss Lindsay come to Dunston?” he asked. “What
day?”

Annora swallowed and looked straight at him, knowing that
she could not let him see her fear. “Day—” her voice croaked, then broke off.
“It was day before yesterday.”

“Day before yesterday,” he repeated, his face growing dark
with anger. He had never looked more like a predator than he did now. “Day
before
yesterday
, and you are just now coming here to tell me this?”

“I came here before, but you were not here,” she said, her
voice sounding weak and uncertain.

He slammed his hands down on the desk. “I will give you one
warning, Annora, and one warning only. Don’t lie to me—ever!”

“I didn’t…”

He held up his hand to cut her off, then smiled coldly. “Do
not cross me, Annora. This is the last warning I will give you. Do you
understand?”

“Aye, I understand,” she whispered.

“What? Speak up! I want to be certain there is no confusion
about this, because your life depends upon it.”

“I understand,” she said. “Completely.”

“Good,” he said, “because there are no second chances.”

By the time Fletcher arrived at Dunston, he had already
decided to move back into the village. He would take the room he had rented
previously from the Widow MacAlister.

After packing his belongings, he came down the stairs and
met Annora, who had just returned home.

She stopped, looked at him, then glanced down at his packed
bags. “You are leaving?”

“I think it best.”

“Why?”

“I’ve work to do, Annora, and you are a distraction.”

She gave him a hesitant smile. “Thank you for the
compliment,” she said, “but I don’t want you to go.”

“I have to. You knew this was not a permanent thing.”

“Is it because of her?”

“Who?”

Annora licked her lips. Her face was clammy and pale. She
seemed nervous. “You know who. Cathleen Lindsay.”

“No, it isn’t because of her,” he lied.

“Where will you go when you leave here? To her house?”

“You know better than that. I will take a room at Widow
MacAlister’s…after I pay a short visit to my aunt at Caithness.”

“I need you to stay here, Fletcher. Please don’t go.” He
could not help noticing the strange way she spoke. She
needed
him to
stay here? It did not make sense. Besides her strange way of talking, she was
acting a bit peculiar, as if she was agitated about something.

“I have to go, Annora.”

She began to wring her hands. Her color was gone, leaving
her face even more pale and ghostly than before. “You…you don’t know what you
are doing, Fletcher.”

He studied her face. “Something is wrong,” he said. “Tell me
what it is, Annora. Maybe I can help. Are you worried? Afraid of something?”

She shook her head, laughing lightly, but it was not
Annora’s laugh that he heard, but a forced, artificial one. “I’m not afraid of
anything. Why should I be? I simply don’t want you to go. Is that so strange?
You know I had plans…plans for us to do more than converse with each other
politely over dinner.”

“I know,” he said softly, “and I’m sorry for that. You are a
beautiful woman…”

“But not, I take it, the right woman?”

“No,” he said, taking a deep sigh. “You are not the right
woman.”

Her face seemed to fall, and her shoulders stooped in a
defeated way. He could see something akin to despair in the depths of her eyes.
She stepped aside. “Go then,” she said. “Go, and the rest of the world be
damned.”

He hesitated. “Are you certain there is nothing wrong?”

She nodded, then opened the door. “Go with God, Fletcher
Ramsay.”

Fletcher gave her a light kiss, then stepped through the
door. A moment later, he mounted his horse and rode out of Annora Fraser’s
life.

As luck would have it, his decision to move from Dunston was
a wise one, for the day after, Annora came down with typhoid fever.

Two weeks after Annora had taken ill, Cathleen was summoned
to Dunston. By the time she arrived there, the housekeeper, Mrs. Farquar, was
waiting for her, her face splotchy from crying.

“Thank God ye’ve come, Miss Lindsay. I fear my mistress
willna make it through the night. I ken the fever has taken a mighty hold on
her. Out of her head, she is, with her puir body burnin’ like it was on fire.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Cathleen hurried along the hallway
following Mrs. Farquar to Annora’s room, finding Annora in a very bad state.

For two days and nights she stayed with Annora, not sleeping
save for a few small naps she managed while Annora slept. Her weariness went
beyond mere exhaustion now, for the past few weeks were taking a heavy toll
upon her. Cathleen’s body no longer seemed capable of distinguishing night from
day, and when she had the opportunity to sleep, she often found she could not.

“Can a body be too tired to sleep?” she asked Mrs. Farquar.

“Aye, a person can push their puir body until it canna
function properly. It is called mistreatment, and I ken you have been guilty of
a lot of that, lass. Why, just look at you—and pardon me for saying so—but you
look as if you are about to drop. You are pale as a ghost, and your eyes look
as if they are sinking into your head. You are thin as a pikestaff, and your
hands are shaking and raw as a piece of meat.”

Cathleen looked down at her trembling hands. They were raw
and swollen from repeatedly wringing out wet towels to cover Annora’s body. It
was something that had to be done in order to keep the fever down.

“If I have ever seen the walking dead, you are it. Keep
going the way you are, lass, and you willna be any good to anybody, not even
yourself. You need rest, Miss Lindsay, and a great deal of it. Now, why dinna
you let me sit here with my mistress, and you go get yourself a bit of sleep?”

