No Other Woman (No Other Series)

by Shannon Drake

  Fool! he charged himself.

  And he departed the room, in the same manner by which he had come.

  Chapter 8

  Shawna sat in the office, scrupulously going over each individual set of books kept for both estates. As far as she could tell, not a single shilling had been miscounted since the day David Douglas—or the charred corpse that had supposedly been David Douglas—had been buried.

  She sighed, setting down the books, rising, stretching, looking out of the large window that was so similar to the one in her bedroom. Steps led to it, and beyond it was a stone balcony. The balconies naturally offered a fine method of defense for the castle, but to the best of her knowledge, they'd never been used so, for in the days when feudal wars had plagued the Highlands, the outer walls had stood strong against any attempted invasion.

  She frowned, staring at the window, hoping it would give her some insight as to how David was coming and going from her room.

  Since she had awakened the second morning after his arrival—back in the bed—three days had passed.

  Tense days for her.

  She continually waited for him to appear.

  He did not.

  Yet she knew he came at night. Very late, she thought. She would find some subtle reminder that he was near.

  The first morning, she found a bunch of wildflowers lying by her pillow. The second morning, the pillow by her head was indented, and she realized that he had lain beside her the night before, leaving behind a small, beautifully wrought Celtic cross on a delicate chain, a Douglas family heirloom, she was certain. The third morning, she found a delicate silk handkerchief—along with an empty brandy glass which sat upon the old trunk at the foot of the bed.

  She wondered about the gifts, half-tempted to throw them one and all in the fire.

  But he had left them for her. To taunt her, perhaps. No matter, she wore the cross, kept the flowers by her pillow and the handkerchief in her pocket.

  It infuriated her that she found herself so pathetically unnerved and unable to sleep—then unable to awaken when he made his irritating appearances.

  He was about, somewhere during the day, she knew. She was quite certain that he was slipping in and out of the office here as well as at the stables and the mines. He could probably even come and go from Castle MacGinnis as he chose, though she had never heard of secret passages within her own family's home.

  But what was he doing? What was he discovering?

  She realized that although she was angered by his easy movements and although she dreaded their encounters, in which he insisted on blaming her family for the evil afoot, she was anxious to see him again.

  She didn't want to long to see him.

  But she did. In the most curious manner, she ached. He was in her thoughts day and night.

  She heard footsteps coming hard and fast up the stairway to the second floor, and she spun away from the balcony, looking toward the office door as it was flung open. Alistair stood there, his handsome face completely free of any hint of a mischievous smile.

  "There's been an accident. At the mine," he told her.

  She walked quickly to him, ready to pass him to reach the stairway. "My God, what happened? How many men are down?"

  "The men..."

  "What? Tell me, Alistair, please?"

  "There are three men in the shaft, but the others are already digging for them. They've done a good job and we're going to reach the men."

  "There's more, Alistair, tell me!"

  "Daniel was searching a passageway."

  "Daniel!" she gasped.

  "The little Anderson fellow."

  "Oh, God!" she cried. Turning swiftly, she went flying down the stairway.

  Just outside the main doors, Alistair caught up with her. He took her firmly by the shoulders. "The horses are here; we're ready to ride. But you must get hold of yourself; it will do the lad no good if you kill yourself on your way to reach him!"

  She nodded numbly, then mounted up swiftly. She was somewhat in control again, and Alistair knew that she was an exceptional rider. The two of them streaked over the hills, valleys, and fields like shafts of lightning. Twenty feet from the mine entrance, Shawna leapt from her horse, and went racing to it. Mark Menzies caught her at the entry.

  "Lowell, Gawain, Alaric, and Aidan are within, m'lady. Ye cannot dig, as the men can."

  "Where's the lad, Mark?"

  "Still within, they're trying to reach him."

  Alistair passed by her, hurrying to the entry.

  "Keep her out, Mark. Let her comfort the wives if the men do not make it," he said firmly.

  Shawna let her cousin go, then she looked to Mark.

  "Mark, let me pass."

  "M'lady—"

  "You must let me pass," she said firmly.

  Reluctantly, he let her go. Shawna raced on into the shaft, where lanterns provided an eerie light. Aidan, covered in coal dust and supporting a completely blackened man, was coming from the shaft.

