The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5

by Catherine Coulter

“Why ever for, my dear boy? Now, about the rowan cross. They are nasty things, you know, Aunt. I detest them. Why would you speak of them? I’m a witch, true, but the rowan cross has no effect on me.”

  Philip wondered if he wasn’t losing his wits. He wasn’t afraid now. No matter what else Serena was, she wouldn’t allow Aunt Arleth to hurt Sinjun.

  “Go away, Serena, else I’ll crown you with a rowan cross!”

  “Oh no you won’t, Aunt. You can’t hurt me and well you know it. I’ll always be too strong for you, and too good.”

  Aunt Arleth looked pale and furious, colder than the loch in January.

  Then, to Philip’s utter relief, his father strode into the room. He stopped short and frowned at his son, who was hovering on the bed next to Joan as if he were protecting her, for God’s sake. Serena was looking vague and beautiful, like a fairy princess who had mistakenly stepped into Bedlam and didn’t know what to do.

  As for Aunt Arleth, there was no expression at all on her thin face. She was looking down at her pale hands, at the age spots that dotted the backs.

  “Colin?”

  He smiled now and walked to the bed. Sinjun was awake and had her wits about her, finally. “Hello, Joan. You’re back again. I’m pleased with you.”

  “What’s a kelpie?”

  “An evil being that lives in lochs and inland lakes. He can assume different forms. He gets his power from the devil. It’s an interesting question. Why do you wish to know?”

  “I don’t know. The word just kept coming into my mind. Thank you. May I have some water?”

  It was Philip who helped her to drink. “Hello to you,” she said to him. “What’s wrong, Philip? Do I look that horrid?”

  The boy lightly touched his fingertips to her cheek. “Oh no, Sinjun, you look fine. You’re better, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. You know something? I’m hungry.” She looked at Aunt Arleth and said, “You dislike me and you wish me ill. I don’t understand you. I’ve done nothing to harm you.”

  “This is my house, missy! I will—”

  Colin said mildly, “No, Aunt Arleth. You will stay away. No more from you.” He watched her leave the room, slowly, unwillingly, and he was afraid that her mind, tenuous at best, was losing its meager hold. He turned back to hear his wife say to Philip, “Get me the pocket pistol, Philip. It’s in the pocket of my riding habit. Put it under my pillow.”

  Colin said nothing. He wanted to tell her not to be such a fool, but in truth he couldn’t be at all certain that Arleth, from some misguided notion of loyalty, hadn’t tried to hurt her.

  He said now, seeing that his son was fairly itching to get the pistol for her, “I will speak to Mrs. Seton about some invalidish dishes for you, Joan.”

  “I remember you called me Sinjun.”

  “You wouldn’t respond to your real name. I had no choice.”

  Sinjun closed her eyes. She felt beyond tired, her bones so weak she knew she couldn’t lift the small pistol even to save herself. The fever was rising and she was shivering. She wanted some more water badly.

  “Papa, you stay with Sinjun. I’ll talk to Mrs. Seton. Here’s the pistol, Sinjun. See, it’s right under your pillow.”

  Colin gave her water to drink, then sat down beside her and watched her. She felt the flat of his hand on her forehead, then heard him curse quietly.

  The heat became cold from one instant to the next and she knew that if she moved, her body would crack, just as ice would crack. She felt brittle; she knew that if she blew her breath out, she would see it, for the air was frigid in her lungs.

  “I know,” Colin said. He stripped off his clothes and climbed into bed beside her. He drew her against the length of him, pressing her even closer, trying to give her all his warmth. He felt the tremors, the convulsive shaking, and it hurt him, this pain of hers. He wanted to know many things, but now wasn’t the time.

  He held her close even when he began to sweat. When she finally slept, he still held her, his hands stroking up and down her back.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispered against her hair. “I’m so sorry.” He was very aware of her breasts pressing against his chest, her thighs against his, and her belly . . . no, he wouldn’t think of that. Oddly enough, even though he was hard, he felt more protectiveness toward her than lust. It was odd, but it was so. He wanted her well again. He wanted her yelling at him when he again took her to bed, only this time she wouldn’t mind at all when he came into her. He would see to it that she welcomed him. He wouldn’t be a clod.

  The fever broke the following day.

