The Devil’s Due

by Boucher, Rita

  “Thank heavens for those misguided instincts,” Kate murmured, bending to pat the dog on the head. “There will be a bone in the soup for you, tomorrow, laddie, and that is a promise.”

  Cur barked, as if in understanding, his tail wagging as he followed the women and his two-legged charge into the kitchen.

  Chapter 2

  Duncan clambered up the sheer rock face, childhood memories supplying hand and footholds where an adult eye could discern none.

  “Not again! I ain’t comin’ after you this time. You’re gonna fall flat, Major!” Fred wailed from the base of the cliff. “And where will that leave old Fred, I ask?”

  “Your concern for my person is most touching, Fred.” Duncan called. With a grunt of satisfaction, he heaved himself up over the edge. He lay panting for a moment, his cheek pillowed on the cold stone. Despite the fact that his strength had been steadily improving, the climb had been far more difficult than he had anticipated. Nonetheless, when he rose to his feet, he was glad that he had made the effort.

  Beinn Airidh Charr rose to the west, its summit obscured by gathering thunderheads. Where the sun still held sway, Loch Maree sparkled in jewel-bright splendor, its placid waters lapping at the rocky shore. The wind wailed like a mourner, rising in keening echoes as it whipped through his hair. Slowly, Duncan’s gaze was drawn eastward, but the sight that he sought was shrouded in mist.

  Eilean Kirk . . . a peculiar mixture of fear and longing filled him. Like a fever in the blood it was. For the past twenty years he had thought himself completely cured. After all, he had been a mere stripling of fourteen when his mother had taken him from the crumbling ruin of her marriage. But now, the call of that pile of cursed stones pulsed within him with almost overwhelming force. This was his birthplace and although it had never been a true home, it was pulling him back like a flame-crazed moth.

  He had never intended to return. Even now, every shred of sensibility screamed that he ought to climb down, get on his horse and ride southward as fast as the nag could carry him, leave behind those bitter memories that were suddenly surmounting long-built barriers. But Eilean Kirk was a sickness in the blood, as addictive as the poppy or the bottle. There was no place to run to anymore, no place to hide from the boy that he had been, the man he had become . . . or was there?

  Duncan looked over the edge of the sheer precipice into the dizzying depth. A peregrine wheeled lazily, riding the currents. As a child, he had often dreamed of flight, soaring with the falcons. It would be so easy to step off the edge, to have one winged moment before oblivion. No bleak past to haunt him . . . no empty future to fear. A rock crumbled beneath his feet, sending a shower of rubble into the water far below.

  “Major! Major!” the voice rode upon the wind.

  . . . “What shall we do, Major?” Blevins voice was asking, the whites of his eyes wide with terror in his powder black face. “They have us surrounded, Sir.” Duncan could see the silent accusations on their faces, hear the French soldiers demanding surrender. A dozen anxious expressions demanded his answer . . . It was his fault . . . all his fault.

  The stiff breeze made the stuff of his shirtsleeves billow, puffing them to the proportions of great white wings. Who would care?

  A second of flight.

  An end to pain.

  Duncan stared sightlessly into the fog-shrouded distance.

  “Major? Maaajor!” Fred’s voice echoed forlornly from below. “Where are you?”

  Retreating thunder rumbled and the haze lifted suddenly to reveal Eilean Kirk, suspended like an ornament amidst the storm-grey waters of the loch. The arches of the stone causeway seemed like the fine filigree of a pendant. Duncan suddenly realized that he had been anticipating this moment. Through those endless days of confinement, this was the vision that had kept him sane, the knowledge that beyond those prison walls, Eilean Kirk Castle had stood defiantly against the sky, awaiting his return.

  Duncan’s hatred of that place and the miserly man who had inhabited it had kept him alive as much as his desire for vengeance. But the final reckoning with his parent that he had rehearsed so many times in his mind would never take place. Now, ironically, that moldering wreck was his. If his father had sought to plan retribution, the late earl’s twisted brain could not have conceived a better one. The notorious heritage of the MacLeans was upon Duncan’s shoulders now. You can cheat the old man yet, came the soft, insinuating inner voice.

