The Devil’s Due

by Boucher, Rita

  “There is nothing ignoble in acknowledging that your enemy’s strength is superior.” Kate said, giving voice to a growing dread. There was a withdrawal in his tone as if a chasm was suddenly yawning between them. “As you yourself just said, only a fool would confront sure defeat. Perhaps it is better to defer?”

  “It has been years now, since I saw their blood mingling with the dirt,” Duncan said hoarsely, letting the memory stir the crucible within. “In your case, a retreat was both prudent and honorable. You were attempting to shield your daughter. However, unlike you, I have no one to protect, save myself,” Duncan said. “Ah, Kate. It would be so easy to let those voices echo into oblivion, to convince myself that vengeance will be a fruitless pursuit.” Her eyes glistened and he felt a curious wonder, knowing that her tears were for him. “But now, I begin to think upon what you have told me, and I realize that evil cannot be ignored. I cannot stay forever, hiding, as you said, like a wounded beast?”

  “I did not mean . . .” Kate flushed, stepping back in mortification.

  “Never apologize for the truth,” Duncan said, putting a restraining hand on her shoulder. “It seems to me that I have been running for as long as I can remember. Fleeing from my father, escaping my grandfather’s house by bolting to the army and now, it appears that I have come full circle, back to Eilean Kirk.” He shook his head, his hands falling to his sides. “As you say, I am my own ghost, with chains of my own making. I am going to Edinburgh.”

  “Why?” Kate whispered, aghast at what she had unwittingly caused.

  “You,” Duncan said, “and Anne. You have reminded me that corruption thrives in the dark, it festers and grows. I may not have the evidence that I once possessed, and if I speak out, I will likely be called a liar. But I am thinking that there are a few who might listen. At least there will be a brief light shining in those shadows and perhaps people will examine more closely where they did not bother to look before.”

  “A single candle may be easily snuffed,” Kate said.

  “Or it can be the spark that ignites a legion of rockets,” Duncan reminded her. “I have to try, Kate. Surely you, of all people, can comprehend that. And once that oath is fulfilled, I intend to seek redress for Anne.”

  “No,” Kate protested. “I have told you-”

  “Is it only Anne’s safety that you seek?” Duncan asked. “You, yourself spoke the truth. It is entirely unlikely that Becky was the first, or the only. Nor, unless something is done, will she be the last. Will you leave him to prey on other innocents? Allow him to be forever a threat to you?”

  “And what if your efforts lead him back here?” Kate demanded, trying to ignore the stabs of her conscience. She knew that he spoke the truth. “Do you not realize that he could drag Anne back under his roof, with all the force of the law coming to his aid?”

  “I would never allow Anne to come to harm,” Duncan promised. “You know that.”

  “Allow? Are you like the King of Denmark, Canute was his name if I recall, who demonstrated the futility of trying to command the tide? You would never allow! How could you stop him? If you believe that you have conquered your trait of arrogance, Duncan MacLean, you are sorely misguided.”

  “You lack faith,” he murmured.

  “I had faith once,” Kate lamented that loss, the time when she had seen the world through the lens of innocence. “I believed that my husband loved me. I believed in virtue, accepted the truisms that devotion and honor would always be victorious. But no longer. I have since found that virtue is more often than not a mere appearance; that devotion is not worth a tuppence without respect. Moreover, when honor is unaccompanied by strength, evil does triumph.”

  “Only if we allow it,” Duncan said, starting back towards the castle. He could not very well fault her for a credo that so closely coincided with his own. But then he had never before made the fatal error of believing in anything or anyone. “I intend to fight, even though I may well be doomed to failure.”

  “Then wage your own wars, not mine!” Kate called after him.

  He did not look back.

  “Damn you, Duncan MacLean!” Kate called. “Damn you.”

  He turned to face her; his gaze desolate.

  “There’s no need to curse me, Kate. It’s been done already, by a man who wove his maledictions far more eloquently. But if you wish you are welcome to add your damnation to the heap already upon my head. It is no more than I deserve.”

  “You could not hope to win,” Kate said, trying desperately to explain. She knew that she had wounded his pride, but Anne’s safety was paramount. “He is like a spider hiding in the corner of an enormous web. The slightest tremor, even the most discreet touch would bring him scurrying forth. Do you not see that I would have to take Anne and leave here, rather than risk him finding us?”

