He sighed. “They're gone. The police and the medics."
"Thank God.” I didn't want to be alone with him. Much as I wanted to, as badly as it pained me to admit it to myself, I didn't trust him anymore. “I have to go now."
"Wait, Brynne.” He caught my arm and pulled me toward him. “What is it?"
"Nothing. I need to go."
His eyes narrowed. “Not until you tell me why you're practically shaking in your shoes."
I swallowed hard, and drew myself up straight. “What was your errand this afternoon?"
Cayden blinked. “Beg pardon?"
"You said you had an errand to take care of in the village, while I was at the croft,” I said as firmly as I could. “After Trish came and argued with you, you left for a while. What were you doing?"
His eyes widened. “D'you think, dear God!” He began to laugh. “Look, I've cleared my whereabouts with Michael Kerr, and that ought to be good enough. Do you really think my errand consisted of coming here, strangling Trish MacGregor and then scampering back to the croft to fix you an omelet?"
I frowned. He seemed genuinely offended, but I wasn't going to fall for it so easily. “I don't know what to think, Cayden. Did you?"
He stared incredulously. “Bloody hell, Brynne."
"Where did you go this afternoon?” I pressed, inching gradually toward the door.
Before he could reply, the door popped open behind me.
"There you are,” exclaimed Evan. “I was wondering where you'd got to."
Cayden glared at him. “Aye, well, it wouldn't do to have the Murray wandering about unchaperoned, would it?"
Evan bristled. “Depends on who she's wandering about with, now, doesn't it, Spalding?"
"Cayden,” I said in a low voice, “just go. Please."
He folded his arms across his broad chest and stared at Evan. A smile slowly crept across his face. “Remember what I said to you before, Muncaster. It still holds true, aye?"
When he was gone, I felt myself shaking. “Evan, my God,” I whispered. “Do you think he could have killed Trish?"
Evan wrapped his arms around me. “I don't know, Brynne. I think it's a very strong possibility, though. He's certainly capable of violence."
"But why?” I murmured into his sweater. “What could he possibly have to gain?"
I felt him shrug. “Who knows, with a man like that? Maybe she just made him angry and he snapped."
I didn't think that was the case. If Cayden had killed Trish, which was looking distinctly possible each time I thought about it, it wouldn't have been just because he was angry. There had to be more to it. What had she said at the croft? I think I know how to find the Murray treasure.
What if she did? What if there really was a treasure, and Trish had figured it out, and Cayden was out to find it for himself?
I shuddered.
"What?” asked Evan. “What are you thinking?"
I explained, and Evan nodded slowly. “It would make sense, actually. The Spaldings have always played second fiddle to the Murrays. Maybe he's planning on looking for this so-called treasure so he can have equal standing around here."
"Do you think there's a treasure?” I asked. “It sounds so far-fetched."
"Your father thought there was,” Evan said slowly, “and Trish thought so too. Maybe it's not so far-fetched after all."
This was incredible. I had plunged into the pages of some Gothic mystery novel. A crumbly old manor, a brooding and possibly murderous recluse, a handsome attorney to come to my rescue, things going bump in the night, and buried treasure....
"So what do we do now?” I asked.
Evan thought for a moment. “Michael Kerr may be a police officer, but he's a friend of Spalding's. We can't really trust him.” His eyes met mine. “Brynne, we'll have to do this on our own."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going to keep an eye on Spalding, and see if he goes off treasure-hunting. In the meantime, you stay around here and see if you can figure out what Trish knew about the Murray treasure,” he replied.
"Okay.” I nodded numbly. “Evan?"
"Yes?"
"I'm scared,” I admitted.
He took my hands in his. “I don't think he'll hurt you, Brynne. But if he does come after you, I'll be right behind him, aye? You'll be safe.” He looked at his watch. “It's late. Why don't you get some sleep? We'll talk more in the morning."
He guided me upstairs, and I headed towards the empty bedroom on the second floor. I didn't want to see the library and the third floor in the middle of the night, not with knowing what had happened there just a few hours earlier.