  "Shawna, take yourself out of here!" he commanded. "We've opened the shaft; we're getting the men."

  "The boy?" she inquired.

  The blackened miner who had been caught in the cave-in shook his head. "Not yet, 'ees in a natural shaft we've not taken to yet."

  "Oh, God!" Shawna breathed. She ignored Aidan and the miner, moving deeper in the eerie light and darkness of the shaft. Men were working with support beams; each of them called to her. She ignored them until she came to the place where the men had been working. Now, they dug, her kilted uncles tearing at the coal with a strength to match that of any man there.

  There was a cry as they dug through to free another man. "Me leg!" the miner cried.

  "I've got him," she heard her cousin Alaric say, hunkering down to pick up the man in his arms as the fellow groaned, but cleared the coal around him.

  Wiping his blackened brow, Gawain turned and saw Shawna. "For God's sake, lass, are you seeking death? Alistair, I said to take her outside—"

  "And I left her outside, Father. She's a stubborn wench, and you know it."

  "Get your cousin out—" Lowell began.

  "Nay, I'm here now," Shawna pleaded. "Where's the boy?"

  "Back in there," a voice croaked.

  "Angus—where are you?" Alistair demanded.

  "Here!"

  Alistair and Lowell crawled to where the last of the trapped miners still lay beneath a mound of rock and coal. "We've got you, man!" Alistair assured him.

  All of the men were safe.

  But a child remained.

  Shawna crawled over the dirt and rock and coal to a tiny, incredibly narrow shaft above the spot where the last of the buried miners had been caught.

  The men could not explore such places; only children could do so.

  And women.

  She was slim enough to manage the space, she thought. Instinctively, she started to crawl into it. She was dimly aware of her great-uncle Gawain swearing from behind her.

  "Daniel?" she called softly. She shouldn't shout; she knew that the shaft would be vulnerable now to whatever had caused the cave-in that had plagued the larger tunnel.

  "Shawna, get out of there!" Gawain demanded.

  "Daniel... Danny? Are you there?"

  She heard a soft whimpering sound. Oh, God, the boy sounded so very far away!

  "Danny, it's Lady Shawna. Can you hear me? I know that you must be very frightened. We're going to get to you. If you could talk to me, it would help. Are you there?"

  She heard a whimpering again, and then a soft, "Aye!"

  "I'm going to reach you..."

  "Y'cannot," the little boy said.

  "Why?"

  "A—rock fell. A big rock."

  "We're going to move the rock."

  She heard the whimpering again. The soft cry of a child, a little boy. But then she heard words with soft resolve. "Don't come. You'll get caught, too."

  "Daniel, I'm not leaving you in there."

  She wasn't
going to leave him. But there was suddenly a firm tug on her ankles and she heard her great-uncle's angry voice. "Shawna, get out of there. I care not if you're the lady, I'll wrench you out over my knee if you do not choose to obey me before the whole of this place falls! The walls must be shored up, you know nothing of mining—"

  "I know this child will smother if we don't get him out!"

  Her own words died away. She gritted her teeth and pulled hard against the rocks in the shaft floor, dragging her ankles out of his reach.

  She heard Gawain swear vociferously.

  Then, as the sound of his voice faded, she went still, because the little boy was talking. To someone else.

  "Aye!"

  To her amazement, she heard childish laughter, and again, another, "Aye!"

  "Danny?" she whispered.

  "I'll ride the beastie!" she heard.

  "No, no, Danny, listen to me."

  "Can y'not hear the water?"

  "Danny!" she cried with alarm. She heard his laughter again, fading away. Then it did seem that she heard a lap of water against rock.

  "Danny!" she cried. "Danny!"

  No answer. The boy was gone. He had been deluded in the darkness; he had gone mad from lack of oxygen. He had crawled farther into the shaft, he had fallen into some kind of an underground waterway and he was...

  "No, no, oh, God, no!" she cried. Then she gasped. Someone had come behind her.

  "Leave me!" she cried, fighting the hold upon her. "Danny!" she cried again. "Danny?"

  Still no answer. Nothing. Nothing at all.

  She was firmly tugged upon. Still, she fought to free herself. To no avail. Someone had a solid hold of her ankles and she was being dragged from the shaft.

