Mary smiled, “Meara named him Heath for yer...”
“For my father,” Duncan finished.
“Aye, lad,” Mary nodded.
Duncan reached a trembling finger toward the bairn and stroked the curved cheek. Heath stared up unblinking, then reached up and closed his hand around his father’s finger.
A strangled sob escaped Duncan and his eyes shimmered. The pistol thudded, forgotten, on the floor. With awkward care he reached down and scooped the lad into his arms, cuddling him close. His eyes met Mary’s over the shining curls and he smiled, not bothering to hide the tears. “He has Meara’s eyes,” he murmured.
“Aye, laddie, he’s a braw lad,” Mary said, a catch in her voice.
Heath held Duncan’s finger tightly in his, yawned sleepily and nuzzled his face into the crook of his father’s neck. His lids lowered slightly then popped wide as he twisted uncomfortably in Duncan’s arms. Duncan rubbed hesitant circles across the baby’s back. Heath wriggled about then a loud burp exploded past the rosebud lips. Duncan’s dark brows rose then he grinned down at his child while Heath murmured contentedly and snuggled deeper into his father’s arms. He closed his eyes again and Duncan rested his cheek on his son’s head and inhaled deeply, his eyes moving around the room, taking in every detail of Meara’s prison.
Deirdre watched Duncan with crafty eyes that darted back and forth between Mary and Duncan. Mary lowered the rolling pin as she watched Duncan with Heath, her head tilted to one side, her triangle eyes damp.
A tremor waved through Deirdre’s eye as she stared at the gun on the floor at Duncan’s feet. She peered at Duncan and back to Mary then lunged forward, her long fingers stretched wide.
Deirdre didn’t see it coming but felt the rolling pin smash into her temple before her eyes rolled back and the room faded.
Mary looked coolly down at the prone woman. “I told ye not to move.”
******
Duncan refused to return Heath to his cradle, as though he feared his son might disappear. He retrieved his father’s flintlock and slowly paced the room, his hand smoothing circles across the bairn’s back, while Mary stood watch over Deirdre.
He spoke in a hushed voice, “Mary, we’ll have to tie her up then if ye’ll care for Heath, I’ll go for Sloan.”
Mary nodded wryly, “He’s always passed out in the study, lad, but he may not be for much longer.” Her voice hardened, “That man is a monster Duncan so watch yerself, laddie. He hasna got a conscience.”
Duncan nodded absently, remembering briefly his last encounter with Sloan when the imbecile had caught his foot in the stirrup of Pearl’s saddle and danced around the clearing like a fool. He’d seemed harmless then, but maybe he’d underestimated the man.
“Duncan, ye dinna ken the worst of it.” Mary’s blue eyes were hard as she glanced back down at Deirdre. “Nay, lad, he did far worse than send Rabbie and Meara away.”
Duncan stopped near the window that overlooked the stables. A cool breeze flowed through the open glass, carrying the tang of the sea, the damp of earth and a tease of winter’s chill. Duncan reached over with his free hand and pushed down on the frame, seeking to close it. The wood was swollen with moisture, aged and refused to budge. The gun pressed into his abdomen, so he slid it around to his side then pulled the blanket a little closer around Heath’s shoulders.
Turning to Mary he said, “How much worse can it possibly get, Mary?”
“Sloan raped our sweet Hannah. She carried his child when she killed herself,” Mary said roughly, her mouth pulling down.
Duncan’s eyes widened, then he closed them and tipped his head back, slowly shaking his head. “Mother of God, the poor wee mite.” He opened his eyes and shaking his head, peered at Mary. “Meara was right. If only I’d come back sooner.” He looked down at his son and cuddled Heath close. The wee lad was so warm and smelled so good. Thank you. Thank you, Lord, for this miracle.
Deirdre stirred and moaned, then pushed herself to a sitting position. She glared up at Mary who stood above her, ready with the rolling pin. “Och, Deirdre, ye’ve woke just in time for a ride into town. We’ve found ye a lovely new place to live.” She smiled but with no trace of humour. “It’s called the gaols.”
Deirdre’s sallow face drained of colour and fear leapt into her eyes. “Nay, my brother willna let ye do it. He’ll kill ye first.”
