Beloved Ruins, Book 1

by Marti Talbott

  “Aye,” Grizel answered with a proud grin on her face. “He loves me, or so he says. So does Owen.” Grizel brushed off her skirt again and then stood up. “I believe I might be able to see what is happening from my bedchamber window. Would you care to come?” She watched Lindsey shake her head no and then walked away.

  “Murran loves her,” Lindsey gloomily whispered.

  In one brief sentence, all of Lindsey’s hopes and dreams had been dashed against a rock. Murran loved another. She was so certain he would be hers – certain she would be the one to bear his children and that they would be happy together. All she had to do was wait for him to notice her.

  Now he never would.

  For a long moment, she blankly stared at the bowl she was making. Then, in a sudden burst of fury, she tore the wet clay apart, and flung it to the ground. Her chest hurt in a way it had never hurt before, but she understood that well enough. Her heart was broken beyond repair. Lindsey went inside her cottage and closed the door. Never had she felt such a torturous pain and as the tears ran down her cheeks, she picked up the baby blanket she was making, and pulled on the end of the yarn. Arm’s length after arm’s length, she pulled until the blanket was no more and the soft woolen yarn lay in a pile on the floor.

  And still, the agonizing hurt in her heart did not go away. “Make it stop,” she wept. “Murran, make it stop.” She tried to remember the feel of his arms around her, the way she had so often after that day in the market, but the joy she felt before was gone. She thought of how he finally smiled at her that very morning. It meant nothing. She knew that now.

  There was only one thing left to do.

  THE SHOUTING BROUGHT Elena and her brother outside too, but Elena had no interest in watching two men fight. Instead, she walked down the path toward Lindsey’s cottage. She found it odd that Lindsey was not working, and wondered if she had gone to watch the fight. It would not be like Lindsey to do that, but maybe... Elena walked back up the path. The men in the glen were still shouting at one another, and an even larger crowd had gathered, but she could not see Lindsey among them.

  Perplexed, she thought Lindsey might have gone to the river for water, so she went back, walked past the cottage, and looked both up and down the river’s edge. Lindsey was not there either. It was on her way back that Elena saw the destroyed mound of clay laying on the ground. An open bottle of spilled red paint lay on the ground beside the clay.

  “Lindsey?” she asked. The door to Lindsey’s cottage was partially open, so she went to it and peeked inside. “Lindsey, are you within?” Elena asked again. When there was no answer, she gently pushed on the door and when it opened wide, she covered her mouth with her hand and caught her breath. Lindsey lay unmoving on her bed with a small bottle still in her hand. Her eyes were wide open and some sort of blue liquid had stained her lips and run down the side of her cheek.

  Elena could not at first comprehend what she was seeing, so she moved closer and took hold of the girl’s arm. Her flesh was already growing cold. “Lindsey, wake up.” She got no response so she shook her shoulder and tried again. “Lindsey, please wake up.”

  At last, Elena realized Lindsey would never wake up again and when she did, she stepped outside and screamed, “MICHAEL!”

  The sounds of the impending fight between Murran and Owen abruptly stopped. Initially, the men could not tell where the terrifying scream came from. It was followed by another more sorrowful scream, and then another before Rory looked at Michael and whispered, “The river?”

  That was all Michael needed to hear to take off running with Rory right behind him. Soon, a stream of people followed including Murran. Suddenly alone in the glen, Owen turned around and caught sight of Grizel walking into the castle, but he too went to see what was happening.

  When Michael arrived, Elena threw herself into his arms. Weeping uncontrollably, she pointed inside the cottage. “Lindsey,” she barely managed to say. In disbelief, Michael watched as Rory timidly went to the cottage door, looked inside, and then slowly sank to his knees.

  Brandon stepped around Rory and went all the way into the cottage. When he came back out, he looked at Michael. “She drank the poison we use to make blue paint for her pottery.”

