Enraptured

by Candace Camp

  “I thought Old Angus told you.” Violet kept her hand on his arm on the table, caressing it now and then, unwilling to completely break contact.

  “I dinna wait for the details.” Coll’s eyes glinted.

  “Mm. I’m sure you didn’t.” Violet recounted the incident, ending with the providential arrival of Angus McKay.

  “So he thought we had the treasure because he was watching us that day at the castle?”

  “And other times, I think. Several times lately I’ve had an eerie feeling that someone was watching me. That day that we went to the Munro graves, as I was walking home, I thought there was someone else in the woods.”

  “Someone’s been spying on you? Following you? And you dinna say anything?”

  “What could I say? ‘I keep getting an eerie feeling’? I never saw anyone. I decided I was imagining it.”

  “What about since the day he grabbed you? Has he tried again? Has he been watching you?”

  “I have not seen him. He hasn’t done anything. It’s only been two days, Coll, and I have not been foolish, whatever you may think. In the mornings I wait to walk with the workers, and I come back with them or Angus.”

  “McKay is eighty if he’s a day. He’s not much use if someone attacks you.”

  “He frightened him off the other day. I think the man feared exposure. I imagine he is someone Angus would recognize.”

  “No doubt. He’s bound to be from the glen.”

  “We could lure him out,” Violet suggested. “I could walk back by myself, and—”

  “Nae.” Coll stopped her with a stony look. “Absolutely not.”

  “He won’t hurt me. He wants the treasure, and I can hardly give it to him if he’s killed me. I can arrange to give it to him, and you can be waiting to catch him when I do.”

  “He could do a great deal to convince you to help him without actually killing you. And if you think I am going to sit around while you lure some villain to attack you, you are even madder than I thought.”

  “What do you suggest? If you are guarding me every step of the way, he won’t show himself. And do not suggest I stay inside Duncally until you catch him.”

  “I wasn’t about to suggest that; I know how little cooperation I could hope for from you.”

  They glared at each other until Violet began to laugh. “There. Already we are at daggerpoint.” She stroked her hand over his, and he opened it, lacing their fingers together. She lifted his hand to kiss his knuckles. “I know you are concerned for me. And I am glad of it. But you must see that I cannot stop living my life.”

  “Dinna worry. You’re going back to your ruins as usual. Now that I know what he’s doing, we can hoist him on his own petard.”

  “How?”

  Coll smiled, a cold glitter to his eyes that Violet had never before seen. “We shall give your attacker something to steal.”

  Two days later, Violet stood at the ruins watching the men dig. Yesterday Isobel and her aunt had spent most of the afternoon at the ruins, accompanied by Isobel’s husband, Jack. Violet had enjoyed the visit, but she had known that they were there because Coll had asked them to watch over her. Curiously, she found it amusing, even endearing. It was a trifle disconcerting to feel herself changing.

  Today, however, there were no guests, just herself and the workers and, of course, Angus McKay, who had not missed a single day since he had frightened off her attacker. Violet glanced now and then toward the edge of the cliff. She was glad that the role she had to play today called for a show of anxiety and eagerness, for she did not think she could have managed to seem calm.

  She heard Coll whistling before she saw him, followed by the chorus of a song. It would take a deaf man not to look as Coll came up the path from the beach. Coll carried a sack over his shoulder, obviously weighty. His clothes and face were smeared with dirt, but his smile was bright. Coll was either a better actor than Violet would have guessed or he was enjoying the prospect of a confrontation.

  “Did you find it?” Violet ran to him.

  “Aye, I did.” Coll dropped the sack and picked her up to whirl her around.

  “Coll! Put me down! You’re filthy.” But she laughed.

  He set her down, and Violet tried to look annoyed as she brushed the dust from her cloak, but a grin broke through.

  “Whisht, lad! What do you hae there?” Angus hurried toward them as fast as his aged legs would carry him. The workers had ceased digging and were leaning on their shovels, watching with great curiosity. Angus reached for the sack, but Coll whisked it away and again slung it over his back.

  “ ’Tis nothing.”

  “A michty heavy nothing.” Old Angus set his hands on his hips and glared up at Coll. The old man, Violet thought, was enjoying this as much as Coll.

