Elusive

by Linda Rae Blair

Macrath looked William in the eye, smiled and answered, “I think she would need a new, stronger protector…don’t you?”

  A week later, Allan MacDiarmid was dead. It was rumored that he fell from his horse during a hunt and smashed his head open like a ripe melon. His widow and young son, Donald, were now under the protection of the Laird.

  The next month, Macrath married the comely Seonaid—who seemed a little too pleased for a mourning young widow—and looked forward to a fruitful marriage.

  ***

  Winter came and it was a harsh one, bringing with it a sickness that took its toll on the McDonnough estate. Mordag’s wife, Meadhbh, who had deeply mourned the loss of her youngest son, and later the death of Caena, fell ill shortly after the Yule celebration.

  Macrath made certain that his bride kept a close eye on his mother during her illness. Seonaid tenderly cared for her husband’s mother but, despite her efforts, Meadhbh died before spring. Some said she no longer had the desire to live. Others said Mordag had set his eyes elsewhere. No one would ever know the truth of it.

  By that summer, Mordag had married again and his bride, a young noblewoman, promptly produced a fine healthy son they named Fergus.

  A drunken Macrath was heard screaming in his rooms the night of his new brother’s birth, damning the fates that brought a son to his father before himself.

  **************************

  Chapter 19: Dark Stranger in Edinburgh

  Brest, France - July 1912

  He arrived in Brest early in the morning and went straight to the docks. He strolled onboard the liner, Le Avignon. There was no need for him to identify himself to anyone. The crew all knew him by sight. His suite was always kept ready for him, as he frequently traveled between Brest and Edinburgh.

  He took great pride in the ship with her long, sleek lines, and her two stacks reaching into the sky above her. She was a delight to him—a reminder of his dear father. She had been the last ship commissioned by his father before he left to assume his duties as Earl of Donnoch.

  She was a good ship but likely to be retired a few years from now. The thought saddened him but business was business. Big changes were taking place in shipping and their line would have to keep up once the dust settled.

  White Star had built gargantuan ships like Olympic and their lost Titanic. Money was being spent in huge amounts on their sister ship, the Britannic. With their four stacks and enormous tonnage, ships like these would soon make Le Avignon and her sisters nothing more than quaint little day cruisers. Le Avignon would soon be unable to pull in the first-class customers she was accustomed to now, reduced to being not much more than a large and luxurious ferry.

  But with the Titanic disaster in April, he was in no hurry to try to build one of these monsters-of-the-sea. Too many had been lost. White Star was under the worst publicity any line could suffer. It was a shipping line’s worst nightmare. There was talk of replacing Ismay who, as their managing director, was being held responsible for Titanic’s loss. No, he had no desire to get caught up in the rush for the bigger ships. He had stuck to the decision he had made several years earlier—best to wait and see.

  “Well, old girl…” he spoke to her quietly, as he moved to her rail. Looking out over the Atlantic, he continued, “…for now you are still a queen.” He’d see to it that she served her passengers as one of the best of the Black Swan line until she was retired. She would go out proudly. In the meanwhile, Black Swan Lines would not start building her replacement until he was certain he could build a ship that was safe.

  All the propaganda White Star had spit out and all the money they spent on the first two would likely come down to a battle for the line to even survive. Oh, he didn’t doubt they would survive. He wasn’t entirely sure he thought they should. All their efforts to compete with Cunard’s Mauretania and Lusitania had come to naught. Cunard had been the line that managed to win back the Blue Riband from Germany’s clutches, and theirs were still the safest of the leviathans of the sea.

  While White Star was being very closely watched by the Maritime Commission, he’d decided not to spend the money on unproven designs. His engineers were currently looking at designs that would improve on the Le Avignon—much larger but not as big as Britannic—but without what he saw as the flaws in the White Star plans. Time would tell, and he was in no hurry. He might not display a great deal of patience in his private affairs but, when it came to business, he didn’t gamble.

