Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (36 page)

“Job?” he asked, as if by doing so he could put things back
the way they had been before.

“Isaiah,” she said so woefully that he had to laugh.

“Ah, Isaiah…the foreteller of doom and wearer of sackcloth.”

“Aye.” She snuggled against him, and soon they were asleep.

He awoke sometime during the night and made love to her
again before both of them drifted off to sleep once more. The early morning
light had barely started to penetrate the room when he awoke to her touch,
feeling a throbbing hardness where she stroked him, an aching to take her
again. “Cathleen?”

“Aye.”

“I love you.”

She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. “I love you too.
More than you could possibly know.”

“Show me.”

“Again?”

He grinned. “Are we keeping a tally?”

“Perhaps I would…if I didn’t always find myself so
distracted.”

“But you like to be distracted, don’t you?”

“Aye. I like the way you are made,” she said, rolling over
to kiss him as her hand tightened and she began to stroke him faster.

“And I have never liked it better than at this moment,” he
said, turning and putting her beneath him.

Later that morning they made their way toward the wharf,
while the mist was still heavy and close to the ground. The streets were quiet,
deserted. Not even the sound of a church bell broke the silence.

They passed a shop and she turned her head, looking at her
reflection in the shop window, thinking she looked scrawny and pale.

Wanting her to walk faster, Fletcher took her arm and they
hurried along. She glanced at him and saw that his face was hard, his eyes
darting here and there, lingering for a moment at each doorway, each shadowy
entrance to a narrow alley. Their footsteps echoed against the buildings,
making her remember the sound of the men running behind her.

She shivered and drew her shawl more closely about her.

“Are you cold?”

“No. I am uneasy.”

“So am I. I will feel better when we are on board the
Angelique
.”

“
Angelique?
Couldn’t you at least find a ship named
after me?”

He gave her a look that said he knew what she was trying to
do. The squeeze he gave her arm said he appreciated her attempt to lighten
their mood.

“I tried,” he said, “but the
Steadfast
sailed this
morning.”

Cathleen did not have time to say anything, for they rounded
a corner and saw the ships docked in the harbor a short distance away. She felt
immensely relieved at the sight, although she knew that danger could just as
easily await them there.

It was at that moment that two men suddenly appeared out of
nowhere.

With a gasp, she stared at them. They were the same men from
whom she had escaped before.

“It’s them!” she said.

Fletcher grabbed her hand and they started running toward
the men. Fletcher hit one of the men with his shoulder, a glancing blow that
knocked him against the other one.

It gave them a little time, but not much.

Soon they heard the footsteps running behind them. A pain
twisted Cathleen’s side. Their feet pounded the cobbles, the jarring force
causing her hair to fall down in a long braid that began to come unraveled.

And still they ran.

The pain in her side was greater now. She knew she was
slowing him down. From out of nowhere, a hand grabbed her, pulling her backward
until she lost her balance and fell.

Her assailant tripped over her and went down as well. She
heard Fletcher curse and knew it was because he was busy with the other man and
could not come to her rescue.

She rolled to her knees, preparing for the man’s attack,
when she realized that he was lying still. Blood trickled over the cobbles.
Apparently, his head had struck the curbstone when he fell.

She wondered if he was dead. She hoped so.

The pain in her side had lessened as she came to her feet.
Fletcher was still fighting. She crouched in the doorway of a shop, watching
the fury of two men beating each other with their fists. But when the attacker
pulled out a knife, she screamed, “He’s got a knife, Fletcher!
Look out!
”

What happened next came so fast that she was not altogether
certain what she had seen. She saw the knife glide in a sweeping arc toward
Fletcher. She screamed again. Fletcher grabbed for the man’s hand, and the two
of them came together in a twisting mass.

Fletcher’s back was to her now, blocking her view. Still
locked together, each struggled to gain the advantage. Even she could see that
they were well matched. She dared not scream, for fear that it might distract
Fletcher, so she covered her mouth with both hands, then turned and buried her
face in the corner of the alcove where she stood, unable to bear what might
happen.

She had no way of knowing how long she stood there like
that, with her mouth covered, her eyes closed, her face pressed against the
cold stone walls that met in the corner. She had no recollection of hearing any
sound, so she jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder.

Whirling around, her only thought was that Fletcher was dead
and now the man had come for her.