"Brynne. Lock your door, will you?” he asked gently.
I sniffled again, and Evan held me close. As I pulled away from him, turning to go into my room, he tipped my chin up slightly, and kissed me.
And for the first time, I didn't pull back.
* * * *
I sat bolt upright. It was the same noise I had heard before, coming down the hall, nearer and nearer to my door.
Footsteps in the middle of the night.
I peeked at the clock on the nightstand. It was three in the morning, I had tossed restlessly instead of truly sleeping, and I was cranky. More importantly, I was tired of being afraid. I climbed out of bed, tiptoed in my bare feet to the fireplace, and grabbed a poker.
Quietly, I moved to the door.
The footsteps paused just outside, and then continued down the corridor.
I sucked in my breath. I had no idea who, or what, was out there, but I was sick of living like some fearful animal. Whatever it was, I was going to face it.
I raised the poker, and carefully unlatched my door.
The sound was past me now. Whatever was making the noise would have its back to me when I stepped through my door. Counting silently to three, I eased the door open and slid into the hallway, peering in the direction of the footfalls.
It was a woman. She wore a long blue brocaded gown, with muslin undersleeves, and a matching apron and a white kerchief over her long nut-brown hair.
And I could see right through her.
Chills coursed through my spine, and I lowered the poker. As she approached the center of the corridor, at the foot of the steps to the third floor, she turned to the side and looked right at me.
It was Catharine. With a knowing smile, she glided up the stairs to the library. I tiptoed after her, although why I was trying to be stealthy, I have no idea. By the time I reached the main steps, she was gone. Above me, I heard the familiar sound of a book falling to the floor.
My feet felt glued in place. Oddly enough, I wasn't scared of her, ghostly as she was. No, what disturbed me more was what I had seen when she had turned back to look at me.
I now knew why, at the séance, Catharine had chosen to manifest herself in little Emily Much.
Gil and Mark maintained that spirits were seen in the form in which they had died. Thus, some ghosts appeared as old men, or small children, the same after death as they had been right before it. And if that were indeed the case, Catharine Murray Spalding had been fairly young at the time of her death.
She had also been pregnant.
* * * *
Catharine slid her arms around Will's shoulders, and pressed her rounded stomach against the small of his back. He felt the child moving inside her, and smiled, awestruck and humbled by the gift. “Why has your Da summoned us over here?” he asked softly. “It sounded urgent."
"I don't know,” she admitted, as he helped her up the stairs to the third floor. “He asked Dugald and Susannah to come as well."
Colin and Lachlan paused when Catharine and Will entered. Dugald and his wife were already there, as were Malcolm and Tom Spalding.
"I am dying,” Colin said without preface. Catharine and Susannah gasped in unison, and Dugald leapt to his feet. “Sit down, lad,” his father said, and Dugald obeyed. “I've a bit of time left, and before I die there are a few changes must be made at Kilgr
aeme."
Lachlan frowned, but said nothing. Colin looked at his sons, a mixture of pride and sadness on his face. “Lachlan, as the eldest son, you are to be the Murray one day, rest assured of it.” Catharine watched, and Lachlan's relief was almost palpable. “That having been said,” Colin continued, “I have decided that you shall be the Murray in name only."
Lachlan rose, pounding a fist on the table. “How dare you!” he cried. “It is my birthright."
Colin shook his head sadly. “Tis your birthright to lead the people of Kilgraeme, Lachlan, and you are unable to do it. You're vicious and cruel, close your mouth, boy, and unfair. Don't you think I've heard the rumors about you? Getting into fights with crofters for no reason at all? Having a servant girl whipped because she wouldn't give in to your vile lusts? No, Lachlan,” he said. “You shall be the Murray in title, but Dugald shall have the run of Kilgraeme."
Dugald hadn't seen it coming, and sucked in his breath. Lachlan turned to him, eyes narrowed. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he said softly. “I nearly had you once, but you managed to slip out of that one, didn't you? And now you'll have what ought to be mine."