  “I’m going back to the house,” Violet said abruptly. “You men finish up here. Angus.” She gave him a good-bye nod.

  “You’re leaving? Sae early?” Angus asked.

  “I’m tired. Coll?” Violet turned toward him and he nodded.

  Despite Angus’s splutters of protest, Violet and Coll started off, Coll shortening his strides to match Violet’s. Violet was on edge, listening, waiting. She fought her instinct to stay silent. They continued their performance.

  “Was it difficult? Did you have much trouble?” She turned to look up at Coll, surreptitiously scanning the land around them.

  “Nae. I found it easy enough. It was where the journal said, in an inner cave. I’ve passed it hundreds of times, but not gone in it. The entrance is low; you have to crawl through it.”

  “Was it much?”

  “Oh, aye. Four bags, you ken. We’ll live in style.” He cast her a grin, and Violet knew he, too, was surveying the area.

  They continued to talk about money and opportunities for spending it as they started up the rough, narrow path to Duncally. The trees were thicker here, with ample places for someone to hide. The problem was whether their quarry would have the nerve to stop Coll. It would have worked better with Violet alone, but Coll would never have allowed that. And frankly, Violet would not have relished plunging up this trail by herself.

  If Coll’s presence deterred him, there would be another opportunity tonight. With that in mind, Coll turned their talk to plans for stowing the sack in the butler’s pantry tonight.

  “I’ll just be glad to get it in the bank tomorrow.” Violet gave a shiver. “And I won’t have to worry that that man will come after me again.” She hoped they were not being too obvious.

  Violet heard a snap among the trees, and she felt the subtle increase in the tension of Coll’s body, but she carefully kept her eyes straight ahead and her face nonchalant. Ahead of them lay a sharp turn in the path, the most secluded part of the trail. Violet’s nerves stretched tighter with every step she took. She went around the curve and took two steps, Coll right behind her.

  “Stop!”

  Violet froze, Coll doing the same. Slowly they turned around. A man stood on the path behind them. His hat was pulled low and a scarf was wrapped round his lower face. Violet scarcely took in his attire, however; her attention was riveted on the pistol in his hand.

  “Will Ross.” Coll’s voice dripped scorn. “Do you think I dinna recognize you because of that stupid scarf? I’ve known you since you could walk, lad.”

  Violet’s fingers curled into her hands. She knew Coll was delaying, but didn’t he realize his contempt made the man more likely to shoot him?

  “Is that supposed to make me flee?” Ross sneered. “Should I quake in my boots because the michty Coll Munro knows my name? Or maybe you think I will believe you are my friend.”

  “Nae. I would not claim friendship with you, Will. But you will be sorry if you try to take this from me.”

  The other man snorted in disgust. “You’re the one whae will be sorry if you dinna hand over the gold. Gie it to me.” He waggled his fingers in a summoning gesture.

  Coll let out a sigh and lowered the sack. Taking a
step forward, he tossed the sack on the ground at Ross’s feet.

  Will leaned down to grab the sack with one hand, keeping the pistol trained squarely on Coll. “Mayhap I’ll shoot you anyway.”

  “No!” Violet cried, and started around Coll, but he pushed her behind him.

  “Violet, stop.”

  Ross chuckled. “Don’t like that, lassie? Maybe you’d like to bargain for him then. But I already hae all this money. What’ll you offer for his sorry life?”

  A pistol cocked loudly behind him, and Jack Kensington jammed the barrel of a pistol against Ross’s skull. “Well, I will offer to not put this ball through your brain if you drop your gun. How does that bargain sound?”

  Coll let out a long breath. “Christ, English, what took you so long?”

  “So Will Ross is the man who broke into Duncally?” Aunt Elizabeth asked several hours later. She and Isobel had been waiting at Duncally, along with Jack’s mother, and the three women had stayed with Violet while Coll and Jack escorted Will to gaol in Kinclannoch. Violet, unaccustomedly shaky, found it rather comforting to be fussed over.

  Now the whole group was gathered around the dining table, and once they had satisfied the first sharp pangs of hunger, they settled down to discuss the events of the afternoon.

