“Hello, sister,” the Englishman said. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored jacket over wool hose. “It is good to see you well.”
Grace sunk into a curtsy, and Tor felt her tremble. It was plain that the woman was afraid of this hawk-nosed man. Was Ava? He banished the question with a slice of remembered betrayal. Ava didn’t need Tor to worry about her. She had her plans all worked out to protect Grace and herself. Had from the very start.
“Vincent,” she whispered, standing.
He frowned. “I am referred to as ‘your lord’ now, sister. Or ‘brother,’ if you wish.”
The man was more pompous than the English captains on Oban. Even Captain Thompson seemed to regard the earl with severe reverence, sucking in his portly gut as if under inspection.
“You are the Lady of Somerset?” Captain Thompson asked and glanced about the quietly filling great hall. Hamish stood in the entryway with Joan, speaking low to each Maclean who entered. Telling them of Tor’s folly. He would swallow the humiliation to keep Aros safe.
“Yes, I am Lady Grace, Captain Thompson,” she said, her voice fluid. She held fingers pinched to her mouth, damning the emotions threatening to overtake her. “My maid and brave friend, Ava, played my part along the journey north to protect me from marauders. We had agreed to keep the farce up until reaching Aros. I apologize for the confusion.”
“And your maid, I have heard, has perished?” Captain Thompson asked with a small shake of his head.
Grace nodded, real tears shining in her eyes. Vincent studied her. “She took ill on the boat ride in the cold wind and dampness. The chill in the castle was too much for her.” She offered a small sob and swallowed back further emotion.
Every false action and word bit into Tor. Even the mild companion, who was really a supposed gentle English lady, could fool him.
“I am quite sorry for your loss, Lady Grace,” Captain Thompson said and wiped a knuckle under his nose with a sniff.
“She is Lady Maclean now.” Tor’s voice sounded like gravel in his dry throat.
Captain Thompson smiled. “Congratulations.”
“Why are ye here?” Tor asked. “We discussed before that Aros has no love of the French. We guard our shores and would know if any had landed, just like we knew that ye had paddled across the strait.”
Captain Thompson tipped his head toward Vincent. “His Lordship asked to be brought over to visit his sister and ascertain her companion was not still alive.”
The man turned his gaze on Tor, and he felt the iciness in the dark orbs. “I have business with Ava Sutton.”
“She didn’t owe you anything, brother,” Grace said low. “My mother bought her things as gifts, to pay her for her companionship to me. She owed nothing to you or Somerset.”
Vincent rubbed the pointy beard on his chin. “It seems you are right.” He pulled forth a folded parchment. “I found this amongst my father’s belongings. It seems that Ava Sutton was actually the illegitimate child of your mother before she wed our father. The man was a soldier, his name Wendell Sutton. Marjorie kept Ava hidden until she married our father, then let everyone think she’d taken the baby in.”
Grace leaned on Tor’s arm, and he realized she was swaying. He lowered her into a chair. “You mean,” Grace said. “Ava and I are…sisters?”
“Half sisters,” Vincent said.
“Were,” Joan said from where she stood on the other side of the table.
Vincent’s gaze moved along the scattered remains of their meal. He lingered on the table before looking to Grace. “Aye. A pity she died, considering all her debts to me would be null, since she was the countess’s child. She wouldn’t receive the same inheritance as you, of course, considering she was illegitimate, but her status in England would have improved greatly. In fact, I had thought to bring her home as my wife if she agreed. Otherwise, I know several fine gentlemen to whom to introduce her…”
Grace said nothing, just stared out in the room for a long moment. “Why wouldn’t my mother tell her? When she was dying?”
Vincent shrugged with aristocratic nonchalance and a look of boredom. “I don’t think my father wanted the Ellington name sullied by her premarital transgression. She left a letter, though, for Ava. It’s a shame she will never see it.”
“The lass is with her mother in Heaven,” Joan said, her nose raised. “All is well.”
“I wish to visit her gravesite,” Vincent said. “To pay my respects and mourn for the woman I thought to wed.”
