Stella Cameron

by Fascination

  “Ye didna wait for me to dress ye. Ye’re supposed to let me do that. Florence told me so, and I’m sorry I didna know as much yesterday.”

  Grace doubted she would ever care to be dressed by someone else. “You need not trouble yourself to come to me in the morning.” Particularly since she could not be certain of exactly when she would be back in her room ... The now familiar heat washed her body and she looked away.

  “Och, I must or I’ll lose my place here. Florence says I should ask for a room close by yours, too.”

  “No! No, that’s not necessary.”

  “Florence says I wouldna know if aught happened to ye in the night unless I could hear ye.”

  Grace almost moaned with frustration. “You told me you like the room you were given.” A great deal had been happening in the night, and—might she be forgiven—she wasn’t certain that a great deal more might not happen on future nights.

  “I do like the room. It’s the coziest place I ever had, but—”

  “There is to be no but. I insist that you stay in the room you’ve already been given. I take it you have been told about the thefts that have taken place in the castle?”

  “Everyone’s all aflutter about it,” Mairi said. “Grumpy says heads’ll roll. She got that funny look on her face—like an evil gnome from the moors—and said she’d a good idea who the villain was.”

  “There are no evil gnomes,” Grace said severely, whilst wondering who Mrs. Moggach’s suspicions were trained upon.

  “Och, and there are, too,” Mairi said with unexpected fierceness. “Scotland is fair full o’ gnomes and beasties and fairies—and kelpies in the lochs. You’d do well not to make any o’ them angry with your disbelief, and ...” She caught Grace’s eye and her voice trailed away.

  “Did Mrs. Moggach make any suggestions about the identity of this villain?”

  “Only that it was a person or persons who’d not been long in these parts. But I dinna know who she can be speakin’ of.”

  “No,” Grace said, setting her mouth in a grim line. She had a very good idea who the old gnome referred to. “Come along.”

  Grace marched away in the direction of the dining room. Mairi followed and insisted upon serving her heavy oatcakes and cold porridge laden with butter and salt. “Ye’re a waif of a thing,” she said, chuckling. “There’s no flesh on your bones. Ye’ll need your strength for the trials that lie ahead.”

  Grace’s spoon clattered into her bowl. “Why do you say that, Mairi?”

  The girl blushed and busied herself with removing unused covers from the long, gleaming mahogany table.

  “Mairi?”

  “Och, take no notice o’ me, miss. I’m blatherin’ again. My father’s always tellin’ me to mind my tongue. Will Mrs. Wren be having breakfast soon?”

  “Mama never arises before noon. Close the door, please.” Grace was not about to miss an opportunity to pry more information from Mairi.

  When they were safely shut inside the oppressively paneled room that seemed to Grace to be large enough to hold a ball, she pulled a chair beside hers and motioned her maid to sit down.

  Mairi came slowly, reluctance weighting every step.

  “Sit,” Grace ordered. And when Mairi did so, Grace added, “Why do you say I’ll need my strength for the trials ahead? What trials?”

  “Och, ye’re not to pay me any mind.” She rocked her head. “It was just a manner o’ speakin’. Ye’re too thin.”

  Grace ignored the last comment. “I don’t believe you.”

  That resulted in a truly furious flush. “I’m sorry,” Mairi muttered. “I never was good at untruths. I only meant ye’d do well to make sure o’ your health afore ye’re married.”

  “Why?”!

  “Och, miss,” Mairi moaned.

  “Why?” Grace persisted.

  “I’ve already told ye about the babbies.”

  “Foolishness,” Grace snapped. “You’re not to listen to such nonsense and you’re not to repeat it, either.”

  “But—”

  “You are not to do so. Do you understand me?”

  Mairi nodded miserably.

  “There’s far too much gossip and mean-spirited whispering in this castle.”

  “Aye, miss. But ye shouldna be alone in that room.”

  They were back to that. “I am perfectly fine.” She knew she should have a companion, just as she knew she should not be running around in the middle of the night, seeking the company of a man ...

