Kilgannon (34 page)

"No," he said hoarsely, "come this way." He led me down the shore of the loch, past the rocks at the base of the castle, climbing without pause over them and turning to help me across. On the other side of the building the land was flatter and then rose steeply to join the headland that separated Kilgannon from the sea. We skirted the walls of the castle, and Alex walked up to a vine-covered wall that stemmed from the building. He pulled the vines aside and stepped through the hole he'd made. I followed him and discovered that the vines covered a tunnel, carved or formed out of stone, and split here by a failure of the rock.

It led in two directions. He gestured to the left. "If ye go that way ye come to the door in the base of the keep," he said, and turned in the opposite direction. The tunnel was dark and very damp. I could feel the water seeping into my shoes as I followed him along the steeply declining path and moisture splashed down on us from above. Alex walked through the dark rapidly, reaching back for my hand I took his, glad of the contact. Soon I could see light ahead. He turned one last comer and stopped.

We were in a large sea cave. The water churned with the storm and the tide, rushing into the cave not thirty feet in front of us where the mouth of the cave dropped to meet it. "At high tide the whole cave is full of water," Alex said without expression, his eyes a frosty blue. "If ye ever need to leave Kilgannon secretly, ye can from here, A shore boat can pick ye up and ferry ye to a waiting ship, and ye'd be off before anyone was the wiser." He was apparently satisfied with what he saw and turned to go back into the tunnel, but I pulled my hand from his, putting both hands on his chest and saying his name. He interrupted before I could continue, his expression thawing. "I'm sorry, lass, I dinna mean to frighten ye." He looked around the cave and gestured. "I realized I'd never shown ye this and ye should ken that it's here." "Why?" It was a whisper, and he covered my hands with his.

"Ye should know these things, Mary, because ye are my wife."

"Alex, what is happening? Are you leaving me?"

He started and pulled me to him. I could feel the tension and the warmth of his body through my damp clothing. "Leaving ye? Why would I leave ye?" he asked, surprised. That's better, I thought. Come back to me, Alex. I took a deep breath.

"For the Stewarts. Are you going to France?"

"The Stewarts? Lass, this has nothing to do with the Stewarts. Do ye think everything from France concerns James Stewart?"

"No, but—"

He kissed my forehead. "No, Mary Rose," he said, his voice gentler. "I'm not leaving ye for James Stewart. No. It has nothing to do with politics." His frown was troubled. "It has to do with ... I dinna ken what it has to do with." He was silent then, and I stood with my head on his chest until a large drop of water landed on my head and I jumped back. He looked over his shoulder at the water level. "Come, lass, we'd better go unless ye wish to be swimming, and swimming at this time of year is no fun." He took my hand and turned to leave. I was in no hurry to go back through that tunnel, although I was beginning to shiver from the cold. I stood as if rooted there, our hands suspended between us.

"Alex, tell me what is happening. Why is Angus so angry? Why are you so upset?" He dropped my hand and stared at me, lost in thought, before at last speaking, his tone weary.

"The letter is from our cousin Ewan in Paris, Mary. Ewan writes that some of the crew of the Diana have been seen in Paris and that he found the captain's partner and talked with the man." He sighed and brushed his hair back from his forehead. "And that this partner says that it was Malcolm who poisoned me that time I was so sick. And Ewan believes him."

My mouth hung open, but I was not surprised. Be careful, I cautioned myself, he still will not see Malcolm as you do. "Why?"

Alex grimaced. "Oh, that's the best part. The story is that Malcolm told this man that he dinna
want’ me
to go to a card game I was going to the night before we left."

"He poisoned you to keep you from a card game?"

"Well, the story is, it was accidental, a mistake. Supposedly Malcolm thought he was giving me a sleeping draught that would keep me from the game."

"But why?"

"Aye, that's the question. Why? Ewan writes that the captain's partner says Malcolm told him he was worried because I gambled much and we could not afford to lose a lot of money," he said, irritated. "That's not true. I never gamble overmuch. Money's too hard to come by to waste it in a card game. It was just a friendly evening to discuss trading with the colonies."

