Her hated freckles were particularly prominent that evening and her hair was a storm of electricity around her face. She ran her fingers through it in frustration.
She wanted to look her most attractive this evening.
But why, when Lord Fitzalan did not trust her?
She went downstairs in a dangerous mood.
Almost immediately, however, Rupert disarmed her by rising to his feet as she entered the room.
“Allow me to say how beautiful you look tonight, Mistress Stirling!”
The slight American accent that seemed to slow his words gave them additional force.
“Aye, she’s a bonnie lass,” agreed Lady Bruce,
At dinner Lady Bruce coaxed him into telling them about New York and Celina found herself fascinated by his account of a bustling, rapidly-growing City.
Then he paused and looked at Celina,
“You must think it all sounds really rather vulgar compared with all the serenity and beauty of the Scottish countryside!”
Celina laughed, her mood now in tune with his.
“Serenity! How can you, my Lord, talk about peace and harmony in such a place where you have twice been attacked by feuding natives?”
“Ah, but as well as that I have been rescued by a beautiful young lady, and then introduced to a most gracious Scottish aristocrat,” he added at once, giving Lady Bruce a bow.
Lady Bruce smiled.
“Not all our ancient families are as contentious and pig-headed – I hope, Celina my dear, you will not mind my referring to your MacLean Clan as pig-headed. Though I have to admit that they are not the only ones. The history of the Highlands is littered with feuds between Clans, but we must not spoil our pleasant evening by going into such matters. Lord Fitzalan, do tell us more about America.”
By the time they retired for the night, Celina found herself longing to visit a country so huge that she could not take in the time it took to travel from one side to the other.
She wanted to see the vast variety of scenery. She went to sleep trying to imagine what the Rocky Mountains and the Grand Canyon actually looked like and how it felt to see giant redwood trees and the Pacific Ocean.
Would she ever, she found herself wondering, have the opportunity to travel to the USA?
*
Very early the following morning, they set out on their second attempt to visit the island in the loch.
Celina had once again put on a plain kersey dress with a warm scarf around her shoulders and stout shoes on her feet.
A visit to Lady Bruce’s housekeeper had provided her with a bag full of food. Also in there was the revolver she had brought with her when she had first sought refuge with Lady Bruce.
Lord MacLean and Hamish might yet have cause to regret that they had taught her excellent marksmanship!
It was a lovely day, fresh with bright sun promising later warmth.
As Rupert drove the horse and trap, Celina enjoyed asking him more about his life in America. Gradually she learnt how the American Railroad Company that he and his father had built had made them wealthy.
Maybe he had no need of the heirloom for funds to restore Castle Fitzalan.
“How can you spend time in Scotland?” she asked. “Aren’t you afraid that the Company is falling apart back in America?”
He glanced round at her, a smile lighting his eyes in a way that made her heart jump in an oddly crazy way, a way she not experienced even when Hamish had asked her to marry him.
“I have every confidence in an excellent deputy and a great team. And cablegrams can keep me in touch with what is going on.”
Celina looked around them at the bare moors they were travelling over.
“Cablegrams?”
He laughed.
“I have to admit I did not realise quite how far from any town Castle Fitzalan is. I may have to install my own cable line.”
For a moment she thought he was joking.
When she appreciated that he was not, she realised just how rich he must be – and that it was ridiculous of Lord MacLean to think that this Fitzalan could be interested in depriving him of an heirloom, no matter how valuable.
Then his mouth tightened.
“Your Uncle Robert has no idea what he has taken on with this feud. I owe it to my grandfather not to let this treasure, whatever it is, out of my hands without absolute proof that it does not belong to the Fitzalans.”
Celina felt a shiver down her spine.
Suddenly Rupert brought the trap to a halt.
“There,” he cried. “Surely that is the loch?”
In the distance water gleamed in the sunlight.
It was not too long before they reached the loch. A rough road ran beside the water and in the distance was an island.
As they drew closer, Celina could make out a tower.
“It must be the tower mentioned in the letter,” she blurted out excitedly, “but it seems almost a ruin.”
Rupert nodded his head.
“Not in good shape, I would admit. It’s very hard to imagine anything of value being hidden there.”
“But perhaps the tower was fine when it was – ”
He gave Celina a grin.
“I like a girl with imagination.”
He looked at the island again.
“We shall need a boat to reach the island.”
A little further down the road there was a cottage.
Outside it, Rupert gave the reins to Celina, jumped down and was soon speaking to a wizened crofter.
“Ye can hire me boat,” he said, coming to the trap. “But I’ll not take ye meself. That there tower is haunted.”
He looked at Celina with rheumy old eyes.
“Haunted?”
“Aye, lassie. Many, many years ago, long afore I were born, that tower were in fine shape and an old crazed man lived there.”
Celina looked across at Rupert and knew that, like her, he was thinking that this crofter looked old and crazed himself!