  He looked up at the sky and saw the storm clouds gathering. It was going to be a rough trip. Dreading rough seas, he went to his suite for a nap before sailing. As he lay there trying to get to sleep, his thoughts took him back to his father—back to the time when, as a young graduate of the university he had taken over the shipping business for his father who had gone to Donnach a few years earlier.

  His father had continued to run the business until he was satisfied that Alexandre could handle it on his own, and it had only taken three years for him to prove himself. He was so glad that his father had lived long enough to see his business grow into a highly respected cruise line—slightly larger than the White Star line—with a freight business that serviced Europe and the Americas.

  His mother would never have a financial worry. He had assured her financial security with accounts in Scotland, France, and Switzerland, as well as properties in America, Canada, Australia, and several other countries with good stable governments. She was a very wealthy woman; and he was a very wealthy man at age thirty-five.

  He didn’t need the Scottish estate or the Earldom that went with it. But, he would, by God, honor his family and assume the responsibility. As for his business, he could make do with a once-a-month trip to Brest to oversee the Black Swan Line and his estate in Bretagne. It would take a lot of work, but it was doable.

  There would have to be an occasional pleasure trip to Paris, of course. He would need the respite of Paris, especially in the spring when everything was so fresh and the air filled with fragrance. As he lay there thinking of Paris, the steady, soft sway of the ship finally lulled him to sleep. He didn’t awake when, an hour later, Le Avignon left Brest headed for Edinburgh.

  ***

  Alexandre Eduard Maigny arrived in Edinburgh late on a Wednesday. While he wasn’t usually bothered by ocean travel, the crossing from France had been especially rough this time. A summer storm had arisen—so had the bile in his gut. Not in the best of moods, to put it mildly, he stormed into the elaborate, old hotel near the Edinburgh Castle. He purchased a suite and ordered a bottle of their finest French champagne to be sent up to his room. When he got his stomach calmed, he would go down to the hotel restaurant for a good dinner, but right now he needed a bath and good wine to calm him.

  By the time the marble tub filled and he shut off the steaming water that had been rushing out of the gilded faucet, the waiter had brought the champagne. He waited until he heard the waiter leave the suite. Then, naked as the day his mother gave him life, he strode into the parlor, uncorked the bottle, filled the fine crystal flute with the bubbling wine, and took both the flute and the bottle into the bathroom. He climbed into the large tub that accommodated even his height. As he lowered that long, sinewy body into the heat, he sighed deeply. He enjoyed a good soak in the hot bath to help his system settle, downing half the bottle of champagne before the water turned tepid.

  He dried his hair with one of the thick towels, reached over to wipe down the gold-framed mirror over the marble sink. The color under his eyes was fading, and his color in general was better than it had been an hour ago. He didn’t find green complimentary. He groomed his long black hair, shaved away the day’s stubble, and splashed on his favorite cologne, grimacing when his newly shaven face stung. The deep blue eyes that looked back at him still looked tired, but he felt more human.

  He dressed in his European clothing for dinner, shot his cuffs, and went downstairs to get a light meal so that he could collapse in bed shortly after he was finished. He preferred dining wi
th people around him. Few knew what an introvert he truly was. His business acumen required that he fight that tendency, so it pleased him when he could just relax and enjoy being around others without having to converse with them. His business affairs in France had taken a toll on his nerves, and then there was the nasty business he was here to resolve. Damn, he wasn’t usually so easily disturbed. Since his father’s death, he had felt just a little…lost.

  As he dined, he mulled over the last few months. It wasn’t that he was unhappy about relocating to Scotland. He loved it here—always had. His business affairs didn’t require that he continue to live in France. It was all the legal hassles—no, the damned lawyers—and the family intrigues that drove him crazy. His cousins were a greedy bunch of bastards, and he didn’t trust any of them any further than he could throw the ship he had sailed in on. Why had his life become so complicated?