Mary gave a derisive snort. “Yer brother’s passed out as usual, Deirdre, of no use to anyone. Surely, ye didna think ye could count on him?”
“Actually, Mary, Sloan isna in the study.” Mary’s head whipped up and she looked at Duncan in confusion.
Duncan stood with his back to her, leaning forward to peer out the window.
“Aye, lad, I peeked in afore I went to bed and his snores were louder than a bull calf aboot to be castrated.”
Duncan’s lips quirked then he shook his head, his eyes fixed on something below. “Nay, Mary, he canna be there the now. But yer right about one thing. Deirdre shouldna counted on Sloan for help.”
“What do ye mean?” Mary asked, puzzled lines parting her brows.
“Come see for yerself.”
Mary looked down at Deirdre who crouched on the floor by the cradle, her skinny neck craned to see Duncan, the whites of her eyes circling the dark center with alarm.
“Dinna move!” Mary raised the rolling pin and shook it threateningly. Deirdre cowered, flattening to the floor. Mary sidestepped to Duncan, still holding the rolling pin out as she peered over his shoulder.
The clouds had drifted away and the moon’s mandarin beam shone down on the unmistakable figure of Sloan McBain. His back was rounded and his head jutted forward as he skulked toward the stable.
“Mighty loyal brother ye got here, Deirdre,” The sarcasm was sharp in the rasp of Duncan’s voice.
Mary and Duncan looked back at Deirdre.
She rocked urgently on the floor, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs. Her eyes were round and she looked like a wild animal that had been cornered.
“Nay, I dinna believe ye. He’d never leave me!” She shook her head vigorously. “Nay, ye lie.”
Duncan and Mary glanced at one another before looking back to the window.
“I’ll go after him, Mary. Let’s get Deirdre downstairs and lock her...”
He was cut off sharply as Deirdre charged from behind and crashed into them both. Mary lost her balance and toppled, her rolling pin skidding across the floor. Duncan staggered slightly but righted himself, holding Heath safely to his chest.
Deirdre stared out at her brother. He crouched low behind a bush and peeked ahead toward the stable.
“Ye fuckin’ bastard! Ye left me!” Deirdre screamed through the open window.
Sloan spun round in shock and gaped up at his sister.
With his attention on his son, Duncan did not have a chance to stop Deirdre as she whipped around and wrenched the pistol from his belt. She turned back and before he could stop her, she leaned out the window, cocked the hammer, pulled the trigger and fired the pistol at her brother.
“Bloody Christ!” Mary screeched from the floor.
Deirdre glanced briefly at Mary then back at her brother. He stood like a marble statue, staring up at the window. A trickle of dark blood slid down his forehead from a hole above his left eye. In disbelief, he reached up and touched the hole. Then in slow motion, he tipped back and thudded to the leaf strewn path, his sightless eyes staring up at the moon, his body bathed in an orange glow.
“Ye left me! Ye left me!” Deirdre’s shriek ended in a petulant mewl as she stared down at the corpse of her brother. Slowly she turned and looked at Duncan. Heath, awakened by the deafening shot, fussed in his arms. Duncan cuddled his son close, murmuring soothing sounds against the top of his head. But as his eyes met Deirdre’s, his lips stilled.
Slowly she raised her arm and leveled the gun at Duncan, her eyes as flat as a serpent’s, ready to strike.
“Give me my son. Give m
e Owen,” she demanded.
Duncan stared back at her, his stomach tightening at the desperation that fired her black eyes.
“Deirdre, this is Heath.” He spoke gently, his voice soothing. “Tell me about Owen.”
She blinked rapidly, her eyes darting about. Tremor after tremor passed through her eyelid and the fingers of her free hand tapped at her side. Her arm wavered and the gun dropped slightly as she shook her head.
Duncan kept his eyes trained on Deirdre and shifted Heath carefully out of the line of fire. He ignored Mary as she crept forward. Deirdre’s eyes followed Heath, intent on the child.
She shook her head again then rubbed her chin against her shoulder in agitation. “Dinna try to trick me, just give me back my...”
Mary swung the rolling pin again and it connected with the side of Deirdre’s head. The gun clattered to the floor and Duncan quickly stooped and retrieved it, holding fast to Heath, as Deirdre crumpled once more. This time the blow only stunned her and she remained conscious.
