"Is that why you're dressed so…strangely?" He nodded down her length.
For the first time Mary was aware of her jeans and her sweater. And the ring! She clenched her hand into a fist to hide it. She'd slipped it on her finger in the hallway when she'd gone to investigate the voice.
"Yes, it's French custom," she said. "Denims. Very modern."
"Aye, the French have some modern ideas." William nodded wisely. "Fetch my drink." He released her hand as suddenly as he'd taken it.
Hurrying out the door, Mary shut it behind her and leaned against it while she took a breath. She had to hurry, before William went into one of his fleeing fits where he rushed out of the castle, to be gone for hours on horseback. Before she went a step farther, though, she took the ring off her hand and put it in her pocket. Better safe than sorry, and the sight of the ring might evoke too many memories for William to safely handle.
The liquor was kept in the bar in the second parlor, and she ran there as fast as she could. There was a collection of pewter goblets along the mantle, and she grabbed the biggest of those, filled it with a bottle of stout from the bar and hurried back to the library.
William's eyes lit up at the sight of the goblet. "A pretty piece," he remarked as he took it from her. "Lovely work. Far better than I recall at Mayfair, though there are some fine craftsmen here. Where was it wrought?"
"France," Mary said swiftly. It seemed the safest answer for almost everything he asked.
"Fine work." William smelled the stout and then drank several big swallows. "Yes," he said. "Now there's a drink."
"Another?" Mary asked.
William suddenly looked toward the door as if he'd heard something. "Lisette." He put the goblet down on the table as he blindly walked toward the door. "She's waiting for me."
"William." Mary went to him and touched his arm, but he didn't notice her. It was as if she no longer existed for him.
"Lisette. I'm coming." He shook off Mary's hand and strode toward the door.
"William!" Mary ran to him and put her arms around him. "Wait. Stay here with me. It's Mary. Your Mary."
"Away, woman." William shook free of her. "I told ye there was only one woman for Slaytor MacEachern, and she waits in the thicket for me to take her. It's a kidnapping, you see." He grinned. "And a more willing victim could not be found."
"William!"
Mary started after him, following him down the hall, out through the empty kitchen and into the cold dark night of the courtyard. She knew then that he was going to the stables.
His sharp whistle cut the night, and there was the answering whinny of a horse. Blaze! Horse and master had an uncanny relationship.
An uneven stone caught Mary's foot and she stumbled, but she managed to regain her balance. When she looked up, William had disappeared into the barn. He seemed not to notice her presence, so she went in after him.
A terrible plan had begun to take shape in her mind. She knew how to saddle. Kevin had not allowed her to ride the first time until she had learned. If she hurried, she might be able to follow William. Shalimar was fast enough to keep up with Blaze. And Kevin had said the Anglo-Arab had more stamina than any horse in the stables.
But it was night, and Mary didn't know the roads the way William did. Could she honestly even attempt to ride after William, the finest horseman in an area dedicated to the horse?
Yes! At least she had to try. If she could only discover where William went, then she might be able to help him solve the why of what was happening to him.
Her bridle and saddle were hanging beside Shalimar's stall. Mary threw a pad on Shalimar's back and prayed. Even though her fingers fumbled with the girth and the buckles of the bridle, she had the mare ready to go by the time she heard Blaze's hooves on the cobblestones of the courtyard.
Shalimar shied to the right as she began to mount, and for one brief moment of terror, Mary thought she was going to be dragged under the horse's hooves. But the mare settled, and Mary sprang up and into the saddle as Kevin had taught her. She took up her reins until she could feel Shalimar's tender mouth respond to her touch, and then she urged the mare forward.
Blaze's hoofbeats sounded on the paved drive, and Mary gave Shalimar more rein and urged her into a trot. If William took the time to listen, he would hear the second horse behind him, but Mary honestly did not believe it would matter to him. He was riding toward his fate, toward an event or person who was long dead and gone. He had no time to listen to things of the present.