Cathleen left Mrs. Farquar with Annora, going to the room
across the hall, but when she lay down in the bed she could not sleep. Tears
began to roll down her cheeks until her body was shaking with great, heaving
sobs. She cried until she thought her body could take no more, finding that the
more she cried, the more she had to cry for.

How strange it all was, really, for she had no idea just
why
she had started crying in the first place. But once she’d begun, she realized
that she was dragging up all the old ghosts in her life, the things she had
closeted away and never allowed to come forth.

The tears she shed were for a multitude of things: the loss
of her mother; the fear she had of childbirth; the lost years of her youth,
when she could have been a normal young woman who loved and allowed herself to
be loved in return; the children she would never bear; the man she would never
marry; the grandfather she had adored…and she cried for Fletcher, the one man
she had come to love, and the hopelessness of that love. She cried too for
herself, for the deep feelings of being all alone, for the monster that seemed
to have hold of her, that drove her toward the need to be everything to
everyone, yet nothing to herself.

Why was it so difficult for her to say no?

She cried until, at last, complete and utter exhaustion took
over and she drifted off to sleep.

During the next few days at Dunston, Fletcher came to see
Cathleen twice. The first time was to tell her that he was returning to
Caithness Castle but would be back as soon as he could.

The second time was to leave her a message. “What was it?”
Cathleen asked Mrs. Farquar.

“His Lordship said to tell you that since you would not take
care of yourself, he hired Mrs. MacGillvry to cook for you.”

“Mrs. MacGillvry?”

“Aye, the best cook in all the Highlands.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Aye. He said he was providing nourishing food. He hoped he
did not have to hire someone to make certain that you ate it.”

Thanking Mrs. Farquar, Cathleen turned away, feeling less
weary than she had before. He had said he would always be there. She found it
uplifting to know that Fletcher was a man of his word.

The dogs were howling when Annora woke up and saw Cathleen
Lindsay’s face. She did not know, at first, where she was. She was bewildered,
like a bird in a wind storm, blown far from its home.

“How are you feeling?” Cathleen asked, placing her hand on Annora’s
forehead. She smiled. “It’s cool for the first time in weeks.”

“How…how long have you been here?”

“Over two weeks, now.”

“I can’t have been sick for two weeks.”

“You were quite ill, Annora.”

“Aye,” she said, trying to raise herself on her elbows, but
falling weakly back against the pillows.

“Don’t try to get up now,” Cathleen said. “I’ll send for
Mrs. Farquar. I think you will feel better after you have a nice bath and some
clean clothes. Then I’ll have the kitchen send you some of Mrs. MacGillvry’s
soup. I know you will feel stronger after that. Then we’ll talk.”

“Is Mrs. MacGillvry here?”

“No, but Fletcher hired her to cook for those in your
household who are ill.”

Annora looked at Cathleen for a moment. This woman had given
two weeks of her life to care for someone who had not been very nice to her.
This kind of sacrifice was difficult for Annora to understand.
Perhaps this
is why Fletcher cares so much for her, for she is so giving to everyone, no
matter who they are or what their needs.
“I ken Fletcher hired Mrs.
MacGillvry for you, not for me or anyone else,” Annora said.

“Nonsense. He cares for you very, very much.”

“Aye, but it is you he loves.”

“That is the fever talking,” Cathleen said, giving her hand
a pat. “I’ll call Mrs. Farquar now.”

“Will you be back?”

“Aye, after you have eaten.”

Cathleen visited Annora a few hours later. Stepping into the
room, she heard the dogs barking again. Looking at Mrs. Farquar, who was just
leaving Annora’s bedside, she said, “Would you please have someone put the dogs
out? They are making a dreadful ruckus.”

“Aye, I will see to it straightaway.”

Cathleen approached Annora’s bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

“It will take time to get your strength back, but it will
return. In the meantime, you must be patient.”

“I’m sorry to have been such a bother,” Annora said. “Thank
you for what you’ve done. Mrs. Farquar said I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t
for you.”

“You were always in God’s hands.” She smiled. “And I cannot
think of a better place to be.”

Annora sighed, then turned her head to look out the open
window. “I wish I had your faith, your wisdom.”

“Och! My grandfather would disagree that faith and wisdom
could walk hand in hand. He was fond of saying, ‘The less you understand, the
greater your faith.’”

“Your grandfather was a wonderful man,” Annora said, seeing
the look of sadness that passed over Cathleen’s face.

“Aye, he was. He was everything to me. I never really
understood loss until he was gone.”

“I didn’t have a chance before to tell you how sorry I was about
what happened.”

“Thank you for caring,” Cathleen said, smoothing out the
blanket on Annora’s bed. “Don’t you think you should rest now?”

Annora gave her a weak smile. “I have rested for weeks.
Talking is the best way to prove to myself that I am still alive.”

Cathleen brushed the hair back from the woman’s face. “Very
much alive and still very beautiful.”

Annora saw the warmth and honesty in her eyes. She clutched
Cathleen’s hand and, bringing it to her lips, kissed it, then turned her cheek
to lie against it. “I understand now why the villagers call you an angel.”

Annora saw the way Cathleen looked down at her hands, her
embarrassment obvious. “You mustn’t call me that,” she said. “I’m no angel. Far
from it.”

“You will always be an angel of mercy to me.” She saw the
faraway expression in Cathleen’s eyes. “What are you thinking about?”

“I was just remembering something.”

“What?”