  "Danny! Answer me!"

  But there was no answer, and time was against her. Seconds passed, minutes.

  "Danny, Danny, Danny, please."

  She was ever more firmly gripped. Black coal, ragged, rocky dirt dragged and tore at her. She was barely aware of it. She was in tears when she found herself falling back onto a pile of pure coal, freed from the shaft. She was pulled up.

  She looked into the pitch-black of Alistair's face, dimly recognizing her cousin only because of the startling blue of his eyes.

  "The boy... !" she whispered.

  "Shhh..." he said, holding her against him.

  Suddenly, they became aware of shouts from outside the tunnels, muffled as they entered into their underground world.

  "What now?" Shawna heard the gruff demand come from Gawain.

  "Alistair—" Lowell began.

  "Don't worry. I've got my cousin," Alistair said.

  "We can't just leave!" she protested.

  "Shawna," Alistair said, "we can do no more." He started forcing her along the pathway. They had barely left the caved-in area of the shaft before one of the miners hurried before them. "Come out, come out, quickly now. The boy is outside. Sweet Jesu, little Danny Anderson is just outside the shaft."

  "What?" Gawain thundered.

  " 'Tis true, he's outside. The wee lad is alive."

  "How?" Shawna breathed.

  "God alone knows," the miner said. "For 'tis sure, there's not a one of us can tell!"

  Shawna tore out of the cave. Mark Menzies, as coal-blackened as the rest of them, was kneeling down in the grass, a distance from the shaft, with the boy, while he was surrounded in an outer circle by miners and their families. A blanket had been placed around Danny, and his little face was smudged beyond recognition; his dark hair was soaked and plastered to his head. Shawna went running to the pair in the deep grasses, falling to her knees before the child, lifting his hair from his forehead to study his enormous blue eyes. "Danny, Danny... you are alive!" Impulsively, she hugged him tightly, then managed to sit back again, studying him. "Danny, how did you get out?"

  "The beastie," Danny said solemnly.

  A cup was pressed against Shawna's hands; someone had brought warm, milk-laden tea. She forced it to the little boy's lips, which were almost as blue as his eyes. He sipped the warm tea and his shivering somewhat subsided while his eyes remained on Shawna.

  She was suddenly determined the boy wasn't going back into the mines. She didn't give a damn what happened in the rest of Scotland, Great Britain, or the world at large. They would be sending no more children into the mines at Craig Rock.

  He finished the tea, returning the cup to her. Shawna looked up as a hand reached down to take the cup from her. Gena Anderson was standing there by her side, looking down at her and the boy solemnly. Shawna felt a twinge of guilt. The boy was supposedly one of Gena's own brood of sisters and brothers, a child of Fergus and Charity Anderson, but Shawna was convinced that Gena was actually the child's mother. She should step away, and let Gena take the little boy into her arms to comfort him, but Gena didn't seem to mind the attention she paid him.

  "Danny, lad. What beastie was this that could pluck you from the tunnel?" Mark Menzies asked.

  "The beastie that lives in the cave," Danny said, as if explaining that the sun rose each morning. "He talks; he heard m'cryin', he said, and he told me to come with him. I did, and he lifted me through the earth. He's a huge beastie, but he's not a mean one."

  "The tunnel is haunted by some spirit or creature!" came a woman's fierce cry.

  It was Charity Anderson.

  A shawl thrown over her graying hair, she broke through the crowd, kneeling by Shawna to give her a reproachful glare and take the boy tightly into her arms.

  Danny seemed to struggle a bit against that hold, and Shawna quickly sat back. Charity Anderson was not an attractive woman; she never had been, though she and her husband had produced a handsome enough brood. Charity possessed a long, horselike face. Her eyes were gray-blue against her ashen coloring. Her hair had once been her only claim to beauty, but she cared nothing for it now, and it was merely wild and unkempt and gray. There was a strange look about the woman now. She half smiled, and yet she was grim. Her look seemed to say that Shawna might be the great lady, but she was the lad's mother, and she was taking him, and that was that.

  Shawna stood, aware that people around her had started whispering, and some were speaking more boldly.

  " 'Tis true, the damned mines are cursed in some way!" cried a miner.