  Michael blinked several times, slowly bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

  The crowd of people grew around him, but Michael took no notice. They too bowed their heads, and some of the women began to softly cry. Rory still sat in Lindsey’s doorway, but Michael was so consumed by his own grief, he could think of nothing to do or say to ease Rory’s pain.

  “Why?” Murran asked. “Why would Lindsey kill herself?”

  “You dinna know?” Kester asked, suddenly standing beside him. “Are you blind or just stupid?” She gave him her fiercest glare, went into her cottage, and nearly hit Birdie as she slammed the door.

  Michael took a deep breath, and then gave Elena to her brother to comfort. “Go to the castle and tell the maid to prepare a room for Kester. I’ll not have her grieve alone.” He watched them go, and then went into Lindsey’s cottage to see for himself. Michael’s sigh was soft and long as he gently and reverently closed Lindsey’s eyes. In the doorway, he tugged on Rory’s arm until his friend finally stood up. “Go home, Rory. I shall see to her.”

  Mindlessly, Rory did as he was told. After he was out of sight, Michael nodded to Brandon. “See to him,” He waited until Brandon followed Rory up the path, and then turned to two of the women. “Will you see to preparing her body?” In tears, both of them nodded, went inside Lindsey’s cottage, and closed the door.

  Michael stood beside Lindsey’s cottage with his head bowed and his hands clasped in front of him. He waited and when most of the clan had drifted away, he knocked on Kester’s door. He was not surprised when she did not answer and went in anyway. As he suspected, Kester was curled up on her bed sobbing inconsolably.

  Michael slipped his strong arms under her, and gently lifted her up until she rested her head against his chest. At last, he let his own tears fall over the loss of the precious little girl neither of them could save.

  MURRAN HAD NOT DRIFTED away. While Michael carried Kester up the path, he stood staring at the iron grating that lay on the mound of dirt beside the fire pit. How had he forgotten to put it in place that morning? The raging fire still shot its flames above the edge of the pit, but without Lindsey to keep an eye out, anyone could fall in.

  He found the shovel Lindsey kept leaned against the outside of her cottage, and began to fill the pit with the dirt the men had dug out of it. He dumped shovel full after shovel full into the hole until the fire was completely out and even then he kept working until the dirt was less than a foot from the top. He laid the shovel aside, picked up the grating, and put it where he should have put it that morning. Next, he set the shovel back where it belonged, picked up the spilled red paint bottle, and put it in the clay bucket. Then he put the glob of clay on top of it so the children wouldn’t find it.

  All the while, he wondered what he had done wrong. Why did Kester say he was stupid? When he looked up, he saw the answer in a bedchamber window on the second floor of the castle.

  Grizel simply shrugged and moved out of sight.

  KENTIGERN MANOR, 1911

  “I cannae bear it,” McKenna said as she set the book aside and reached for her kerchief. She lay her head on Nicholas’ shoulder and took a deep breath.

  Nicholas kissed his wife’s forehead. “I remind you, it was over five hundred years ago.”

  “I know,” said McKenna. “Yet, I feel as though she was my little Lindsey too.”

  “So do I,” said Sarah, dabbing a kerchief at her own tears. Beside her Jessie had already read that part before they came back from the castle, but found no pleasure in hearing it again. “I cannae wait to see if Michael banishes Grizel.”

  “I say we murder her,” said Sarah.

  “The edict, remember?” Alistair said. “He cannae banish her, and we cannae kill her, although I kno
w of no lass who deserves it more.”

  “I believe there were one or two others as evil as Grizel in the old stories,” McKenna said as she tried to get her tears to stop. “What was the one who imagined she was married to Neil? I fear I have forgotten her name.”

  “So have I,” said Alistair. “I shall ask Hannish when next he calls. He has the stories memorized, as well he should. ‘Tis an old MacGreagor tradition that demands the Laird memorize the stories.”

  Sarah dabbed the rest of her tears away. “McKenna, we should make copies of these books so they are not lost again.”

  “I agree,” said Alistair. “When we go to town tomorrow, perhaps you might ask if there is someone to set the type and print books. We might as well make several copies for I am certain both your brothers shall want one.”