  Colin, more exhausted than he’d been in his life, smiled at the doctor. “I told you she’d survive. She’s tough.”

  “Most odd,” said Childress. “She’s English.”

  “What she is, sir, is my wife. She’s now a Scot.”

  That night one of the crofters came to the castle. MacPherson had stolen two cows and killed MacBain and his two sons. Colin felt such rage he shook with it.

  “MacBain’s wife said the brutes told her to tell ye that it was t’ pay fer Dingle’s life ye took.”

  “Dingle! Why, I haven’t seen that miserable lout in longer than . . .” Colin cursed soundly. “I don’t know when I last saw him. What is it, Philip? What’s wrong? Is it Joan?”

  “No, Papa, but I know all about Dingle.”

  When Colin heard the story he felt his guts knot at how close his son had come to disaster on his journey to Edinburgh. However, he managed to pat his son’s shoulder, and retreat to his tower chamber.

  He could see no hope for it. He wanted the feuding to stop. He would have to speak to MacPherson. But tell him what? That he truly couldn’t remember a thing about Fiona’s death or how he came to be unconscious by the cliff edge?

  Sinjun was sleeping fitfully. There was a strange light at the edge of her mind, a soft, very white light that was soothing and clear, yet somehow shadowy and deep, filled with meanings buried in mysteries that she wanted very much to understand. She tried to speak but knew it wouldn’t help her. She lay still, her mind and body calm, waiting. A flicker of darkness appeared in the white light, then faded only to glitter again, like candlelight flickering in a breeze. Then it seemed to grow stronger and shimmer in its own pale way. And then there was a female figure, a very ordinary young female figure, her expression good-natured, and she was all gowned in pearl-covered white material. So many pearls—never had Sinjun seen so many pearls. Surely the gown must be very heavy with all those pearls.

  Pearlin’ Jane, Sinjun thought, and smiled. She’d left the Virgin Bride to come to another ghost and now this one must needs make her acquaintance. She felt no fear at all. She’d not harmed this ghost nor had Colin. She waited.

  The pearls glittered in a light that strengthened, growing stronger and brighter until Sinjun’s eyes hurt from the intensity of the light. The pearls flashed and sparkled. The ghost did nothing at all, merely looked at her, her expression studious now, as if she didn’t know what kind of person Sinjun was and wanted to.

  “He tried to buy me off,” she said at last, and it seemed to Sinjun that her lips moved. “He did indeed, the betraying fool, with naught but a single cheap pearl, but I knew what he was about. He’d kilt me, hadn’t he? Not a brow he raised when he ran me down in his carriage, his lady love beside him, her nose in the air, like I was nothing more than a bit of trash beside the road. So I demanded enough pearls to cover my gown and then I would leave him alone.”

  That answered that question, Sinjun thought, and she thought again, But you were already dead, weren’t you?

  “Aye, dead as a mousie rotting in the wainscoting, but I took care of that demned blighter, aye, I did. Made his life a misery, I did, and his little wifey, aye, I tormented that bitch until she couldn’t bear the sight of him. I see my portrait’s gone again. Fetch it back; it goes between the two of theirs, always in the middle, between them, separating them in death as it did in life, that’s where my portrait must
hang. See that you do it. I don’t know why it was taken down. Put it back up. I will trust you to see that it stays in its rightful place.”

  “All right. Please come again whenever you wish.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t be afraid of me. ’Tis good you’re here.”

  Sinjun slept deeply now, a healing sleep, and when she awoke late the following morning, she sat up in bed and stretched. She felt wonderful.

  CHAPTER

  15

  PHILPOT OPENED THE doors and gaped. Two stylish ladies stood on the front steps, a traveling carriage with a high-nob crest on the side on the graveled drive behind them. The two magnificent bays in harness were blowing and stamping.

  There were two outriders, who had pulled their horses to stand protectively on either side of each lady. The man driving the carriage was whistling, his whip upright on his leg, looking at Philpot with ill-concealed suspicion. Damned Sassenachs, Philpot thought, insular buggers, all of them.

