A terrible thought winged through her brain. What if someone had deliberately rigged the door? What if it had all been a trick to lure her into a dead-end passage with no escape? That would resolve the problem of William's marriage.
"Easy now," she said, bending to stroke the cat. But the words were for herself.
The flashlight beam bounced back at her from the dead end, flickered once and died.
"Great," she said, the darkness complete. "Now we can't even see."
Creeping forward on her hands and knees, she found Familiar. The cat's rough tongue licked comfort along her forearm, and Mary snuggled him against her. He was the one thing she could count on at this time.
Despair chased all rational thoughts from her brain, and Mary curled against the stone wall and held the cat to her chest. She felt very small, and very alone. The thought of crying came to her, but she knew it would do no good. She could only rest her fingers for a little while and then try again to trigger the mechanism that opened the doors. And wait for William to start hunting for her.
Without the flashlight, she couldn't even tell how long she'd been in the passage. It seemed like hours, but she knew it hadn't been that long. Maybe an hour. So William would miss her soon. Maybe she'd hear them searching.
She stretched out on the stone floor with Familiar against her. With her ear to the wall, she hoped to hear something, some sign that someone was searching for her.
The darkness was so total that she shut her eyes against it. Trying to see only made it seem that much worse. She felt Familiar's paw on her cheek, and she heard his kitty motor kick into overdrive as his purr echoed off the stone walls.
"I've gotten us into a mess, Familiar, and you aren't even mad at me, are you?"
He lightly nipped her nose, still purring.
"What?" she asked. She knew the cat wanted something. She could tell by the way he was patting her face with his paw. Slapping it would be a more accurate term. He was actually slapping her firmly in the face with his paw, claws carefully sheathed.
"Okay," she said, sitting up and reaching into the darkness for him.
The supporting wall behind her swung back and light flooded the tunnel.
Mary gave an exclamation of surprise and threw her hands up to ward off the light. It was so bright after the blackness of the tunnel that she couldn't see at all.
"Hey!" There was a startled exclamation from a large man who towered over her. He stood at the entrance, ready to dart inside.
"William?" She couldn't see at all.
"You're a meddling lass, and one who deserves the consequences of her actions." His big hand clasped on her hair, and he began dragging her back into the tunnel. She braced her feet and fought.
The man wasn't William. It wasn't anyone she knew. Though her eyes were still blinded by the sudden light, she was able to tell that the man was enormous and clad in kilt and furs. A sword broad enough to cleave an oxen's— or a man's— neck in two hung at his side.
She focused her gaze up to his face, and a cry escaped her. His face was painted red and black, a curious and extremely pagan pattern of war. He was completely terrifying.
"Damn ye for an interfering wench!" he cried as he shifted his grip to her arms and drew her into the black maw of the tunnel.
Her glimpse was brief, and Mary still didn't believe what her own eyes had seen. Flattened against the wall where he'd flung her, she dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl toward the opening. The door slid shut when she was still a good six feet away.
"Familiar! Get William!" Mary cried through the wall to the cat. "Get him! Quick!"
Mary sank back against the wall. The darkness in the tunnel enveloped her, and her heart was pounding so loudly she couldn't tell if anyone was near her or not. It was evident she'd seen Slaytor MacEachern, or the man masquerading as him. And he was no one she could identify. He bore no resemblance to anyone at Mayfair. He was far too tall for Kevin, or even Erick. He was, as William had said, a good two inches taller even than he, with dark hair wild and tangled around his shoulders.
Who was he? Where was he?
At first she didn't hear the rasp of angry breathing. It wasn't until she heard the clank of the broadsword on the stones that she knew the terrible figure of Slaytor MacEachern was standing over her.
"You've done enough damage here, Mary Muir. I tried my best to frighten you away, but you wouldn't heed me. It's in the wind that you're to marry William very soon. I can't let that happen."
One hand closed in her hair as his second hand covered her mouth. With almost no effort, he pulled her against his chest and disappeared down the passage.
* * *
WILLIAM WAS PANTING as he topped the third floor landing and ran behind the black cat. Familiar was in a wide-open run. He skidded around a corner, then stopped in the open doorway of the turret room.
Even in the natural light, William could see the room was empty.
Familiar's hair rose in a line down his back, and a low growl escaped his throat.
"Where is she?" William asked.
Familiar's answer was a deeper growl. Very slowly, he entered the room. In a moment he was digging at the wall.
"A passage." William knew what the cat was trying to show him. "She's in the passage."
He felt along the wall, his fingers encountering the loose mortar that indicated that stones had been shifting. "It's here. I can almost feel it." Just as he spoke, the panel began to slide open.
William started into the darkness, but Familiar hooked a claw into the cuff of his pants. With a great tug, the cat held him.
Pausing for a moment, William heard the sound of muffled sobbing in the distance.
"Mary!" he cried, shaking loose of the cat and running into the darkness without a light or a weapon. "Mary! I'm coming!"