Low clouds swamped the moon and the stars, and Mary zipped the jacket she'd grabbed from a peg in the stables up to her chin. She found a pair of gloves in the pockets and blessed whoever had had the foresight to leave them there. Shaking her red curls loose from a barrette, she used her own hair to cover her ears from the bitter wind and wrapped the muffler that had come with the jacket as high as she could. Had William stopped for a jacket? She didn't know, but she didn't think so. He was burning with fever, but when he came out of his "fit," would he freeze to death? That thought gave her another boost of incentive to keep up.
Shalimar had extended into a mile-gobbling trot, and up ahead she could hear the rhythm of Blaze's gait, also a long trot. That bit of knowledge gave her pause. If William were going only a short distance, chances were that he would gallop. The fact that he was trotting probably meant that he intended to ride for a long period of time. As she lifted her body up and down in the saddle, feeling each sore muscle and each tender spot from the lessons and her fall, she could only pray that he didn't intend to ride all night. She knew she'd never make it.
Beneath her, Shalimar moved as smoothly as a carousel horse. Sensing that the mare could follow Blaze far better than she could follow William, Mary loosened the rein and gave Shalimar the freedom to choose the path. There were times when the clouds parted long enough to let a glimmer of light through, and then Mary could see William riding on ahead of her. They were on a trail that led through the fields and toward the woods. It entered Mary's mind that they were headed due south, toward England.
Shalimar stumbled just as the moon broke through the clouds for a brief moment. Mary saw they were no longer on a trail. They'd begun to cut cross country, and the pace slowed.
Unfamiliar with the area, Mary had lost all sense of where they were— or where they might be going. Even if she turned back now, she wasn't certain she could find her way to Mayfair. Around her the night turned thick with a low, rolling fog that began to cover the land.
"William." She spoke his name softly into the night, knowing that even if he did hear her, he would not know she was talking to him.
William apparently picked up another trail, because the going became easier and Shalimar broke into a trot on her own. Mary gave herself to the rhythm of Shalimar's stride. Unable to see, unwilling to turn back, Mary committed herself to the sensation of riding. The only way she knew there was another horse and rider in the night was the sound of iron shoe on rock as Blaze and William continued to lead.
When Shalimar suddenly stopped, Mary almost flew over the horse's head. In the nick of time, she braced herself against the mare's neck. In front of her, the sound of hoof against stone had also ceased.
The darkness was so complete that Mary could see nothing. She waited, ears straining, to hear the slightest sound up ahead. A pebble slid down a rocky slope to her right, but there was no other sound.
Dismounting, she looped Shalimar's reins over a small shrub she discovered in the darkness. Step-by-step, she moved forward, hoping for a break in the clouds and the fog. While she was riding, the night had not seemed so bitter, but now she felt the nip of the wind against her face. Her nose was frozen solid, and she pulled the muffler up to conceal as much of her face as possible.
She moved forward an inch at a time, pausing often to listen for a sound from William. She heard Blaze, snuffling and shifting on the rocky land. William was nearby; what was he doing?
Walking with her hands extended in front of h
er, she felt him before she even knew what he was. Her fingers closed on the wool of his sweater, and she gave a small gasp of success at finding him.
"I knew ye'd make it this time, Lisette," he whispered, pulling her roughly into his arms.
Before Mary could speak, she felt his lips on hers. He tasted of William, and his kiss, so ardent and intense, still retained the tenderness of William. His hands pulled her against him while his mouth claimed her for his own. Before she knew what she was doing, Mary kissed him back. For a few blissful seconds, she forgot everything except the sensations he created in her with a single kiss.
"I knew ye'd come. I've waited here, night after night. When I saw the sky was thick and black, I knew you'd pick tonight. If only I could see you," William whispered when he lifted his lips from hers. "Where is your woman and your things?"