“His daughter would daily row o’er with food and drink. One evening when she was settin’ off back, others came. Words were exchanged and then blows. Both killed they were, the old man and his daughter. Ever since then the tower has stood empty.”
“Who does it belong to?” asked Rupert.
“Why, to the Fitzalans. Them who lives yonder.”
The old crofter waved a hand over to the other side of the loch.
“Big castle they has. But the old Laird’s not been here this many a year.”
“And who is supposed to have killed the old man and his daughter?” asked Celina with a sinking feeling that she already knew the answer.
The crofter shook his head slowly.
“They don’t say, but some would swear it were the MacLeans. At any rate since that time, the place has been cursed. There are those who’ve seen lights flickerin’ in the tower and who swear,” he lowered his voice dramatically, “they’ve seen the ghosts of the slaughtered walkin’ on the island. Ye’ll not get me out there, lassie!”
He shuddered, seemingly genuinely afraid.
Celina felt an irrational shiver of dread run down her spine.
“If you’ll be so good as to show us where you keep your boat, we’ll row ourselves across,” suggested Rupert, producing enough coins to make the crofter’s eyes gleam with delight.
They were led down to the water’s edge and shown where a small rowing boat was hitched to a tree stump.
“We should not be too long. Will you unharness my horse and let it graze while we are on the island?”
The old crofter nodded.
Rupert looked at Celina.
“Are you game for a row, Miss Stirling? Or would you prefer to remain here and wait for me to confirm there is nothing hidden in the tower?”
Another shudder ran down Celina’s spine.
Could she trust him? She knew he did not trust her, no matter how friendly he seemed.
Haunted island or no, she must go with him.
Soon t
hey were in the boat and pulling at their oars with a matching rhythm, Rupert looking over his shoulder from time to time to ensure they were heading in the right direction.
“You have done this before?” Celina quizzed him.
“Of course. We do have rivers and lakes in America, you know!”
He sounded hurt, but she smiled,
“You have told me such a lot about your Railway Company, I can only associate you with trains!”
Several minutes later the bow of the boat bumped into the island. Rupert leapt out and held the boat steady for Celina to step out.
At close quarters the condition of the tower seemed even more ramshackle than it had from the mainland.
Stones were missing, the top looked as frayed as an old blanket and shuttered windows empty of glass looked blindly over the loch.
“I wonder what this tower was for,” mused Rupert, “it hardly seems large enough for a permanent habitation nor secure enough for defence.”
“Perhaps it was an outpost,” suggested Celina, “for guards to watch for the approach of an enemy.”
She looked up at the stressed grey stone and felt an atmosphere of chilling doom about the place.
“An outpost – I like the sound of that.”
Rupert went up to the sturdy wood door and turned the ring that did service for a handle.
“It’s locked!” he exclaimed in surprise.
“The door looks strong,” Celina said doubtfully as he tried to force an entrance.
“Perhaps there is a key – ”
He gave a shout of laughter.
“A key? My dear girl, do you really expect to find it hanging here on the wall, ready for anyone to make their entrance?”
He sounded so good-humoured that she could not take offence, so she riposted,
“Many people hide one beneath a stone!”
For a moment she thought that he would class that as ridiculous too. Instead he began to search beneath some of the largish stones that stood around the tower.
They looked as if they could well have fallen from the top and she could not imagine they would provide any sort of secure hiding place.
She walked round the tower.
On its other side there was a stone bench that faced South. She sat on it and held her face up to the sun, feeling its warmth dismiss some of the doom-laden atmosphere.
A little family of ducks sailed out from the edge of the island.
Celina rose and went to investigate.
A small inlet had been lined with building stones and there they had made a nest.
After smiling at the sight of the ducks, she looked at the stones more closely.
Then she grasped the top of one of them, gave it a strong jerk and found herself holding on to what could only be described as a lid.
Someone in the past had hollowed out a stone and found or fashioned a flat one to sit securely on its top.
And there inside was a large and ancient iron key!
She grabbed it and ran back to the other side of the tower. Rupert was still picking up stones and hurling them down again in mounting frustration.
“I’ve found it!”
“Good Heavens. What a wonderful girl you are!”
He regarded her with a beaming smile and all over again she felt her heart give an extraordinary lurch.
“Now let’s see if we can persuade that old lock to turn.”
It took a little time, but he patiently worked the key and finally gave a grunt of triumph.
“It’s giving!”
A moment later, he put his strong shoulder to the door and gave it a steady push.
With a resounding creak, it ground open.
They could now enter!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rupert led the way in.
The interior of the tower was as tumbledown as the exterior. In the curious way of some ancient buildings, it seemed larger on the inside than the outside.
It certainly appeared roomy enough to be used as a home, although Rupert reckoned every gust of wind and drop of rain would penetrate to the interior and make living there miserable.
“How dark it is,” commented Celina.
