Elusive (19 page)

She noticed the broad smile had brought with
it a dimple in his left cheek, and her heart dropped to her
stomach.

“Many years ago there were two brothers in
love with the same girl, a sweet, young lassie named Caena. One was
a young, romantic boy—a poet of sorts—a kind, loving soul from most
accounts. The other was a mean-spirited, conniving man who would
have killed the other for no less reason that just to watch him
squirm.”

From what she had already learned, Blair
certainly thought this an apt description. Understanding much more
than he realized, Blair sat listening to the story from a different
perspective. As the servants continued to refresh their wine, bring
in the varying courses, and remove the plates from the previous
courses, Alexandre continued with the story.

“Macrath, the mean-spirited cad, somehow won
the girl. No doubt through some nefarious means.” Alexandre had
been joking but he saw her face flush.

“No doubt,” she agreed quietly.

“Later Sòlas, the fair young poet, left
Scotland never to be heard from again. It is said that various
family members tried for years to find and kill him and his—thus
guaranteeing that neither he nor any of his heirs would come
forward to take over the estate once Macrath was dead.” He saw her
shiver.

“Mordag, Sòlas’s and Macrath’s father,
married a young girl, Eleanor, who bore him another son, Fergus.
That son turned out to be Macrath’s downfall. A black-hearted demon
was young Fergus.”

“The greedy Fergus McDonnough wanted
everything for himself. When he was about sixteen, Fergus waited
until the devil—Mahoun, so they called Macrath behind his back—had
his back turned and then slipped poison into his whiskey. What they
did to him next should not be discussed over dinner,” he said,
smiling at her. “Unfortunately, that black-hearted demon was my
many-times-over great-grandmother’s son. I am descended from
Fergus.”

When Blair sucked in her breathe, he smiled.
“Yes, Rachel. We were a bloodthirsty bunch, we McDonnoughs.”
Laughing at her expression, he continued with the story. “All of
that was long, long ago! We are, I assure you, a much more
peace-loving bunch these days.”

Tonight was the first time she could remember
him really laughing. It was a deep, rich laugh that lit up his
entire face and went all the way to his eyes. And, damn him, it was
very appealing.

“Over the years there have been many attempts
by some to locate any possible heirs from Sòlas’s line, but none
have ever been found. If they exist,” he said, as he watched her
face closely, “the estate would be entirely theirs.”

As the last of the plates were taken away,
she asked, “And how would you feel about that, Alexandre?” She
found herself holding her breath.

Ah, we’re back to the reserved Rachel now, he
thought somewhat sadly. “Ah, lassie, that is something I am not
likely to ever have to deal with. It has, after all, been
two-hundred years.” He sighed, knowing that he would gladly
relinquish it all to the rightful heir, and that no such person
likely existed…unless…what if she really was a McDonnough? Damn it
all, why didn’t she just tell him the truth!

Sitting back in his chair, the story now
over, he asked, “Did you enjoy your meal, Rachel?”

“Yes, it was wonderful. Thank you. Thank you
for the meal, and the story,” she responded, as she placed her
napkin on the table. “I think I should go back to the hotel now,
Alexandre. I am very tired.”

“Yes, of course. I’ll take you back. Let me
have someone get the driver and car.” He started to rise from his
chair.

“No, really,” she answered, as he pulled out
the heavy dining chair for her. “You must be tired too. It has been
a long day. Please do not put yourself out. Just ask your driver to
take me back to the inn.” She needed to get away from him—to think
without him being so near.

“If that’s what you want, Rachel,” he agreed,
though he was disappointed. He had looked forward to the ride back
with her, but he wasn’t going to push her.

***

During the ride back to the village, she
thought through the things he had told her. The stories were much
the same as she had learned, and he confirmed that his ancestors
had not been of the best character. Did that mean that he disagreed
with their methods and was unlikely linked to the attempts on her
life?

If he was trying to have her killed, why did
he take the cut himself instead of letting her die right there in
Edinburgh? She wanted to believe that he was not aware of the plot
against her—did not know who she was. She would have to sleep on
this and figure out what to do next.

