Phoebe leaped back, avoiding the point of the knife by a hair, but stumbled into the wynd. As she regained her balance, he kept coming, his blade held low, backing her down the alley. Phoebe tripped over a discarded box and fell backwards, rolling over onto her hands and knees. She was quick to jump to her feet, but he continued to move toward her. She glanced behind her into the darkening alley. A few yards more and the wynd turned. In the murky distance, she saw steps descending between crumbling walls.
The Vaults.
“Why? Why are you doing this?” she yelled at him.
His face was impassive, and he said nothing but came on unrelentingly.
She recalled her promise to Ian and shouted for help, but no one could hear her. The wynd was too secluded. No one was coming. No one seemed to hear. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen prey to his trick so easily.
He was the one. The chill of evil grew more distinct with every step. The way he held the knife. His size, the way he moved purposely, inexorably toward her brought back that horrible night.
“I saw you. I fought with you when you tried to kill the boy. That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it?”
Still no answer. In the corner of her eye, she spotted a doorway in the wall. Perhaps, she thought desperately, it opened to a shop. People. She threw her shoulder against it, but it didn’t budge. Barred from the inside. She saw another and ran toward it. Before she reached it, she heard him behind her.
“Garioch!”
Phoebe turned and threw up her arm in defense as the knife arced toward her.
“Garioch!”
The shouts startled the killer, and Phoebe slipped to the side, fending off the blade’s downward stab.
Ian. He was here. He’d found her. He’d save her.
Garioch’s head jerked around as Ian raced toward them.
“Stop!”
The minister jumped past her, and before Phoebe could move to Ian, she felt the edge of the blade at her throat.
“No stopping. I’ve been chosen. Chosen,” Garioch shouted. “She meddled with God’s work. She needs to die. For I must avenge them.”
* * *
Blast him, Ian cursed. Blast the devil. The minister. The man who had been welcome in their home. A monster in the house of worship. The invisible evil, trusted by all. No wonder Sarah had walked into his trap. Phoebe had nearly done the same thing.
“The voices come to me,” Garioch told him, backing away down the wynd and taking Phoebe with him. “The five martyrs. They died at the hands of the corrupt ones. They were pure and innocent, but the heretics butchered them and burned them.”
Ian didn’t want to hear about heretics or butchers. He wanted the man to let Phoebe go.
The despicable fraud had her in his power. He looked at Phoebe’s face, at the knife in Garioch’s hand. Blood was dripping from where he held the blade against her throat. He moved closer.
“They command me. I have no choice. I must do their bidding. I’m a soldier of God. Surely you can understand that.”
“I don’t understand. You must let Phoebe go. She has nothing to do with this.”
He was backing away, dragging her with him.
“She’s the meddler. She’s not Sarah. Your sister was never supposed to die. It was an accident. She shouldn’t have seen me.”
Ian’s fury roared for blood, but he had to control it.
“Stay where you are,” Garioch warned him. “One step closer and I’ll take her head off right here.”
They’d almost reached the steps leading down to the Vaults.
Ian gave him a few steps, but he was not about to let him take her down there. Once they passed through the door into the labyrinthine darkness, they’d be gone. He’d never get to her in time.
“I’ll go mad if I don’t do their bidding,” the monster said, the intensity in his voice rising. “I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
This was insanity. He was the same height, the same weight, in the same clothes. But a different creature lived beneath his skin.
“My hatred of her is my choice,” he roared, jerking Phoebe’s head back. “She is the devil who thinks she has nine lives.”
“You pushed me into the well,” she spat through gritted teeth.
“You should have died there, but it’s not too late. I will teach her how to die.”
The man stopped. A dozen paces separated Ian from them. Dread washed through him. He couldn’t lose her. Not now. She deserved better. She deserved life.
He wouldn’t argue with a madman. But Ian couldn’t fail her. For all his life, he was a lost man. Wounded, crushed by war, by grief, and she saved him. He couldn’t let her go.
Garioch backed toward the open door. “Men must die. Men must pay for the blood of the martyrs.”
As Ian charged, a tall, thin lad came out of nowhere, swinging a cudgel hard, and it sang in the dim light as it glanced off the killer’s head. Garioch staggered backward for only a second, but it was enough. Ian was on him, driving the knife still clutched in his murderous hand straight into the monster’s heart.
Chapter 20
Two Months Later
Phoebe stopped reading for a moment and inhaled deeply. The September breeze carried in from the hills the sweet, earthy smell of heather. The afternoon sun warmed her face in this protected spot. She loved Bellhorne.
In the garden below the stone terrace where Phoebe sat reading to Mrs. Bell, a solitary figure was toiling away, digging the soil, adding compost, turning it, and preparing the ground for the bush sitting in the grassy lane nearby.