Awareness came back in sharp degrees for Mary. William was waiting for an answer to a question she didn't fully understand. The man holding her in his arms was William, but it was not. And he had assumed she was someone else. If the moon did suddenly find a hole in the clouds, he'd see that she wasn't the woman he thought she was. He was waiting for her answer.
"I came alone, with nothing," she said at last, her voice weighted with uneasiness.
"Lisette! There are men willing to run you through, or worse." William's voice was hoarse with disapproval. "Ye came alone?"
"I had no choice, Wil— If I was to come at all, I had to come alone." She spoke with more authority.
"I would not have ye risk yourself like that again," he admonished, but his chiding was overlaid with the roughness of his desire for her.
She could not let him kiss her again, for she couldn't be certain she could control her response. She loved him, completely. But more than anything, she had to find a way to help him. Searching for a safe subject, she hit upon the weather.
"It's a bitter night." She could feel herself slipping back into the less modern phrasing. She could never sound like William, with his brogue thickened to the point that sometimes she found it difficult to understand him. But the few times she'd spoken to him, the old expressions and phrases came back to her easily. Fear lurched through her stomach. Good God, what was happening to her? To them?
"Does something ail you?" William asked suddenly.
"No. I'm tired from the ride."
"A bonny lass like yourself, tired from an adventure in the night." William squeezed her. "Am I not worth a bit of an effort, Lisette?"
"You are, indeed," Mary answered. William would never know the irony of this moment.
"'Tis only a short ride back to Mayfair." William's voice rang with pride. "I've a room prepared, and it shall be as you asked. We'll say you are my prisoner." He pulled her against him and kissed the top of her head. "A prisoner by day, my own true love while the moon reigns."
Mary leaned against him, wondering about the man Slaytor MacEachern and his kidnapped bride. Whatever part of history William was playing out, it didn't seem as if Lisette were an unwilling victim. She'd met him halfway, at least, for her own kidnapping.
"Do you think this plan will work, Lisette? If your father firmly believes you've been taken against your will, then he will forgive you if you marry me?"
Mary couldn't think of an answer. She allowed William to assist her back to where Blaze remained, perfectly willing to stand and wait for his beloved master.
"I judge by your silence that you are not sure." William sighed. "Would that there was another way, my love. But he'll never give his permission for us to wed. Not willingly. Not even Mayfair could make him change his mind about me."
"Let us forget the future." Mary could hear the quiver in her own voice. What was she saying? Had she gone completely mad trying to delve into some historical hallucination that William was having? Psychosis could be extremely dangerous, to the person and to everyone around him. By encouraging William, she might do permanent damage. Yet it was the only way Mary could obtain enough information to try to help him.
"You're right." He pulled her to him with such force that she felt her feet leave the ground. But his strong arms held her safely, and he put her down as soon as he'd kissed her.
"To Mayfair," Mary said, breathless and shaken. She had to get him home.
"To Mayfair." He kissed her again with a passion that went straight through her. He broke the kiss with a hungry laugh and swung her up onto Shalimar's back in an almost single motion.
"We'll ride like the wind, my love. And when we get home, there'll be a raging fire for you and some food."
Shalimar danced under Mary. She acted as if William's mere presence made her nervous. "Don't ride too fast," Mary said, trying hard not to sound afraid.
"Aye, I don't want to wear you out on a horseback ride," William answered with a chuckle. "I have other plans for you. Now home!"
The clatter of hooves let Mary know that he was mounted and on his way to Mayfair. Trusting to Shalimar's superior vision, Mary forced her protesting body into rhythm with the horse. She had to get him home to Mayfair. She'd find help. There had to be someone who knew what was happening to William, someone who could diagnose his illness and give him a cure.
Mary no longer doubted the fact that something terrible was happening. And it was much more frightening than she'd even dreamed. She'd thought William was getting better, but he was much worse. The only good thing was that now she could tell him exactly what he did and how he acted. Once she could talk to him— when he returned to being her William— then he would surely agree to find the right medical help.