  He fascinated her, drew her, made her someone she did not know but whom she was unwilling to abandon.

  She had to concentrate on her reason for being at Kirkcaldy. “Mairi, tell me about the marquess.”

  “I already told ye about him.”

  When light touched Niall’s face, it carved shadows into the planes beneath his cheekbones. And it pointed out the cleft in his chin—and when he smiled, there were those grooves in his cheeks. And light made his eyes as green as ... as pale, clear, flawless emeralds . . .

  “Are ye feelin’ poorly, miss?”

  Grace jerked her face up. “Not at all. Tell me more about the marquess.”

  “Och, I dinna know. I’m sure I dinna.” When she spied Grace’s steady gaze, Mairi swallowed noisily. “Well, he’s always been quiet—accordin’ to Father, that is.”

  “Your father’s seen him?” Grace shifted forward in her chair.

  “No, no. He’s heard about him is all. There’s not a soul hereabouts as hasna heard about him.”

  “What does he look like?”

  Mairi’s pale, round eyes grew more round. Her brow furrowed.

  Grace cleared her throat. “Is he ... is he very ugly? Deformed?” She chewed her bottom lip. “Does he have any teeth?”

  “Teeth?”

  Grace flapped a hand. “Silly me. Of course he has teeth. He eats babies.”

  “Och, miss!”

  “I was joking.” She managed a little smile. “Tell me what he looks like.”

  “Och, miss.”

  Grace pursed her lips. “Don’t say that again.”

  “But I dinna know what he looks like. I doubt anybody does.”

  “That’s ... Of course someone knows what he looks like.”

  “No. No one except Mr. Innes, o’course.”

  “And—” Grace snapped her teeth together. She’d almost said, and Niall. Calum and Father Struan had told her the marquess didn’t like daylight. Perhaps that was why no one knew what he looked like. “Oh, fiddlesticks, Mairi. Don’t expect me to believe no one has any idea about the man’s appearance.”

  “He did used to go about a bit. So my father says.”

  “He did?” She was instantly alert. “Where did he go?”

  “I don’t exactly know that, either. Except that it was in London. And in Edinburgh, I think.”

  “Well then, someone will be able to tell me more.”

  “No one here, miss. If they know, they’ll not speak o’ it.”

  “That is the most outrageous thing I’ve ever heard. What can they be afraid of?”

  “Ye’ve not been told at all, have ye?” Mairi’s mouth jerked down. “Ye’re a poor, innocent lamb about to become a sacrifice.”

  Despite her resolve to be strong, Grace’s stomach plunged. “Kindly stop this nonsense and tell me what you’re talking about. In simple terms.”

  “I’ll be close by. I promise ye that.”

  Cold crawled over Grace’s skin. “I don’t understand you.”

  Mairi leaned close. “After ye’re married. I’ll be close enough to hear if ye cry out. Please say ye’ll call me if ... if he ... if ye need me.”

  “I thank you for being concerned, but there is absolutely no need for you to worry about me. And I cannot imagine why you should be worrying about something you have no true reason to expect.”

  Mairi sighed—a very long sigh. “D’ye not know the marquess was married once already?”

  Grace screwed up her eyes. “No.�
�� Her heart beat faster.

  “Well, he was. And she was verra beautiful and verra young.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  Mairi sprang to her feet. “I’ve got to away back to me work, miss. I’ll need to go now.”

  “Nonsense.” Grace caught the girl’s wrist and drew her close. “I expect it was a very long time ago that the marquess was married.”

  “Not so verra long,” Mairi muttered.

  “How long?”

  “I’m not sure. Six years, mayhap. We’re not to speak o’ it.”

  “Six years,” Grace said. “Only six? What happened? How did she die?”

  “Och, miss!”

  Grace bit back a reproach. “It’s obvious that the marquess’s first wife died. I’m simply asking you to tell me how.”

  Mairi pressed her lips together.

  “Was she ill? A fever?”