“It is over.”

Weakness swept over her. Her knees buckled, and she would
have fallen save for the strong arms that came out to support her. She felt a
wave of nausea. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

She was sick, and he held her head as she leaned over into
the gutter. When she felt better, she glanced at the man lying in the street. The
bloody knife lay nearby. “Is he dead?”

“Yes.”

“And the other one?”

“He’s alive, but he won’t be doing much but nursing his
aching head for a while.” He held her close. “You are unharmed?”

“Aye. A tad shaken up, is all. I’ll probably be a bit jumpy
for a while, afraid of my own shadow.”

“And for good reason. I’m sorry I’ve gotten you into this.
You don’t deserve it.”

“No,” she said, “and neither do you.”

Warm, safe, and protected in the comfort of his arms, she
could think only of him. “Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride. If Adrian Mackinnon ever hears how long it
took me to wrestle a knife away from a man, he will never let me live it down.”

“Adrian? Your stepfather?”

“Yes, the man who made certain that all his sons learned how
to fight and how to protect themselves—and what better place to learn it than
in a lumber camp. The men there were as big and strong as tree trunks.”

He took her hand. “Come on,” he said. “I’ve had enough of
France.”

“Aye,” she said. “Let’s go home.”

As they walked to the wharf, Cathleen breathed deeply, but
somehow the fresh air about her seemed stagnant, stifling, and
stale…reminiscent of her life.

It was early afternoon when they arrived in Scotland.
Cathleen wanted to go straight to Edinburgh, and thought she had Fletcher
convinced, but by the time they hired a carriage, he had decided against it.

After that last incident with Adair’s men in Le Havre, he
told her, he could not endanger her life any further.

“Once you are safely at Caithness, I will go to Edinburgh
alone.”

“I don’t want to go to Caithness,” Cathleen said. “I won’t
rest until you get those documents into the right hands. I think we should go
to Edinburgh. It is the logical thing to do.”

“Yes, it is, and that is precisely what Adair will think. He
will expect us to go to Edinburgh first, and unless I miss my guess, he will
have men waiting for us there.”

He handed Cathleen into the carriage, then climbed in next
to her and kissed her on the nose. “And
that
is the logical thing for
him to do.”

Frowning, she sighed dejectedly. “I suppose you are right,
but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He laughed. “My bonny love, you are a lass who never learned
to hide her disappointment. It is written all over your face.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but he silenced her with his
fingers and said, “Don’t argue.”

“When have I ever dared?” she asked, basking in the sound of
his laughter.

This I will miss, too…

They rode along in silence. Cathleen had closed her eyes,
but she was not asleep, despite the gentle rocking motion of the coach and the
deep, comfortable squabs.

“What are you thinking?” he asked at last.

“I was just wondering…” she said, opening her eyes.

“About what?”

“You.”

“In what regard?”

“When you go to Edinburgh, then what?”

“Why, I will see my documents safely into the right hands.”

“And then what?”

Now it was his turn to frown. It was obvious that he did not
like the direction the conversation was taking. He turned his head and stared
out the window, as if by doing so he could stop the flow of her thoughts.

Cathleen would not be deterred. Not now.

“You are going to Glengarry, aren’t you?”

His jaw clenched. “I don’t know. What difference does it
make?”

“It makes a great deal of difference, because if you go to
Glengarry, we both know why. You won’t be happy with simply getting your title
back, will you?”

“Adair cannot be trusted. I realize now that my life would
never be safe…not as long as he lives.”

“I don’t agree. Once the truth is known and the title is
returned to you, his hands will be tied, for if something happened to you, he
would be implicated. The courts will decide his fate.”

“And a lot of good that would do me once I’m dead,” he said.
“He has managed to evade the noose for many deaths. What makes you so certain
he could not evade punishment for mine? Are you willing to take the gamble?”

Cathleen did not answer. She was shaken, for she knew the
kind of man Fletcher was. She also knew Adair Ramsay. If Fletcher went to see
Adair, one of them would die.

She knew how long Fletcher had lived with the desire to set
things right, only now, that seemed not to be enough. Now that the title was
safely within his grasp, he wanted more, and she had a feeling that it was due
partly to the danger Adair had placed her in.