***

While Blair returned to the village,
Alexandre paced the walk. The wind was blowing his hair, clearing
his head of her, of the scent of her perfume, of the confusion he
had felt when she insisted on going back alone.

He’d noticed that her hand shook as she held
her wine flute during dinner. Surely she wasn’t afraid of him! Why
would she fear him, unless she saw her plans coming apart at the
seams?

He didn’t want to believe it, found himself
trying to talk himself out of believing it. Needing to work off his
frustration, he went to his rooms and changed. Then he went into
the field where he worked himself into a sweat with a small
sword.

Had it not been for the injury to his arm, he
would have used his claymore. It was a bloody heavy weapon and made
for great exercise. Even in France he used it to stay in good
shape. The thing weighed a ton, he thought. He wished he could have
wielded the heavier weapon to rid himself of the frustration of all
the days and, yes, the nights he had fought his feelings for her.
The sword just wasn’t getting the job done. He knew he would dream
of her again tonight.

**************************

Chapter 25: The Village Gets an Earful

Donnach – The Next Day

As she sat in the café having breakfast after
a bad night’s sleep, she looked up and there he was—striding down
the road at a quick pace. He was all but snarling as he approached
the café. Passersby were stepping aside to give him a wide berth.
He was dressed in slacks, shirt, tie, and jacket today. No kilt.
She thought it was too bad. He had cut quite a fine figure in his
Scottish garb. Maybe, if she kept her face down, he would not see
her. No, it was too late.

As he passed the café, he spotted her sitting
inside. She smiled, and he caught himself going in the door.
Swallowing the anger—at what, he didn’t know—he approached her
table.

“Rachel! Good morning.” What was he doing? He
was an adult who ran a huge corporation and yet he had lost all
control when it came to her.

“Alex, please join me,” she offered. Why, oh
why, did she say that?

“I’m on my way to the depot. I have business
in Edinburgh this afternoon, but I can spare a few minutes.” He sat
across from her, trying to remain distant. His temper was on a very
fine edge after his workout followed by a sleepless night. He was
also angry with himself for being here.

He had been restless even as he rose from his
pillow. Deciding that he needed to
do something,
he had
chosen to go to Edinburgh personally rather than telephone his
investigator. Now, here he was surrounded by the soft, faint scent
of Blair…ah…Rachel. The frustration simply overwhelmed him.

“Well, I hope you have a good trip,”
regretting that she had invited him to sit. “You seem a little grim
this morning, Alex. Is everything alright?”

“Is everything alright? No, I don’t think it
is…
Blair
.” He’d finally done it. He had just blurted it out
and let her know he was onto her scheming. He sat back and watched
her as she realized he had used her other name.

“What?” she stammered.

“Which is it—Rachel Wallace? Blair Delamare?
And why the lies? Just what is it you are after?” He was wound up
now and ready to unload, whether it was wise or not.

The other patrons had all stopped eating to
listen—discretely, of course. This, after all, was their new Laird,
and they all took great interest in his affairs. They’d only read
reports in newspapers until now. Most had not believed the
outrageous stories. But now they could see him for themselves.

“Just what little scam are you trying to run
here? Did you hope to pass yourself off as a McDonnough? Whatever
it was that you and the old man were up to, it’s over now! I’m on
to you.”

The tears flooded her eyes as soon as he
mentioned Roddy. “You black-hearted beast, you!” she yelled back at
him. “How dare you? Oh, I do not know why I put up with this as
long as I have.”

She rose from her chair, threw down her
napkin as if challenging him to a duel. “You are so wrong about
me—about poor Uncle Roddy. He was the dearest, kindest man who ever
lived. He did not have a dishonest bone in his entire body. He was
murdered by someone who is now trying to kill me! Is that
your
doing, Alex? If the money is all you are worried
about…”

In his fury, he interrupted her in French,
“Je me fiche pas mal de l’argent! I don’t give a damn about the
money!”