  “Maaajor! Can you hear me?”

  Reluctantly, Duncan stepped back from the brink. Shaking his head like a sleeper waking, he began to turn away when a stray wisp over the castle caught the corner of his eye. The unbroken wavering band certainly did not have the appearance of mist. Pulling out a small spyglass from his pocket, he peered through the lens intently, sweeping the magnified landscape several times before returning to the rim of the plateau.

  Fred’s anxious face stared up at him from below and Duncan waved reassuringly, a sinking feeling in the depths of his stomach. There could be no peace, not yet. Despite his father’s death, there were still scores to be settled. Once the MacLean fortune was in his hands, he would bring Vesey to justice. Then the ghosts of his men would leave him in peace and he would be free to seek his own repose.

  “As I said, ‘tis an easy climb. Care to come up and see the view?” Although his tones were teasing, Duncan found himself breathing deeply, trying to ease the pounding of his heart. Was this part of Charlie’s curse then, these moments of darkness that brought him to the verge? Even in the depths of La Purgatoire he had never come so close to stepping over the edge. Would melancholy accomplish what French bullets had not?

  “Think I’m a bloody mountain goat, do you?” Fred grumbled, his expression of relief all too easy to read as Duncan halted his descent. “I’m waitin’ on you, down on solid ground, I am. Don’t be lookin’ to me to scrape your guts from the gravel if you decide to come down the ‘ard and fast way!”

  “I shall not,” Duncan retorted, carefully seeking his handholds, “since I fully expect that you will cushion my fall.”

  Fred cursed under his breath, muttering an entire litany of blasphemy until his master reached the ground. “You’re a daft one, Major, if you be thinkin’ these old bones of mine fit to spend another soakin’ night in the open. You’re the one who says we got to move quick before the blow and now you’re the one wastin’ nigh on an ‘our up on that rock.”

  Duncan was startled. An hour? It had scarcely seemed more than a few minutes. “You chose to throw your lot in with me, Sergeant. You are more than welcome to turn back if you wish,” he said, more harshly than he had intended.

  Fred’s answer was an indignant harrumph.

  “The rain was headed away from us. We should be at Eilean Kirk just past nightfall.” Duncan said as he set his boot in the stirrup. “And you of all people ought to know that time spent in reconnaissance is rarely wasted.”

  Fred’s bushy eyebrows rose in question.

  “There is smoke coming from one of the chimneys,” Duncan said, urging his mount back down the path from the lookout. “It appears that we have company.”

  . . .

  “The coop is utterly destroyed, Daisy,” Kate said, surveying the splintered wood in despair.

  Daisy held up the mangled body of a bird. “Might as well have this one for dinner,” she said philosophically.

  “And she was one of our best laying hens,” Kate moaned.

  “Ain’t lost none of the geese, at least,” Daisy said. “A sight more sense than the hens, they had. Found three of the biddies drowned in a puddle. I’ll dress them and hang them up to season.”

  “And four more out in the woods somewhere,” Kate said, shooing a goose with her skirts.

  “Supper for the foxes most likely,” Daisy said, putting a hand on the broken gate of the goat pen. “We won’t find them now, not with night coming on.”

  There was a series of sharp barks followed by protesting cackles. The two women looked up to see
Cur herding a quartet of chickens, expertly evading their pecking beaks as he drove them forward.

  “Why, I have never seen the like,” Kate exclaimed in astonishment, putting her hands on her hips.

  “Me either!” Daisy agreed, rushing forward to shoo the chickens into the corner of the courtyard where Anne quietly scattered handfuls of corn. “Well, now, that’s mostly the lot of them. It weren’t near as bad as we feared.”

  “We cannot leave the animals out here tonight,” Kate said with a frown. “The cow byre did not sustain much damage, but there is not enough room for the goats there as well. There is no repairing the coop, I suspect.”

  “But where’ll we doss the creatures down for the night?” the older woman asked.

  Kate gazed thoughtfully at the kitchen door.

  “Oh, no,” Daisy said, following the direction of her mistress’s stare. “You’ll not be putting that lot in my kitchen, you won’t.”

