Elusive

by Linda Rae Blair

  Some fools would gamble everything on the prince, but Macrath was determined to protect all that was his. As the years preceding 1746 wore on, Macrath secretly rode to Edinburgh where he made his feelings known to those who could protect him. If the prince ever made an attempt to return to Scotland to reclaim the crowns of Scotland, Ireland, and England, it would be reported that Macrath was not a Jacobite.

  Let his father hang—Macrath McDonnough would not tie himself to a loser! If Mordag wished to fight alongside the other Jacobites, let him. Macrath would not join those forces. If Mordag didn’t get killed in battle, the Crown would see him dead for his treachery. With his own feigned loyalty to the Crown clearly defined in the eyes of his supporters, Macrath sat back and waited.

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  Chapter 22: We Meet Again

  Donnach, Scotland – July 1912

  When Alexandre arrived at the castle, he was taken to the Laird’s Suite. He had hesitated to move into that particular suite of rooms, but his dear mother had insisted. As Laird, it was his now and should be used by him, he had been told. He didn’t know where his mother got her strength, but he had seen her in a whole new light over the last few weeks. He had always admired her, but now she simply amazed him.

  He walked into the suite and the memories flooded him. The sadness became a physical reality in the form of a lump in his throat and tears threatened to fall. Despite the fact that his parents’ personal effects had been removed from the dressers and armoire, his father was everywhere here. He had yet to allow himself to fully grieve the loss of his father. There was so much to be done. Now was not the time, he thought.

  He forced himself to put away the sentiments and try, once again, to accept the loss—as difficult as it was, he had to do it. Making an effort to look at the suite dispassionately, it was a tad dreary for his taste, but he could certainly change everything to suit him later.

  He smiled as he recognized his mother’s humor. She had left behind what she knew would affect him the most. Well, all the damned gargoyles his father had been so fond of would have to go, he thought, grinning.

  Slipping easily into a memory he hadn’t thought of in years, he’d never been comfortable with their sneering little faces hiding there in the dark. He could remember crawling into bed with his parents during a storm. Already frightened by the lightening, its illumination of the little grimacing creatures had frightened him half to death.

  He smiled again as he remembered his parents holding onto him in the dark to ease his fears, his mother singing softly to him until his fears subsided and he slipped into sleep. The memory brought him a degree of peace and the lump in his throat lessened its grip ever so slightly.

  There stood the custom-made, four-poster bed he remembered from their home in France. In the tall headboard, the dragon, the symbol of Celtic fertility, was carved. Its wings were spread as it breathed its fiery breath and spanned the full ten-feet of the bed’s width. Ironically, only this one son had resulted from their many years of nights in this bed.

  His arm was feeling almost normal, so he required no additional treatment. There was still some pain, but as long as he didn’t overuse it, he was alright. He reached for a fresh shirt which a servant had already unpacked for him. Thinking of her, he slammed the armoire door shut. She had snuck out of the hotel without telling him she was leaving.

  Obviously, he reasoned, she was off somewhere working on another scam. Then he was hit with sadness. When had he gotten fond of her? When had he started looking forward to seeing her when she came to check on him? Well, she was gone now. Whatever she was up to, it no longer mattered—except, apparently, to him.

  Feeling wound up and much too restless to sit still, he took a car, left the castle and headed into the village. He parked and then strolled around town enjoying seeing the people—his people—and their enterprises. There was a sound of joyful singing coming from a little pub as he strolled by. People were eating their noon meal at a little café. Then he spotted the bookstore and decided to go in. He wanted to be around people right now, but he didn’t want to get into any conversations quite yet.

  The bell on the door rang as he entered. The clerk was a round-faced lassie with spectacles sitting on a pert, freckled nose. That nose peeked out from under a head of curly, brown hair that shone of red in the light from the window. She looked up and smiled broadly. “Welcome, Sir. May I help you?” She knew this was the new Laird but she didn’t want to embarrass herself or him by making a to-do about it. She all but drooled—he was even more handsome than she remembered.

  “Thank you, no. I’d really like to browse. You have a lovely shop here,” he said, as he rubbed his index finger over the row of leather and clothbound books. “Lovely indeed,” he said, more to himself than to the clerk as he found a rare copy of Burns complete with a red leather binding.

  He felt her first, smelled the faint fragrance she wore, before he saw or heard her. She turned the corner of the bookshelves where he stood frozen in place.

  “Alexandre?”

  “Rachel? What are you doing here?” he asked. “More holiday?” he added with mockery in his voice.

  “Are you angry with me?” she asked.

  “Should I be?” he answered in a mocking tone.

  “I know of no reason you might have.” The nerve of the man! He’d had no use for her, now he acts wounded for some reason. “You needed no further treatment. I had served my purpose and decided it was time to continue my journey. Surely you are not angry that I did so? You barely spoke to me for days!”

  “Again, I ask—why would I be angry?” he countered.

  “Indeed, I do not know why you should! Since you did not need any more help with your arm, there was nothing more between us. I am a free person to do as I please! Why should you be upset with me?” Her temper was now in full bloom.

