No Other Woman (No Other Series) (15 page)

Shawna smiled her relief. "The lad is fine."

"A miracle."

"Quite possibly."

"Yet, I've heard y'have strange spirits about the place?"

Shawna swallowed down a long draught of ale, then looked at the stranger. "Nay, we've no spirits here... friend. I'm sorry. I don't know you. What is your name?"

"Brother Damian," the man supplied.

"And what are you doing here, traveling our Highlands?"

"Pilgrimage," Brother Damian said. "Please, tell me more about your spirits."

"We don't have spirits."

"Ah, but my lady, you are a superstitious lot! You have a Night of the Moon Maiden—so I've heard tell."

"We enjoy feasts and merriment, and happily celebrate some of the ancient holidays," Shawna informed him, somewhat annoyed. It was one thing to admit to Mark Menzies that they certainly were superstitious, far closer at times to very old ways than they were to contemporary society. But their thoughts and beliefs were a part of them, and she would not be mocked by strangers traveling through their Highland craig. "We enjoy our entertainments, Brother Damian, but we have no spirits here, no pookas, ghosts, or the like. I imagine that the boy found his way through some opening within the tunnel. He is very young. Little more than a babe, and certainly imaginative. Far too young to work the mines." She hesitated, and set down her ale. There was a point she meant to make here and now. "In fact," she said softly, more to herself than to the visiting friar, "there will be no more children of his age working here!"

"Ah, and you are the lady here, so it is your decision, is it?" the man inquired. He drank down a long swallow of his own ale, then set down his glass. He shrugged to her. "One hears things, as he travels. The mines are owned in large part by a Douglas, are they not?"

It wasn't her place, in truth, to run around making decrees regarding what was largely Douglas property. "The current Laird Douglas is in America, Brother Damian, not often able to see to his affairs. He trusts my judgment."

"And that of your fine, courageous kin."

"Indeed. Why do you ask?"

"As I said, one hears things... well, quite frankly, there is still talk of the great fire that raged here so many years ago. The Douglas heir killed, consumed in flame! Perhaps he comes back to haunt his land, seeking justice."

"Justice? The stables burned. No one knows exactly what happened, but there was an inquest. The authorities believe that a lantern must have fallen, creating an inferno. God's will—and none can seek justice for that," she said angrily. She could still see her uncles and cousins, deep in the most dangerous part of the shaft, digging away to save lives when even the most experienced of miners had left the caved-in section. "There was a fire, a tragic accident, and that's that. Welcome to Craig Rock, Brother Damian. I pray you enjoy our village. Now, if you'll excuse me?" she said. Even if she hadn't been taught to respect all religions, Shawna would have instinctively felt that she must be courteous and welcoming to any man of God, and especially any pilgrim making his way through the Highlands. But this old fellow was irritating, more so due to her present circumstances.

She left him, excusing her way through the miners—who were reliving their own parts in the day's excitement—to reach the table in the far corner of the tavern where Fergus Anderson was sitting.

Fergus had long been into his ale. He didn't work the mines; he didn't work at all, allowing his boys—the eldest being eighteen now, and the youngest being little Daniel—to work in his stead. Fergus claimed to have hurt his leg several years ago when crawling from a tunnel. However, he hadn't turned to farming, nor did he tend sheep or cattle. His wife and daughters grew vegetables on a plot of land they tenanted on the far outskirts of MacGinnis holdings, and between the work of his sons and the women in his household, the family ate and Fergus kept himself in money enough for the beer and ale that, according to him, kept him from feeling the pain that plagued his leg.

He should have had plenty of money to ease all his sorrows. He had hurt himself many years before, and David Douglas had given him an abundant allowance for living when he had claimed himself injured in the mine.

Today, he was unshaven, and though he was not covered in coal dust like the miners, he was nearly as dirty. He had dark beady eyes, silvering hair, and a florid face.

He looked up, startled, as Shawna suddenly slid next to the man on the bench across from him.

"I'll be having no more bairns in the mines, from this day forth, Fergus Anderson."

He seemed to note the challenge in her voice, but he answered her courteously, well aware that the tavern was filled with not only her kin, but well-toned workingmen who had admired her courage in entering the mine alongside of them.

"Ah, now, m'lady, 'tis a privileged man I am, hearing the fine likes of ye say that me lad is special, and will not be lost in that black cave of dankness! But, blessed Lady Shawna! There's many a man of us could not feed his family without the help of even his most precious, wee-est bairn!"

"You can survive quite well, Fergus."

"Alas! Sweet lady! Y'are young, and a beauty, and ye've never known the heartache of pain, of being a man and half a man, at that."

"I'll have no more little ones in the mines, Fergus."

"Well, Lady," he said, his fingers winding more tightly around his ale, "we'll have to see as how that goes, eh? 'Tis my understanding that the Douglas is on his way from America. The decisions here will come from him now, eh?"

Shawna clenched her teeth together furiously. "I'll give the lad work at the castle."

Fergus arched his brow. "Ye'd have him be fetchin' and carryin' for ye, m'lady?"

"Aye."

Fergus smiled broadly. "And ye'll pay the lad well?"

"Aye."

"Then I bow to your great wisdom, Lady MacGinnis;"

Miners were still talking around them, laughing, bragging, celebrating. Shawna no longer felt like celebrating. She stood up, and hurried from the tavern.

She reached her horse when she heard her name called. She turned to see Alistair behind her.

"I'll ride back with you," he said.

"I'm all right."

"Perhaps," Alistair said. "And perhaps you should have an escort."

"Why?"

"Intuition. Let's get home."

* * *

As usual, she searched her room.