  “I was thinking of the servant’s hall, Daisy,” Kate said.

  “Tis the only decent room in the place,” Daisy protested.

  “Other than the bedroom,” Kate conceded, “but unfortunately, it might be a trifle difficult to drive the goats up the stairs.”

  “Aye, I suppose you’re right,” Daisy said with a sigh. “Bring the barnyard in then.”

  Anne smiled in delight as the two women began driving the poultry in through the kitchen door, but she clapped her hands in glee when they tried to lead the goats, bleating and resisting into the servant’s hall. Kate was beginning to think that it would be impossible to move the stubborn beasts when Cur yapped at their heels. With the skill of a four-legged matador, the dog evaded William’s horns and shepherded the animals through the door in a matter of seconds

  “Good dog,” Kate said, bending to pat Cur on the head.

  Anne put her hands round the dog’s neck, burying her face in the tawny fur.

  “And what about me?” Daisy grumbled. “Don’t I get a hug too?” Anne ran over immediately and threw her arms around the woman’s legs. Mollified, Daisy wearily lowered herself in a nearby chair. She jumped up abruptly at the cackle of protest and eyed the occupying chicken with disgust. “Came near to being a soup, you did, stupid feather-ball.”

  Anne pointed and laughed, a loud gurgling noise that shook her small body. Kate looked at Daisy in wonder, sharing the miracle of her daughter’s laughter before joining in the infectious sound. Soon the three of them were erupting in torrents of giggles punctuated by barnyard noises which only urged them into further mirth. Anne sat in the chair watching them get the animals settled. By the time all was done, her eyes were closed, thumb firmly placed in the center of her mouth.

  “You see, Daisy, nothing is without purpose. Even this,” Kate said, as she lit a candle and put her sleeping daughter on her shoulder. She gestured at the menagerie roosting and milling about her. “Anne laughed and now she is going to sleep smiling.”

  “Aye, it was worth it, at that,” Daisy admitted, brushing a stray lock from the child’s head. “And I swear, if we could but get her to speak again, I’d live with the Tower with the royal lions, I would.”

  “Perhaps . . . they say that time heals all things. Perhaps if we give her time,” Kate said, praying that it would be so.

  . . .

  “Tis, a lucky thing that you recalled the tunnel,” Fred said in a hushed voice, raising his candle. “Pity we got ‘ere well after dark. Now we don’t know how many of them there is ‘ere. Leastways we was able to get round the dog. Would ‘ave been a near thing, puttin’ it down afore it barked a warnin’.”

  “The courtyard should be almost directly above us,” Duncan said, his palms cold and sweaty as he counted out the paces. Twenty . . . thirty . . . soon they would be inside the castle itself. The air was stale, noxious; the walls sheened with the slimy sweat of damp, far too reminiscent of the cells of La Purgatoire for his comfort. “The tunnel to the dungeons should be just ahead. We must stay to the right or we could find ourselves wandering for hours. This castle is riddled with secret exits, some that I likely dinna even ken to exist.”

  Fred nodded at the wisdom of this. “Always a good idea to ‘ave a back door, I’d say.”

  “Shh!” At the top of the stair, Duncan put a finger to his lips and silently counted ten paces. He felt for the lever in the wall, trembling inside when he could not find it immediately at hand. Think man . . .think . . . he told himself as his heart began to beat a panicked thrum. Man! No you were not a man in those days . . . think of a boy’s stride. He stepped back, heaving a relieved sigh as he felt the bar of pitted iron. The release clicked faintly. Hastily, Duncan blew out the candle. The panel swung open, the rusty hinges screeching like a hoarse banshee, causing Duncan to curse under his breath. Now it seemed that all their stealth was for naught. They might as well have arrived with trumpets blaring. For a few heart-stopping minutes, the two men waited in the corridor, but there was no sound, no sign that they had been detected. Finally, with a nod of his head, Duncan directed Fred toward the kitchen stairs.

