by Madelyn Hill
Vivian didn’t try to censor his curse. “Are you certain your father was working on this exact experiment?”
Did she think he was daft? Of course he kenned. “Your father wrote to him a year ago. Since then and until his death, all my father spoke of was this experiment.”
She wrinkled her brow. “’Tis very unlike my father to share precise ingredients of his work with anyone in a letter.”
Galen placed his palms on the smooth table and leaned forward. So close to her, he saw the darkening violet of her eyes. “What are you saying?”
“Not only was my father cautious, but he never revealed his exact work to anyone. He spoke of results, possible combinations, but never with an exactness.”
Galen’s head pounded incessantly. “They have worked together for years. Why would he worry about revealing anything to my father?”
She tipped her head, obviously deep in thought. “Do you have the letter in which the experiment was written?”
Galen strode directly to his desk. Rifling through a drawer, he finally withdrew a piece of paper. “Here it is.”
She gasped. “My father didn’t write this.”
“You’re positive?”
She laid the letter on the table next to Robert Stuart’s books and notes. “See, the handwriting is close, as if someone were trying to mimic his script, but it is different.”
It was true. Fury and disbelief burned his lungs. “Nay! ‘Tisn’t possible.”
Vivian’s voice penetrated the fog of his thoughts. “Who would have sent this letter?”
He looked at her, not able to comprehend what she was saying. Then the words settled in his mind with startling clarity. Someone had purposely caused his father’s horrific death. Who? Who kenned of his interest, his burning desire to solve the mystery of alchemy?
“M’laird?”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “Why hadn’t I seen this?” He cut his gaze to the windows. “I failed him. I failed my own father.”
She grabbed at his arm. “Please stop. Galen, this ‘tisn’t your fault.” She pulled at him.
He ignored her and dismantled the experiment. “Leave,” he told her. “Now.”
No one else would be harmed by his actions.
She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. Or perhaps he hid the truth of her pity from himself. When Galen was sure she had left, he went to the fireplace. He couldn’t feel the heat. He couldn’t. . .feel.
Relief refused to calm him. He hadn’t killed his father, but who had? The looming question proved too large to answer. He severed his gaze from the crackling flames and lifted the stopper from the whiskey decanter atop the mantle. He hesitated for a moment, then filled a snifter with the amber liquid.
It helped chase away the pain, uncertainty, questions. He’d deal with his problems on the morrow. Tonight, he’d enjoy the numbing effects of the whiskey.
Chapter 23
Vivian tried to hold back her tears, but they ran down her face persistently. Why had he dismissed her? Did he think she was useless, unable to think and perhaps even come up with a solution?
She trudged down the hall, ignoring the darkness. “Why? Why can’t he let me help?”
She ran past the kitchen and through the main hall until she reached the safe haven of her chamber.
“Lass, what has happened?” Nessa stood in the center of her room, broom in one hand, questions lifting her brow.
She ran to her, clutched the older woman by her doughy shoulders, and cried, “Oh, Nessa, Galen’s father was murdered.”
The maidservant wrapped her arms around her and led her toward the bed. Gently setting Vivian upon it, she knelt before her. “What’s this nonsense, lass?”
She didn’t know where to begin. “Laird Maclean received a letter from my father with the experiment written on it. But it wasn’t my father’s handwriting.”
Nessa’s brows lifted. “What experiment?”
Sighing, Vivian gathered her thoughts and began again. “My father was working on a very important experiment. He often corresponded with Galen’s father, but he never included complete details for the safety of their work. Someone sent Laird Maclean a letter and signed my father’s name. The letter detailed how to carry out the experiment. The one that killed Laird Maclean.”
Nessa looked utterly lost and confused. “So, you’re saying Laird Maclean was murdered, but not by his son?”
“Aye!” Shame wedged into her mind when she realized she was exuberant over the fact a man was dead and it wasn’t Galen’s fault.
As quickly as it arrived, her exuberance vanished when she pondered the author of the letter.