  “Yes, I’m afraid the thief was Will.” Coll shook his head. “I should not have let him get involved with that group.”

  “You cannot blame yourself for the way Will Ross turned out,” Isobel told him.

  “I suspect young Will would have found his way into thievery, clearances or no clearances,” Jack agreed.

  “You may be right.”

  “But I don’t understand—how did you know he would try to rob you this afternoon?” Jack’s mother asked.

  “It was more hope than certainty, Mrs. Kensington,” Coll replied. “We knew he had been spying on us, so we thought that if we put on a show of finding the treasure, he would see it and come after us. The tricky thing was getting him to seize it immediately.”

  “That’s why we discussed putting it in the safe in the butler’s pantry as soon as we got to Duncally,” Violet explained.

  “Even so, he might have decided it would be safer to sneak in and steal it at night from the pantry,” Aunt Elizabeth pointed out.

  “That’s true.” Coll smiled fondly at the older woman. “So we also talked about going to Baillannan this evening. Of course we wouldn’t have. We would have been waiting for him when he broke in.”

  “And we discussed taking it tomorrow to the bank so he would know he had to strike very soon or it would be quite out of his reach.”

  “You are so clever!” Mrs. Kensington exclaimed admiringly. “I cannot imagine how you had the courage to carry on the pretense, Lady Violet. I would have fainted from fear.”

  Coll sent a laughing glance at Violet. “I dinna think Lady Violet is given to fainting. Or fear.”

  “My main worry was that our exchange would sound too rehearsed and make him suspicious.” Violet decided she would not share the terror that had risen up in her when she thought Ross might shoot Coll.

  “Mine was that Will wouldn’t have been on the watch today, and it would have all been for naught,” Coll added.

  “Fortunately he was there. And he took the bait.” Jack sipped his wine. “Naturally, while Coll got to put on a grand show, my part was to spend the day crouched in the bushes, waiting.”

  “And an excellent job you did of it, too, my love.” Isobel grinned as she patted his arm.

  “You are all safe; that’s the important thing. And you don’t have to worry about him stealing the treasure,” Mrs. Kensington said happily.

  “The unfortunate thing is we still have no idea where the treasure is.”

  “I had hoped that the hiding place was marked with the sign on Coll’s knife,” Violet told them. “But we have not found the symbol anywhere. We’ve searched the old castle, which seems the likeliest place. I even examined the standing stones, thinking perhaps it had been carved on one of them.”

  “Coll’s knife?” Aunt Elizabeth looked puzzled. “Why would your knife be a clue to the gold Papa brought back?”

  “Because it was Sir Malcolm’s knife—or so Meg believes.”

  “Oh, no, dear, it could not be Papa’s knife. That was on him. Isobel and Jack found it with . . . his body.” Tears glimmered in Elizabeth’s eyes.

  “Nae, not the long knife he carried on his belt. It was his sgian-dubh.” Coll reached behind him and pulled out the small knife, holding it out to Elizabeth.

  “Oh! Yes.” Elizabeth studied it, nodding.

  “Do you remember it, Auntie?” Isobel leaned forward hopefully.

  “The sgian-dubh? No, I’m afraid I cannot remember what Papa’s sgian-dubh looked like, though of course he wore one. But it seems likely this one was his, doesn’t it? Since he and Faye were the guardians.”

  “The guardians?” Violet stiffened.

  “Yes, dear, you know, the guardians of the tomb.” Elizabeth pointed at the hilt of the knife. “That mark is the one that’s on the barrow.”

  27

  For a moment there was dead silence in the room. Elizabeth glanced around. “I don’t understand. Why is everyone looking so odd?”

  “Of course!” Violet let out a long breath. “The barrow!” She looked at Coll. “That must be what Faye meant. She was talking about their ancient ancestors—the ones who are buried in the barrow by the ring.” Violet turned to Elizabeth, her excitement growing. “You called Sir Malcolm and Faye Munro the guardians?”

  “Yes.” Elizabeth, unsettled by everyone’s reactions, was clearly relieved to be on more solid ground. “It is one of the legends about the loch. Part of the pact between the lairds of Baillannan and the goodwives of the Munros.”

