“As far as I know, he was a once-noble warrior who was called Jamie the Fearless.” The housekeeper pointed to the dates listed in the little brass plaque beneath the ornate frame. “He died in 1611. From that time on, his name was changed to Jamie the Ruthless. Cast out by the clan for killing his poor wife and causing their wee orphaned bairn to be raised by kinsmen.” Her voice lowered. “What’s more, he did that terrible, evil deed from the grave.”
“What do you mean?”
“Word came to the household of his death in battle, sending his young wife, Flora, into labor. The servants assisting her heard his voice, like a roar of thunder, causing her to cry out just as she delivered a son. Moments later they heard his voice cursing her. Some said he lifted the wee bairn into the air, while others claimed he merely lifted the wee lad’s hand, as though linking his fingers with that of his son as he passed from this world. Within minutes of the birth, Flora was dead. Those who witnessed her death swore they saw Jamie hovering over the bed, as though to assure himself that his curse was carried out. What’s more, they found his best friend and man-at-arms, Ewen, lying dead in a field of battle with Jamie’s dirk through his heart.”
Bree swallowed before saying softly, “He’s the one.”
Mrs. Logan shot her a startled look. “You mean the one haunting the gatekeeper’s cottage, causing so much destruction all these years?”
Bree nodded, afraid to trust her voice.
“You’re certain?”
She swallowed. “I am.”
“I’ve suspected as much. You mustn’t stay there alone another night, Mrs. Kerr.” The housekeeper drew close to mutter, “I’ll have Duncan prepare her ladyship’s rooms for you.”
“No, Gwynn.” Bree stood a little taller, thinking about the passion she and Jamie had shared throughout the long night. In the light of day it seemed to be nothing more than some impossible figment of her imagination. And certainly nothing she could relate to this dear woman. But it was too real to dismiss lightly.
“If he intended to hurt me, he’d have done so by now. I truly believe that as long as his curse wasn’t directed toward me, I’m safe.”
The old woman huffed out a breath. “And what if you’re wrong?”
Throughout the day, that question continued to play through Bree’s mind. What sort of mysterious, dangerous creature had captured her heart?
She’d felt so happy and carefree again while in his arms. And wildly in love. But surely she was old enough, and wise enough, to know that such feelings can blind a person to the truth.
Had she been bewitched last night? Had Jamie Kerr planted that image in her mind, just so he could take advantage of her grief and insinuate himself into her life?
But what could he possibly hope to gain by it?
He’d cursed his wife into the grave. A wife who had just given birth to his son. Could there be a greater betrayal than that?
She would certainly know a thing or two about cruel betrayals.
As she followed Gwynn down the stairs, all the joy drained from her heart. And as she went through the motions of helping the women who worked and chatted happily, she felt weary and foolish beyond consolation.
What had she done?
How could she have been so careless, so love-starved, that she would once again put her trust in a charming man who was, in fact, heartless? A man who could use that trust to betray her yet again?
Would she never learn? Was she doomed to repeat the same mistake over and over?
SEVEN
“You’re awfully quiet, Mrs. Kerr.” Gwynn studied Bree’s pale face. “You’ve been working too hard. Why don’t you take some time for yourself now?”
Though it galled her to admit defeat, Bree nodded. “Thank you, Gwynn. It’s been a long day.” She glanced down at the dust that stained her work clothes. “Maybe I’ll go back to the cottage and change.”
The housekeeper hurried away and returned minutes later with a brown paper bag. “I baked a loaf of my special bread.”
Bree inhaled the wonderful fragrance of citrus. “Mm, that smells wonderful.”
“Orange and walnut. Have a bit of it with some tea, Mrs. Kerr. It will revive your energy. My mum used to say ’tis as restorative as a nap.”
“Thank you, Gwynn.” Bree turned away and let herself out.
By the time she arrived back at the cottage, she’d worked herself into a frenzy of self-doubt and self-loathing. Jamie would expect her to fall into his arms and welcome the passion he would offer. She had no way of knowing how he would react when he discovered that she’d learned about his past and wanted nothing more to do with him.