* * *
I WONDER if playwright Sam Shepard had these two in mind when he penned Fool for Love. Now it's up to me to find something to block this door. I tried to warn the big galoot, but would he listen? No. And he almost tore my left claw out by its roots. All because Miss Pixie is whimpering.
Truth to tell, she did sound pretty unhappy. Oh, well, here's a cushion from a chair. I'll drop it in the opening before the door can close, and then we'll have an exit. I'm not about to get trapped in this place with these two. I don't think I could take the heat.
* * *
"I'M OKAY," Mary whispered again as she held on to William. "I'm really okay."
William crushed her against him, terrified to let her go. He could feel the pounding of her heart, and it reassured him. He never wanted to let her out of his arms again.
"I saw him," Mary said, trying hard to remember the details. With the paint on his face, it completely distorted his appearance. The only thing she could say for certain was that he was big, and that he had long, black hair. Because his features had been obscured by the weird pattern of paint, she couldn't describe him, but he did bear a passing resemblance to the rows and rows of MacEacherns hanging on the walls of the castle.
"We'll talk later. Let's just get out of here."
"The door!" Mary struggled to her feet. "It jammed when I was in here before."
"Meow!"
Familiar's mew echoed against the stones. It was a demanding tone.
"Is it possible he wants us to follow him?" William asked.
"Highly possible, but we're closer to the end that comes out in my room."
"Meow!"
"He's a demanding cat," Mary said as she yielded to Familiar's direct order. "He's also almost always right. Let's go."
William led the way in the darkness, and was tremendously relieved to see a three-inch slot of light. At the base of the door, a green velveteen pillow was almost crushed. Beyond was the turret room.
"Familiar did that. He knew the door would close and we wouldn't be able to get out."
"Just exactly what your relative had in mind," Mary said. "I don't know who he was, but his entire game
is to prevent our marriage. He told me…" She faltered. It was one thing to hear the threats, it was another to repeat them to William.
Putting his shoulder against the door, William heaved it open enough for them to make an escape, Familiar at their heels. William picked up the pillow, and the panel slid back into place. There was no trace that it was even there.
"What did this man tell you?" William tossed the cushion onto a chair and pulled Mary into his arms. "More importantly, what did he do to you?"
"Nothing that won't mend," Mary said, rubbing her scalp. "He had a fondness for dragging me about by my hair. I felt as if he were my flipping brother."
William kissed her, touched by her attempts at humor when he'd been so afraid for her. That was like Mary, to make light of the damages she'd suffered so that he wouldn't worry.
"What did he do?" he repeated. The cold knife of real anger forged as he waited for her reply. It was one thing to drug him, but it was another to touch his Mary.
"He picked me up by my hair, more than once. Sort of hauled me around, in and out of the passage. He threw me up against a wall, and then scared ten years off my life by dragging me into the passage with him." She took a breath and refused to looked at William. "In the darkness in there, I remember his sword clanking against the wall. I thought he was going to cut my head off. That would have pleased Chancey, that I would have died like my namesake."
Even though her words were spoken in jest, William felt his blood chill. The idea that Mary had thought she might die was intolerable. Whoever had done this would pay.
"I think we owe Familiar a great deal of thanks," he said, veering away from the cold fury that was growing inside him. He didn't want to frighten Mary with his own dark emotion. The MacEachern clan was descended from bloody warriors, and not even generations of peace had completely destroyed the hum of his blood.
"William?" Mary was looking at him with concern.
"What, my love?"
"I'm fine now. He only wanted to scare me, I believe. He told me if I didn't leave Mayfair tonight, you'd be in terrible danger. So, he did mean to let me out."
"Possibly." William wasn't ready to give up his anger.
"No, I'm sure he was. He could have hurt me. To be honest, he could have easily killed me. No one would have been the wiser…" She turned to the black cat, who was perched on the chair and cushion, watching them. "If it hadn't been for Familiar."
"Let's get out of this room." William looked around at the faded draperies, the daybed that was against a wall with a large window. "Slaytor and Lisette obviously had some enjoyable times here, but I'd just as soon redo this room when you have time to think about it."
Mary smiled. "That would be fun. Maybe I could use it for my music room."
William's smile was genuine. "That's delightful. I can hear your cello against these stone walls. It will be like my own private symphony. Now, everything is set for the dinner tomorrow, and I've spoken to Abby."
"News travels fast in Mayfair. That man knew we were planning on marrying soon."
William paused. "Then he had to overhear me telling Abby about the announcement."
"But those walls are solid. Abby told me they were more than three feet thick, reinforced with all kinds of things because the kitchen was part of the original castle."
"That's true, but there's no telling what hidden passages are behind those pantry walls. I did ask Erick, and he said that the castle had been through so many additions and renovations that it would be impossible to determine where they might be. But he said we could measure the rooms and try to make an educated guess."
"Well, we know one leads from here to my room."
"And one from my room to the hallway up here. There could be a dozen more. Why not one into the kitchen? Or at least, an opening where a person might eavesdrop." William was more certain of it as he spoke. There had always been stories at Mayfair about maids who knew exactly what William's parents wanted even before they could call for it. Maybe the staff knew something about the old castle that the MacEacherns had forgotten.
