Legacy of the Highlands

by Harriet Schultz

  Before she could respond, Diego resumed his agitated pacing, gesturing wildly as he mumbled in Spanish. She knew him well enough to realize that the storm raging inside him would have to pass before he became rational again. She’d use the time to figure out how to respond.

  He finally crouched in front of her and once more took her hands in his. “Will was my brother. I loved him,” he whispered. “I won’t be able to live with myself if his death isn’t avenged. Can you try to understand?”

  “Yes,” her voice echoed the softness of his. “You won’t find peace until this man is dead.”

  Diego nodded and Alex watched as he slowly walked away from her. He sighed wearily, collapsed onto the bed and closed his eyes. After a few minutes he raised himself onto one elbow and patted the empty space next to him.

  “Come here, Alessandra.” It was a request, not a demand, and she didn’t hesitate. She’d stopped questioning how a certain expression in his eyes could draw her to him with the irresistible pull of gravity.

  Diego wrapped his arms around her, slid his hands down her back and held her, just held her, for a long time. He never wanted to let go of the woman whose feelings and desires were suddenly more important than his own.

  His body’s heat and the sound of his heartbeat soothed her until she abruptly broke the embrace and turned away.

  “Look at me, Alex. Please look at me.”

  She turned to face him. Her jade gaze never wavered as she met eyes as dark as espresso. She waited until he was ready to speak again.

  “I once promised that I would never do anything to hurt you and I meant it. If you ask me to call it off, I will.”

  She knew what that concession cost him and she buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Yes,” he said as he gently stroked her hair. “I don’t ever want to cause you pain.”

  Her decision was instantaneous. “This man robbed us of someone we both loved and stole Will’s future. I’ve discovered a surprising barbaric streak in myself and that part of me wants the same thing you do. He has to die. But I don’t ever want to know how Serge does it. Okay? Promise me. Never.”

  “I promise,” he murmured as he slid the robe from her shoulder and they lost themselves in the healing power of each other’s bodies.

  Chapter 34

  “It’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it, James?” Michael Graham said cheerfully as he let himself into Mackinnon’s darkened shop fifteen minutes before the scheduled 8 p.m. conference call.

  “I’m glad one of us is in fine spirits tonight, but what have you got to be so chipper about, Michael?” the old man growled. He shifted and the ancient desk chair creaked under his weight. The cramped office’s dim lighting cast shadows over Mackinnon’s face as he raised his eyes to give Graham a cursory look. He was feeling his age. He was tired of plots, fearful for his jailed son and fugitive grandson, fed up with the whole damn mess. He wanted to go back to simply blathering about Scotland’s shoddy treatment by her English rulers and let things be. Maybe he would sell his shop, buy a simple croft in the Highlands, and live out the rest of his days in peace. The idea had appeal.

  “Are you daydreaming man or are you hammered again?” demanded Michael irritably.

  “I’ve had nary a drop since you left. I’m tired is all. You’ll remember I had little sleep last night what with your Mairi’s visit and then waiting outside that posh hotel for the Americans to show themselves,” said a peeved Mackinnon as he grabbed for the Bounty bar stashed in a desk drawer. He hoped the coconut and chocolate confection would provide him with enough energy for the next hour or so. Then he’d want his bed.

  “I stopped by that hotel on my way here and was told that the American that Mairi was over the moon about is still there, but his friends — the so-called Sloanes — checked out this afternoon, likely right before they came to see you,” said Graham. “I tried to persuade Mairi to pop by to question this Steve Spencer, or whoever the hell he is, but my daughter is sulking and wants nothing to do with the man, the stubborn bitch. Just like her mother, she is,” he snarled.

  “How can you call your own daughter and wife such names, Michael?”

  “I can if I wish to. They’re mine. But that’s no matter,” he replied, then picked up where he’d left off. “The desk clerk told me he offered to book a hotel for the handsome American couple at their next destination, but they had no idea where they were off to. I should have dropped everything and found a way to pick up their trail. Or, once we knew their identity, one of us should have been watching them. Now we don’t know where they are or what they intend to do.” Graham restlessly roamed the office, pausing only long enough to study the photos of Alex and Diego as if their images might reveal their whereabouts.