As she opened the front door, she steeled herself for the coming confrontation.
A deceptively cozy fire burned on the hearth. From the small kitchen came the wonderful aroma of something simmering on the stove.
Bree crossed the room and lifted the lid on an ancient castiron pot to reveal a hearty beef-vegetable soup, like the one Gwynn had been preparing in the manor house for the workers. Hadn’t the older woman remarked that she suspected someone of helping themselves to the soup? Apparently that someone had been Jamie. But why? He didn’t eat.
Or had that been a lie as well?
“Here you are.” He appeared beside her and dropped a hand on her shoulder. “I saw the way you were working, and knew you’d be hungry.”
“You stole Gwynn’s soup.”
His eyes danced with mischief. “In a manner of speaking, though it’s actually my property, since I’m laird of the manor.” He glanced at the loaf in her hand. “The old biddy’s orange walnut bread?” He put a hand to his heart. “She only bakes it for special occasions. Is today your birthday?”
Bree forced herself to meet his steady look. “Not really. But you could call it my growing-up day.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” As he spoke he steered her toward the table. “Sit and talk to me while I feed you.”
“I can feed myself.”
“Humor me.”
He turned away and ladled soup into a bowl before opening the bag and cutting several thick slices of bread. He carried it to the table and set it in front of Bree.
Her hunger got the best of her, and though she’d intended to confront him immediately, she decided to wait until she was well fortified with food.
She couldn’t help sighing over the wonderful taste of it. This simple meal of soup and bread was finer than some of the meals she’d enjoyed in five-star restaurants.
Jamie sat across from her and watched, as always, with an intensity that was unsettling.
She set aside her spoon. “Why don’t you have some?”
He shrugged. “I’ve told you.”
“You said that you can’t enjoy the things of this world. What would you call the things we shared last night?”
His smile was quick and charming. “I’d call it heavenly. What would you call it, my beautiful Brianna?”
“ A lie.” She shoved aside the rest of her meal, feeling strong enough now to face the coming storm. “It was all a lovely lie, just so you could indulge your own selfish needs.”
His expression never changed. And yet, she saw something flicker in his eyes. Not anger so much as sadness. “You’re afraid, are you? And feeling betrayed?”
“Do I have a right to?”
He shook his head. “I will never betray you, Brianna.”
She looked away. “Don’t. I’ve heard it all before.”
“But not from me.”
“Why should you be any different? All men are the same. Promise whatever you need to in order to get what you want.” Before he could respond, she held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t try filling my head with your lies. I saw your portrait. And heard why you’re now called Jamie the Ruthless.”
For long moments there was no sound in the cottage except for the hiss and snap of the log on the fire. Bree watched as Jamie disappeared from view, only to reappear across the room. His figure shim
mered and faded, then grew stronger before drifting around the cottage, landing by the fire, then sailing toward the bedroom, then returning to stand before her. It was a sure sign that he was highly agitated.
“I’ve never spoken of this before to any mortal. You must bear with me as I recall it as precisely as possible, for it’s been a while since the actual deed.”
She nodded, afraid of what she was about to hear, but determined that she had to know the truth, now that she’d forced his hand.
“I was the son of a laird. The grandson of a laird. And great-grandson of a laird.” His voice rang with passion. “I was proud of my trusted position with my good people. From the time I was very young I’d been trained in the art of battle, and could handle broadsword, dirk, and longbow with ease. And from childhood on, my dearest friends were young Flora, who later became my wife, and Ewen, who became my man-at-arms. I trusted Flora with my heart, and Ewen with my life.”
He fell silent, and Bree waited, knowing there was much more to his story.