A nagging fear emerged. The person had to know alchemy. And many people did not reveal their alchemy interest. If others were aware, they might use nefarious means to obtain the secret of turning lead into gold.
“Why would someone want to kill Laird Maclean?”
Vivian had been wondering the same thing. And she had no answer. She wished Galen would have allowed her to stay, to ease the pain she saw deep within his sharp, blue eyes. His guilt should be gone, but it seemed as if more consumed him. He was so angry and tense. Did he know something she didn’t? Was that why he wanted her gone, wouldn’t allow her to come close to him?
“Nessa, do you think it may be someone here, on the island?”
The maid shook her head vehemently. “Nay, lass. They’re devoted to him, they are.”
She had to agree. Auld Alice, poor Liam, and even Madge seemed to want to be with Galen. But she had very little knowledge of his father Laird Maclean. And what she’d learned didn’t say much for his character.
“We must learn who did this and how they are connected to my father.” Blaring light flashed bright in her mind as she jumped up from the bed.
Nessa grabbed her arm to steady her. “You’re as white as a ghost, you are.”
Vivian caught her breath, but her heart continued to pound in her throat, almost choking her. Had her father been involved? “Could Father have let information slip? Mayhap he shared his knowledge with someone?”
Her maid patted her arm. “Nay, lass. Your father never trusted easily.”
The kindness of her brown eyes relaxed Vivian a touch. A nagging thought still troubled her—it wasn’t a coincidence that she was on Mac Tìre.
Nessa led her back to the bed and pulled back the damask coverlet. “Lass, you need to rest a wee bit. I’ll wake you for your meal.”
Nodding, she climbed beneath the covers, too troubled to protest or even change her clothes. Maybe if she slept, her thoughts would be clear.
The vision of Galen and the shocked look on his face led her into a fitful sleep. Only when he evaporated into a consuming mist did she achieve a peaceful slumber.
It was after midnight as Galen shoved his unease aside and breeched her private sanctuary once again. She lay like a beauty waiting to be kissed by a prince. How he wanted to be that prince, the one who captured her heart and brought happiness—no, completeness to her lovely soul.
Galen slipped a stray hair behind Vivian’s delicate ear. His fingers skimmed along her fair cheeks, so smooth and beckoning beneath his touch.
My dove.
He shook his head.
Even the realization he wasn’t responsible for his father’s death did little to vanquish his guilt. It still held true he caused pain to those near him. His father laid deep in the ground, his mother next to him. And Liam. . .
He’d heard about his uselessness his entire life. So much he believed it. And no matter how much he’d begged, Alice never told him why his mother refused to speak to him, visit him, hug him. Galen rubbed the bridge of his nose. His head throbbed.
Now a new danger lurked, coiling its presence around the stone castle.
He must protect Vivian. And to do that, he must force her to leave.
But, damn his heart, he yearned to keep her. The image of Vivian swollen with his child danced before him. The sight caused
him unbearable pain. Dropping into a chair near the canopied bed, he never took his eyes off her. The light from the fire flickered around her, kissed her skin with its tender amber hue—just as he longed to do. The sweet torture of watching her brought desire hot and quick to his loins. He’d never wanted another as he wanted and needed her.
He lifted from the chair, stiff and uncomfortable, unwilling to leave her.
A pile of pine boughs graced the mantel and vase on the chest. The scent mixed with burning peat, smelled of earth and the outdoors. Berries wreathed the mirror and were sprinkled amongst the pine.
She was slowly turning his home into hers. The meals, games with Auld Alice and Liam, interest in Alex—Christmas decorations—they all warned him of her intent.
How torn he was. To accept her gestures may put her in grave danger. To continue to force her away would leave him with unbearable desperation and loneliness.
Vivian stirred. His gaze shifted from the fireplace to the bed. Hesitating for just a moment, he waited until she stilled and left the chamber. The bleak hidden passages swallowed him, a welcome respite from the emotions that plagued him.