  Mairi shook her head.

  “Did she have an accident? Riding, perhaps? A fall?”

  “Someone’s got to tell ye. It might as well be me.”

  “Indeed,” Grace said while her skin continued to draw tight over her bones.

  “D’ye know about Revelation?”

  It was Grace’s turn to shake her head. “No—” She held up a finger. “Yes. When Father Struan arrived, Mr. Innes—Calum—said they should go to Revelation at once. It’s where the marquess lives.”

  “Aye. It is.”

  “Where is it exactly?”

  “Over there.” Mairi pointed west. “It faces the hills behind Kirkcaldy—on the side where there’s nothing but forests and sky t’see. They say he doesna care to look upon people at all, or the places where they live.”

  “He sounds most unpleasant,” Grace said before she could stop herself. “That is, he sounds ... private,” she finished for want of a more acceptable description.

  “They say there’s a secret chamber under Revelation.” The folds of her plain woolen skirts became of great interest to Mairi. “They say there could be a way out from below—but there’s no one who can tell ye where it is.”

  Grace digested that. “What does a secret chamber have to do with the marquess’s wife?”

  “Ye will scream if—”

  “Mairi. Tell me what you’re trying not to tell me, please.”

  Distress clouded light blue eyes. “She was there at night. In the morning there was no sign of her.”

  “The marchioness left?” Grace asked. “At night?”

  “Not by carriage. Or on horseback. And it was deep winter, so she couldna have walked.”

  “Oh.” With her heart thudding as if it intended to escape her chest, Grace pushed to the back of her chair and gripped the seat. “You think ...? They think ...?”

  “Aye,” Mairi whispered. “That’s what they think. And her bairn with her.”

  Grace raised sickened eyes to her maid’s face. “Her bairn?”

  “Her ladyship was increasin’. That night the marquess’s voice was heard, and it was a horrible thing, so they say. A howl that shook even Kirkcaldy. Like an animal with an arrow in its heart, so me father told me.”

  The thudding of her own heart beat along Grace’s veins and into her ears.

  “That night a beautiful woman who was to bear the marquess’s bairn went to her bed in her own chamber. Later the marquess was heard shouting in Revelation. The next morning the marchioness was gone, and his lordship never spoke her name again.”

  Thoroughly shaken, Grace moistened dry lips. “I am certain this is all foolish speculation.”

  “He used to go down under Revelation. They say he kept a special store o’ spirits there. He doesna go anymore. He hasna since that night. Sealed it up. And then he ordered her room locked. Something

  awful would befall anyone found in it—that’s what his lordship warned.”

  “Oh, dear,” Grace said, mostly to herself. “Oh, my. Poor woman. There has to be another explanation.”

  “If ye think o’ it, it’d make me feel less afeared.” Mairi wound her apron about her hands. “I’ll be away now.”

  “Mairi!” Grace rose as the girl reached the door. “Is there anything else I should know? Anything?”

  Mairi hesitated, her hand on the door handle. “No. No, nothin’ ... except that the last person to see her ladyship alive—apart from the marquess, that is—was her maid when she took hot chocolate to the marchioness’s room.”

  “I see.”

  “In the morning the marquess called in the maid.”

  “Yes?”

  “She was never seen again, either.”

  A small shriek escaped Grace’s throat.

  “Aye, ye’d do well to be concerned. It’ll make ye more careful. And there’s one other thing ye ought to know.”

  Grace could only stare.

  “Ye’re sleepin’ in the marchioness’s room.”

  Chapter 7

  There were times, like now, when Grace wished Mama were someone with whom she could share confidences. But here, as had always been the case, they saw each other rarely, and only when Mama chose to do so.

  Should she go to Niall tonight?

  Naturally, Mama would say no. After all, Niall could not offer what the marquess could offer.

  Not that Niall was particularly likely to offer anything at all—except companionship while she was here.

  But they did seem so admirably suited ...

  Wasn’t what she felt with him exactly what she’d hoped to eventually feel with a man, a man she would wish to marry?