"Well, at least we know how he got the glass of port and the pestle." Mary felt at least one loose end had been tied. Her satisfied expression gave way to one of real concern.
"What is it? Did he hurt you?" William's worst fears resurfaced.
"No, it's just that it dawned on me, whoever he is, he could be living in those walls. He could have been there for some time now, William. And the fact that you've come home might have driven him out— and made him dangerous."
Mary's conclusions were like drops of water hitting a crystal surface, shattering into a million little droplets and spreading out in every direction. Too clearly, William saw the dangers. With his father old and infirm, someone could have lived within the vast stretches of the castle with no difficulty. There was always abundant food in the kitchen, and rooms where no one ever entered— just the maids on an irregular basis. Mayfair was simply too big for one small family to inhabit all of it.
"You're thinking exactly what I'm thinking," Mary said, her voice dropping to a frightened whisper as she looked around the room. "He could be some local crazy who's been here all along, pretending to be Lord MacEachern and waiting for his chance to rule. Now that you're back, you threaten him. And if he's been in Mayfair, he knows the terms of the will."
"And he would view you as the ultimate threat," William said, finishing for her. "Without you, I can't inherit."
"Yes, and I would be the easiest target, the weakest. There's also clan loyalty to consider. If he's playing at being a member of your family clan, he wouldn't really want to injure you. An outsider would be far more acceptable."
"He doesn't object to making me think I'm crazy, but he might shrink from putting a dagger in my heart."
Mary felt the blood squeeze through her own heart at that image. "What are we going to do?"
"I don't know." William hadn't considered this possibility. "I'll tell you, though. I almost prefer this to the idea that someone I've known all my life might be trying to send me to a mental ward."
"I'm not so certain I feel the same way. You didn't see this man. The black-and-red paint is not merely bizarre, it's terrifying."
"There were times when members of a clan used paint as a symbol of war," he said.
"I thought that was the province of Native Americans," Mary noted.
"The clans of Scotland were much like the American tribes in some ways. Not nomadic, though. But the painting of the face has been a part of ritual and tradition in many different parts of the world."
"What would you say red-and-black paint might mean?" Mary asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.
"I'd say it was serious business, whatever else it might signify."
"What are we going to do?" Mary asked again. Now the plan to stage a fake wedding seemed dangerous. "Maybe we should cancel our announcement. This man lurking about in the walls might go over the edge. He could try to injure us, or anyone else who happens to be here."
"We have to flush him out, whoever he is," William insisted. "We can't continue to live here, never knowing when he's going to appear."
"You're right," Mary said, though she wanted to insist that they pack their belongings and leave. Surely there was some professional they could call in to find the passageways and hiding places, to drag out the man who'd been tormenting them.
"Mary, we have to right this ourselves. The old legends of Slaytor aren't that important. It's a part of history here, and it adds to the aura of Mayfair. But if I allow anyone— anyone at all— to drive me from my home, I'd never have the respect of the people here. The symbol that Mayfair is would crumble. I'm not bragging when I say that it would be economically devastating to the community. Even if I didn't want to stay and fight this out for me, I'd have to do it for the people who depend on me. Do you understand that?"
"I do," Mary answered, slightly ashamed of her desire to flee. "I do, and I stand beside you."
Familiar we
dged himself between their legs and looked up at them. "Meow." It was as if he were declaring his intention to also stand with them.
* * *
OF ALL THE GUESTS at the dinner party, Abby and John were the most uncomfortable. They stood in one corner, drinks melting in their hands as they looked around the room and forced smiles.
"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," Mary whispered to William. She felt sorry for them, so obviously ill at ease.
William excused himself and walked over to the couple. "Abby, everything is fine. The caterers followed your instructions to the letter. I only wish you could relax."
"She'd rather be working," John said, almost snapping to attention when the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of Clarissa and Darren McLeod. He plainly wanted to go and perform his duties, but Abby's gentle hand restrained him.
"Where's Kevin?" William asked.
"One of the fillies took a bad turn. He's down there with her now, but he promised he'd be here in time for dinner— and in a suit," Abby said. Her pride peeked through her discomfort. "He loves those horses, he does."
No matter what Kevin might or might not have done, William's heart went out to Abby. "I want you to know that when I inherit the estate, Kevin will be treated fairly."
Abby and John exchanged quick glances, then both looked down.
"We have no doubt of that," Abby said. "How long have you known?"
"Not long." William took her hand and squeezed it. "Abby, you and John did a wonderful thing, taking Kevin in. If he is my half-brother, he'll be treated fairly."
Worry furrowed Abby's brow. "I told him to be straight with this, to talk with you. But he wouldn't. He said he wanted to do things his way." She glanced at John, and a look of pain passed between them. "He's a good boy, but he can be stubborn, and it's been hard for him, what with Miss Sophie and all."
"What about Miss Sophie?" The conversation had taken a turn William hadn't anticipated.
"His feelings for her are strong. All of these years, he's never given a girl the time of day. It's been hard for him, wanting to make Miss Sophie an offer."
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