  The ladies themselves were in traveling gowns of the highest quality—Philpot might be the son of a Dundee baker but he knew excellence when he saw it. They were also dusty, a bit on the wrinkled side, and one lady, in a gray gown with military gold braiding on the shoulders, had red hair, not really absolutely red hair but dark red hair that wasn’t all that dark . . . . He shook his head. She also had a spot of dirt on her nose. The other one was just as pretty and just as travel-worn. She was gowned in a deep forest-green traveling gown and her chestnut hair was thick and braided atop her head with a nonsensical little bonnet perched on top. Part of the thick braid had come loose and was hanging over her shoulder. They had traveled quickly. Philpot wondered how far they’d come in how short a time.

  The lady with the red hair that wasn’t really all that red, just sort of red, stepped up, a wide smile on her face. ‘This is Vere Castle, home of the earl of Ashburnham?”

  “Aye, my lady. Might I inquire as to who you—”

  There was a shriek from behind him and Philpot paled hearing the countess. Oh Gawd, had she fainted? He whirled about as quickly as his age and dignity permitted. She was leaning against a decorative suit of Elizabethan armor just behind him, pale as could be, staring at the two ladies.

  “Alex? Sophie? Is that really you?”

  The lady in green rushed forward. “Are you all right, Sinjun? Oh, please, my dear, tell me you’re all right? We were so dreadfully worried about you.”

  “I think I am now, Sophie. But why are you here? Are Douglas and Ryder outside? Why—”

  “You have been ill! I knew it. No matter now, Sinjun, Sophie and I are here to see that everything will be all right. You’re not to worry about anything anymore.”

  The two ladies had swept past Philpot as they spoke, and quickly converged on the sickly countess and took turns hugging her and patting her pale cheeks and telling her how much they’d missed her.

  Finally, after all the affections had been duly dispensed, Sinjun introduced them to Philpot, then said, “Do you know where the laird is?”

  “Ye shouldn’t be out of yer bed, m’lady,” he said, sounding as disapproving as a bishop.

  “Don’t scold me, Philpot. I was sinking like a dead stone into the feather tick. Had I remained abed any longer I would have smothered myself. But you’re right, I’m feeling a bit shaky. I’ll sit down in just a moment. Please send for the laird. Tell him we have guests, my sisters-in-law, to be exact. We’ll all be in the drawing room. Alex, Sophie, come with me.”

  Her ladyship tried to lead the way, but she faltered. Philpot jumped forward, but the two ladies were quicker. They all but carried her into the drawing room.

  Sinjun was settled on the sofa, her feet put up, a cushion beneath them, another pillow behind her head.

  “Are you warm enough, love?”

  “Oh yes, Alex, I’m just fine, though I am much enjoying seeing the both of you hovering. Ah, you’re really here, it’s wonderful. I can’t believe it. How?”

  Alex looked at Sophie, then said simply, “The Virgin Bride sent us. She said you were ill.”

  “Douglas and Ryder?”

  Sophie gave an elaborate shrug and didn’t look one whit guilty. “Douglas was easy. He’s in London, so Alex just left Northcliffe Hall to come visit me, bringing the twins with her. Ryder, however, presented more of a strategic difficulty. We had to wait until he went to the Ascot races with Tony, a three-day outing, thank heaven. I pleaded an indisposition, as did Alex. Then we left, simple as that.” She paused a moment, then said, “I believe Ryder thinks I’m pregnant. He was giving me all these male possessive looks and tender pats on my stomach. It was difficult not to laugh. I wanted to ask him if he thought being with child was catching—since Alex is pregnant, you see.”

  Sinjun groaned. ‘They’ll come,” she said. “They’ll come and try to kill Colin again.”

  “Again?” This from both Alex and Sophie together.

  Sinjun groaned again, leaned her head back against the cushion, and said, “Yes, again. Alex knows about the first time. She herself coshed Douglas with a walking stick to help me break up their scuffle. There were two other times as well, both here in Scotland. Did you bring the boys?”

  “No,” Alex said. “Directress Jane of Brandon House is free to enjoy all three of them whilst we’re gone. That is the title she selected, you know. She insists upon it whenever I introduce her to someone. The twins feel like they’ve arrived in heaven when they get there, what with Grayson and all the Beloved Ones. That’s a total of fourteen children right now. But who knows—Ryder just might bring home another child from Ascot.”

  “Lucky Jane!”

