The Lady and the Laird

by Maura Seger

  "You look very distinguished," Katlin insisted.

  The breeze touched her again, a bit more warmly this time. "Do you really think so?"

  "Absolutely." She paused for a moment, realizing that her hands were tightly clenched in her skirt. And why not? Surely fhe circumstances were unusual enough to warrant some anxiety. But she wasn't afraid, most certainly not.

  "I saw the portrait at Wyndham Manor," she went on, trying by the most diplomatic means she could muster to lead the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go. "What an impressive house. I gather you lived there?"

  "Years," the baron said. He sighed deeply and fell silent, but not for long.

  As Katlin watched, the air directly in front of her began to ripple and change. Slowly, at first almost imperceptibly, a face emerged. The face of the man in the painting. Elation filled her. She had been right then.

  "To be frank," she said, "the manor is much more comfortable than Innishffarin."

  "Meant to be, girl. Why do you think we built it in the first place?"

  "I thought perhaps you wanted a change."

  "I suppose that was it," the baron admitted. "But that didn't make the castle any less important. It was the heart and soul of Wyndham. Still is." He sighed again and for a moment his image wavered. "That damn William knew it. No fortified residences for enemies of the king, he decreed, as though we were still back in the damned Middle Ages. Curse him to hell and beyond. He turned Innishffarin over to your ancestor and I haven't had a peaceful day since."

  Katlin cleared her throat. They were getting to the heart of it. "Is that why you are here? You just can't give it up?"

  The baron drew back slightly. She could see more of him now. He appeared grandly dressed as befitted his station. Though he was somewhat smaller in stature than Angus, he had the same broad set to his shoulders and the same direct look about his eyes. She could not forget that, in his own time, Francis Wyndham had been a warrior. That he had chosen not to fight in the final, great confrontation of his life was more to his credit than not.

  "Why I'm here's my own business, girl," he said. "That damn fool, your grandfather, wouldn't listen to reason. Ignored me, he did. But he's dead now and-"

  A sudden thought roared through Ratlin's mind. It was undoubtedly as rude to interrupt a ghost as it was anyone else, but she did it all the same. "Grandfather," she said, "he's gone, isn't he? I mean, he isn't still here, too?"

  The baron's eyes flashed. "Him? Ha! Didn't linger a second, not him. Got free of his old carcass, saw that damn light and was after it like a shot. Not a word to me, after all the years he'd known I was about. He took off, just like that."

  Katlin shook her head, trying to absorb all that. "Light? What light?"

  "Never mind. Point is I'm the only ghost at Innishffarin and I intend to stay, at least until the castle is Wyndham held once again."

  "Then you'll have a long wait," Katlin said crisply. "Since you seem to have been looking over my grandfather's shoulder for some time, you undoubtedly know the terms of his will. Let me assure you that I am not leaving. You and your great-great-whatever-grandson can forget about taking Innishffarin back. It is mine."

  The baron scowled. Once again his image wavered, then grew larger until it seemed to fill the passage from floor to ceiling. His voice boomed in Katlin's mind. "We'll see about that, lass. We'll just see."

  A blast of cold air nearly rocked her off her feet. She wrapped her arms around herself and clenched her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she was alone.

  ***

  Scotch, Katlin thought, most definitely Scotch. Tea had its place and port was all well and good, but when a person had had the sort of shock she had had, strong no-nonsense Scotch was called for.

  Lady Margaret would have been appalled had she known that her grandniece had given in to her curiosity to taste—only taste—the various spirited liquids kept on hand for male guests. Katlin hadn't cared for any of them, but she had noted Scotch as a possible remedy at times of acute distress. Unless she was very much mistaken, there had to be some around somewhere.

  She found it in the room that had belonged to her grandfather, in a solid oak wardrobe that opened to reveal an ample stock of various liquids. Her hand trembled slightly as she poured a small measure into a tumbler—also thoughtfully in the wardrobe. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took a sip. The fiery liquid made her choke, but she persevered until her knees stopped shaking and she felt at least a little more in control.