The oddly comforting corridor brought him to his father’s library. Why he’d chosen to turn left instead of right escaped him, yet he kenned what he must do.
Chapter 24
Donal looked to the moon partially covered by a streak of clouds. “Oh, blessed mother of the moon, I bring my offering to you. Take it, bless it, form my lead into abundant gold.” Greed surged within him, tingling and exciting him lustfully. He held a stone crucible with both hands, palms up. The filtered glow of the moon surrounded the lead, now a thick liquid.
“Bring your power to me, Lady Lunar. Bring your power to me.” He closed his eyes and whispered the chant once again in Gaelic. The ancient words flowed off his tongue in a swift tangle of praise and reverence.
The darkness of the chamber merged with the moon’s glow. He began to sway in rhythm to the cadence of his words. This urged him, encouraged him. The stone bowl grew heavy. He peeked at the contents. They shimmered and crackled. The acrid scent of melting lead filled his senses.
“Lady Lucine, I give it up to you. I feel your power rushing through my veins, pumping my blood. Come. Come to me. Turn my lead into gold.”
The mixture swirled into a ball.
“Yes. Yes, my lady.”
He felt it. The power lifted him. Desire pooled in his loins, confusing him as well as bringing pleasure.
“Burke. What is this?”
The stone bowl crashed to the table. Scorching liquid spilled over. Cursing, Donal turned toward the trespasser.
“You stupid woman! I’d almost completed the first phase.”
He watched as she glanced at his now ruined experiment and then raked him with a feral glare. “Stupid woman?”
Panicked, he tried to rectify the situation. “Forgive me, Madame. ‘Twas the excitement of almost achieving our goal.”
She knitted her brows. “Our goal, you say.”
Donal nodded. “The lead was beginning to transform. Look,” he pointed to the cooling mixture puddled on the wood as he spoke. “See the yellow cast to the gray.”
Madame moved closer. Donal sensed her anger ebbing as the terse line of her shoulders lowered. “What were you chanting?”
“’Tis very simple. Alchemy is more than science. I have opened myself to accept alchemy. It is part of my being.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You talk nonsense.”
He looked Madame over, her fine dress, a deep blue gown bedecked with fluffy lace. Her dark hair swept up gracefully into a bunch of ringlets. He assumed the inn kept a maid, but he had yet to see her. And he kenned she’d never believe as he did. “Where have you been?”
“A bit of business,” she explained.
Ah, that explained the tint of blush on her cheeks and the scent of brandy, perfume, and manly musk. He wondered how she found someone wealthy enough to afford her in Inverness.
“Well, you’ve ruined my business. In order to use Stuart’s notes, we need to prepare. And, we need a full moon.”
For a moment she looked nervous. “When will that be?”
Did the woman know anything? “A week after Nollaig.”
She smiled, a slick, feline type of grin. “We’ve plenty of time. I confirmed with the rower. He’ll take us the day after Christmas.”
Satisfied, Donal began cleaning up the spilled lead before it permanently hardened. He pictured Madame’s fine features as he chiseled at the persistent metal. Hacking and hacking away at the shiny veneer. Who did she meet? Was she bringing another partner into the mix?
Donal watched as she slid behind the dressing screen and a few moments later into the downy bed. The bed she’d booted him from. He needed to ensure half of the gold was his. In order to do that, he needed a plan.
Chapter 25
Vivian scrapped the green pine needles from the lower half of a twig. Winding it with a brace of twine, she tucked the bough into a vine wreath. Working with any type of greenery infused her, calmed her. Despite keeping idle hands busy, the activity failed to stop Galen from vexing her mind.
Alice gave her a handful of berry-covered branches. Just two more and the ring would be complete.
They spoke quietly, Vivian telling Alice about the different flowers she had grown at Westington.
“Ah, my roses.” A stab of loneliness doused her enthusiasm. She continued, but the words scratched at the back of her throat. “They were a buttery yellow and so fragrant. My father loved it when I brought cuttings into his work room.”