  Then there was the matter of the girl. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. Of course, he knew from his sources in Scotland that she and her uncle were out to try to wheedle their way into the family’s inheritance. But, dear God, she was a beauty! He felt his blood rush at the very thought of her. There was something about her that didn’t fit the picture of a con artist. But, then he supposed that was why they were so often successful—especially if they were blonde, tiny, shapely and had huge gray eyes.

  He would have to be very sure he stayed away from that one. She was pure trouble. But, if she persisted in her plan, he would take care of the problem and, if necessary, squash her and that plan like a bug.

  ***

  The letters were in her safe deposit box. The bubble bath had brought her exhausted body back to life, at least long enough to dress and go down for dinner. She could have had them bring the meal to the room…rooms, actually…she thought again. As tired as she was, she would probably have been asleep before her meal got to her, and she knew she needed nourishment. She was just starting to gain back what weight she had lost since Roddy’s death.

  The suite in which she found herself was so beautiful and spacious that she felt guilty just leaving her shoes on the bedroom floor while she bathed. She felt slightly giddy about all the luxury that surrounded her. She guessed she’d just have to get used to a little luxury.

  Giggling, she spun around in circles just looking at everything. Giggling was something she tended to do when she was exhausted, or energized, or happy, or…well, she admitted to herself, she just tended to giggle like a schoolgirl.

  Feeling much better than she had an hour ago, she put on a little lipstick and just the smallest bit of her favorite French perfume. Once she dressed, she picked up her handbag and went downstairs for dinner.

  The restaurant was exquisite. As Angus had told her, the hotel was an old, historic building, with very high ceilings and dark, aged beams high overhead. The restaurant décor was pure Scotland. Heralds, family crests from various clans surrounded the room. Suits of armor polished to a pewter-like sheen were placed in all the corners. Swords—claymores—she corrected herself, were hung on the walls in pairs. Candlelight gleamed from the tables, and the dark iron chandeliers that looked as if they had come from an old castle hung high overhead. They were suspended far enough from the tables below that their light was dim and seductive. The tables were set with the finest linens, silver, and crystal.

  Somehow, surrounded by the historic décor of Scotland, she felt more at home than she ever had. It was so strange to her that, for all her love of Paris, this place—so different from Paris—should feel so very much like home.

  The waiter seated her and provided a menu. She didn’t think she was ready for Scottish fare quite yet. From what she had heard, she thought it would take some getting used to. She shivered at the thought of trying haggis. Maybe someday…not now! She was pleasantly surprised to see that the chef offered a variety of international cuisine. Able to order a meal that she thought would sooth her weary system, she just enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere.

  After she had eaten, she reached once again for her wine flute and suddenly became aware that someone was staring at her. It started out as it usually did, first just the awareness that she wasn’t alone, then the itch under the skin that told her she was being watched.

  When she finally dared look up, there he was—dark, brooding, scowling at her with those deep blue eyes—one brow raised as if he was surprised by what he saw. He didn’t approach her, but signed for his meal, rose, and—after giving her one more hot, glaring look—abruptly left the room. He moved like the sleek black panther she had seen at the Paris zoo, she thought.

  It was a good thing she had already eaten. Seeing him had unnerved her completely. Her stomach was clutching, her knees were shaking. Blair, she thought to herself—no, Blair…start getting used to it—Rachel, get a grip on yourself. Get back to your room and figure out what has you so shaken. Just get to your room! She motioned for the waiter, signed her tab and shot out of the restaurant as fast as her shaking knees would take her.

  She made no stops, and went straight to her room where she almost slammed the door behind her and stood there leaning against it until her system leveled. What is he doing here? No, surely he could not be the same man she saw at Roddy’s funeral. Just as quickly as she thought it, she knew she was wrong. How many dark, handsome, brooding men with gorgeous blue eyes—and that mouth—could cross her path? She didn’t know what it meant, that she would run into him in Paris and now here in Edinburgh. Who is he? She was very afraid she was going to find out, and she wasn’t going to like it.