“Maybe oui—maybe no! Using another name was
supposed to keep me safe, but that has not worked so very well
either. Are you so hateful that you have to murder women and old
men to keep your pockets full of money? Are you more like Macrath
and Fergus than you claim?”

He sat there with his mouth open, waiting for
his blood to come back into his head. The other patrons had gone
absolutely silent as they watched their new Laird, to see what
wrath he would throw at her. When he burst into laughter, they were
uncertain whether to stay put or run for cover.

“Oh, you…” she could not think of a name bad
enough to call him, so she just shut up, stomped her foot, and
tried to run out of the café.

He grabbed her arm to stop her, and when she
jerked it away from him, he almost whispered. The laughter gone
from his face, “You thought I needed the money? Please, Blair…it is
Blair, isn’t it?”

“Oui,” was all she could say without bursting
into tears—and she knew she was close—so she let it go at that one
word.

“Please, Blair. Forgive me. I’ve made a real
mess of this. My logic just shatters when I’m near you. Let’s go
somewhere where we can talk quietly and clear up all of this. I
think we have a great many things to talk about.” He saw the pain
on her face, he felt like the monster she thought him to be for
putting it there. “Please? I promise to behave.”

Damn his black-hearted soul, she thought. Why
does he have to look so handsome standing there with his apology on
his face? “Alright,” she agreed, as she tilted up her chin.

He pulled her out the door. “Alex, where are
we going?”

“We’re going to take a train ride together,”
he said, pulling her along.

“To Edinburgh?” She was now running to keep
up with him.

“Yes, mon chéri, to Edinburgh.”

Inside the restaurant, the patrons were all
abuzz. If he was as experienced with woman as his reputation said
he was, surely he could have handled this tiny blonde better. It
seemed to most of the onlookers that their Laird was unused to
females and the tears that even they had seen in the girl’s
eyes.

It would be interesting to see how things
turned out between these two. The villagers hadn’t seen this much
excitement in years. The new Laird was providing a great deal of
entertainment!

***

In a private compartment, Alexandre started
from the beginning. “Right after my father’s death, a distant
cousin approached me with information about someone trying to pass
herself off as a direct descendant of Caena and Sòlas.”

“Me.” She said, so quietly he could barely
hear her.

“Oui. While they had yet to locate
her…you…they felt they were getting very close. They asked me to be
careful with anyone who approached me claiming to be an heir.”

“My father died in March,” he said, as the
sadness swamped him once again.

“Just before…Roddy,” she said, quietly.

“Oui.” He reached for her hand and held it
while he continued. “They came back to me to tell me they had found
you and a man claiming to be your uncle, living in Paris. By the
time I was able to get away and I arrived in Paris, your uncle had
died and was being buried.” He watched her eyes fill with tears
again and squeezed her hand.

“I went to his funeral to get a look at this
vixen
who was trying to pawn herself off as an heir.” When
her hand jerked in his, he just held on, and smiled at her.

“I’m so sorry this is upsetting you, Blair,”
he found himself desperate to soothe her.

“Go on. I need to hear it all,” she urged
him.

“While I quite liked the look of you,” he
said, again squeezing her hand, “I knew I had to be very careful.
Fortune hunters can cause no end of legal battles and expense, as
you can imagine. I was determined to avoid getting involved in such
a scam. I hired an investigator in Edinburgh to check into you a
few weeks ago.”

“You did what?” The color was rising in her
cheeks again.

“Blair, please realize I didn’t know you
then. Not like I’m beginning to now. I had to be careful, and I
continued to receive warnings from relatives who I thought were
looking out for the estate.”

“Of course, you had to be careful,” she said,
calming slightly but turning her head to look out the window at the
rapidly passing countryside. Common sense didn’t keep it from
hurting. Why should she care what he thought of her? Of course—she
did.

“I was so torn, Blair. I was getting all this
information, then I would spend time with you, and you seemed so
sincere, so innocent…” he lifted his finger to her cheek when she
turned back toward him, “…so dear.” His voice was husky now with
the emotion that was sweeping through him. “I didn’t know what to
believe.”