Tears filled her eyes as she curled her stick-like limbs into the centre of her body. She reached up and secured a few strands of her own hair and began to twirl them round and round her finger. “I just wanted a perfect bairn of my own. Just a perfect bairn,” she whimpered as she rocked back and forth.
Mary watched Deirdre for a moment then moved across the room to Duncan’s side where he was trying to quiet his screaming son, “Is he all right, Duncan?”
“Aye, Mary, it was the shot that scared him.” Duncan patted his son’s back and cuddled him close while Mary adjusted the blanket around the lad’s shoulders.
“I’ll just run down to the stable and round up some rope so we can tie this one up,” she tossed a thumb over her shoulder in Deirdre’s direction as she patted Heath’s curls. “I’ll say one thing for the cailleach,” Mary said, borrowing her dad’s derogatory term for Deirdre, as she glanced out the window, “she’s got good aim.” Mary stared down at Sloan’s body as Duncan peered over her shoulder.
“Aye, it appears there’s a lot about Deirdre and Sloan we didna ken. You hurry along now for the rope, Mary. I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure she doesna try to escape,” Duncan suggested as they both turned back to Deirdre.
But instead, they stared at the empty spot on the floor where Deirdre had lain.
******
Deirdre’s head throbbed as she hurried down the familiar stairs. She would not go to the gaols. She would not! She could not. Who would look after her Owen? She would steal away now and come back later for her son. They couldn’t take him from her. Owen belonged with his mama.
Deirdre slammed the door shut at the bottom of the tower room stairs then raced down the hall to her room and grabbed the chair that sat before her dressing table. Heedless to the noise she was making, she dragged it back down the hall and jammed the back of it up under the doorknob. She banged the heel of her hand to the side of her head to quiet the whispers then quickly turned and hurried toward the stairs that led down to the foyer. She would leave now but vowed silently she would return for her son.
As she passed the grandfather clock, the wall sconces flared noisily and coughed dark smoke into her face. She jerked away then halted at the top of the stairs. A deep chill suddenly frosted the air, passing through her and invading her body. She wrapped her arms around herself, unknown terror spreading through her chest. Her black eyes darted back and forth as lush honeysuckle enveloped her and filled her throat. She threw her hand up to cover her mouth and nose then slowly turned and peered back over her shoulder.
Deirdre’s eyes changed focus and her pupils receded to pinpoints as she stared at the ethereal form behind her. Gossamer strands of moonbeam hair cascaded around the nebulous face. She could not look away from the luminescent eyes that held hers. Deirdre’s body began to shake and she backed away as a single word fell from her lips, “Jessie.”
Transparent fingers reached for her and Deirdre shrank back, eyes wide with terror. As she took another step away, her foot hit nothing but space. She clawed at the empty air and her black stare locked in disbelief with a pair of blue eyes before she screamed, “No!” and hurtled backward down the stone stairs.
A celestial glow infused the darkness at the top of the stairs then gradually faded away like the evanescence of the highland mist.
******
The first feeble streaks of dawn peeked shyly through the kitchen window at the group assembled around the table.
Duncan leaned back in his chair, his son lounging happily in the curve of his arm, a soggy scone crushed in one dimpled hand. Duncan had not set the child down since first picking him up in the middle of the night.
Mary spoke animatedly to her father, her hands gesturing wildly as she demonstrated how she’d used the rolling pin to bring down Deirdre twice and how Deirdre had managed to slip away from them anyway.
“And will ye be rollin’ oot the dough for our scones with the same pin then, lassie?” her father asked, his tufted brows raised, his pale eyes twinkling.
Mary grinned and shook her head, giving Angus’s shoulder a good-natured squeeze. “I’ll be sure to give it a good scrubbin’ first, Da!”
Janet smiled and quietly nursed Alec, while she listened to the rest of her mother’s colourful description of the night’s events.
In the corner sat Deirdre, her hands and feet firmly trussed, the left side of her face grotesquely swollen and bruised. She’d survived the fall with mere bumps and bruising. Having risen early to begin preparations for breakfast, Janet had found her mother missing then had stumbled across the unconscious body of Deirdre shortly after. She’d briefly searched the castle before finding Mary, Duncan and Heath in the stairwell.