  “Why not?” Jessie asked. “And we should sell them in the little shop Brandon built, if indeed they finally got it built. I suspect I know which one ‘tis too.”

  McKenna giggled. “If they have not torn it down after five hundred years.”

  “I pray they have,” Nicholas said. “How safe can something that old be?”

  “My dear Nicholas,” said Sarah, “once you see more of Scotland you shall find that the Scots were very fine builders...most of them anyway, and many old building remain.”

  Nicholas grinned. “When shall we leave?”

  THE NEXT DAY, THERE was a rapid succession of telephone calls made from and to the MacGreagor residence. Egan and Malveen called to say they would arrive from Paris within the week and McKenna called Hannish in America to report the castle building progress and to tell him about the books. She did not mention the threatening note. Charles called to say the telephone company repaired the lines, installed a telephone, and gave Nicholas the number. In the next breath, he reminded Nicholas the lads wouldn’t be working on Sunday and invited him and Alistair to the Glenartair customary and very secret Saturday night poker game.

  Nicholas and Alistair happily accepted.

  Naturally, even before the game got started the others wanted to know what was in the book. Nicholas spent most of the evening telling them the story, and nearly lost a small fortune doing it – even after McKenna warned him Charles liked to distract his poker victims.

  LADY LAURA BAYINGTON, the widow of Lord Edward Bayington, was a pillar in London society. She knew everyone, was gracious to them all, but only truly liked just a few. A longtime friend of the MacGreagors, she was thrilled when Butler Pifer said McKenna was on the telephone.

  “McKenna, tell me you are in Scotland.”

  “I am,” she said on the other end. “We cannae wait to see you and plan to come as soon as all is settled with the castle. How are the twins?”

  “Happily away at school. And all of you?”

  “We are all in excellent health. Alistair and Sarah have just arrived. Laura,” McKenna said before she let her friend interrupt. “We’ve a bit of trouble here.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “Someone has threatened to burn the castle if we rebuild it.”

  “Who could possible want to do that?” Laura asked.

  “Tis why I called. I am hopin’ you might have the answer.”

  “Go on.”

  “Do you remember a lad by the name of Chilton?”

  “Of course I do. I so enjoyed the way Cathleen and Leesil embarrassed him...oh, you think it might be Chilton?”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “I do. The last I heard, he took his wife and sailed to Australia. He’s been appointed to some sort of post by the Queen. It is not a very impressive post, the way I hear it, but it should keep him out of London’s hair.”

  “I see, then ‘tis doubtful he threatens us. The duchess is dead and I cannae think who else it could be.”

  “Nor can I.” Laura curled up in her chair and got ready to have a long chat with her friend. Edward’s death had taken a toll and it showed in the smattering of gray in her hair. Even so, she was immaculately dressed in a free flowing, floor-length pink lounging gown. “Tell me simply everything. On the voyage, did you happen upon anyone we...?”

  CHAPTER 9

  AT SUPPER IN KENTIGERN Manor, everyone had a grand time teasing Nicholas about the amount of money he lost in the poker game. McKenna doubted they could ever recover financially and would have to borrow from her brothers. It wasn’t true of course, but Sarah volunteered to give up new clothing and Alistair vowed never again to keep the pantry well stocked. Jessie just rolled her eyes.

  As soon as the children were tucked into bed, they all settled down in the drawing room to listen to the next part of the story. This time, Alistair volunteered to do the reading.

  “There was an extraordinary quiet in the MacGreagor glen the day they carried the box containing their beloved Lindsey’s body to the graveyard. Six stout men carried the wooden box that Murran had made on their shoulders, and Rory would have no other than to walk alone behind it. Everyone followed, prayed with the priest, watched the box lowered into the grave, and shed their tears – everyone save Kester and Grizel. Kester stayed in bed that day, and no one cared where Grizel was. Even Owen attended the funeral march. Whatever fury he felt for Murran was long forgotten in the wake of the tragedy that befell the clan the day Lindsey MacGreagor died.

