Lachlan's Heart: Book Two of The MacCulloughs

by Suzan Tisdale

  Frustrated, she stopped abruptly. “We have just been ordered to close our doors until further notice,” she said gruffly. “Is it as important as that?”

  Confusion blended with concern. “Who? Who ordered ye closed?”

  Her expression said she thought Keevah as intelligent as a mouse. “The sheriff. Who else?”

  “But why?”

  “He says it is to keep the women safe. But I dunnae believe him. He has been tryin’ to shut us down forever. The bloody, self-righteous bastard.”

  “Safe? Safe from what?”

  With a roll of her eyes and a shake of her head she said, “Who do ye think?”

  Keevah instantly felt foolish for asking the question. “That is what I want to talk to ye about. The madman.”

  “Dunnae ye mean the Inverness Slasher?”

  “Whatever ye choose to call him,” Keevah said.

  Euphemie shook her head dismissively. “I dunnae have time to share stories and rumors. I must figure out a way to keep my doors open. The ladies are depending on me.”

  “Then help the sheriff catch him.”

  Euphemie laughed sarcastically. “Have ye gone mad? First of all, the sheriff does nae truly care about dead whores. He only cares about shuttin’ me down. And how on earth can I help him catch this murderer?” Truly, she was beyond exasperated.

  “By telling me about the survivor.”

  Keevah saw it, just a flash of something she couldn’t quite name burning in Euphemie’s eyes. “I dunnae ken what ye’re talkin’ about.”

  “I believe ye do,” Keevah replied. She was trying to keep her tone even. She admired Euphemie for so many reasons and owed her a lifetime of gratitude and, above all else, her respect.

  Pursing her lips together, the other woman remained quiet, refusing to discuss the matter.

  “Euphemie, ye and I have known each other for many years. I owe my life to ye. I owe ye a tremendous debt for what ye did for me, for Kiernan, and Brigid. I want only to help.”

  “Help?” she scoffed.

  “Aye, help.”

  Euphemie let loose a heavy sigh. “Honestly, I dunnae ken what ye hope to accomplish or how ye think ye can help.”

  Keevah took a seat by the fire. “I believe the more information we have on this madman, the better our chances of capturing him.”

  She laughed then, sarcastically. “Ye have lost yer mind, lass.”

  “Have I?” she challenged. She waited, pleading with her eyes.

  Euphemie threw up her hands in defeat. “Verra well,” she said as she sat on the chaise. “But I dunnae believe anything I have to say will help.”

  “It might not help,” Keevah admitted. “But ’tis worth a try.”

  “’Twas about six months ago,” Euphemie began. “Ewan thinks the killins dinnae start until September, but I tell ye he is wrong.”

  Keevah remained quiet on that matter and listened intently to the story unfold.

  “’Twas the first part of April, a pretty spring morn. They found the first girl, face down in the river. She’d had her throat slashed. The sheriff did nae even come to see. He sent the grave diggers.” Staring at the fire she shook her head as if she still couldn’t believe his disregard for any of the victims.

  “A few weeks later, another woman was found. Her throat slashed and tossed into the river. Six women; good, kind women. All dead. Their throats had been slashed and their bodies tossed into the river like garbage. And still, the sheriff did nothin’.”

  Tears began to form, but she kept them at bay. “’Twas August, I think, that Ewan was sent to work for the sheriff, as a deputy.”

  “Sent?” Keevah asked, her curiosity piqued. “By whom?”

  “I dunnae ken,” Euphemie replied in a low voice. “I think by then word had begun to spread about all these dead women. Mayhap the king?”

  ’Twas possible. Keevah made a mental note to ask Ewan the next time she saw him.

  “’Twas in September that he stopped tossin’ them into the river. He started leavin’ them around town, as if he were showin’ the world what he could do.”

  Why did Ewan believe there were only seven victims? Did he not know about those in the river?

  “’Twas late October when he took Dierdre MacAllister,” she paused and took in a deep, steadying breath. “But she survived.”

  “How?” Keevah asked breathlessly.