Deirdre’s dark eyes were vacant and a smile played upon her slack lips as she rocked back and forth, humming a tuneless lullaby. Daisy lay close by, her bright eyes trained on Deirdre, a low growl rumbling in her throat every so often.
Mary finally ran out of steam, the sleepless night catching up with her. She heaved a deep sigh, suddenly weary.
Except for Alec’s noisy swallows, the kitchen was quiet for a moment.
Then Mary sat up excitedly, “Och Duncan, I almost forgot. That wee cousin of yers, wee Ranny, he came by lookin’ for ye back in February. Told me to tell ye if ye want yer horse back, ye ken where to find him.”
Duncan grinned and nodded his head, “He was well then, Mary?”
“Aye laddie, for the most part, missin’ a few fingers from his right hand and had the top of his ear shot off. But just as big and cheeky as I remember,” Mary answered, shaking her head with a smile.
“Thank ye, Mary. That’s good news,” replied Duncan, his eyes bright.
Then Angus cleared his throat and leaned in. Everyone looked at him expectantly.
He revealed what had happened to him four nights prior, how he had been forced to write the letter, and how Deirdre and Sloan had used wee Flossie to ensure he would follow their orders.
Janet gasped and her rosy blossom drained away, while Duncan leaned toward Angus, his hollow face once again a mask of distress.
“I’m sarry, lassie, but I didna want tae worry ye.”
Janet nodded at her grandfather but her face remained grim as she stared at the woman in the corner, her golden eyes dark with contempt. “Lord forgive me, Granda, but He would ha’ done us all a favour if he’d taken her at the bottom of the stairs.”
All eyes settled on Deirdre, but she was lost inside of her frayed mind.
“And what happened to the letter, Angus?” Duncan prompted.
Angus cleared his throat before answering, “That’s the trouble, lad. The letter’s already left Scotland. Captain Duff sailed two days ago.” Angus shook his head and wrung the crooked hands helplessly. “I’m so sarry. I dinna ken what this’ll do to our wee Meara.”
The kitchen was silent as everyone solemnly digested this latest turn of events.
Suddenly Duncan sat forward and turned to Angus.
“Angus, do ye remember the name of the ship?”
Angus thought for a moment, his brow furrowed. “Aye, now I ken it was the Ghillie Dhu. I remember because the captain spoke so highly of his ship. Why do ye ask, lad?”
Duncan visibly relaxed, his full lips taking hold of a relieved smile. “The Ghillie Dhu never sailed. When I disembarked, I didna take note of much, ye ken. I just wanted to get here. But I did hear a captain bellowing at a workman that he couldn’t afford to sit idle for two weeks while they made repairs on the hull. I noticed a deep scar running down one cheek and he said that the longer his Ghillie Dhu was docked, the more money he was losin’.” He looked around the room at the avid listeners.
Angus nodded. “Aye he had a bad scar! That’d be him, surely!” he said, excitedly.
“Well that means the letter hasna left Scotland yet,” Duncan said.
The sun continued its assent and streamed its fresh morning light through the window as a collective sigh of relief breathed through the warm room.
Duncan continued, stroking his son’s plump cheek with his finger, “And after we get rid of this rubbish,” he jerked his head over his shoulder to Deirdre, “I’ll be sailin’ on the first ship to the Canadas with...”
His words were cut off by the distant sound of the knocker banging at the front entrance.
Everyone stilled and looked at one another then Mary asked, “Now who could that be?” She rose from the table and toddled to the kitchen door. “Blessed Lord, let this be good news,” she prayed aloud as she left the room, Daisy trotting close behind.
As she crossed the foyer, the knocker crashed again, this time more urgently. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” she mumbled to herself.
Mary swung the door wide. Her mouth dropped and she held fast to the door to keep from falling.
“Dear God in heaven.”
TWENTY-FIVE
November 13 1809
All Secrets Shall Come to Light
The lamp on my night table cast a soft glow in my darkened room but did not manage to chase the shadows from the corners. Words blurred before my eyes as my thoughts intruded on the story I had been trying to read for a number of hours.
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