A thought far worse than any she'd had made her gasp. What if he didn't change back? What if he was truly possessed? What if, this time, he didn't come around?
Chapter Eight
You'd think someone in this establishment would consider putting on a few night-lights for wandering guests in search of the kitchen. These stairs are treacherous, especially when there's the off chance that a ghost is going to pop out of nowhere.
Mary and William took off into the night. I have to give my little pixie credit. She's got a will of iron and a constitution to match. Whoever said not to judge a book by its cover was thinking of her. She looks fragile, but she is one tough cookie. Not many women would follow their man out into the wild Scottish night on horseback.
I've got to figure out what's going on around this place. I've spent some time thinking about my seizure and subsequent trip to the vet. I've never experienced anything like that before in my life. There would seem to be two possibilities. A supernatural source or— hateful thought— something I ate. But what?
Having exposed myself to all of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's masterpieces, I know Sherlock would start at the obvious and work out in a tight circle. A bit of a cynic, he would put the ghostly aspects of this business aside to examine the portions where human intervention seems more likely. So, to the past evening's menu. I was perfectly fine through dinner. Abby gave me a few slices of the pheasant she'd prepared. Delicious with those mushrooms and shallots. I had a taste of that pungent cheese that's made locally, and Kevin slipped me a few dollops of that heavenly custard. I was feeling perfectly fine.
It was a bit excessive to eat the second custard my two little lovebirds left in the bathroom, but no harm done. No, if food is the source of the problem, it had to do with what I ate, not how much. And I suspect that whoever has been running around this castle in the dead of night can tell me what I want to know.
Mary was just going into her room when I heard a male voice calling for Lisette. My immediate reaction was that someone was setting her up. But when I went up to the third floor and she went to the first, I found nothing and she left with William. Someone had to be there. And if that person was flesh and blood, where did he go? I've searched every nook and cranny of this old moldering pile of stones, and there is no one on the third floor.
If I weren't a more sophisticated cat, I'd begin to believe that Mayfair might really be haunted. If William is possessed by
some ancient and barbaric ancestor, then it stands to reason that I was possessed by some ancient and savage family cat. Is possession contagious?
* * *
SHALIMAR UNERRINGLY found her way home and, in a rare burst of moonlight, Mary was never so glad to see the walls of Mayfair. She heard Blaze in front of her; William was already in the stables. As she slid from the saddle to the ground, she heard someone fall with a groan.
"William!" She rushed to the light switches and flooded the barn with illumination.
His face gray, William was lying on his back only a few inches from Blaze. His chest rose and fell in fast, shallow breaths.
"William." Mary dropped her reins and rushed to him, finding a weak and rapid pulse in his carotid artery. Even though he was sweating profusely, his skin was cool to the touch.
With no time to lose, Mary dashed to the Connerys' stone cottage. There were grooms somewhere in the barn, but she wasn't certain where they slept, and she knew where Kevin, John and Abby could be found.
Wrapped in a warm robe, Abby answered her urgent knock. In less than a minute, Kevin and John were dressed and at the barn. Picking William up between them, they carried him into the house. The stairs were too difficult to negotiate, so they placed him on the sofa in the library. John set to work to build a fire.
"Looks deathly," Kevin said in an awed voice.
"Aye," John Connery answered. "We should get a doctor immediately."
"Hush!" Abby warned them as she pushed them away. "You sound like he's all but dead." She looked at Mary and gave a reassuring smile. "He looks bad, but he's a stout man with a strong physique." She turned to her husband. "Now without terrifying Mary more than necessary, call Dr. Sloan. Tell him to come at once."
John nodded, but kept his opinions to himself.
"I'll take care of the horses," Kevin said. There was an unspoken question in his statement.
Mary looked from Kevin to Abby. She didn't understand what passed between them, but they were undoubtedly concerned about William and what he had been doing. She had to think of something to protect him, some way to explain what he'd been up to without revealing the depth of her concerns.
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