  “God’s grace?” Euphemie asked with a shrug. “Honestly, I dunnae ken.”

  “How do ye ken about this woman?”

  “She had been left for dead in the alley across the way,” Euphemie said. “’Twas Charles who found her. He brought her here straight away.”

  Charles was a new addition to Euphemie’s place. Prior to him, a man named Connor MacDrew was her protector. Connor, she had learned from Bessie earlier, had moved on for reasons no one knew. Keevah was thankful that Charles had come to the woman’s rescue.

  “I fear I dunnae ken Dierdre,” Keevah said. But then she didn’t know every prostitute in Inverness either.

  Euphemie smiled wanly. “She and I go back many years,” she said. “Her mother and mine were good friends.” She pulled her gaze from the fire and looked at Keevah. “She had been raped, repeatedly.”

  Keevah’s stomach tightened. “Did she say if she recognized the man who attacked her?”

  “Nay,” she said with a shake of her head. “She hasn’t spoken a word since the attack.”

  That bit of news was disheartening. Crestfallen, she said, “Nae a word?”

  “She could nae speak, Keevah. Her throat had been slashed. ’Twas nae a deep cut, but ’twas deep enough.”

  Keevah decided to share with her what she had been able to glean from Ewan. “Ewan believes he is takin’ them somewhere before he kills them. Somewhere close by.”

  “Why does he think that?”

  “Because there has been very little blood where the women were found. If their throats had been cut where they were discovered, there would be pools of blood.”

  “I did nae ken that,” Euphemie said.

  “Did Charles say if ’twas a very bloody scene? Where he found Dierdre?”

  “Nay, but we can ask him when he returns.”

  “Where has he gone?”

  “To get reinforcements. He fears he cannae keep my girls safe anymore.”

  She felt relieved knowing there would be more men here to help protect the women. “Something else we have discovered is that all of these women are former prostitutes.”

  Euphemie thought on it for a long moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Now that ye mention it, I do believe ye are right. None of the women who were killed still worked. Many had moved on, either for marriage or to start legitimate businesses of their own.”

  “I find that as odd as I do interesting,” Keevah admitted. “The men believe this man is someone who hates prostitutes.”

  Euphemie raised a brow. “Well, that is obvious.”

  “But if he hates prostitutes, why is he nae killin’ those who are still workin’?” That was a question she’d asked repeatedly over the past two days. Thus far, no one had an answer.

  “Why do men kill?” Euphemie asked.

  Keevah listed the reasons she had given the men the day before. “Coin, jealousy, for God and country.”

  “Dunnae forget revenge,” Euphemie said. “Mayhap this man seeks retribution for some wrong done to him.”

  That was a very strong possibility. “No matter his reasons, we must find a way to stop him.”

  “How?” Euphemie asked.

  “By speakin’ to the one woman who survived.”

  “That poor woman has nae uttered a word since the attack,” Euphemie reminded her. “I tell ye she is nae in her right mind.”

  Keevah supposed she was right. But she couldn’t help but to think Deirdre was the key to solving this mystery. “What do ye remember?”

  Euphemie’s brow furrowed with concentration. “’Twas verra early morn,
just like the others. Just before dawn. Charles came runnin’ inside yellin’ for help. He had Deirdre in his arms. She was bleedin’.” Her fingertips went to her throat. “And she was cryin’.”

  “So she was awake?”

  “Just barely. She was delirious. Kept sayin’ ‘He is goin’ to kill. He is goin’ to kill us all.’”

  A shiver of repulsion traced down Keevah’s spine.

  “We took her above stairs and sent for a healer. Deirdre floated between cryin’ and sleepin’ for hours. She was talkin’ in her sleep, but it made no sense. The healer did her best. Stitched her up, gave her sleeping potions, bandaged her. There was verra little else to be done.”

  Keevah’s heart broke for Deirdre as she listened to Euphemie tell her story.

  “She was like that for days. We truly thought she would die. When she finally woke, all she could do was stare at nothing. She did nae speak a word.”

  Swiping away a tear, Keevah asked, “Where is she now?”