“My men and I were often gone for weeks, even months, as we drove off the barbarians who tried, without success, to steal our flocks or our women and children. And always, Ewen was beside me, and Flora was awaiting my return to our stronghold. It was the way of things until Ewen was gravely wounded in battle. Together Flora and I nursed him back to health. When next I left to fight the barbarians, I ordered him to remain behind so that his wounds could better heal. In return, I asked him to see to the safety of my wife and the other women of the village. When I returned weeks later, he was once again strong and hale and ready to resume his position as my man-at-arms. As if that news weren’t enough to flood my heart with happiness, Flora told me that she was expecting our first child. It was a time of great rejoicing.”
Bree wondered at the way her heart skipped at his news. She fought the conflicting feelings of both excitement and dread at what he would reveal.
“ As the time drew near for Flora to deliver our child, Ewen reported that barbarians had been spotted in the hills. Though I was reluctant to leave my beloved, Ewen suggested that he and I ride ahead and scout their numbers, then return to the stronghold and permit him to lead the rest of our warriors to drive them off, while I remained by Flora’s side. I agreed. When we reached the high meadow, we saw the signs of invasion everywhere. Paths in the tall grass, made by horses that were not ours. Bits of coarse cloth and animal hide clinging to the bushes that seemed strange to the eye, and obviously worn by barbarians.
“While I was looking toward the ground, studying the tracks in the heather, I felt a sharp blow from behind and was knocked from my steed. I landed with such force it snapped my arm like a twig. I looked up in surprise. Ewen was standing over me with his broadsword lifted. He admitted that these were old tracks that he’d discovered while I was off doing battle across the river. He’d tricked me into coming to this place alone in order to kill me.”
Bree sucked in a breath. “But why?”
“I asked if he wanted to be laird. He told me that he would take that honor, if the others thrust it upon him, but what he really wanted was Flora. Ewen said calmly that they had become lovers while he lay recovering in my chambers, and that even now she carried his child. I couldn’t believe that Flora, my sweet bride, would betray me. At first I was merely incredulous, but as he brought his sword down again, barely missing me, I knew that he must be speaking the truth. Why else would my dearest friend wish me dead? I knew, too, that I was in for the fight of my life. With one arm useless, and my judgment blinded by fury, I was no match for Ewen, who had spent weeks preparing himself for this day. I felt his sword pierce my chest, and as I lay in the heather I felt my life blood slowly spilling away, draining all my strength. Ewen took a weapon from his tunic, which he’d retrieved from an earlier battle with the barbarians, and dropped it beside me, leaving me there in a pool of my own blood. The weapon, he told me, would be proof that I died at the hands of an intruder to our land. And as I took what I feared was my last breath, his parting words to me were that, since the child about to be born was not mine, there would be no one left to carry my name. Clan Kerr would die with me. His words were seared into my brain and branded on my heart, fueling the last bit of energy I needed to toss my dirk, which was tucked at my waist. It found his heart. But even that small revenge was not enough for me. Though the angel of death hovered, waiting to claim me, I resisted, determined to remain on this earth long enough to see the child born of this damnable betrayal.”
“Oh, Jamie.” Feeling his pain, Bree reached a hand to him but he stepped back.
“Nay. Ye must hear it all.” He took in a deep breath, as though each word exhausted him. “I watched my bairn being born. A maid washed him and laid him in Flora’s arms. At once Flora began weeping, and she begged the maid not to show him to Ewen when he returned from the field of battle, believing as she did that her lover was still alive.”
“But why would she choose to hide the child from its father?”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Flora had lied to Ewen. The child was actually mine. She said as much to her maid. Hearing her confession, I cursed Flora so loudly, the house shook with my fury. The maids were so terrified, they all fled. And Flora, who recognized my voice, was filled with such fear and remorse, she died on the spot. Her heart simply stopped beating.”
“ And all these hundreds of years, people have believed that you killed her in a rage.”
“It matters not what others believe, Brianna. I care only that you know the truth. And the truth is this.” His voice lowered to a mere whisper. “My rage was so great, my fury so allconsuming, it became a roiling cloud, a mass of energy that refused to be extinguished. I found myself caught up in it, tossed about helplessly like debris in a raging inferno. And when it had burned to cinders, and the dust of it finally settled, I realized that I was still here, locked inside my own misery. And so it has been, for all these years.”