“In the morning,” Joan said. “It is night and treacherous walking. We laid her to rest in our family plot.”
Hamish sucked loudly on his teeth. “Ye don’t seem to be all that troubled that yer bride-to-be is dead.”
Vincent barely looked at him, a man of such low rank. “I suppose I still hold out hope that you have her hidden away here.” He gave a small laugh. “I know ’tis folly, but I can’t wrap my head, nor my heart, around the fact that Aveline is dead.” He looked at Joan. “Which is why I must insist upon seeing her grave tonight.”
Tor watched Gavin slip out into the entryway. With luck, headed to his father’s fairly fresh grave to change out the stone marker.
“Quite generous for an orphan of no means,” Vincent said. “To lay her to rest in your family plot.”
“She meant a lot to my wife,” Tor said. He put his arm around Grace’s stiff shoulders. “I honored Ava for her.” If Ava and Grace could play their parts with such authenticity, so could he. Hopefully there would be a reason to kiss Grace. He’d make it audacious and watch her swoon. It would serve her right for helping Ava fool him.
Ava. Was she listening from the shadows? Or had she run to hide in their bedroom? Did she know now that she was more than a simple maid? She was always more than a simple maid. Bloody hell.
“I will accompany ye,” Tor said. “First, I must see Grace to our room. Refresh yourselves.”
Vincent glanced around the hall at the few people gathered. “I apologize for interrupting your meal. It seems though that you had an extra plate setting? Were you expecting someone else?”
“Gavin needed to return to duty at the gate,” Tor said.
Vincent’s brows lowered, yet he kept his muted grin. “I can count, sir. There were five people when we entered and six place settings.”
Tor’s mother stretched her arms out to indicate the table. “’Tis Samhain, a day not only to celebrate the harvest but also the memory of our ancestors. As customary, we set an extra seat at the table for the ghosts of those who have perished.”
Vincent’s gaze centered on the spot where Ava had been sitting. “Such detail. Even down to the way Aveline ate her tarts.” He tilted his head as his eyes locked onto the remains of her pastry. “All around the outside, leaving the perfect middle.”
Grace nearly flew out of her chair to scoop up the remaining bite of tart. “Yes, I did that in her memory.” She quickly shoved it between her lips, chewing the evidence away.
“Bizarre traditions,” Captain Thompson said with a chuckle but stopped immediately, his face turning red. “No disrespect, my lady.” He bowed his head to Grace. “My lady.” He bowed again to Joan.
“Come now,” Tor said and tugged Grace to the stairs. Behind him he heard his mother ordering a meal for the men, one that Tor was certain would be long and drawn out.
“He doesn’t believe us,” Grace whispered outside his bedroom door. Her voice sagged with fear, and he felt her tremble.
“It doesn’t matter if he does or not. He will leave eventually.” Did she fear he would turn Ava over to Vincent? Tor opened the door. For a split second the room looked empty, and he couldn’t pull in a breath. She’s gone.
“Ava?” Grace called softly.
Movement by the cold, dark hearth prompted Grace to fly across the room. She grabbed Ava and hugged her. “He’s as awful as ever. We told him you’re dead.”
As Tor brought the tallow candle closer, the light from it revealed Ava’s
pale, oval face. Lashes wet and spiked against her cheeks, hair pulled into a long braid, her ordinary day dress on. She looked like a lost child, hiding in the dark. But she’d lied to him. Fooled him for months about who she was. Fooled his mother, Hamish, Cullen, all of them. Even his sister had grown fond of her, thinking she would benefit their clan.
“Does he believe it?” Ava asked, her breath so soft it was like the whisper of a true ghost.
“I think so,” Grace said, but her voice held no conviction. She looked back at Tor. “Will someone change the grave?”
“The grave?” Ava asked.
“Aye,” Tor said briskly. “Ye’re buried in the family plot. The earl wants to see it. Tonight.”
Ava’s hand rose to her mouth, and Grace rubbed her arm. They both looked frightened. He’d never seen fear in Ava, not since their wedding night. “I’m sure Gavin is presently wrestling my father’s stone from the ground and placing a memorial to ye while mother delays the earl’s meal. He will see your name and leave at first light.”