  “Oh yes,” Sophie said serenely. “She is indeed. Grayson would kill any number of dragons for Jane. As for Alex’s twins, Melissande will doubtless visit them nearly every day, since they look like her. She calls them her little mirrors. It very nearly renders Douglas incoherent with nausea. He will look at the boys, shake his head, gaze heavenward, and wonder aloud what he did to deserve the two most handsome male children in the world, which will undoubtedly ruin their characters and make them insufferable.”

  “Sit down, both of you. Now, my head is awhirl. The Virgin Bride came to you, Alex? She told you I was ill?”

  Before she could answer, the door opened and Mrs. Seton, bearing a large silver tray, her dark eyes nearly crossed in her excitement, came into the drawing room. To a stranger she would have looked stiff and proper as a duchess, only Sinjun wasn’t fooled for a minute.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Seton,” she said formally, maintaining Mrs. Seton’s pose. “These two ladies are here to visit us awhile. They are my sisters-in-law, the countess of Northcliffe and Mrs. Ryder Sherbrooke.”

  “Charmed, my ladies,” Mrs. Seton said, and gave them a curtsy that would have done justice to the Queen’s drawing room. She lacked but a feather in her hair.

  “I shall prepare Queen Mary’s room and the Autumn Room,” she added with more ceremony than Sinjun’s mother would have deemed appropriate, and proffered another quite impressive curtsy. “The footmen are seeing to your valises. Emma will unpack for you.”

  “You are very kind, Mrs. Seton. Thank you.”

  “This is the laird’s castle, my lady. Everything is done properly here.”

  “Yes, certainly,” Sinjun said, and watched Mrs. Seton take herself out of the room. “Phew! I never knew Mrs. Seton had quite so much . . .”

  “I don’t know the word, either, but it was impressive,” Alex said.

  “Also we only have one footman, Rory, and he does everything in addition to any footing. However, Emma is an excellent girl and it is she who will take care of you. Now, back to the Virgin Bride.”

  Before Alex could say anything, the drawing room door opened again and Colin strode into the room like the master of his castle, looking at once belligerent and wary. He saw only two young ladies seated beside his wife, cups of tea in their elegant, albeit somewhat wrinkled, gloved hands. The one he recognized as Douglas’s wi
fe. Oh Lord, the bounder had to be here somewhere. He craned to see the rest of the room.

  “Where are they? Are they armed this time? Pistols or foils? Are they hiding behind the sofa, Joan?”

  Sinjun laughed, a weak laugh, but it made him smile.

  “Good lord,” Sophie said, and stared at her sister-in-law’s husband. “You look like a bandit!”

  Indeed, if a bandit were wearing naught but a white flowing shirt, unlaced at the top to show some of his hairy chest, and tight black knit breeches and black boots, his black hair windblown, his face tanned from the summer sun, then Colin was a bandit. Sophie happened to look at Sinjun. Her sister-in-law was staring at her husband with such wistful besottedness that it made Sophie lower her gaze.

  Colin looked at his wife then, saw her pallor, and frowned. He strode to her, leaned down, and lightly pressed his palm to her forehead. “No fever, thank God. How are you? Why are you downstairs? Philpot was more concerned about telling me that you’d been tottering about than he was about our visitors. Welcome, ladies. Now, Joan, what the devil are you doing downstairs?”

  “I was growing mold in bed,” she said, and raised her hand to touch his jaw, the cleft in his chin. “I couldn’t bear it any longer. Please, I’m fine, Colin. These are my sisters-in-law. You know Alex already. This is Sophie, Ryder’s wife.”

  Colin was charming but cautious. “Ladies, a pleasure. Where are your husbands?” he asked as soon as could be, still standing, still wary.

  “They’ll be coming,” Sinjun said. “But it will take a while, I hope, because Alex and Sophie are smart.”

  “Smarter than you were, I trust,” he said. He turned to the ladies. “We arrived in my house in Edinburgh to find Douglas and Ryder already in residence, waiting to kill me. It was my manservant’s blunderbuss that saved us.”

  “And put a big black hole in the drawing room ceiling.”

  “That was a sight,” Colin said. “Actually, it still is. I haven’t yet had it repaired.”

  Alex looked very interested. “Odd that Douglas didn’t mention that. He did mention your house in Edinburgh, Colin, but no talk of violence. What was the other time they attacked you? He said nothing about another time, either.”