"Then why would he stop you from going? Why would he not want you to go to the game? Who would be there?"

"I was playing with three others. Dennis MacGannon— ye ken him, he captains Gannon's Lady. The second was the captain of the Diana, the man I'd chartered with. The third man is a shipping agent in France. I've kent him for years."

I shook my head. "But why would—"

"Aye," he interrupted. "I keep asking myself that. If Malcolm dinna want me at the game, he dinna have to poison me or give me a sleeping potion. All he had to do was ask me not to go and I wouldna have gone, if there was a good enough reason. He never asked."

"Why would Malcolm do this? Didn't he know it was dangerous?"

He shrugged. "I dinna ken, but it does make yer mind wonder."

"Alex," I said slowly, "do you think Malcolm poisoned you?"

He didn't answer but stared into the distance. Then he sighed and ran his hand across his forehead. "I dinna ken, Mary," he said. "I dinna ken. But it's possible. We'd argued for the most part of the trip, and we were barely speaking to each other the night of the card game."

I studied him. Perhaps Malcolm did not want Alex to be with the captain who would shortly take the Diana to the bottom of the sea. Was it simply to stop Alex from talking with the captain? Or, although I didn't believe it for a moment, was it someone other than Malcolm? "How often had you met the captain of the Diana?"

"I hadn't," he said tonelessly. "Malcolm handled the details. I met the captain for the first time when I went to the game."

"You went? To the game?"

"Aye," he said. "I felt strange but went anyway. I thought I was just verra tired. And Angus came along at the last minute. It's a good thing too, because he and Dennis had to carry me back to the ship. I fell over in the middle of the game, just stood up and fainted and fell across the table." His smiled wryly. "I'm told I ruined the game. And the table. I dinna remember."

"And where was Malcolm?"

"Waiting on board Gannon's Lady. With Matthew."

"Did anyone find poison on the boat?"

"I dinna think anyone looked."

"He could have killed you!"

He looked away, toward the sea. "Aye," he said. "But I prefer to believe it was a mistake. Or a joke." "A joke." I exploded. "A joke. Oh, yes, Alex, that is very funny." He closed his eyes as I spoke, his expression closed. "Giving your brother something that might kill him or at the least make him very sick, so sick that he cannot leave his ship for a week, that's very funny. Maybe if he ran at you with a Lochaber ax you'd think that was humorous as well." Alex was silent, but he was listening. "This was no mistake. Malcolm is many things, but he's not stupid. If you got this sick from a mistake or a joke, imagine what you'd feel like if he were angry with you. Imagine what he'd do if you were to talk to that captain and discover that the Diana was going to '
sink." He
opened his eyes and stared at me.

"No." His tone was quiet but bleak and I stopped, trying not to say all that was in my mind. I remembered him saying, "I've lost a brother and a sister. I would keep the one I have." But, Alex, I said silently, at any cost?

I took a deep breath. "You're not stupid either, Alex," I said as mildly as I could. "At best it was a perilous joke. At best it put you in danger. And it might have killed you."

"But it dinna." Blue eyes met mine.

"By the grace of God," I whispered.

"Aye." I was silent then, watching him stare at the wall of the cave. Behind him the water rushed toward us, but for me there was only the memory of a sick man lying in a berth. And his brother had put him there. A mistake. If it was a mistake I was Joan of Arc. And I wondered, not for the first time, if it had been Malcolm who had arranged the attack on us outside Alex's agent's house. Malcolm would not have known I'd be there, but he certainly would have known Alex would be. Alex rubbed his chin.

"I canna think of it otherwise," he said wearily. "I willna think of it otherwise. It was a stupid mistake, that's all." His eyes met mine. "It
mightna'
even have been Malcolm. Perhaps the partner is lying. I willna believe my brother meant to hurt me."