  “The pact?”

  “Not a formal one, of course. Just an ancient tradition. No one knows how or when it began. The two families, the Munros and the Roses, were given the duty of protecting the old ones.”

  “ ‘Those who went before,’ ” Violet quoted Faye’s journal.

  “Exactly.” Elizabeth nodded. “The Baillannan, of course, protected by force of arms. He was the landholder, the fighter. The Munros were more . . . the protectors of the spirit. The ones who preserved the traditions.”

  “That is what the symbol means.” Violet pointed to the sgian-dubh, now lying on the table beside Coll. “The Norse rune meant protection. The Ogham letter was the sign of the yew tree—which stood for death and eternity.”

  “And rebirth,” Elizabeth added. “That was the significance of the Long Night.”

  “The Long Night?” Mrs. Kensington looked around blankly.

  “It’s what they called the winter-solstice ceremony long ago,” Isobel explained. “Wasn’t it, Aunt Elizabeth?”

  “Yes. It was celebrated by the Old Ones, or so they say.”

  “I am familiar with the idea that the ancients observed the solstices—the very people, perhaps, who lived in that village we are excavating.” Violet’s eyes glowed with enthusiasm. “It was a religion that centered on the land and the elements. They celebrated the planting of the crops in the spring and the growing of them in the summer, and so on. The winter solstice, coming in the darkest part of winter—the longest night, as you say, Lady Elizabeth—was vitally important for reaffirming their belief in the return of the spring, the crops. The death of winter, followed by a promise of rebirth and renewal.”

  “But they no longer actually practice that religion.” Jack looked puzzled. “Do they? I mean, the people around here don’t gather at the circle on the shortest day of the year.”

  “No. They moved past that a long time ago.” Isobel smiled. “There’s nothing done there now.”

  “Not by the public,” Elizabeth hedged. “But that is what the legend is about—the protectors preserved the tradition of the Long Night.”

  Everyone stared at her. Finally Isobel said, “Are you saying that the laird and
a Munro healer went to the standing stones on the winter solstice?”

  “No, dear, of course not.” Elizabeth smiled fondly at her niece. “They went to the tomb.”

  “Ma?” Coll’s jaw dropped.

  “Papa?” Isobel looked equally astounded.

  “Oh, no, John and Janet no longer practiced the tradition,” Elizabeth agreed. “Or, at least, they never told me if they did. But the tale is that such was the duty of the Munros and the Baillannan. They were also bound to keep all others from violating the barrow and the ring—as Meg saved the Troth Stone last summer, you remember.” She turned toward Coll.

  Coll seemed too stunned to answer, but Isobel said, “But what did they do at the tomb?”

  “I’ve no idea.” Elizabeth shrugged. “It was no longer done by the time Janet and John and I were of age. When my father died, my brother was just a boy, even younger than I, and of course Janet was a baby. There would have been only Janet’s grandmother to continue it, and she was getting on in years. My brother and Coll’s mother were modern-thinking people. I don’t believe they took up the practice again. But Faye and Sir Malcolm might have done so.”

  Violet looked at Coll. “Do you think that is what Faye meant? That she hid it somewhere around the tomb?”

  “Aye.” He gazed back at her. “Or in it.”

  “Inside? But how could she have gotten inside? The entrance is blocked by rubble.”

  “Ah.” Coll grinned at Violet. “Now that is one of the Munro secrets. I know another way in.”

  “Do you really know how to get into the barrow?” Violet asked a few hours later as she sat at her vanity table, brushing out her hair.

  Coll lay on her bed, arms linked behind his head, gazing at her with a lazy heat in his eyes. He had waited to come to her room until he was sure the servants had retired for the night. Though he had returned to Violet’s bed, he still did his utmost to keep her reputation safe.

  Watching her take down her hair was one of his favorite occupations, Violet knew. More than once he had taken the brush from her hand and brushed her hair himself. Then he had sunk his fingers into her hair and massaged her scalp with his fingertips, which had melted her right down to her toes. Now that she thought about it, Coll’s watching her brush out her hair was one of her favorite things, as well.