  “Aye, well, that’s not good, is it?” Mackinnon frowned as he waited for Graham to continue.

  “No, it’s not, James. This Navarro or bastard son of John Cameron — I don’t care what he calls himself — must be taken care of and soon. From what you said of his visit, he has the determination and money to do us great harm. We need to find him, but damned if I know how to do that,” Graham snarled as he stomped from one side of the small office to the other. “ Christ, man, how can you work in here? I feel like I’m in a cage. I’ll be out front.”

  “Wait a minute, Michael. Shall I see if the others are ready?” Graham checked his watch, saw that it was two minutes before eight and nodded, his fingers twitching impatiently as he turned his back on the old man and strode into the business’s retail space.

  Mackinnon punched in the first number. “Is that you Ian? Hold while I bring John and Duncan aboard.” Mackinnon continued to press numbers, impressed, despite himself, with the easy efficiency of British Telephone’s conferencing set up. Of course it was a Scot, Alexander Graham Bell, who’d invented the telephone in the first place, so obviously the thing was brilliant.

  “Good evening gentlemen,” said Graham as he lifted the extension and took charge of the meeting. “We have a problem, a big one and I’ll come straight to it. Will Cameron wasn’t the traitor Cameron’s only son.”

  A chorus of gasps, exclamations and a couple of curses met the revelation that Graham delivered so dispassionately. He ignored their reaction and continued before he was bombarded with questions. “We’ve learned that Cameron also fathered a bastard, a man named Diego Navarro, who showed up in James’ shop today and threatened him. The dead mans’s widow was with him and this Navarro hinted that he knew who killed his brother. He also left behind proof that he is precisely who he claims to be. We must decide how to proceed and it must be done quickly. I want to hear what each of you thinks we should do. John Malcolm? What say you?”

  “Blast it to hell is what I say,” responded John. “I knew things had gone too smoothly. I’m not one to cry over spilt milk, but if ye recall I argued against this murder. It was just a matter of time before this came back to bite us in the arse.”

  “I didn’t ask for a bloody lecture!” Graham snapped. He didn’t want the others to know how unnerved he was by Diego’s sudden presence, but his irritated response spoke for itself.

  “Aye, well…let’s see. How we proceed is not a simple question, Michael, is it?” stalled John. “When we met at Elgin Cathedral after the deed was done, James told us that Will Cameron had a formidable friend who we should fear more than the dead lad’s father. It’s this Diego Navarro isn’t it?”

  “Aye, ‘tis,” replied Mackinnon.

  “If this man already told the police about us, we’d have been rounded up by now,” Duncan Buchanan chimed in. He patted the gun at his side to reassure himself of its presence. “That tells me that he will do whatever he has in mind without involving the law. Did you get the impression, James, that he’s capable of violence?”

  “Violence of the very worst kind. I felt like I was looking into the face of Satan himself. This man would like nothing better than to dance a jig on my grave, on all of o
ur graves,” said Mackinnon who shivered as he recalled Diego’s threat to watch with pleasure as one by one they were drawn and quartered.

  Ian interrupted. “How can one man, however mighty he may be, do anything to five men — six if we count young Jamie. Be reasonable, man! We’re scattered in different parts of the country. I can’t believe he knows who all of us are. We’ve been too careful. I say he’s bluffing and we should go on as we were, as if nothing is amiss.”

  “Ian’s right. One man and the Cameron woman pose no danger to us...unless they go to the law with their suspicions,” added John Malcolm. “Might they have accomplices here?”

  “They may. My Mairi recently met an American businessman here in Inverness. When she saw him with Navarro and the Cameron woman, he used phony names when he introduced them to the girl. Why would someone do that unless he isn’t who he says he is and is up to no good? Answer me that, will you,” said Graham.

  “We need to discover what he means to do so we can protect ourselves,” added John.