There was a long silence.
Catharine was the first to speak. “You sodding bastard,” she hissed.
"Catharine,” said Colin warningly.
"I knew all along you weren't right, Lachlan,” she continued, rising laboriously to her feet. “You sent that man to Dunloghaire after Dugald. If it hadn't been for my Will, Dugald would have died that night."
Lachlan watched his sister silently from the desk, eyes blazing with rage.
Dugald looked at each of them, bewildered. “Catharine, you can't be serious? Lachlan had naught to do with Dunloghaire. He wasn't even there."
"She's right,” said Will softly. “I've spoken with Wycombe. Lachlan asked him to recommend a man who might be willing to earn a few pounds for an attack, although he never bothered to mention to Wycombe that it was Dugald he wanted killed."
Colin leaned back in his chair, looking like a very old man. “Lachlan?” he croaked. “Is this true? Why would you do such a thing?"
Catharine sighed. “Because he hates him, Da. He always has."
Her father looked at her, confused. “But why?"
She looked up at him, her forest green eyes meeting his emerald ones. “Because you love Dugald more,” she whispered.
"You filthy bitch,” screamed Lachlan, hurtling himself across the room. “How dare you say that? I'm the master of Kilgraeme, damn you!” he roared.
Catharine took a step back, and before Will or Dugald could reach her, Lachlan charged into her, sending her flying.
There was no sound but the shattering of glass as Catharine lost her balance and toppled backwards through the large window. For a second, as Will and the others watched in disbelieving horror, Catharine hung there wide-eyed, a flash of blue brocade suspended against the purpling sky, one hand extended towards him and Dugald, and one clutched protectively around her stomach.
And then she was gone.
Chapter Twenty One
I don't know when I finally fell asleep that night, but Mrs. Much came toddling in about nine, singing some ridiculously morbid song about a lady in a lake.
I cocked an eye open at her. “Would you stop that? I mean, it's really depressing, all things considered."
She sighed, and I could tell she had been crying. “Ah, I know, missus. I'm just worried, ‘tis all. First Sandie, and now Trish. Not that I particularly liked either one of them, you know, although ‘tis not kind to speak ill of the dead,” she whispered, “but still it's a shame when a young life gets snuffed out, aye?"
I nodded, but kept my mouth shut. The woman doted on Cayden Spalding, and I wasn't about to get on her bad side by telling her my suspicions.
"Ah, well,” she continued. “Hopefully Michael Kerr will catch the fiend, and then we'll all be safe again. I worry about my Emily, aye?"
"Mmm. How is Emily?” I asked, wondering if the girl had told Much about her condition.
"Well, she's looking a might peaked lately, but I'm sure we're all feeling down these days,” Much said morosely.
"Ah.” I instantly said something I might later regret. “Would you like me to talk to her for you?"
Much beamed. “Oh, would ye, missus? You're about the age her sister Melissa would have been, may God rest her dear soul, and I think Emily looks up to you."
I strongly doubted that, but suggested that Much have her daughter seek me out later in the afternoon, as I would be sequestered in the library all day. I asked her if she had seen Evan, but she told me he had left early, before the sun came up.
"Oh, Much?” I called, as she waddled out into the hall. “One other thing, if you don't mind?"
"Aye, missus?"
"I've had a little, er, disagreement with Cayden Spalding,” I admitted sheepishly, putting on my best air of embarrassment. “If he comes over, would you mind just keeping him away from me, so I don't say anything stupid to him?” Doing my best demure southern girl impression, I even had the decency to blush.
Patting my hand, Much assured me that she would indeed distract Cayden, should he come about asking for me. She smiled knowingly, convinced that she was privy to a tiny little lovers’ quarrel.
There was no way I was going to tell her I thought he might be a homicidal maniac.