“We have gardeners capable of doing the hard labor,” the older woman said, following her gaze.
Phoebe closed the book and patted the slender hand of her mother-in-law. “I believe he needs to do this himself.”
Sweat soaked the back of Ian’s shirt. His sleeves were rolled up over muscular forearms. He stood, stretched, and ran his dirt-covered fingers through his uncombed hair, completing the roguish, unruly look that she loved. She understood his need to complete this task, to work in these gardens, to explain to Sarah how her killer had finally received the punishment he deserved.
Peter Garioch, a man who led two lives so different that no one during his fourteen-year ministry here ever had the slightest suspicion of the corruption existing in the brain behind his attractive face.
From the day Ian’s father brought Garioch to Bellhorne, his wife, his children, and everyone who came in contact with him in the village loved and respected the man. But even as he left his mark preaching the word of God here in Fife, in Edinburgh he was leaving his horrid signature on scores of bodies. Many of them were never identified.
It was several weeks after the minister was killed that Ian and a constable from Edinburgh discovered Garioch’s journals hidden under some floorboards in the rectory office. It was a clear, unemotional record of the murders he’d been committing for decades. His madness was chilling.
Phoebe trembled as she recalled how close she’d been to becoming one of his victims.
Ian looked up at her, but even from here, she could read the poignant edge to his smile in the set of his handsome mouth.
Mrs. Bell stood, peering at her son. Her voice quavered as she realized which of the plants he was determined to replace today.
“He’s replacing the rose Sarah herself planted on her twentieth birthday.” She leaned on her cane. “I think . . . I think this means she will know she’s welcome to continue visiting us.”
Ian’s mother knew the truth, but at the same time she was committed to believing in Sarah’s presence at Bellhorne. No one found that strange, especially not Phoebe.
“A white, double-bloom Scots Rose,” she told her mother-in-law as she stood too. She’d been with her husband when he chose the plant to be brought to Bellhorne.
Her husband. She cherished the sound of those two words. They were truly husband and wife, their hearts connected, their souls joined. The invitations would so
on go out for the celebration of their nuptials at Christmastime in Baronsford, but that was simply an added nicety for family and friends. To Phoebe and Ian, their union could not be more loving or secure.
With Garioch’s violent demise, Ian’s restlessness and guilt had subsided. He no longer haunted the Vaults, except to help Duncan gather up the gangs of street urchins so he could speak with them. A new school with dormitories was already in the works, financed by Ian and Phoebe and a few others who had been eager to join the cause. To see to the immediate needs of some of the older boys, a temporary arrangement had already been established and seven students enrolled, the first one being Jock Rokeby, who had helped save Phoebe’s life that day on the South Bridge.
Phoebe knew what they were doing was a drop in an ocean of misfortune. The world did not change overnight. Even with her final published article, it had received a few nods of approval, but the politicians she was critical of continued to sit comfortably in their positions of power. Still, they’d found a place to start.
The voices of Dr. and Mrs. Thornton reached them through the open doors to the house.
“Our dinner guests are here early,” Ian’s mother said.
The doctor’s company was more tolerable now that Alice was in charge of the man’s life. There were times when Phoebe actually found him entertaining. The husband and wife lived nearby, and many a day Alice walked over and sat with Mrs. Bell.
“I believe the doctor wishes to examine you first, before we sit down to dine.”
Mrs. Bell waved her cane in the air dismissively, as if all this attention was unnecessary. The doctors in Edinburgh could not offer anything more than they already knew. Fiona’s heart was weak, and she had to be mindful not to do too much or worry too much.
Phoebe and Ian made sure of that, especially now that they spent more time in Bellhorne.
“You go get that husband of yours and tell him I expect him to be washed and dressed and ready for dinner. I don’t want him to be late.”
“I’ll tell him.” She placed a kiss on her new mother’s cheek and watched her walk inside with more vigor than they’d seen in days.
Phoebe turned around to Ian as he stamped down the soil around the newly planted rose bush.
* * *
There were words Ian wanted to say to his sister. Apologies and clarifications. He also wanted Sarah to know that from the time she’d gone missing until the moment Garioch died, he’d never doubted her.
Working the same bit of earth where his sister had planted her favorite rose bush, Ian sensed that Sarah knew all of this. As he knelt and pushed his fingers into the soil, he felt her sitting beside him.
In the breeze, he heard a whisper. In the graceful dance of the falling leaves, he heard laughter. The signs were there, and he understood their meaning. His sister had passed away, but her presence would live forever with him, with them, at Bellhorne.
He pressed down the dirt one last time and looked up to find his wife crouching next to him.