  Like a shadow, Duncan slipped through the darkness down the empty hallway. The dank chill of the stone floors pierced the worn soles of his boots as he paused at each open room, scanning the shrouded furniture for signs of occupancy. Clearly, things had been recently disturbed. There were footprints in the layers of dust, blocks of space marking the places of pieces of furniture that had been moved. As he left the old wing, Duncan found further evidence of intruders. The moist, moldy smell was diminishing as was the thickness of the dust. If seemed that his uninvited guests had a penchant for cleanliness, Duncan thought with a grim smile.

  The soft glow of candlelight spilled from beneath the doorsill like a guiding beacon. Slowly, Duncan cracked the door glaring at the hinges as if daring them to make a sound. Hefting his knife, he slid into the room, edging around the pool of moonlight that flowed between the tattered remnants of the draperies. All the while, he kept his eye on the mound in the center of the bed, trying to detect any change in the rhythmic rise and fall of the heap of blankets. When he reached the headboard, he doused the guttering candle before pulling the covers aside with a swift motion.

  The sudden shock of cold night air was like a slap, bringing Kate to instant wakefulness. Her startled scream froze in her throat as a hand clamped over her mouth and cold steel pressed against her throat. She lay still, barely able to see the edges of an outline limned against the moonlight

  “Dinna cry out,” the apparition warned softly.

  Kate shook her head in an infinitesimal movement signaling submission. Mindful of her sleeping daughter huddled beneath the covers, she prayed heaven that he would not notice Anne and that the child would stay wrapped in slumber.

  With deliberate care, the intruder eased his grip, but the knife remained steady at her neck. “I will not scream,” Kate whispered hoarse with fear, trying desperately to think of some way to distract him. “Money . . .” she said. “If it is money you want, I shall lead you to what we have, but first you must let me get up.” When the knife was withdrawn in seeming acquiescence, Kate pushed the blankets aside, lumping them into a heap to mask Anne’s presence.

  Duncan watched as she rose in a fluid movement, the folds of her flannel nightrail falling around the briefly revealed curves of calf and ankle. As cool as moonlight, she was, with an air of composure in the face of being roused at knifepoint that startled him almost as much as her beauty. The beams of light played on her hair, coloring the rich brown with silvery tints. Green cat’s-eyes glittered in the darkness. He recognized the terror in their depths, yet her expression did not otherwise betray her. Her carriage was ramrod stiff as she turned to face him. He stepped into the moonlight revealing his face, and waited for her reaction, the horror, the shrinking that was inevitable when members of the frail sex first beheld his scarred countenance, but she did not recoil.

  “Follow me,” Kate said quietly, searching the stranger’s marred face for some sign
of his intent. That single icy grey eye was empty of any clue. The lack of visible emotion was far more disturbing to her than the marks on his skin or the hideous black patch. For a brief moment, dread held her in thrall, but she quickly passed the outer boundaries of that initial panic. A minute movement from beneath the covers caught her eye, but the intruder apparently had not seen it because of his blindness on one side. With a cold sense of purpose, she recognized what must be done and done quickly. Another few seconds and he might notice that she had not been alone in the bed.

  It was a dangerous game, one that she would likely lose, but it was her only chance. Kate turned her back to the intruder, moving to the door with calculated provocation, swaying her hips in a manner that needed no interpretation, even masked beneath a thick layer of flannel. She glanced over her shoulder, giving the intruder a smoldering look half-veiled beneath a curtain of thick lashes.

  For a moment, Duncan was startled. It had been a long time since any woman had looked at him that way, not unless she had been paid well for her glances at any rate. Surprise quickly gave way to cynicism as he followed the temptress in brushed cotton. He moved warily, expecting some trap to spring upon him soon. There was not long to wait.

  They had reached a turn in the hallway when the woman bolted abruptly. She sprinted rapidly out of arm’s reach, her hair flying behind her like a dark fox’s tail before the hound’s nose. Duncan gave a grin of satisfaction as she disappeared down the kitchen stairs. Trapped between himself and Fred, there was little chance of escape. He ran down the staircase, fully expecting to find his manservant holding her at the bottom, but he reached the final step just in time to see her disappear through a door. The servant’s hall, he recalled, as he followed, a room with no other exits save the tower. She would not evade him again.