I could think of nothing to say that he would listen to and eventually nodded. He nodded once in return and led me through the clammy tunnel again. I was not warm the whole evening. I could not shake my conviction that it was Malcolm who had poisoned him and that it had been no mistake. There was no opportunity to discuss it with Angus. He did not come to dinner nor to the evening, and Matthew said he had not seen his father since that afternoon. I resolved to talk to him as soon as possible. But Malcolm arrived the next morning and everything changed.

M
ALCOLM AND SIBEAL ARRIVED ON A MACDONALD ship bound for Skye. The MacDonald crew stayed for a meal, joking and laughing with the MacGannons, and if any of them noticed that Alex was ashen and quiet they did not comment. Nor did Matthew, who watched Malcolm, his face shuttered and his eyes wintry. He seemed to have matured overnight. That there was no affection between Malcolm and Matthew had been apparent for quite a while, but Matthew had never said a word to me about Malcolm, as though we had silently agreed that Malcolm was a topic best left untouched. As for the newlyweds, their relationship was a mystery to me. Accustomed as I was to the passion that a look from Alex evoked from me, I could not understand how Sibeal could look with such indifference at the husband she supposedly loved, nor why Malcolm treated her with none of the intensity or affection that one would expect of a recent groom. Why then, I wondered, had she insisted on marrying him? There was no sign of a pregnancy on her slim body, nor did she mention it.

Angus was with us again that morning, having arrived with the news of the ship in the loch. He was silent but watchful. He would not speak of this to Malcolm in front of all of us, I was sure, but what would happen later I could not begin to guess. Malcolm behaved as if nothing were wrong, as if his brother did not look ghostly pale and his cousins were not throwing looks of enmity in his direction. He laughed with his usual superior air as he told stories of how backward his tenants at Clonmor were and how inept Sibeal was as a housekeeper. She smiled without rancor and tried to draw me into a conversation about clothing. I refused to join her and spent my time watching the men. Alex spoke little. I knew how tired he was. During the night I had woken to see him wrapped in a plaid, sitting in front of the fire, staring into the flames. He had crawled into bed in the early hours but had slept restlessly and had been up before me. We had not discussed it, but he had reached for my hand when the news of Malcolm's arrival had come. "Dinna fret, lass" was all he had said.

Malcolm had said nothing of missing the oath-taking, but as Thomas led Malcolm into the hall he had turned to Alex.

"Here's yer brother, Alex," Thomas had said without inflection, while all in the hall had stopped and stared. "Late. Do ye suppose that now that he's married a MacDonald he'll be late for oath-taking often? Of course," he had said, turning to look at Malcolm, "ye ken what happens to MacDonalds who show up late for an oath-taking." The hall's occupants had stirred, but no one said anything. I knew what he meant. We all did, and I knew Malcolm understood it, for the flash of anger in his eyes was quickly suppressed but had been obvious. Thomas had meant Glencoe. I had heard the story often enough since my arrival in Kilgannon. The way Thomas told it, after a failed but glorious rebellion against the usurping of King James's throne by William of Orange, the chiefs of all the Highland clans had been given an ultimatum to take the oath of allegiance to King William by the first of January, 1692. MacDonald of Glencoe had missed the deadline. Just why and by how much was still hotly debated these twenty years later. The Earl of Stair, with the knowledge and approval of King
William had
instructed Captain Robert Campbell of Glenlyon to accept the
MacDonalds’ hospitality
and then murder the clan in their beds. The plot had been discovered, but the chief and his wife and many others had died. Sibeal's family was of
Skye
not Glencoe, but the name, if not the pedigree, was the same. No one had risen to the bait that Thomas offered, and he shrugged as he turned away. But Malcolm looked after him.

The rest of the meal was strained, but uneventful, and soon we were bidding the MacDonalds farewell. The men walked outside with them while I waited with Sibeal. And stared at her when she asked if she could go to
their
room now. Since we'd had no warning of their arrival, there had been no preparations made, and I was caught off guard by her presumption. Fortunately, Ellen was not.

"Miss Mary," she said at my side. "Berta says she has put Malcolm and Sibeal in Sorcha's room." She smiled mischievously at me. "It only seemed fitting," she said, and my mood lightened the tiniest bit.