While it warmed her to know that Fletcher wanted to protect
her, to make her life secure, she could not bear the thought that his thirst
for revenge was because of her. Guilt gnawed at her insides. With her heart
aching, she knew she would have to try to stop him.

At last he sighed and looked at her. “Cathleen, why are you
making this much bigger than it is? Don’t become an albatross around my neck.
Let me handle things. It isn’t your place to worry about it.”

“But it is! I know what a visit to Adair means. I know you
have murder in your heart. If you go there, one of you will die. There is
always the chance that it could be you. Is that your idea of love?”

As if dismissing her, he leaned his head back against the
seat and closed his eyes.

She sat there watching him, but he did not speak for a long
time. When he finally did, he did not look at her, but kept his eyes closed,
mumbling, “Even the Bible teaches the doctrine of an eye for an eye, a tooth
for a tooth.”

“Blood will not wash away blood, Fletcher.”

He should have known better than to try to argue scripture
with a minister’s granddaughter. For he had barely thought the thing put to
rest when she replied that his words were from the Old Testament.

He opened one eye and looked at her. “Now, why do I have a
feeling I am about to be force-fed a liberal dose of the New Testament?”

She smiled. “
‘Recompense to no man evil for evil. Avenge
not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, Vengeance
is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
’”

He looked at her, waiting for her to finish.

“Romans,” she said.

But even then she saw that her words had no effect upon him.
Leaning forward, she dropped down to the floor of the carriage, sitting in
front of him as she put her hand on his arm. “Please,” she said. “On my knees I
humble myself and beg you not to seek Adair’s death by your own hand. Let the
authorities in Edinburgh handle it. With the proof you have, it should be easy
enough to reopen the case of your father’s death. Don’t do this thing,
Fletcher. Do not let it turn you into a bitter man.”

He reached down wrapped his hands around her waist, and
lifted her up into his lap. He pushed her head down to nestle her against his
chest said, “Go to sleep, Cathleen.”

She closed her eyes, for she did not want him to see the
tears that had collected there.

Do not let it turn you into a bitter man…

Over and over these words echoed through his head.
Cathleen’s words. But also the words of his mother, for it had been Maggie’s
concern as well, that he would let this thing with Adair turn him into a bitter
man.

Fletcher had been raised with a deep regard and respect for
women. He loved their comfort and their beauty, of course, but he also
respected their wisdom, their intuition, their advice. That the two most
important women in his life had given him the same admonition left him shaken.

He cursed softly, then looked at Cathleen, afraid of what he
might see.

As if she knew the moment his gaze rested upon her, she
opened her eyes, and he saw what he feared most, the message that was written
in her eyes.

He could have his vengeance…

Or he could have her.

He could not have both.

“Cathleen…”

“There is nothing to say.” She pulled away from him and
returned to her seat across from him. “You have made your choice. I can only
pray you do not come to regret it.”

But I do regret it, I regret anything that comes between
us. Anything that takes you away from me.

He wanted her. There had never been any doubt about that.
But how could he forget what he had lived with for so long? How could he forget
the dream he had had, the dream when his father came to him?

He had waited such a long, long time.

He looked at her again, seeing her face turned from him but
knowing even then what those frozen features meant.

God! Why does it have to come to this!

He closed his eyes, trying to harden himself against her,
against what she was asking, but it was no use. Instead of being able to recall
the hatred he had harbored for so long, he remembered his mother’s loving face
and the loving kindness in Cathleen’s eyes. Instead of vengeance, he saw the
faces of his brothers and sisters. Instead of revenge, he remembered the ways
of a man taught to him by Adrian.

And he knew…

He knew within the very marrow of his bones that what he
sought was against them all, against everything they stood for, against
everything he had been taught.

But how could that have happened? How could he have been so
wrong? Could he have misunderstood his dream?

He thought back over the years. He was eighteen years old
when he saw his father in that dream. Cathleen would have been what? Fourteen?

Fourteen, and much too young for me to have fallen in
love with.

Was that it? Was that why he was supposed to wait? So that
the love of a woman would turn him away from wrath, away from the very thing
that would destroy him?

He opened his eyes and looked at her. There she sat in her
gray silk dress with her beautiful wine-colored hair tied back with a black
riband. Her face was like a sweet flower, and his heart began to ache. How
beautiful she looked. How sad. How lost to him she was now. How much the
thought of it hurt.