  He was some sort of servant.

  Grace did not care.

  She hesitated by the door of her room.

  The pelisse robe had been the perfect answer to Grace’s dilemma. Of amber-colored velvet, the garment covered her from throat to ankle and was closed along the length of its front with sturdy hooks and eyes concealed by flat, knotted silk bows in a shade like russet autumn leaves. A narrow ruff of cream lace rested about her neck.

  A guard to keep her own errant responses trapped.

  And a shield to turn back any misguided notion Niall might have about repeating last night’s definitely questionable performance.

  She raised her chin, set her shoulders squarely, and slipped from the room she wished she need never enter again. It seemed full of silent screams. And draped about with shifting shadows.

  Paperskull. Whatever might or might not have happened in that chamber could not have left anything behind, and it certainly had nothing to do with her.

  Last night Grace had taken a wrong turn on her way to the music room and arrived late. Tonight she knew exactly where she was going.

  Her skirts brushed a suit of armor.

  Metal joints rattled.

  Tiny hairs rose along Grace’s spine.

  She drew back against the wall and looked up into the painting of a man’s narrow, sardonic face. “Very well,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Sneer at me. I am not afraid. I am not. And I think you were a greedy, self-indulgent creature. Those wet, red lips tell me so.”

  Talking to portraits? This place was fuddling her mind.

  Carrying the one small package she had still to place with her other bundles, she took several more steps and stopped again.

  Panic swelled up and she clasped her throat.

  “What should I do? What should I do? Oh, please tell me what I should do.”

  No wise voice answered.

  If she doubted that what she might share with Niall was pure, she needed no wiser voice than her own.

  But she didn’t trust herself in this.

  “Tell me to return to my room. Please. Make me go back there and close the door and never see him again. Please.”

  All she heard were the creakings and hushings

  and whisperings that had accompanied her on her previous trips through these corridors.

  But no music.

  Last night there had been music, just as on her first venture. Again it had enveloped her and lured her
on. She strained to catch the sound now, but not a note reached her. The absence increased her uncertainty. It was Niall’s music that had so helped convince her that they were alike. They both loved beauty and were not free to pursue it as they should.

  Earlier in the day she’d been determined not to go to Niall, but her fortitude had failed.

  Go to him. Explain that you were not yourself last night. Tell him you understand that you may somehow have been responsible for those marvelous ... those undoubtedly inappropriate touches. Say you do not blame him at all and beg him not to think ill of you now that you have come to your senses and are firmly resolved never to allow further moral lapses. Ask him about the stories you’ve heard—about the marquess and the marchioness and the room.

  Brushing away formless things that seemed to wind about her face and neck and pluck at her hands, Grace scurried on, faster and faster, until she could scarcely breathe. Niall could tell her what she needed to know. She would ask her questions, go to her bed, and never seek out his company again.

  Or she could decide not to marry the marquess and ask Niall to take her instead.

  Out of the question! This would be their last meeting.

  There. That was decided.

  The final flight of stairs was gained and she ran upward.

  “Good evening, Grace.”

  She had not heard the door to the gallery open. Off balance, she stumbled on the top step and would have fallen into the room—had Niall not caught her.

  Grace’s face collided with his solid chest. The next moment she found herself swept up by an exceedingly strong pair of hands at her waist, swung around, and deposited on the blue silk carpet.

  “So eager,” he said, a smile making the dimpled grooves she’d imagined so many times whilst waiting to see him again. “I’m flattered that you ran all the way to me.”

  “I did not run all the way,” she told him, gasping. “I merely tripped.” Fortunately she’d managed to keep a grip on her package.

  Before she guessed his intent, Niall pulled her into an embrace that threatened to suffocate her. His mouth covered hers, opened hers, and his tongue slipped past her teeth in that strange, mystical way it had done so last night.

  Grace forced her eyes to remain open. She would not succumb to these abandoned desires. With a great effort, she tore her face from his and pushed at him.