Today, she was exceptionally irritated. She had never been dirtier in her life, and though she remained incredibly grateful that the miners, and especially Daniel, had survived, she remained irritated by her encounter with Fergus Anderson and maybe a little bit unnerved, as well. There was something about Fergus Anderson she didn't like. It wasn't just that he was a lazy man who abused his family. She didn't like the lasciviousness in his eyes, or the little edge of something sinister that seemed to taint his voice.

Her encounter with Brother Damian had not pleased her either. She was annoyed that there was rumor in the countryside that The Fire had been set on purpose.

Just as David believed. David, who'd managed to be in just the right place to save Danny.

But her family was innocent. Perhaps not absolutely, completely innocent, but innocent of murder, at the very least.

Mary Jane arrived in her room, clucking over her state, yet complimenting her on her rush into the tunnel in hopes of helping to save the men.

"They'll all think of you as an angel now, you know. You do know how to manage men."

"Do I?" Shawna inquired of her wryly.

"Aye, that you do!"

Mary Jane put a few drops of rose oil into the bathwater, supplied Shawna with a warmed linen towel and washcloth, and sweetly scented soap before leaving her. Shawna sank deeply into the heated water, dousing her hair and scrubbing it, then working strenuously at her blackened flesh. She didn't linger in the tub; it quickly filled with the blackness that had covered her. She stood over it, rinsing her hair and body with fresh water from the pitcher, then drying herself briskly. Wrapped in her towel, she moved toward the window, filled with an eerie sensation that someone was watching her.

But there was no one there. The room was empty.

She walked to her freshly made fire, sitting before it to untangle the black skeins of her hair before its warmth. She wondered if she should have changed tactics with Fergus Anderson so quickly. David might want vengeance against her, but he would surely back her decisions regarding the mines. As would his brother. Unless men felt differently about children.

They could not. She could accuse the Douglases of ready tempers, or a certain arrogance, of having implacable wills and being incredibly stubborn and even pigheaded at times.

But they were not avaricious men, and surely, both David and Andrew would have stood beside her against Fergus, just as her family would have done.

She had simply been determined that she was going to have things her way, she realized.

Without having to ask for help.

She wound her fingers around the arm of her chair tightly. She hadn't done anything wrong. It was going to be good to have the little boy growing up around the castle. She'd see to it that he received better schooling. She'd have more opportunities to help him.

That was true.

But she hadn't wanted Fergus going to a Douglas for anything.

She didn't want to owe a Douglas, and she didn't want to ask a Douglas for anything. At all.

She sighed, suddenly very, very tired. It had been a long week.

The longest week of her life since...

Since The Fire.

Suddenly there was a loud knocking at her door and she heard Mary Jane calling to her anxiously. "Shawna!"

"Aye, come in."

The door burst open. Mary Jane entered, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.

"He's here."

"He—who?"

"Andrew, Laird Douglas. Fresh arrived from America with his new bride and her sister. The Sioux is back in the castle, Shawna, do come, do hurry!"

She didn't hurry. She couldn't move for a moment.

Oh, God, Hawk was here already. Between Hawk and David, she would surely lose her mind completely. Did he know, was he aware that David was alive...?

Had he seen David?

Should she tell him?

"Shawna!" Mary Jane cried.

"I shall be down directly," she said, trembling, but praying that she'd kept dignity in her voice. "You can go, Mary Jane. No, wait!"

"Aye, can I help you dress—"

"No, I can manage on my own, but..."

She looked around the room.

"There are a few changes I must make here quickly, if you will give me just a second and lend me a hand..."

Chapter 9

"Shawna!"

Andrew Douglas had been seated before the fire in the great hall along with Alistair, Gawain, and two women she didn't know. He'd risen upon seeing her, setting a brandy snifter down upon a table to greet her. He strode to the base of the stairway and caught both of her hands, holding her at arm's length while his eyes swept over her. Then he pulled her into a gentle, encompassing hug. She pulled away, praying that she didn't start to shake with the weakness she was feeling. He was a striking man. In height and build, in his expressions and movements, he bore an ungodly resemblance to his brother. The sharp planes of his face and the copper tone of his skin gave evidence of his Sioux heritage, while his forest green eyes were all Douglas.

His gaze upon her was very tender, like that of a brother greeting a sister after many years.

She was quite certain Andrew Douglas had not seen his brother as yet. Andrew knew that she'd been caught in the fire that had killed his brother; she'd told him as much herself at the funeral. Had she wanted to do so, she couldn't have lied about having been at the stables the night his brother had died—too many of the villagers had seen her prone form next to the charred remains of the man they had assumed to be David Douglas. Andrew, she knew, had been well aware that she had cared for David, even if she'd most usually and carefully pretended to disdain the heir to the great laird.

Apparently, he'd believed that his brother had felt something for her in return. Even if it had been nothing more than a growing intrigue and desire.

Surely, Andrew Douglas had no idea now, though, that his brother believed that she had been partly to blame for his "death." He would not be greeting her so warmly if he did.

"Hawk," she managed to murmur, and then it was easy to smile, because if it hadn't been for the current strange circumstances, she would have been glad to see him. He had grown up in America, but he'd come here often enough; he was older than she by several years, yet still closer to her in age than David. He'd been her friend, and she'd been honest with him, caring for him deeply, all her life.

Until the night of The Fire.

After which, she had never really been able to face him again.

"Hawk, I'm so glad to see you," she said. She looked around him. "And meet your wife."

The two women who had been seated by the fire beside him with Gawain and Alistair were standing now as well. They bore a resemblance to one another in their slender physiques and facial features, but one was a golden honey blond with striking silver eyes while the other possessed rich, dark auburn hair and eyes that seemed to range from turquoise to cobalt with each flicker of the firelight. They were both young, elegant, and very beautiful. Only one could be Hawk's wife—unless he had truly embraced Sioux ways—and she was started to find herself wondering how David would respond to the unwed American beauty who had just entered his household.