  "I wish you were still here, Grandfather," she murmured. "If only for a moment. Perhaps you could help me figure out what to do."

  But that was selfish, she thought. How much better that he had gone on to wherever he was supposed to be, which by the sound of it was someplace good. That left her on her own, of course, but it was just as well. She was learning a great deal standing on her own two feet.

  Dank walls, rampant leaks and recalcitrant sheep she could live with. But Laird Francis Wyndham had to go. If she was to have any hope of retaining Innishffarin after she married Charles, she could not have him running into ghostly specters.

  But how to accomplish it? The ghostly laird had said he would stay until Innishffarin belonged to the Wyndhams again, but she had the niggling suspicion that there was more to it than that. He hadn't agreed when she suggested he was staying on because he couldn't bear to depart while Sinclairs were still in residence. On the contrary, he didn't seem any too pleased to be lingering about the place. If she could find out what was really keeping him, she might have a fighting chance of getting him to leave.

  The only person who might be able to give her any insights into the long-dead baron was the present laird of Wyndham Manor, and she hardly wanted to ask him for help. The mere thought brought a rush of sensation as for a brief instant she relived what had passed between them on the cliff. She did have sense, despite what Francis Wyndham thought, and she knew far too well that she could not trust herself with Angus.

  But she might have no choice, not if she was to achieve her aim. The Scotch warmed her as she closed the wardrobe and went downstairs to the kitchen. Neal was still there. He was busy peeling carrots for a stew.

  "Everything all right, miss?"

  "Fine," Katlin murmured. She took a seat next to him and began to help. Preoccupied as she was, she missed the startled look he gave her.

  "I wonder if you might do something for me?" Katlin asked.

  "Of course, miss, that's what I'm here for."

  He waited patiently while she worked it out once more in her mind. Francis Wyndham had to go but she couldn't convince him to leave by herself. She needed Angus's advice.

  Slowly, she said, "Would you take a message to Laird Wyndham for me? Tell him I need to speak with him about a matter of mutual concern." That was as close as she dared come to explaining herself. The last thing she needed was to have the servants talking about the ghost.

  "As you wish, miss," Neal said. "Would you like me to go now?"

  Katlin nodded. She reached for another carrot. "I'll finish up here."

  Again, Neal glanced at her in surprise. "You don't have to do this, you know."

  "Do what?"

  "Peel carrots. Fine ladies don't usually do that sort of thing."

  Katlin supposed she did look rather strange sitting at the battered table deftly attacking the pile of carrots. Scant weeks before, she wouldn't have known how to do such a thing.

  "They ought to," she said, "if they want to eat."

  Neal went off, shaking his head in bemusement. Katlin finished the carrots, put them in broth to simmer with other vegetables and went to the main hall. Sarah was on her way through carrying an armload of Katlin's dresses.

  "There you are, miss," she said. "I was just going to do a bit of ironing. Is there anything you need?"

  "Nothing I can think of. Has the lamb been born?"

  Sarah flushed. "Yes, miss, she has. Ever so lovely it was to see. Seamus..." Her flush deepened. "Th
at is, Mr. McMahon, very capable, he is."

  "I'm sure," Katlin said, trying very hard not to smile. "We're fortunate to have him."

  "Oh, yes, miss, indeed. I just wondered..."

  "Yes?"

  Sarah took a breath and straightened her shoulders. "He asked me to supper with his family on Sunday. Would you mind if I go? "

  My, my, Katlin thought, Seamus McMahon was wasting no time at all. "Of course not," she said, "go and have a good time."

  Sarah's face lit. "Oh, thank you, miss! That's very kind of you."

  She hurried off, her step light.

  Katlin sighed. Once again, she had to suppress a surge of wistfulness that her own circumstances were far from being so straightforward.

  ***

  Angus received Katlin's message when he returned from visiting several of his crofters. He was satisfied that the flocks were doing well, most of the new lambs were surviving and the shearing to be done in a few months promised to be ample.

  He dismounted in the stable yard. Neal found him there.