  “I agree. I’ll have a chat with this American — Steve Spencer is the name he goes by — and persuade him to tell me how he’s connected to Navarro,” said Graham.

  “And what makes you think he would he talk to you?” asked Ian.

  “He may not want to, but he will…he will,” said Graham confidently as he lifted his pants leg to reveal the dagger sheathed above his ankle. “I don’t believe there’s any immediate danger to us, but we must stay alert. If you’ve a weapon in your home, even a knife, keep it handy. We’ll do another call like this at 7 a.m. tomorrow and I’ll want your ideas. By then I’ll have had my talk with Mairi’s American.”

  Duncan had more to worry about than the others and wasn’t ready to ring off. “Since mine is a safe house, I’m responsible for young Jamie. He’s off camping for a few days. Shall I warn him?”

  “Let the lad be for now,” Michael Graham ordered. “If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know.”

  As soon as he heard Graham boast that he had ways to persuade “Steve Spencer” to talk, Serge coolly gathered the few things he hadn’t already loaded in his car. He’d planned to leave for the coast in the morning, but couldn’t allow Michael Graham to find him when he came to the hotel to question Mairi’s “friend.” He was fond of the girl and the generous way she’d shared her luscious body with him, and he didn’t want to be forced to kill her father. Mairi would suffer enough when her friend Jamie vanished and her father was arrested.

  He had names, dates, addresses — everything the British authorities would need to round up these men and charge them with conspiracy or worse. And he knew just where to find this Jamie Mackinnon. Serge methodically checked the room one last time, then left the hotel through a side door, his immediate objective to get to the murderer’s campsite before the young man was ordered to move on. He checked his watch — 9 p.m. If he made it to the coast by 1 a.m., he’d have adequate time to scope out the cliffs. He’d then backtrack to Boddam village where he expected to easily find the condemned man asleep on the beach. Nice of the fools to unwittingly provide him with that bit of information and save him a search. He wasn’t worried that the conspirators had been warned to remain alert and arm themselves. He’d dealt with much worse.

  Michael Graham stormed into the Palace Hotel and took the stairs two at a time to reach the second floor suite occupied by his daughter’s American friend. He would have bet his youngest child’s life that Steve Spencer wasn’t who he pretended to be, so sure was he that the man was a fraud and involved somehow with Cameron’s illegitimate son. He reluctantly admired the whoreson’s nerve to first work his charm on Mairi and then to have the ballocks to come to their house to sit at his family’s table and eat his food! He wouldn’t hesitate to use his knife if that’s what it took to learn the man’s true identity and intentions. And if it turned out that Steve Spencer was exactly who he claimed to be, Michael vowed to beat him bloody anyway for playing fast and loose with his Mairi.

  “Room service,” Michael announced. No answer. His knock became more insistent. Silence. When he cautiously tried the door, he found it unlocked. He opened it just wide enough to peek inside and saw the vacant room of someone who hasn’t simply gone out, but who has left for good.

  “Damn it to hell,” Michael muttered and tore downstairs to the lobby. He shoved startled guests aside as he cornered the hotel clerk who’d fed him information before.

  “The man in 218, is he gone?”

  The flustered clerk tapped his computer keys with trembling fingers. “Mr. Spencer hasn’t checked out. His last instructions were that he wasn’t to be disturbed, but that was this afternoon.”

  Graham’s heart began to pound as if he’d just run a race. Something beyond his control was happening and for the first time since they’d hatched the plan to punish John Cameron by killing his son, Michael Graham was scared. He needed to order the others to go to ground for a bit, starting with Duncan Buchanan who was charged with protecting young Jamie Mackinnon. If the lad was caught and talked...well, they’d all be dead. Once he did his bit and alerted everyone, Michael would use the phony passport and counterfeit credit cards he had at the ready to disappear without giving a second thought to the family and friends he’d leave behind.

  Few cars were making the late night journey to the coast on the pitch-dark roadway. Although the powerful V8 engine of his rented black Range Rover would have delivered whatever he asked of it, Serge fought the temptation to speed. He still made good time, arriving near the cliffs a little past midnight. Unlike many other operatives, he wasn’t superstitious, yet he considered it a good omen that a shroud of coastal fog would obscure his movements.