  “Somewhere in the Highlands, with her family. Near the coast I believe. Charles would ken better than I. He escorted her home himself.”

  Keevah may not have found the answers she sought, but she did feel she knew more about the attacker than before. He had gone from leaving bodies in the river, to leaving them in the alleys. She couldn’t help to feel the killer was trying to send some sort of message. But for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what that message was.

  “Thank ye, Euphemie. For all ye have done for all of us over the years.”

  The two women were just breaking their embrace when Lachlan and Brigid appeared. He looked relieved to see Keevah. Brigid ran to Keevah and jumped into her arms. “I am awake now,” she said as she wrapped her arms around Keevah’s neck.

  “I can see,” Keevah giggled. “Did ye have a good nap?”

  Brigid’s head bobbed up and down. “I am hungry.”

  “Well, let us see what Bessie might have for us to eat,” Keevah said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ’Twas long after the midnight hour when they were awakened by the sounds of Brigid screaming. Caught in some hellish nightmare, she cried out for her mother. “Nay! “Nay!” she screamed, thrashing about the bed.

  Keevah sat up and pulled her into her arms. “Wheest, lass, ’tis naught but a bad dream.”

  “Dunnae hurt her!” she cried. “Stop!”

  Lachlan lit a candle and came to sit by the bed. He rubbed Brigid’s back and did his best to comfort her. Keevah was heartsick. “I want my mamma,” Brigid cried.

  The child might as well have ripped Keevah’s heart from her chest for the affect was just the same. Gently, she laid Brigid’s head against her shoulder and tried to soothe her.

  “Wheest, lass, wheest,” Keevah whispered against the top of her head. “Everythin’ will be alright. Ye will see.”

  “But I want my mamma,” she continued to cry.

  “I ken ye do, lass. I miss her too.”

  Brigid lifted her head and looked at Keevah. She was awake now, or at least partly so. “Ye do?”

  “Aye,” Keevah replied with a warm smile and tear-filled eyes. “I truly do. She was a beautiful woman and a verra good mum to ye. She will be missed by many.”

  “Da will nae miss her,” she said. “Da hated her.”

  Were Brigid an adult, Keevah would have much to say on that subject. For the life of her, she didn’t know how to respond.

  “My da killed her. She was tryin’ to protect me,” she said between sobs. “But she would nae let him hurt me.”

  Fury and hatred for Dermott McInnes blended until her stomach churned. What on earth could this sweet child or her mother have done for him to justify hurting either of them?

  “Mr. MacElany would nae let him hurt me either,” she said.

  “Who is Mr. MacElany?”

  “Our neighbors. He heard da yellin’ and the table break. He was verra mad with da.”

  Truly, Keevah didn’t wish to hear any more, but knew Brigid was in dire need of talking about that night. “I am verra glad Mr. MacElany came to help ye.”

  Brigid nodded her head so rapidly her black curls bobbed. “He was verra angry with da.”

  Who wouldn’t have been?

  Leaning in, Brigid began to whisper. “I have a secret that I am nae supposed to tell.”

  Intrigued but not ready to push the matter, Keevah simply sat and listened.

  “I am nae supposed to tell,” Brigid reiterated. “But I want to tell ye so ye will nae worry about me da.”

  Worry over her father? Highly unlikely. As far as she was concerned the man could rot in hell for eternity. He’d find no sympathy from her quarter.

  “I am sure yer da will be fine.” She almost choked on those words.

  Brigid shook her head and whispered, “Nay. Do ye want to ken why?”

  Keevah nodded.

  “Because he is burnin’ in hell.”

  Neither Lachlan nor Keevah could have been more stunned. They shared a quick, confused glance with one another.

  “What do ye mean, child?” Keevah asked.

  “I am nae supposed to tell,” she said. “But Mr. MacElany stopped da from hurtin’ us. He put his dirk in da’s black heart. That is what Mr. MacElany said.” Affecting her most serious and grown-up voice, she mimicked what she had heard. “Ye have a black heart, Dermott and I am sendin’ ye to hell.”