Bree couldn’t keep from asking. “But, Jamie, if Flora was willing to lie to you once, how do you know she didn’t lie again? How can you be certain the baby was yours?”
“I saw him.” Jamie sighed, and a strange light came into his eyes, for the moment his misery forgotten. “A strong, bonny lad. Aye, so bonny. Though Flora had thought him to be not mine, and perhaps she had hoped he was not, she knew the truth once she saw what I saw. He bore the same birthmark that has stained all the Kerr men from the beginning of time.”
He stuck out his hand and on the back of it, between thumb and index finger, Bree saw the small, port wine–colored mark that resembled a half-moon. “ ’Tis our heraldic badge since the earliest of times, when the first of our kin was born with it. It has marked each of us since then. Even some who do not bear the name, because their mothers married outside the clan, wear the mark.”
Bree nodded. “I never got to see my husband’s birthmark. He showed me where it had been, before he’d had it removed by a plastic surgeon.”
“Removed?” Jamie frowned. “Why would a man have his birthright removed?”
“Vanity. Obviously, his birthright meant little to him. Barclay saw it as a flaw.”
“ A flaw.” Jamie shook his head from side to side while muttering under his breath. He turned to fix Bree with a look. “I knew Barclay Kerr as a spoiled, willful lad when he resided here, though I chose to keep my distance from both the lad and his parents, who never came near this poor cottage, considering it beneath their station. What sort of man did this descendant of mine grow up to be?”
She sat back, willing herself to breathe. His question unsettled her. “Even now, I can’t stand to speak of him.”
“If you loved him, I should think it would soothe. If you didn’t love him, I should think speaking of him would drain some of the bitter poison that remains.”
Poison. It was the perfect term for what simmered deep inside, tainting everything with its toxin.
She took a long time before answering, and he thought at first that sh
e would resist.
“I suppose, since you’ve shared your story, it’s only fair that I share mine. It’s a tired old story, and one that has been repeated through the centuries, it seems. But each time it happens, it’s new. And horrid. And as you well know, a knife in the heart of the one who has been the object of such betrayal.”
Jamie waited as she seemed to draw inward.
Her tone went flat. “When I met Barclay Kerr, I was managing a posh hotel in Cannes. It was a long climb from my first job—cleaning rooms in my parents’ motel in our poor little town—to assuming the top post in one of the world’s most successful hotel chains. In all those years, I never had a real home.”
Jamie looked startled. “No home? I thought everyone had roots and history and a . . . forever home.”
“A forever home.” Bree could have wept at his choice of words. “That sounds so lovely. Instead, I lived in motels, hotels, and inns, doing the most menial of jobs, while spending every spare moment studying and learning and moving on. Along the way I’d met my share of sleek, sophisticated men who were also shallow and empty. I prided myself on being able to read a man’s character. Barclay was different. Or so I thought. Funny and charming and adventurous. When his friends grew bored and moved on to other playgrounds on their yachts or in their private jets, he remained behind to court me.” She gave a dry laugh. “Court me. Such an archaic term. But it suited him at the time. He was so attentive, so steady, so very persuasive. I admit that I was flattered by his lavish gifts. I loved seeing the reactions of my coworkers, who were in awe of the parade of flowers, the clever little surprises, and later the jewels and expensive trinkets that would arrive on my desk each morning to greet me. Barclay took me to dinner in lovely, out-of-the-way places. Seaside resorts and lovely villas. He showed me a way of life that I’d provided for my clients but had never personally experienced. I suppose he saw me as a challenge. One he simply had to win over. And slowly, gradually, he wore down my resistance. He asked me to give up my career and travel the world with him.” She looked down at her hands, clenching and unclenching in her lap. “I thought about the years I’d spent working to achieve my goals. And then I thought about the grand, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be with a man who loved me above all else. A man who promised me a home. A man who yearned to start a family with me. How could I weigh my career against my most precious dreams?”
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