  Death weighs heavy on each and every mind when it comes, but for Michael it was especially burdensome. Not only did he blame himself for not seeing any sign that she was upset, he could not understand why she killed herself. It was not until they were halfway finished with the evening meal that he understood.”

  MACGREAGOR GLEN, 1371

  Grizel did not come to supper on time that night – not that anyone cared. As she always did, Elena put food on the plates of her children, and then took a little for herself, even though she did not feel like eating. Apparently, her brother and Michael did not feel like eating either for they took very little as well.

  Brenna was an astute child, even though she did not know or understand what had happened to Lindsey. She did know something was wrong. “Uncle, can we not ask Murran to build a swing?”

  Balric patted his niece on the head, “I am not the one to ask. You must ask Michael.”

  “I know, but Michael is feeling poorly this day, so might you ask him...when he is well?”

  “I dinna know it showed,” Michael said. He smiled at the child and answered her question. “I think ‘tis a fine idea. We had one when I was a laddie and I know not what happened to it.”

  “The leather seat was likely sold off,” Balric suggested.

  “Likely so,” Michael agreed. He put a bite of turnip in his mouth and tried to think of something else to say. Instead, he looked to see if Kester was actually eating. She seemed to be nibbling a little, but as he watched, she slipped a piece of her meat under the table for Birdie.

  “At last, we have someone to give the table scraps to,” Michael said, trying his best to smile at Kester. She did not smile back.

  “Forgive me for being late,” Grizel said as she breezed into the room with her usual cavalier flair.

  “‘Twas she what done it,” Kester said, pointing her crooked finger at Grizel.

  “Done what?” Grizel asked, sweetly smiling first at Michael and then at Kester.

  “I saw you walk down the path,” Kester said.

  “What path?” Grizel innocently asked, as she helped herself to the food.

  Kester’s ire was beginning to rise. “What did you tell her?”

  “Who?”

  “You know who. You were there and then Lindsey drank poison. What did you tell her?”

  Grizel glanced at the others watching her and rolled her eyes. “I assure you, I have done nothin’ wrong.”

  “What did you say?” Michael calmly asked, although he suspected he wasn’t going to remain calm for very long.

  Grizel huffed. “If you must know, she asked why Murran and Owen were fightin’, and I told her,” Grizel seemed esp
ecially hungry and hurried to put food in her mouth.

  Kester looked mad enough to lunge at Grizel, so Michael scooted his chair back a little so he could catch her before she did. “Told her what precisely?”

  “I do not recall, precisely,” Grizel answered, as she put a bite of carrot in her mouth. She pretended to be unaware that everyone was watching her as she chewed and then swallowed. She waved one of Owen’s two-pronged forks in the air as she said, “I suppose I told her they both love me.”

  Elena was appalled. “You told Lindsey that Murran loved you and not her?”

  “Her?” Grizel asked. “Why would anyone think he loved her?”

  Elena was too furious to answer. She stood up, shoved her chair back in place, and looked at Michael. “I care not to share another meal with her.”

  Michael only had time to raise half out of his seat before Elena was gone. He did manage to get all the way up before Kester used the table to push herself up and bolt out the other door.

  “What irks them?” Grizel asked.

  “Lass,” Michael forcefully said, “you would do well not to speak another word.”

  Grizel watched Michael leave, shrugged, ignored the staring eyes of Balric and the children, and wisely ate the rest of her meal in silence.

  MICHAEL GUESSED ELENA had gone to her room, so he climbed the stairs, and knocked lightly on her bedchamber door. When she didn’t answer, he checked the kitchen, the room where he kept the MacGreagor valuables and at last, thought to see if she was atop the wall. Trying not to frighten her, he quietly ascended the steps and when he looked, she had gone to the very end of the walkway.

  Filled with rage still, she had her arms tightly wrapped around her waist when she noticed him. As soon as he reached her, she blurted out, “What does your edict say about a lass killing another lass out of anger?”