  He avoided the deserted car park at the base of the cliffs south of Boddam and left his vehicle behind a nearby abandoned shack where it wouldn’t arouse the curiosity of passers by, especially the law. The rocky precipices were no place for a midnight stroll and the area was most likely patrolled to prevent the kind of accident he was about to cause. He easily found the start of a narrow trail that led uphill. Several “DANGER” signs warned hikers to keep their distance from the perilous cliffs’ edge, although the roar of the surf was all the warning any sane person should need.

  Serge paused beside each marker to carefully evaluate the terrain and the drop-off as he sought the perfect spot. The coastal fog’s moisture provided an assist by turning the narrow footpath along the steep rock face’s unfenced rim to mud. He’d already lost his footing once. Luckily he’d landed on his ass and not in the water, but the fall put an exclamation mark on the need for caution. Yeah, he thought with satisfaction, the trail was slippery enough to make an accident not just believable, but inevitable. The place and conditions were better than he’d imagined. And the turbulent sea’s deafening roar as it crashed into rocky inlets below would muffle any scream the target might make should he regain consciousness before he hit the water. Assured by his reconnaissance, Serge jogged back to his car and headed north to find his prey.

  Duncan Buchanan tossed the television’s remote onto a pile of magazines a moment before he shoved the whole mess onto the floor. He patted his pocket for what seemed like the thousandth time, needing the comfort provided by the firearm he’d cleaned and loaded just that morning. He had to do something or the gnawing anxiety since that evening’s conference call with Mackinnon, Graham and the others would surely drive him out of his mind.

  Despite Michael’s orders to let Jamie be, it was only right to warn the lad that something might be amiss, that there could be trouble on the way, especially since they’d learned there was a second Cameron son — a dangerous one with blood in his eye — and he was in Scotland. Screw Michael Graham! He’d gone along with their so-called leader long enough and look where it got him. Scotland was no closer to freedom and he was an accessory to murder. Graham could take his orders and shove them up his arse. It was the middle of the night, but he would find the lad and demand that he return to the relat
ive safety of the house.

  He pulled a heavy sweater over his head, added a windbreaker and shoved his loaded gun into one of the jacket’s pockets. He was out of practice, but he’d once been a fair shot and you didn’t forget that sort of thing, did you?

  “Blast the fog,” he uttered irritably as he stepped outside and began to walk, head down, toward the beach.

  “Hello there,” came a familiar voice out of the mist. “Would that be you, Buchanan?”

  “Aye, ‘tis. And what are you doing out on a dreadful night like this MacLeod?” he replied, recognizing the voice as William MacLeod, his chattiest near neighbor. He had no time for the man’s blether, but his neighbor’s next comment froze Buchanan in his tracks.

  “I could ask the same of you and I could also ask if your mind has turned to mush. Everyone in the village, including you Duncan, knows that I get by on just a few hours sleep and that I go out walking late each night, rain or shine, winter or summer. And it’s rare that I ever see another soul about in weather like this, but you make the third tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Aye. Some laddie took sick and his mate had him over his shoulder, carrying him off the beach. Ate bad mussels, he said, and boaked his guts up. I told him to take the poor fellow to hospital as he looked to be unconscious.”

  Buchanan shuddered as free-floating anxiety gripped him in its vise. Jamie was on the beach. His was the only tent on the sand. Someone had carried Jamie off. He was sure of it. The danger was already here. He wanted to scream, but had to keep his voice calm.

  “Did you see them go? Did they drive off in a car, MacLeod?”

  “Aye. I heard an engine start and I could just make out the car — it was dark, one of those petrol-eating SUVs, a Land Rover perhaps — as they drove away. The mist made it hard to see, but I’m sure they headed south, toward Cruden Bay and the Bullers, and one would guess to hospital in Aberdeen. Why are you so worried about some stranger with a bad stomach?”