The Scot and I (39 page)

Mahri listened to the conversation going on around her with half an ear. They’d stayed on at the hotel because it was close to the center of things, and Juliet had arrived to join her companions and learn what had happened in the interim. Also, it was the hotel that Juliet’s erstwhile suitor owned, and no one wanted to snub Mr. Steele when he went out of his way to make sure that they had everything to make them comfortable. Only Juliet was reserved with him.

They’d just eaten a late breakfast and were seated in a quiet corner of the hotel’s foyer. Alex had to retell his account of his meeting with Durward and answer questions as they occurred to the others. Mahri’s mind was taken up with the lists she’d promised to give Alex.

She’d thought she had something to bargain with, but Alex said that the lists were worthless. That was not what her father had thought. “
Where are the lists you were supposed to deliver?
” He’d been beside himself with fear. She hadn’t realized then that he wasn’t afraid for himself, but for her. In his last moments, he’d tugged her down to hide under the desk, then stepped in front to shield her from view. To her dying day, she would never forget it.

He’d known that he was finished, but he’d thought only of her. It made her feel small for ever having doubted him. At the same time, his unselfish act made her feel as precious as priceless porcelain and just as fragile. She should have loved him more.

She wouldn’t make the same mistake with Alex.

A light touch on her neck drew her eyes to his. “It’s time,” he said.

It was time to take him to where she’d hidden the lists. The story that she’d told her father, that she’d given the lists to her advocate with instructions to give them to the authorities if Demos struck again was sheer fabrication from beginning to end. She really wasn’t cut out to be a spy or a secret service agent. No one had taken her seriously.

“I’m ready,” she said.

Two horses were already saddled and waiting for them. Mahri didn’t have to think about it. She rode astride like a man, with her dress kilted up to allow her freedom of movement. Two of Her Majesty’s guards were holding the reins. They were there because Alex had asked Colonel Foster’s permission to cross the bridge into the Balmoral estate. Security in the castle and its environs was so tight that nobody could get in or out without a safe pass.

They entered by the queen’s private bridge at Balmoral and jogged up the path to the ballroom. Soldiers in green tunics were very much in evidence. They jogged past the ballroom and took the path that Mahri had taken the night she’d shot Ramsey. The sun was on her face; a light breeze was blowing; the scent of pines hung heavily in the air. She looked over at Alex and met his troubled eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “You don’t have to do this, Mahri. Foster doesn’t know that the lists exist; leastways he hasn’t mentioned them to me.”

“Ah, but you know, and that’s what matters.” She laughed, as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

Her laughter made him smile, and he fell back a little as she led the way.

She was remembering her mad dash along this track after she had shot Ramsey, how her muscles had cramped and her breath had rushed in and out of her lungs. Alex had given chase even then. She wondered how it would have ended if he hadn’t caught up to her.

They would have found each other. Somehow, somewhere, they would have found each other.

They came to the dry-stone dike where she’d hidden her satchel and the dress she’d worn to the reception. Alex helped her drag away the stone that concealed her hiding place. A torrent of water gushed out. Her satchel was soaked through.

“The floodwater got to it,” she said faintly.

From the satchel, she drew out a sodden heap. “This was the dress that I wore that night,” she said. Last of all, she found what had caused so much trouble: the lists she had failed to deliver to her father.

Alex took them from her. Taking the greatest care, he separated the two pages of names she had handed to him. The paper was so wet it shredded in his hands. The writing on the paper ran together, making the words completely illegible.

He looked at Mahri. She looked at him. They both began to laugh.

 

 

Later that night, when Mahri entered her bedchamber, Alex was right behind her. She said, “What’s the matter with Juliet? She had nice Mr. Steele falling all over her. He is obviously smitten. I thought she was in love with him, yet she sulked all through dinner.”

Alex allowed himself the pleasure of running his fingers through the ends of her hair. She’d snipped off the singed pieces without design or care and managed to look as though a man’s fingers had possessively combed through her tresses. His fingers, he thought and smiled.

She turned to look at him, brows raised.

“Juliet,” he said, trying to remember the question.

“And Mr. Steele, you know, the man who owns this hotel. I thought she was in love with him, and they had quarreled.”

“No. I don’t think so. It’s Gavin whom Juliet wants. She has been in love with him for years.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Does Gavin know?”

“No. He looks upon Juliet as a sister or a cousin, and every other woman as fair game.”

“Mmm. There’s something in what you say.” She was remembering the one and only time Gavin had tried to flirt with her. “But he takes a refusal gracefully. All the same, he attracts women like moths to a flame, if the ladies I’ve seen in this hotel are anything to go by. I don’t know how he can bear it.”

Straight-faced, he replied, “It isn’t easy, but he manages.” He captured her wrist and tugged her down to sit beside him on the bed. “Let’s forget about Gavin and his women. There is something important I have to tell you, something you need to know before we marry.”

He waited a heartbeat, thinking she might protest that he took too much for granted, but when she looked up at him with those big, trusting eyes, he knew everything was going to be all right.

“What is it?” she gently prompted.

“It’s like this,” he said. “When everyone was asking me questions about Durward, you know, about how I was so sure that he was directing Demos, I gave them reasons that they could accept.”

She nodded. “You figured out that someone at the castle might have had a foot in both camps?”

He nodded. “Yes. But what really convinced me that it was Durward was a handkerchief he gave me. I told you I was a bit of a wizard. Well, Durward’s handkerchief had his character embedded in it. I knew, then, that he was a black-hearted devil.”

“You’re a wizard?” she said. “Just like Miss Napier’s aunt is a witch? You mentioned it once before. Can you read minds?”

“No.”

“Can you make prophecies?”

“No.”

“But your grandmother could make prophecies, couldn’t she? I remember you telling me that.”

“Yes, well, she was more powerful than I’ll ever be.”

Her eyes were alight with laughter. “Then if you’re a wizard, what can you do?”

“I . . . well . . . I sense things. I have—” He broke off. “You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

She looped her arms around his neck. “Of course I am. I’m a bit of a witch myself. I’m not saying I’m infallible, but I can make prophecies, too.”

“Don’t stop there. Tell me what you see.”

Between kisses she said, “We’ll marry the first chance we get. We’ll have children, lots of them, and we’ll make sure that they know we love them. I can’t see where we will live because it’s unimportant, just as long as we’re together. And we’ll have a dog, just like Macduff. He really is amazing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was one of us, you know—”

He cupped a hand over her mouth and bore her back against the mattress with the press of his weight. “You,” he said, “are one of those far-seeing witches. I, on the other hand, can’t see farther than the next few minutes. No. Make that an hour.”

Her eyes sparkled. “So, what do you see?”

“I’ll show you,” he said.

Later, her last words before she slipped into sleep were, “You really are a sorcerer. Who would have believed it?”

“Witch,” he said, and kissed her.