“And Ava,” Grace said, holding her hands. “There’s news. He brought news from my mother…”
Tor turned away, unable to look at Ava’s dark, sad eyes anymore. The urge to wrap her up in his arms was nearly unbearable. Even with her lies, he wished to protect her, comfort her. And yet, he could not. Not right now. “Grace, stay in here tonight. Both of you stay in here.”
“Tor.” Ava’s tone was firm. “We need to talk about all this. How—”
“There’s been enough words spoken today,” he said, cutting her off. He stepped into the corridor. “Bar the door until morning.”
He walked sedately down the steps into the great hall where Vincent Ellington and Captain Thompson stood near the entryway. “There he is,” Captain Thompson said. “We were just telling your second here, Hamish, that we will row back tonight. After the earl pays his respects to Mistress Sutton’s grave.”
“Yes, take me to it now,” Vincent said.
“I have a pork pie coming,” Joan coaxed, but Vincent waved her off.
“Very well,” Tor said. Gavin had been given half an hour to produce Ava’s grave. Tor would give him ten more minutes as he took the captain and earl on a roundabout path to the cemetery.
Tor led the line of men through the dark, Tor in front with the two Englishmen in between, and Hamish bringing up the rear. Captain Thompson was proving to be quite brave to walk alone in the dark with two Scotsmen. Brave or foolish. Had the hawk-like Captain Taylor sent his younger, clumsy officer alone to have a reason to attack Mull when he didn’t return?
Tor led them on a hike around Aros and across the river. They walked through the cemetery where Matilda lay. He barely glanced at the carved numbers that marked her time on earth, the numbers for which he still felt responsible.
Through the winding path, they climbed a small knoll where his grandparents, great-grandparents, and father lay beneath the wildflowers. The family plot was surrounded by trees on three sides. Tor kept his torch low, so as not to shed too much light about. Luckily the moon was new. Even so, he saw his father’s stone marker rolled off to a copse of trees beyond, no doubt where Gavin panted after its hasty removal. A strapped-together cross stood stabbed into the pressed grass.
“Here is where she lies,” he said, and the Englishmen stepped up to the cross. “We haven’t had a chance to chisel a stone marker for her yet.”
Vincent squatted down to read the printed name. Aveline Sutton. Did he detect the shine of the still wet paint? Tor walked farther down the slope to mute the light he carried.
After several moments, Vincent finally stood and passed the sign of the cross before him, finishing a prayer. He turned, without a word, and walked back the way they had come through the cemetery.
“You best lead the way,” Captain Thompson said to Tor and wiped his beaded brow. “Else we will wander all over Mull tonight.”
“Just like the ghosts,” Hamish said, his voice low and serious.
“What’s that?” Thompson asked, his eyes wide in his thick face.
“The ghosts,” Hamish repeated. “They come out on Samhain.”
A definite look of discomfort pinched Captain Thompson’s face even though he chuckled. “Lead on, then.”
Tor led them back through the convoluted path to the shore where Captain Thompson nodded a farewell and climbed into the light vessel. Somerset turned to meet Tor’s gaze. “Let my dear sister know that I wish her well, and that I will be sure to pay my visits every time I venture into this wild country.” His smile looked very much like the smile on the biblical serpent. “I will continue my father’s business up this way and love surprise visits.”
Tor kept his gaze steady on the man he knew without a doubt was an enemy. “Just make sure to send word ahead of time,” he said. “Ye wouldn’t want to be mistaken for a cattle thief and shot by one of our archers.”
“It happens more often than ye’d think,” Hamish said.
Captain Thompson laughed, but it ended short as he realized he was alone in the humor. The English soldier pushed their boat off the rocky beach and jumped in, taking up the oars as the two men sat. As they moved across the calm water under the muscle of the one oarsman, Captain Thompson seemed to speak in earnest to Somerset. But the distance and sea breeze easily carried the words away.