  "A matter of mutual concern?" Angus repeated. "Are you sure?"

  The old man nodded. He kept his features scrupulously correct but his eyes were alight with speculation. "That's it, my lord."

  Angus frowned. He supposed she was upset about what had happened that morning, and he couldn't really blame her. But he hadn't expected her to bring up the matter on her own.

  "All right," he said finally, "I'll go as soon as I can. Otherwise, is everything in hand?"

  "As can be, my lord. Place isn't what it used to be."

  "No," Angus agreed quietly, "it isn't." He had seen that for himself the previous day. The castle was in even worse condition than he'd thought. If major work wasn't done soon, it could be in danger of collapse.

  But there were also pressing matters to attend to at Wyndham, and it was several hours before he was free. He arrived at the castle to the heartening sound of wood being split. Seamus McMahon and a young man from Wyndham were hard at work at it, their shirts off and their hair plastered with sweat as they labored. A young woman came from the kitchen carrying a stone pitcher and several cups. She stopped when she saw Angus.

  "Oh, my lord, 'tis you. I didn't know you were expected."

  "And who would you be?" Angus asked her cordially. He had seen the girl before when he brought Katlin back from her ill-advised adventure on the road, but his curiosity was aroused all the same. It did not escape his notice that Seamus straightened suddenly and gave the girl a reassuring smile.

  "Sarah Plunkett, sir. I'm Miss Sinclair's maid."

  "A notable position, to be sure. Is your mistress about?"

  "In the garden, sir, or what would be the garden if it hadn't been let go so bad. Shame it is, there's still some herbs growing there and a few fine roses, but they're all going to wild."

  "Perhaps Miss Sinclair can tame them," Angus suggested dryly. He nodded cordially and moved off but not before hearing her quick giggle and the excitement in her voice as she said, "Such a fine man, he is, don't you think so, Seamus?"

  Seamus's answer was lost as Angus rounded the side of the castle. Ahead was a small walled enclosure that had in times long gone been the private garden for the ladies of Innishffarin. He entered it through a wooden door that was missing several of its planks.

  Katlin was standing amid the tangle of bushes and vines with a distracted air, as though she was trying to decide where to begin.

  "Thin the mustard, to start," Angus said.

  She started and raised her eyes to his face. A flush spread over her cheeks. She put her hands together and held them tightly, a gesture he had already noticed her make whenever she was anxious and determined to deny it.

  "I didn't expect you to come so quickly," she said.

  Since it had been hours since her message arrived, he thought that nonsensical. "Of course I came. It's better for us to clear the air."

  Katlin's brow knit. "I'm not sure I—"

  He took a step closer, shutting the door behind him as he did. "I'm a plainspoken man, Katlin, and I see no reason to change now. I want you as much as I've ever wanted any woman." That wasn't true. He had desired lovely women aplenty, and had them, as well, readily enough, but never with the hot, driving passion he had found with her. Not that he was about to admit it.

  Matter-of-factly, he said, "It puts a different light on things. You say you want to keep Innishffarin but you can't do that alone. As for me, I've put off marrying too long as it is. We could both do worse than join forces."

  Katlin's eyes, normally the softest of browns, glinted with deeply buried shards of gold. "Worse?" she asked softly.

  "Aye, we could make a decent match of it. What do you say?"

  She let go of her hands and put them carefully behind her, the better to resist the impulse to pummel him. As calmly as she could manage, she said, "I say I would rather face the fires of perdition than marry an arrogant, overbearing, mule-headed—"

  "Enough!" Angus broke in. A pulse beat in his jaw. "Your meaning is clear. I should have known a Sinclair couldn't deal with the matter honestly. You want me as much as I want you. You're just not woman enough to admit it."

  Katlin paled. That struck too close to the truth. She did want him in a way she had never conceived possible. Just to be standing so near to him made her blood heat. But she couldn't and wouldn't let him see that.

  "I am a lady," she said slowly and distinctly. "I was raised to respect the feelings of others and the strictures of proper society. Therefore, I will not say anything further on this supremely distasteful subject."