Alice smiled, sweet and kind. “You miss him, I ken.”
They stopped arranging the pine and berries, seemingly lost in thought.
“Alice, Madge is nowhere to be found.” Nessa interrupted as she huffed from exertion. “I’ve checked every blasted room in the east wing.”
Vivian placed her hand on the maidservant’s shoulder. “Are you certain?”
“Aye, lass. All the lad’s belongings are gone.”
Alice’s face shone with concern, as her voice rang with authority. “Get Bernard. I’ll tell m’laird. Vivian, go check the east wing again. She can’t have gone far.”
Nessa wrung her hands as her eyes nervously darted from the window to Alice’s retreating form. “What if she’s out there?”
Vivian cringed at the storm howling outside. Icy rain blew sideways as it pelted the glass panes. Just looking at it gave her a chill. “We’ve got to find them.”
Fear drummed in her mind. Was Madge foolish enough to leave the security of the castle? She grabbed a small torchére and headed toward the east wing. Night was looming and wicked darkness seeped in from the walls, corners, and windows. The wind still resonated a vibrant tattoo against the winds, urging her to quicken her pace.
Each room turned up empty. Nessa was right when she said Alex’s things were gone.
She searched the east wing, hoping each door she opened would reveal the maid and her son. All to no avail.
She returned to the kitchen to find the fire smoldering. The morning’s biscuits were cold on the table.
Bernard lumbered into the room. His face, lined with weariness, told her all she needed to know. Regardless, slim hope guided her words. “Have you found her?”
Bernard gave a sad shake of his head. “Nay, m’lady. The lass is nowhere to be found.” He sat at the table and absently twisted the cloth napkin before him.
She placed her palms on the smooth surface of the wood and leaned down. “And Laird Maclean, what does he know?”
The old man ducked his eyes. “M’laird’s in no shape to be helping anyone,” he said in a barely audible whisper.
Vivian straightened and tapped her finger to her lip. “I’ll see to him.”
Bernard widened his eyes as he rose from his seat. “Nay. ‘Tis no job for a gentle woman such as yourself.”
Ignoring him, she headed out of the kitchen. She’d show Bernard just how
a gentle woman handled a surly laird.
The door to his father’s library lay open, beckoning her inside. She entered, unsure of what to expect. In the same breath, she kenned he’d be there, wallowing in misery and self-pity.
Galen stood as still as marble, with a cold, unapproachable line to his firm jaw. His wild, untethered hair brushed his broad shoulders. Vivian approached him.
“Did that blithering Bernard send you?” he snarled.
He kept his gaze directed out the window. She fought the desire to run from the disheveled room.
“Weel?” he growled, as he finally turned toward her.
She shook her head. “Nay. I came of my own volition.”
His actions were sharp, predatory, as his long legs brought him to her swiftly. “Then you can leave on my demand.”
“Madge and Alex are missing.”
He dragged his fingers through his gray-streaked hair. “Aye, but even she’d ken not to leave the castle on a night like this. She’ll show up on the morrow.”
Vivian threw her hands in the air in exasperation. “How can you be so certain?” Perhaps Galen’s heart was as cold as the gaze he now gave her. “’Tisn’t as if she confided in you.”
He gave her a quelling look. “She disappeared after my father’s death and returned a few days later.”
Slightly reassured by his answer, she looked around the library, still in the same haphazard state as the last time she entered it. “Why do you come here, Galen? Your study is much more pleasant.”
Narrowing his eyes, he swept his arm to indicate the room. “Don’t you think I deserve this?”
His voice lacked any mockery, but his intention didn’t elude her. “You were not responsible for your father’s death!”
Doubt marred his features. “No matter who was initially responsible, I gave him the ingredients. I should have seen they were incorrect.”
She threw up her hands. “And how were you to ken?”
He looked at her, his intense gaze filled with such pain, she reached for him. His strong arms circled around her as he embraced her. His heart beat with hers, warming her with a caress she felt with her entire body.