  “Nothing more…” he stopped himself. Perhaps he should retreat, and start again, he thought. He gritted his teeth and countered more calmly, “I was simply disappointed that you didn’t stop by to say goodbye. Of course, you are free to go when and where you choose. I would just have liked to take you to dinner before you left. You were very kind to me.” Get angry with that, woman, he thought to himself. It shouldn’t have surprised him when she did just that!

  “Kind to you? You saved my life, Alex! Kind to you? I would have done anything to repay you! There is no way I can ever repay you, but…” lowering her voice which she now realized was bordering on shrill, she continued more calmly, “Every time we were together, we fought—just as we are now, I might add.” Gritting her teeth to maintain some slim degree of control over her temper, she said, “I prefer spending my time with those who are less combative, thank you very much!” She put down the book she had been perusing when he arrived and slammed out the door.

  “Damn the woman,” he snarled, and shot out the door after her. She was the most irritating female he had ever had the misfortune to meet. And, damn it, they hadn’t fought every time they were together. No, by God, they had not!

  The clerk in the bookstore just stood there with her mouth open. She would have a very interesting story to share with her mother that night.

  His stride was one to her two, so it didn’t take him much effort to catch her, even though she had a real head of steam going. “Rachel!” She ignored him. “Damn it Rachel, stop!” he said, as he grabbed her with his bad arm. He sucked in his breath as the pain shot up to his shoulder, and his face flushed as he cursed colorfully.

  Hearing the pain in his voice, she stopped and spun around and saw the grimace on his now very pale face. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, damn it, I’m fine.”He took a deep breath trying to wait out the pain. “Just put a little too much pressure on the arm,” he winced.

  “Well, that’s what you get for trying to strong arm me,” she pouted and turned to walk away.

  “Strong…” Damn it all, he thought as she strode away. “Rachel, please!” he
called after her. He saw her stop, then turn to face toward him. “Please, Rachel. Let me take you to dinner, and let’s try to spend a few moments in each other’s company without snarling at each other.”

  “Why?” she said, crossing her arms in front of her she shot out a shapely hip.

  He recognized the now-familiar challenge. He’d seen it when she threatened him with a big needle in the hospital and a couple of times when he had snarled at her about soup vs. steak while he was recuperating.

  “Why?” he asked, trying his damnedest not to smile. When she simply stood there waiting, he took his life in his own hands and gave her the only reasons he was willing to admit. He cleared his dry throat and dove in.

  “Well…I enjoy our conversations—when we’re not yelling at each other that is,” he was grinning at her now. “I think you are uncommonly beautiful!” He thought the fire in her eyes might have tamped down just a wee bit with that one. “I enjoy having you around…” Uh oh, he realized he was losing ground when he saw the expression on her face, and he shut up immediately.

  “Well, aren’t you full of yourself,” she huffed. When he continued to just stand there grinning at her, she sighed deeply. “Alright, then. Dinner it is. I am at Fergus House. You may pick me up at seven.” She turned on her heel and just left him standing there in the street.

  He watched her walk away and, feeling just a little perverse, he shouted after her, “Would six-thirty be alright?”

  “Seven or not at all, Alex,” she shouted without turning back to him and kept walking away.

  He realized as he watched her storming away from him, that she was even more beautiful when her color was up and she was ripping into him. Grinning to himself, he turned and walked back to his car. She had called him Alex!

  ***

  If he was going to show up at all, he would be here any minute. She had just finally decided which of her new outfits she should wear to dinner with an overbearing beast of a man. Her bed was strewn with her discards. She couldn’t imagine why she had agreed to this. Fastening the last button on the silk blouse, she heard him knock on her door.

  He was almost struck dumb when she answered the door. The deep, rich blue silk she wore turned her already beautiful complexion to peaches and cream. Her hair was curled high on top of her head, her mouth—that gorgeous mouth—was in a pout. He thought angels must look like this.

  She stood there looking at him. He was in full Scottish garb. The kilt, the sporran made, she thought, of horse hair; the stockings and black leather ghillie brogues, the black dirk at his side, the raven black hair streaming behind him under the feathered tam—the whole Scottish garb. He was the most stunning sight she had ever seen.

  He just stood there staring at her.

  She came to her senses first. “Well? Are you going to say anything?” she asked.

  Instead, he just lifted her chin with his finger and lowered his mouth to hers. He heard the little sound she made as he took the kiss deeper and then pulled himself back and away from her. Once he saw her relax, he released her and stood before her smiling. “I think that says it all. Are you ready to go?”

  She could not focus her mind on what he was saying. Thankfully he didn’t wait for an answer but grabbed her handbag from the table next to the door, turned her around, and escorted her out of her room.

  With a quick glimpse of her room, he gently led her out. Alexandre wondered at the heap of clothes on the bed. He hoped the inn had good maid service.

  “Where are we going?” she was finally able to ask.

  “I have a very exclusive place in mind,” he helped her into the big black car waiting out front and then walked around to the other door and got in himself. The driver did not need any instructions. He just drove off without a word. She assumed he had been given the destination before Alexandre picked her up.