  "Haunted," agreed another.

  "Haunted, be damned!" Aidan suddenly cried out in aggravation.

  "My cousin is right!" Alistair decreed. "My God, are you all daft? If any spirits reside in that mine, they are surely the most benign in all the world. A shaft caved in, yet all three men caught were dug out of it and even a little mite of a lad caught in a narrow exploratory tunnel was miraculously saved—by some beastie. Sweet Jesu, if we've ghosts or the like, we've got the nicest group of the damned creatures in all of Scotland!"

  It occurred to Shawna then that there was no mystical creature within the mine shafts.

  David Douglas had found the boy, and David had saved him. David—who had risen out of the water like an ancient selkie just in time to save her. David, who managed, with incredible stealth, to be everywhere.

  For Danny's sake, she was grateful. Incredibly grateful.

  The silence that had fallen was suddenly broken by Mark Menzies.

  "Aye, men, if we've a spirit, it's a kind one, and that's a fact!"

  "Aye! And we've a lady of the house willing to blacken herself like any man on behalf of us all!" cried out one of the injured miners, who still hobbled near her cousin Aidan.

  "Aye, to our lady!" went up a shout.

  The men were suddenly closing in around Shawna. She caught Alistair's grin of approval before she found herself being lifted and set atop her horse. "Will you drink with us at the tavern, Lady Shawna?" Mark Menzies asked.

  A drink at the tavern was a customary event when any possible tragedy at the mines was averted.

  Just as a drink at the tavern was customary if tragedy was not averted. The lords of the manor always drank with the miners after a funeral ser
vice.

  "Indeed, I shall be glad to drink with you," Shawna said. "But I am dusty as pitch—"

  " 'Tis part of the celebration," Mark said, winking.

  "Then we shall drink," Shawna assured him.

  The tavern was not large enough to accommodate all those who came to it, but many of the men and their wives took their ales and stouts out to the grass and the tables beyond the walls of the establishment to make way for everyone. Shawna managed to wipe some of the coal from her face, but not all, and she found herself smiling as she saw the faces of her family around her. Alistair was certainly comical in his coal coloring, but Aidan made her laugh out loud, he was so encrusted with the coal dust.

  She was proud of her family. Each and every man of her kin had been in the mine, working, digging, determined that none should die. When she was given an ale, she met Gawain's eyes across the crowded tavern. She lifted her glass to her fierce, crusty great-uncle and was pleased to see his smile of approval in return. She swallowed down some ale, then realized that she was standing by a stranger, a man in dull, brown friar's garb. He was very tall, but also very old, with thick silver-white hair and one of the thickest, richest beards she had ever seen.

  " 'Tis honored I am to stand by the lady of the land," he said, his voice throaty and accented with the lilt of an Irishman. "And on a day of such high excitement. Tell me, how is the lad who was trapped?"

  Shawna smiled her relief. "The lad is fine."

  "A miracle."

  "Quite possibly."

  "Yet, I've heard y'have strange spirits about the place?"

  Shawna swallowed down a long draught of ale, then looked at the stranger. "Nay, we've no spirits here... friend. I'm sorry. I don't know you. What is your name?"

  "Brother Damian," the man supplied.

  "And what are you doing here, traveling our Highlands?"

  "Pilgrimage," Brother Damian said. "Please, tell me more about your spirits."

  "We don't have spirits."

  "Ah, but my lady, you are a superstitious lot! You have a Night of the Moon Maiden—so I've heard tell."

  "We enjoy feasts and merriment, and happily celebrate some of the ancient holidays," Shawna informed him, somewhat annoyed. It was one thing to admit to Mark Menzies that they certainly were superstitious, far closer at times to very old ways than they were to contemporary society. But their thoughts and beliefs were a part of them, and she would not be mocked by strangers traveling through their Highland craig. "We enjoy our entertainments, Brother Damian, but we have no spirits here, no pookas, ghosts, or the like. I imagine that the boy found his way through some opening within the tunnel. He is very young. Little more than a babe, and certainly imaginative. Far too young to work the mines." She hesitated, and set down her ale. There was a point she meant to make here and now. "In fact," she said softly, more to herself than to the visiting friar, "there will be no more children of his age working here!"