“I suppose this way is best,” she said, “for I have always
known that it was not meant to be.”

“What isn’t meant to be?”

“Our being together,” she said quite simply. “It was my
eternal hope and your desire, but it was never part of God’s plan.”

“What are you saying, Cathleen?”

“I am saying that all of this really doesn’t matter. You
will do what you have to do, but not because of your desire for me. It is
impossible, you see. You can love me, but you cannot have me. I will love you
to the end of my days, but I will not share them with you. We cannot marry. Not
ever. Even my grandfather knew that. We love, but we are worlds apart. We love
but are kept apart by our worlds.”

“Cathleen…love…”

“Don’t,” she said, her gaze leaving his face and dropping to
his hand that lay palm down against his thigh. He looked down, wondering what
she was staring at. He saw only his signet ring bearing the crest of the Earl
of Caithness.

He had lost her.

He had never prayed as earnestly as he did at that moment
when he asked God to show him the way to heal what had come between them, to
give him some sign, some way to rid her of her fears and doubts.

He did not open his eyes but he could feel hers upon him.
Watching. Waiting.

I love her more each time I look at her. Her love is like
an arrow that pierces my heart. Her very presence perfumes my soul. What a
plague love can be! Thoughts of her torment my mind. My strength fails me and I
am like a newborn, unable to stand and weak at the knees. When I look at her I
am undone. Heaven is reflected in that face. God help me…

As the coach rounded a curve and came out of a wooded glen,
a beam of sunlight came through the window and struck the signet ring on his
finger, sending a brilliant shaft of light bouncing into his eyes.

The ring of the Earl of Caithness.

Suddenly he understood. At last, he knew. He looked down at
the ring, seeing it for what it symbolized. “I would give it all up, you know.
Everything.”

Her gaze flew to his face. Her skin was as white as
alabaster. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that all of this, the titles, the estates, they
mean nothing without you.” He pulled the ring from his finger. “If that is the
only way I can have you, sweet Cathleen, then so be it.” He put his hand out
the window.

“No!” she shouted, grabbing his wrist. “Don’t throw it out.
You cannot mean that. It is your family crest, the ring that has been handed
down to the earls in your family. You have a responsibility—”

“To myself. I am American enough to flaunt tradition and do
as I please. I am Scot enough to see that I get it.”

“I cannot let you do it,” she said.

“Then say you will marry me, my sweet Cathleen.”

Tears ran down her face. “I…”

He took her hand in his, placed the ring in her open palm,
then closed her fingers one by one, kissing each of them in turn.

“You keep it,” he said. “I will not force you. The decision
is yours. I am asking you to be my wife. If your answer is yes, return the ring
to me by the time this is all over, and we will marry. If you keep the ring, I
will understand your answer is no and I will return to America.”

“And Adair?”

He looked at her, seeing nothing but love, hope, and promise
shining in her eyes. Something physical happened within him at that moment and
he felt the love that she bore him reaching out, a tangible thing that
surrounded him, offering him solace, comfort. It was as if a spring within him,
which had been blocked suddenly came to life and flowed over him.

On and on it came, until it filled his body, cleansing,
healing.

“To hell with Adair,” he said. “It’s you I want.”

For a long time she stared at him as if she were stunned,
and then she did the damnedest thing.

She burst into tears.

“I will never understand you,” he said, “even if I live to
be a hundred years old. Here I offer to give up everything for you, but that
isn’t enough. Then I give up something I have planned for half my life. And
what happens? You cry.”

She was really weeping now, and, soft heart that he had for
her, he could not bear it. Gathering her into his arms, he dragged her from her
seat and onto his lap. “If we don’t pick a spot and light there, we’re going to
wear out these seats.”

That only made her cry harder.

“Cathleen, love, what is it? Is it something I did?
Something I should have done? Something I didn’t do?”

She hiccupped, then her shoulders began to shake. He was
truly at a loss, when suddenly he realized that she wasn’t crying now.

She was laughing.

He drew her closer, cuddling her against him. Hearing her
deep, satisfied sigh, Fletcher had never known such contentment.

He decided then and there to tell his sons one day that
there wasn’t a feeling in the world as good as the one that comes when a man
knows his lass is happy.

So this is what happens when love comes along…

Love. Not revenge.