  Keevah tried to brush this information off as the overactive imagination of a little girl. “I am sure ye must have misunderstood.”

  “Nay,” she replied. “I saw him put his dirk into me da’s heart. Right here.” She pointed to her own chest. “But I dinnae cry.”

  Keevah was perplexed to say the least.

  “I dinnae cry because I was glad Da was dead. He was a mean man. I am nae worried he will take me away because he is dead. But he dinnae get to go to Heaven like my mum did. Because he has a black heart and Mr. MacElany sent him to hell.”

  Lachlan knelt beside them. “Brigid, I am glad ye told us yer secret.” He smiled warmly at her. “But ye must nae tell anyone else. Can ye give me yer word?”

  She agreed with a nod. “Because I dunnae want Mr. MacElany to get into trouble.”

  “That is right, lass. We dunnae want Mr. MacElany to get into trouble.” He patted her head before turning his attention to Keevah. “I think we should try to sleep now,” he said.

  Keevah wasn’t sure if she’d be able to sleep or not but decided she should at least make the effort. They had one day left in Inverness. If they couldn’t bury Kiernan on the morrow, she would be forced to leave without her.

  Lachlan extinguished the candle and crawled back into his own cot. Keevah lay in the dark, one palm on Brigid’s chest. While she waited for her to fall asleep, she couldn’t help but think of what Brigid had told her.

  She didn’t know who Mr. MacElany was but she felt she owed him a debt of gratitude.

  They’d been tucked away in the attic for what was beginning to feel like an eternity. It felt as though the walls were to close in on the four of them. Murdoch was just itching to take to the streets looking for any kind of information or tiniest bit of evidence that might lead them to the identity of the killer. This was their last day in Inverness and he didn’t like the idea of leaving until they caught the killer.

  Lachlan was itching to return to his new keep, find a priest, marry Keevah and get to beginning their lives together. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she loved him. The one kiss they had shared that afternoon said everything. She loved him.

  And what more did a man need other than the love of a good woman? For the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything.

  Keevah was still consumed with guilt. She’d deserted her friend years ago when she left Inverness the first time. Unable to bury her now, she couldn’t help but feel she was deserting her all over again.

  Brigid was begging to go out of doors to play. “But why?” she had asked for what seemed the hundredth ti
me. “’Tis nae rainin’.”

  As if a bit of rain could keep any child from the out of doors. “Mum used to take me out to the garden every day,” she told Keevah. “Even when it snowed.”

  How on earth could they explain to her that there was a raving lunatic on the loose? “I promise ye, as soon as we get to yer new home, ye can play out of doors every day. Even when it snows.”

  “When?” she asked with a pout. “When will we get to our new home?”

  This stubbornness was definitely something she inherited from her birth mother. Kiernan was always the quiet, well-behaved child who was a stickler for following the rules. On those rare occasions when Kiernan did get into trouble, one could guarantee ’twas because Keevah had instigated something.

  Lachlan was doing his best not to laugh. Keevah certainly found no humor in it.

  “Brigid, we will leave on the morrow. We will be out of doors for at least two days, on horseback. There will be plenty of time for ye then to play.” She was doing her best to maintain her temper, but Lord above, this child would try the patience of a saint.

  Lachlan was able to divert her attention away from the argument at hand by offering to give her a piggyback ride around the room. She squealed with delight as he sat on the edge of the cot and told her to climb up.

  The room was barely big enough to sleep in let alone rough housing. But if it kept Brigid from complaining, Keevah wouldn’t argue against it.

  After a half an hour of traipsing about the room like a loon, Lachlan began to grow weary. “All right lass, we need to rest.”

  “But I am nae tired,” she told him.

  “But I am,” he said.

  On and on it went the remainder of the evening. Two adults trying to keep one very bored child entertained. They told her stories, sat on the floor and played with the wooden toys, and told more stories. By the time the evenin’ meal rolled around, they were both exhausted.

  It didn’t take long for Brigid to catch on to the fact that if she said she had to pee, one of the adults would take her below stairs. After the fourth such trip, the adults caught on.