He’d been struggling for a way to say to his sister what was in his heart. Replacing the rose bush had been Phoebe’s idea.
“It’s done.”
She leaned forward and kissed him as she cradled his face. “I’m proud of you, and I love you.”
He smiled at the smudge of the dirt that had rubbed off his face onto her nose. “Thank you, my love.”
He stood and helped Phoebe to her feet. She wrapped her arms around him, paying no regard to the dirt and dust and sweat. “It wasn’t only Sarah that you made happy today. You also cheered your mother.”
He looked back at the rose bush. “What happens if this one dies like the last one?”
“You’ll plant another one in the spring.”
“And if that one dies?”
“We keep replacing them.” She linked her arm in his as they started for the house. “Hope is the flower on shrubs we plant. What else can we do but start them and nurture them and pray they will produce . . . for your mother, for our families, for the less fortunate in Scotland . . . only the sweetest of flowers.”
As they walked together, Ian watched three leaves fall and rise and tumble and swirl through the air.
“I think Sarah would approve,” he said, pressing her hand.
Phoebe listened to the breeze for a moment. “I think she already does.”
Author’s Note
We hope you enjoyed reading about Phoebe Pennington and Ian Bell in Sleepless in Scotland.
Edinburgh in 1818 was a vibrant and dynamic place. In the years since the fall of Napoleon, this medieval town had rapidly grown to be one of the most important cities in Britain. Known as the “Athens of the North,” the city was home to Henry Dundas, Lord Melville (who ruled Scotland for the English crown), and Walter Scott, friend to the Prince Regent and rising literary light. Its university had made it a leading force in medicine, science, and law. And with its growing wealth and influence, it had also become a tumultuous, overpopulated city where underworld kings, Jacobites and violent reformers, journalists, police, and self-serving politicians clashed in an ongoing struggle for survival and dominance.
As novelists and historians, we couldn’t help but try to capture a piece of this amazing city.
We’ve borrowed the ghost and the gardens and some of the history of Kellie Castle in Fife for our creation of Bellhorne Castle, which we situated near Kinghorn.
For his friendly assistance with questions we had about the Firth of Forth and the crossing at Queensferry, we’d like to thank Richard Hopper. If we erred in any way, don’t blame Richard.
For readers who are new to the Pennington Series, here is a little summary of the books:
Romancing the Scot: Hugh and Grace
Sweet Home Highlands: Gregory and Freya . . . and Ella
It Happened in the Highlands: Jo and Wynne . . . and Cuffe
The parents of this generation were introduced in The Promise and The Scottish Dream Trilogy (Borrowed Dreams, Captured Dreams, and Dreams of Destiny).
As authors, we love feedback. We write our stories for you. We’d love to hear what you liked, what you loved, and even what you didn’t like. We are constantly learning, so please help us write stories that you will cherish and recommend to your friends. Please visit us on our website at www.MayMcGoldrick.com, sign up for news and updates and follow us on BookBub.
Finally, we need a favor. If you enjoyed Sleepless in Scotland, please leave us a review and recommend it to your friends. You the reader have the power to make or break this book. We greatly appreciate your support.
Wishing you peace and health!
Nikoo and Jim
May McGoldrick
About the Author(s)
Author photograph © Loghan Rose
USA Today bestselling Authors Nikoo and Jim McGoldrick (writing as May McGoldrick) weave emotionally satisfying tales of love and danger. Publishing under the names of May McGoldrick and Jan Coffey, these authors have written over forty novels. Nikoo, an engineer, also conducts frequent workshops on writing and publishing and serves as a Resident Author. Jim holds a PhD in medieval and Renaissance literature. They live in Southern California.
You can sign up for email updates here.
Also by May McGoldrick
The Scottish Relic Trilogy
Much Ado About Highlanders
Taming the Highlander
Tempest in the Highlands
“A Midsummer Wedding” novella
The Pennington Family
“Sweet Home Highlands Christmas” novella
Romancing the Scot
It Happened in the Highlands
Sleepless in Scotland
Thank you for buying this Swerve ebook.
To receive special offers, bonus content, and info on new releases and other great reads, sign up for our newsletters.
Or visit us online at us.macmillan.com/newslettersignup
For email updates on the author, click here.
Table of Co
ntents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Author’s Note
About the Author(s)
Also by May McGoldrick
Copyright Page
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
SLEEPLESS IN SCOTLAND. Copyright © 2018 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Crystal Ben
Cover photographs: tartan © Sirachuch Chienthaworn/Shutterstock.com; mask © tomertu/Shutterstock.com; scarf © Jag Cz/Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-16692-0 (ebook)
First Edition: August 2018
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, ext. 5442, or by e-mail at [email protected].
Sleepless in Scotland Page 23