Tor turned on his heel to head back to the castle. Hamish said nothing as they walked up the path, their boots crunching the pebbles under each step. As they neared the wall, Hamish’s hand fell on Tor’s shoulder. Hamish had been his friend since he was a lad. He’d been the one to find Matilda dead in her bed, had been the one to tell him, to feed him whisky until he didn’t care anymore, at least for the night. So, Tor didn’t pull away.
Hamish’s face was shadowed, but Tor could see the grim outline of his frown. “I’m rather convinced that all women lie,” he said. His mouth tightened, and Tor was about to turn away. “As do men.” Hamish looked up at the clear night sky. “But, I’ve been watching Lady Ava, I mean, well, Ava.” He scratched his beard. “I think there’s more to this mess than a mere lie for selfish reasons.”
“Ye’re right, Hamish,” Tor said. “Everyone lies, but not every person is fool enough to believe them.”
He trudged up toward the open portcullis as a horse came tearing along the path through the village of hearth-lit cottages. Seeing Tor, Cullen Duffie pulled the steed up short. “We must go to Kilchoan. Now.”
“Have ye just come from Islay?” Tor asked, and Cullen nodded, pulling in large gulps of air.
“And rode from the coast where I left my men. They will meet us on the north shore to row across to Kilchoan.”
“What’s amiss?” Tor asked, already moving toward the stable to saddle Grendel.
“’Tis Mairi,” Cullen said. “She’s in danger.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tor and Cullen didn’t speak as they raced to the north coast of Mull. Hamish would follow with a small group behind them. On the boat that was left to ferry across, Tor asked for details as they rowed with a handful of MacDonalds who’d loyally accompanied Cullen.
“Fergus MacInnes has been killed,” Cullen said. “In a skirmish to the north of Kilchoan. ’Twas with Camerons over the use of Loch Linnhe, or so they say.”
“Have the Camerons attacked Kilchoan?” Tor asked. The exertion, pumping the oars and rotating his shoulders, helped burn off the firestorm of fury within him.
“Nay,” Cullen said, his face a pinched grimace over his bared teeth.
“Then who is endangering Mairi?”
“Apparently, the same bloody bastard she’s always been in danger from at Kilchoan,” Cullen said. “MacInnes’s son.”
“Normond MacInnes?” Tor asked, remembering the barrel-chested, brooding man who had stood beside his father as the older MacInnes chief wed Mairi last spring.
“Normond’s demanding that Mairi wed him to keep Maclean loyalty.” Cullen cut him a sharp glance. “I heard from
a maid recently run from Kilchoan that he’s been lusting after Mairi ever since she arrived at Kilchoan. And with his father away most of the time, Mairi’s about out of options to fend him off, and now Fergus is dead.”
“Bastard,” Tor said. He’d known something was wrong when she’d journeyed home alone. He should have pushed her harder about the details. Tor had thought his sister was missing their ma or was lonely with MacInnes always away from home. Why had she returned to Kilchoan? He recalled the conversation he’d had with her the morning after his wedding to Ava.
Your place is with your husband, Mairi.
He’s never home.
You should be there, to guard his seat until he returns.
Bloody hell. Tor growled into the wind. Every woman in his path came to harm in some way. Tor threw his back into the rowing with a renewed energy, energy fueled by self-loathing.
…
“He left?” Ava asked Grace who had just brought her up some bread and more of Joan’s raspberry brew. Apparently, Joan still believed Ava to be pregnant. “Where did he go?” Ava rubbed her hands across the tightness of dried tears that crisscrossed her cheeks.
“Kilchoan,” Grace said, sitting down next to her by the hearth fire where Ava had slept fitfully in a chair. “Mairi’s in danger.”
Mairi. The bruises. “Danger from whom?”
Grace shook her head. “I don’t know. Joan didn’t have the details. Cullen came last night to tell Tor, and they took off immediately. Hamish, Gavin, Duky, and a few others followed.”
Ava swirled the hot drink. She looked at Grace. “Does Joan hate me?” she whispered, feeling embarrassed over her selfish worry when Mairi was in trouble. But she needed to know where she stood here at Aros.
The Beast of Aros Castle (Highland Isles) Page 16