* * * *
I spent the entire day in the library. It was a shambles, having been demolished thoroughly during the attack on Trish, and covered with gray dust where the police had checked for fingerprints. I tried not to look at the spot on the floor where she'd been found. With resignation, I realized that before I could begin digging into the Murray archives again, I would have to sort all the papers back the way they were before. This was no small feat, and by the time I noticed the sun setting over Loch Lomond, my butt was sore, my head hurt, and I was starving. I had also gotten most of the documents and books back into some semblance of order.
Emily Much poked her head in. “Mam sent dinner. I have bread and cold mutton,” she offered shyly.
I felt myself begin to salivate. Doogie Fleming's sheep were rapidly becoming my snack of choice. Good thing I was climbing three flights of stairs several times a day. “Come on in. I was wondering when you'd be here."
"My Mam said you wished to talk to me."
I stretched and climbed into the large leather chair. “Have a seat,” I said, waving at a love seat, the only other surface not covered in paper or dusty books. She set the tray on the desk, and I dove into the large crusty loaf of bread. “Have you eaten?"
She shook her head.
"Have some. I can't eat all of this.” I tossed her a chunk of bread, and pushed the plate of mutton towards her. There was even a bowl of mint chutney for dipping. Yum.
We sat chewing happily for a while. When I had finally quieted the rumblings of my rebellious stomach, I looked pointedly at Emily. “Okay. When are you going to tell her?"
She lowered her eyes. “I don't know."
"If you don't mind me saying so, she's going to figure it out. She's not stupid. Not only that, you need to start getting some prenatal care. You're what, three or so months along? You haven't been to a doctor yet, have you?"
"No, ma'am,” she whispered, and I remembered that I was speaking to a seventeen-year-old girl, practically a child herself.
I sighed. I felt sorry for Emily. “Have you told Danny?"
She nodded. “He don't want naught to do with me anyway. We ain't been together but the one time, the night before Sandie got killed."
"Ah.” I wondered what Danny Beaton's appeal was. He wasn't terribly handsome, didn't seem to score too high on the evolutionary ladder, and seemed thoroughly undesirable as a human being. “Well, if he is the father, he'll have to help you support the child,” I said firmly. “I'll see to that. After all, I am the Murray, right?"
She looked up, and for the first time I saw a light of hope in h
er face. “Thank you, missus."
I grinned, and sipped my coffee. “All right. Now, on to more serious things."
Her eyes widened. “More serious than my, than this?"
"Yeah.” I leaned across the desk at her. “I want to know what Sandie MacFarlane was going to tell me at Council the morning she died."
Emily shook her head. “I don't know, missus. I told you all I know."
I recalled our conversation the night of the séance. “She told you that in the right weather, you could see all the way up the shore to Kilgraeme itself, right? And she hinted that she had seen someone doing something they shouldn't."
"Aye,” Emily nodded. “But she didn't say who, or what, really."
I glared at her. Emily was staring into her lap, fidgeting.
"Okay, she might not have said, specifically, what she saw, but you have an idea, don't you, Emily?"
When she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “I can't tell, missus. I swore to it,” she whispered. “I made a blood pact with Sandie, and swore I'd never tell!"
I ran my hands through my hair in frustration. “Emily, Sandie is dead. Trish is dead too, and even though nobody liked her, including me, I'll admit, there is a possibility that the two are connected. A blood pact doesn't count after one of the parties dies. I need to know what Sandie thought she saw!” She began to sniffle harder, and I felt awful for berating her. “Emily, I'm so sorry, but I need to know."
She nodded vigorously. “Aye, aye! I know that well enough, it just makes me so angry to think about it all!"
I came around the side of the desk and squatted next to her, holding her hands. “Emily, please, honey. Tell me,” I implored her.
Emily looked up. “It was the boat."
"The boat?” I asked blankly.
"Aye, the boat Melissa and Jamie was in when they died,” she murmured.
"Wait a minute,” I frowned. “Sandie was keeping a secret about something that took place when my father was still alive, then? Not something recent?"
"Aye,” she nodded, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. I passed her a Kleenex. “She'd been at Ben Morag, at the priory ruins, the day your Da and my sister went out in Jamie's wee boat."
Call of the Clan Page 21