  ***

  She had caught him completely by surprise. What the hell was she doing here and why now? He walked into the bedroom and unfastened the tie he had had to suffer with throughout dinner. Then he drew out the sapphire links at his wrists and tossed them onto the antique dresser. He was disconcerted that she crept back into his mind. He raked his long fingers through his thick black hair in frustration.

  Now that the so-called uncle was dead, he had thought she would give up on the scam, or whatever it was that they had planned. He was glad his contacts had gotten word to him of the old man’s sudden death so that he could get a close look at her during the funeral, without having to actually meet her. His reaction to seeing her had surprised him, but then he did appreciate beauty. And God knew she was a beauty. But he had thought it was over and he would never have to deal with her.

  Finally able to collapse onto the feather bed, he closed his eyes and damned if he didn’t dream of her. He awoke in the morning feeling drained and aching with a reminder of the dreams.

  **************************

  Chapter 20: Alexandre To The Rescue

  Edinburgh, Scotland – July 1912

  She awoke groggy from the dream and the loss of deep sleep that came with it. Then she realized that she remembered it—at least some of it. She had been sad, so very, very sad. Then fear had gripped her heart. She was being chased by the faceless monster, and just as he was about to grab her he changed form. He was now the dark man who grabbed her so tightly she had been unable to get away. When she twisted in his grip, she had seen the dark blue eyes and the sneering mouth. As he had lowered his face to hers, she woke up shaking and damp with perspiration.

  Letting the memory sink in, she wondered why now? Why did all the fear, pain, and sense of loss in the dream stay with her now? And why had the man inserted himself into her dark fantasy?

  As always, Blair put everything she had into pushing aside the mood invariably caused by the dream. She took her time preparing for her day. First a nice long soak in that marvelous tub which brought memories of her apartment and Mssr. LeGard. How she hoped he was well. She missed him terribly. By now he would have realized that she was not just on vacation. He must be so worried about her. There was nothing she could do to ease his mind. She refused to drag him into the nightmare.

  She climbed out of the big marble tub and wrapped the thick, luxurious towels around her hair and body. Then she moved to
the closet where she selected the silk blouse and the tailored slacks she had bought at the little shop across from the hotel. It had cost a fortune, but it seemed she didn’t have to worry about that any longer. It still felt like a dream.

  She took extra time with her hair and make-up, dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast. She would indulge in having some coffee which she usually avoided due to its effect on her nerves. Today, she thought, she was going to need to be wide awake. She would be making plans to go to the village that was part of the McDonnough estate. She would meet the people of the village to find out what she could about the old Laird as well as the new.

  She entered the restaurant, was seated, and put all her concentration on the menu.

  “Mademoiselle?” The voice was deep, thickly accented with French, and had her system unnerved immediately.

  Startled, she looked up from her menu. That face, those blue eyes, that mouth…she was looking into the face of the mysterious man.

  “Oui?” she responded automatically. Even with the single word of response, she recognized that her voice was shaky.

  “Do you prefer to converse in French or English?” he asked.

  “English is fine, Monsieur.” She held out her hand which he raised to his mouth for a polite touch of his lips to her knuckles. The shock struck her immediately. Her whole system was vibrating. I must stay away from the coffee, she thought to herself. She took note of his hand, its wide palm and long, slender fingers. His were beautiful hands. She wondered if he played the piano. He certainly had the hands for it, and one of them had yet to release her own.

  “Let me introduce myself. I am Alexandre Maigny, from Bretagne. We seem to keep running into one another, and I thought perhaps we should meet,” he explained. Realizing he still had her hand captured in his and had been rubbing his thumb across her knuckles, he quickly released it.

  Thinking that he sounded friendlier than he looked, she wondered if he ever smiled with that marvelous mouth. Feeling herself start to blush, she hesitated just slightly as she remembered her need for secrecy, “Rachel Wallace. Please, Mssr. Maigny, join me,” she invited. Why she did so, she couldn’t say. Everything in her told her she should get away from him.