She went over to one of the windows and struggled to open one of the shutters. Finally it creaked free of years of clinging dirt and immediately rays of sunshine showed up the crumbling walls and layers of dust on the floor.
A rickety table and two broken chairs were the only furniture.
On the far wall was an open fireplace, a large bread oven to its left side.
A dangerously unstable stone staircase led up to the next floor, which must offer a single room the same size as this one.
Recalling the many windows on the outside, Rupert thought there was probably yet another floor.
“Could the stone oven offer a hiding place?” asked Celina doubtfully. “But if this tower was searched when the old man and his daughter were killed, surely that’s the first place they would look? Maybe, however, that attack was not anything to do with the hidden heirloom.”
Rupert found himself watching her nimble grace as she walked over and pulled open the oven’s door.
So would angels walk on clouds!
He gave himself a mental shake and dismissed such thoughts.
Celina gave a sigh of disappointment.
“There are only twigs and more dust.”
Then she stuck her head inside for a closer look.
“Do you think there could be a secret place at the back of it, my Lord?”
Rupert took a cursory look.
“We need some light. Why didn’t I think of it?” he added, cross with himself that he had not brought candles.
“I may be able to help.”
Celina went to collect the bag she had brought with her, undid the tie top and rummaged around inside.
“Here we are.”
She took out several candles and a box of matches.
“All provided by Aunt Margaret’s housekeeper who has also produced some food.”
She lit a candle and, holding it, once again inserted her head in the oven for a closer look.
Rupert was horrified.
“It’s not safe,” he called urgently, pulling her back, terrified her wonderful red hair would catch fire.
Feeling her slim waist beneath his hands sent such an unexpected jolt of electricity through him that Rupert released her as though she was already on fire.
“You are welcome to check yourself, but there does not seem to be any hidden cupboard,” said Celina, her face flushed.
“Please, Celina, forgive me – for removing you so unceremoniously – but you put yourself in such danger,” he stammered awkwardly.
She gave a gurgle of laughter, her eyes lively and sparkling.
“You are too much the gentleman and I give you full permission to rescue me from any perilous situation!”
Rupert swept her a low bow, his heart lifting at her teasing.
“Thank you indeed, Mistress Stirling, I hereby appoint myself your bodyguard!”
He took the candle from her and stuck his own head in the oven, sweeping the flame carefully around the worn bricks. There was no sign of any secret hiding place.
He emerged and blew out the candle.
He was about to admit that Celina had been right when he saw that she was mounting the stairs.
“No!” he cried.
The steps were in such a ruinous condition that one could collapse under even her slight weight and there was no rail to prevent her falling back onto the stone floor.
Celina laughed and continued her way up.
Rupert did not dare to follow her, realising that his greater weight could trigger exactly the sort of catastrophe he feared.
With his heart in his mouth, he watched her climb.
She was nearly at the top when a step gave way.
Her hands reached for a support that would prevent her falling ten or more feet onto the unforgiving flagstones.
The
re was nothing.
Rupert had been prepared and managed to catch her, but not before she had caught her head on the sharp edge of one of the steps.
Celina’s body felt as light as a bird, but in a heart-stopping moment he realised she had been knocked out.
The table looked too rickety to bear even her slim body, so he placed gently her onto the lowest step, stripped off his jacket, folded it and laid it beneath her head.
He smoothed back the hair from her forehead and tried to see where she was wounded. There did not seem to be any blood, but he could feel a swelling.
For one terrible moment he wondered whether she had suffered damage to her brain.
The thought that this girl, who seemed more alive than any he had ever met, might never again give him her most sparkling smile, never again walk with her light steps, never again look so sweetly serious as she worried about the feud her uncle and cousin were carrying on with him, was so devastating he almost groaned out loud.
He went and soaked his handkerchief in the loch, then carefully spread it over her forehead.
After a moment she gave a moan and stirred a little.
Full of hope Rupert willed her to open her eyes.
He did not know what had happened to him, but he was certain he had never cared so much about a girl before.
How could Celina Stirling have inveigled her way into his heart when he suspected that she was deceiving him?
When it seemed more than possible that she intended to use him to locate the heirloom for her MacLean relations, how could he find himself so attracted to her?
Her eyelids fluttered lightly, she lifted a hand to her forehead and moaned again and then opened her eyes and looked straight into his.
“What – happened?” she mumbled.
Rupert forgot all his doubts as his heart overflowed with relief.
“You were nearly at the top of the steps when one gave way and you fell. I caught you.”
There was a little smile as she whispered,
“You did warn me – not to climb up them – didn’t you?”
He nodded in agreement.
She said nothing more for a moment and he waited, wondering if it was still too soon to rejoice that she did not seem to have suffered any serious damage.
“My head hurts,” she moaned.
“You caught it on a sharp edge as you fell. Shall I rinse the handkerchief in fresh water for you?”
The Revelation is Love Page 9