  "Fine," Angus snapped. He turned on his heel and strode away. Anger foiled within him but so did something more—an aching disappointment he had no intention of acknowledging.

  "Wait," Katlin called.

  He stopped and glanced at her over his broad shoulder. His expression was chilling. "Not done telling me off yet, Miss Sinclair?"

  She looked flustered, which gratified him a little but not much. The infuriating chit! She said he was arrogant and insufferable. He'd match his mule head against hers any day. There were women—legions of them—who would be overjoyed to receive an offer of marriage from him. But oh, no, he had to propose to a coldhearted, disdainful Sinclair. Good going, lad. For an encore, he could walk off the side of a cliff.

  "Wait," Katlin said more urgently, for the rage in his eyes made her think he was about to walk out of her life forever. "I do need to talk with you, at least, I did, that's why I sent Neal."

  He stood very still, looking at her with such scorn that she grew even more flustered. "I mean it," she insisted. "You have to do something about Francis."

  Angus frowned. What in the name of heaven was she going on about? "Francis who?"

  "Francis your ancestor. The one who's still here."

  His frown faded. In its place came a look of genuine concern; Was the lass daft?

  "Katlin," he said, almost gently, "what are you talking about?"

  "Your great-great-grandfather, or however many greats he is, he's still here." At the look on his face, she blurted, "I'm telling the truth! I've seen him myself, three times, four if you count the portrait. The last time I talked to him. He says he won't leave."

  Angus's anger wound down within him, a poor and pale thing compared to the fear he suddenly felt. Fear for the beautiful, passionate young woman standing before him. She had been through a great deal, he reminded himself belatedly, her parents dead when she was a child, growing up far from what should have been her home, her struggle to meet the terms of her grandfather's will. Undoubtedly, it had all added up to unbalance her mind.

  He didn't blame her for that; on the contrary, it roused a fiercely protective instinct within him. Anger gone, he walked across the garden until he stood directly in front of her.

  "Katlin, sweetling, there's no such thing as ghosts."

  The look she gave him was one a weary mother might bestow on a wayward child. "Oh, no? Then you can t
ell him that. Come on, I'll show you."

  Chapter Ten

  Angus followed her bemusedly. They entered the castle through the side door and continued toward the back. When they reached the rear passageway, Katlin suddenly stopped. Her courage wavered but she remained firm in her resolve.

  "I've seen him twice here," she said, her voice hushed. "You have to talk to him. Tell him there's no point lingering like this. It's not going to change anything. He has to go on the same way my grandfather did."

  "What's Isaiah got to do with this?" Angus said warily. He had faced many strange situations in his life but never one quite as peculiar as the one he found himself in now. She seemed absolutely sincere, which was all the more worrisome. Worse yet, she seemed to be taking the situation in stride, as though there was nothing at all unusual about it. Did she talk to ghosts routinely?

  "Grandfather didn't stay," Katlin explained. "He did what he was supposed to, but Francis can't seem to manage it. He's stuck, you see. Obviously, I want him gone for my own reasons, but you should, too. It's awful to think that he's trapped here."

  Angus had to admit the idea was unsettling but he still refused to believe it. Nor could he believe she was balmy. Unsettling, yes, but not unsettled.

  "Katlin, lass, you've been working very hard of late and you're not used to it, so it's only natural that—"

  "Oh, stop. I know what you're thinking and you couldn't be more wrong. There's nothing wrong with me that getting rid of your ancestor won't cure. He's here. He's not supposed to be, but he is. I want him gone. It's that simple."

  Angus's black brows met in a straight line above eyes that glinted like shards of blue ice. "No, it isn't. You actually believe you've seen a ghost, you're serious about it. Even most people who think they exist can't claim that."

  Katlin hesitated. He was right, of course. That was the central fact she had refused to acknowledge. She had actually seen a ghost, not merely felt it, as perhaps Sarah had, but seen and spoken with it. All the wishing in the world couldn't make that ordinary.

  Quietly, she said, "I've read that spirits seem to have affinities for certain people."