  Moments later they were driving at a leisurely pace into the countryside in the open car, and then they came to a clearing along the loch. That’s where she got her first sight of it—the castle—Castle Donnach. Her castle! She was awestruck. It was beautiful!

  With delight, he heard her gasp of appreciation when she first laid those beautiful gray eyes on the castle. It stood at the far end of the long, narrow, stone bridge they were now crossing, along the edge of the loch.

  Blair noted how the gray stone of her walls caught the reflection of colors from the setting sun and how she glowed. Yes, Blair thought, the castle was a she—standing there beautiful, haughty, and proud surrounded by the green of the trees of the forest behind her and the deep blue of the water on three sides.

  Behind the castle was a high hill covered by dark, thick forest. She thought there must be beautiful views from the high walkway and from the narrow turret windows—or from somewhere high on that hill. Perhaps that is where the cliff is, she thought. Yes, it had to be the site of Caena and Sòlas’s cliff.

  It was everything she had ever imagined. Soon, very soon, this would be her home. But why was he bringing her here? She remained confused. He remained quiet, until she could stand it no longer. “Alex, what are we doing here? Isn’t this Castle Donnach?”

  “Yes, it is. This is my home now,” he said, as the car stopped in line with the front door.

  It was the most enormous door she had ever seen. It must weigh a ton, she thought. “What? Your home?”

  “Aye,” he loved the bewildered look on her face.

  “But, Alex…”

  He was starting to like the way she called him Alex when she was unnerved. Once she caught up with her nerves, he knew he would be Alexandre again. He wondered how long he could keep her using the short form. “Not now, lassie,” he interrupted her. “We’ll talk during dinner,” he said, as he held out his hand to hers and guided her into the huge foyer.

  The stone walls in the castle were nearly the same shade of gray as her eyes, he noticed. He watched as she just took it all in. The very size of the place could be intimidating, and then there were the suits of armor, the heavy beams, and the iron chandeliers.

  “Oh, Alex, it’s wonderful! It reminds me of the restaurant in the hotel. I thought it was the loveliest place I’d ever seen,” she said, as she turned in circles to observe everything. “I was wrong. This is.”

  “Well, actually I believe the restaurant was decorated to resemble the old castles,” he responded, smiling at her with those deep blue eyes. “The hotel building was from about the same era, so it suits.” He turned, looking at it from her point of view—that of someone who had never been here before. “I do have some changes in mind, but they are very superficial,” he commented. “My father and grandfather accomplished most of the modernization.”

  He noticed that she tensed up at the mention of his family. Determined to keep her just ever-so-slightly-rattled—and to avoid all arguments tonight—he took her hand, kissed her palm, and watched as the confusion moved over her face. Then he continued.

  “My grandfather added the indoor plumbing and some really lovely baths, complete with claw-footed tubs large enough for two.” He watched her blush. “My father…had electricity brought in a few years ago.”

  She heard the slight break in his voice. He was still mourning, as she was. She felt herself soften slightly. The pain of loss was something she understood all too well.

  “Come with me, Rachel. I’ll show you more of the castle.” Gripping her hand, he took her on a tour starting with the Great Hall.

  It was an enormous room that was certainly appropriately named. It had probably once been used for formal social gatherings of lords and ladies wearing their finest clothes. Perhaps even the royals had spent time here. The fireplace was so huge she could not even fathom what it would be like to have a blaze going in it. It would not be used to burn the usual fireplace logs, she was certain. It would take entire tree sections.

  Many rooms later she realized that she still had not seen it all. He took her up, up, up the stone stairs. She thought how difficult it would have been
to negotiate these stairs in the long, full skirts worn a century or more before. Just as she thought her legs were going to give out, they stepped into the turret room.

  From there he took her out to the walk that circled the castle walls between the turrets. There were ancient stone benches sitting against the low walls that kept one from strolling off of the walk and falling to the rocks below. She immediately thought of Caena and a chill went down her back.

  “Are you chilly?” he asked. “Perhaps we should go back inside.” He took her hand in his and guided her back to the top floors and then back down the stairs to the main floor. Finally things looked familiar again.

  He led her into the dining room. She was aware that her mouth dropped open and she quickly tried to hide her amazement. The table could easily have seated thirty people. The two side tables that could be used for serving were each at least twenty-feet long. The chandeliers were reflected in the highly polished wood of the tables, and there was again the lovely scent of lemon oil.

  The only two places set for this meal were at one end. They were set with the finest bone china, heavy silver table settings, and crystal stemware—all prepared for at least five courses. A bouquet of local flowers had been arranged in a huge tankard of pewter etched with Celtic designs. It was all a lovely mix of the past and present. Candlelight flickered over the settings as he guided her slowly across the huge room.

  After pushing her heavy chair toward the table for her, he sat at the table’s end with her at his right. He poured her wine. “I’ve asked the servants to give us as much privacy as possible during our meal. I hope that is alright with you?”

  “Yes. Fine” She was still awestruck. “Alex, I don’t understand. How can this be your home? I thought your name was Maigny. The castle belongs to the McDonnough family, does it not?”