  “So now we arrive at the crux of the matter. Very well, Kate. I shall take no initiatives. You need not flee,” he told her, keeping his voice steady. “But you might wish to consider this. If he is as powerful and determined as you believe him to be, he may well find you, sooner or later. Sometimes, a surprise offense is the only way to defeat a superior enemy. That is the tactic that I intend to employ. John Vesey still thinks that I am a dead man. I suspect that my sudden resurrection will come as something of a shock.”

  Kate willed herself to stay upright, commanding her legs to remain rigid until Duncan was out of sight. Then slowly, she wilted to her knees, sobbing in gasping breaths.

  Chapter 11

  There was feasting by the light of the full moon. Makeshift tables groaned with scones and bannocks, fish, savory stews and even steaming haggis. In the space of an afternoon, Daisy and the village women had turned simple fare into a banquet.

  Despite his disappointment in Kate, Duncan felt his spirits lifting. Smoothing the fold of fabric beneath the brooch fastened to his tartan, he rose from his place. Silence fell upon the courtyard.

  “I am not a man who puts much credence in miracles,” he said, surveying those work-worn faces. “In my life, I’ve found that it is mostly self-interest that drives people. ‘Tis the way of things, I suppose, to believe that others are just like us.”

  Kate felt his eye upon her, heard the note of disillusionment. If he noticed the redness at the corners of her eyes, he made no sign. His look tore right through her, and for a moment she feared that the shards of her hard-won composure would be shattered.

  John Vesey . . . his enemy was hers. All the Steele money, the patronage and the power would be arrayed against Duncan. By comparison, David’s stand against Goliath appeared a well-balanced match. Hastily, she directed her attention to her plate.

  “But tried though I have,” Duncan continued, his look touching each and every one of them, “I can see no selfishness in what you have done here today. You who owe me naught, but scorn have opened your hands to me, given me the fealty that my father and father’s father had deservedly forfeited. You’ve wrought wonders here and I, humbly thank you, along with my lady.”

  The subtle emphasis on those last words cut like a lash, but she rose, as was expected of her. She would have to leave, take Anne and Daisy. If Duncan bearded Vesey in his lair, it would only be a matter of time before her enemy was drawn to the scent. Did Duncan have any inkling of what he faced? Would he believe her if she warned him, or would he think that she was only trying to protect her own interests? And if she told him that Vesey was the man who she feared, would that not be as bait to the bear?

  “Wrongs can be righted,” Duncan said, as much to Kate as to the crowd. “Let us drink to that together. But I cannot, in all honor, toast a new beginning properly with Adam’s ale, especially since I have better to offer you. Fred, if you will?”

  The clink of glass penetrated Kate’s confused thoughts. She watched in shock as the little man came forward, cradling a basket with the care of a nurse bearing a newborn. There was an astonished murmur from the crowd as dusty bottles were passed around and uncorked.


  “Eilean Kirk uisgebeatha,” Duncan confirmed, pouring a liberal portion of the golden liquid into Kate’s cup. “Savor it, for as far as I know, this is the last of the MacLean’s gold ever brewed.”

  “And there is nae mair ye ken?” Tam asked, his bushy brows wrinkling.

  “Not a dram,” Duncan confirmed. “Unfortunately, these are the only bottles in my cellars and never will its like be brewed again, but I would be honored if you will all share these last drams with me.” He filled his cup and raised it high.

  “Do ye ken that?” Tam’s face broke into a smile. “'Tis honor he puts before the MacLean gold.”

  As the import of Tam’s words penetrated, the inhabitants of Strathkirk rose to their feet, lifting their cups in pledge.

  “Wrongs righted,” Tam raised the bottle and put it to his lips.

  “Wrongs righted,” came the echo.

  Tam took a long pull, before addressing himself to Duncan once again. “Milaird, I ne’er thought I would be sayin’ this to ye, but it was my father’s last wish. ‘Twas his own hand that brewed this before Culloden and as ye ken, any made after didna taste quite the same. Da, canny man that he was, couldna outright refuse to brew the gold for his laird, but he changed the malt. Yer grandfather thought it to be the curse, and in a way,” his look was sheepish, “it was. But I could make this for ye’, milord. Da showed me the right way of it, should the curse ere be comin’ undone.”

  “The curse is not yet broken, Tam,” Duncan said. “But a revived distillery might help to rebuild Strathkirk. I leave for Edinburgh, tomorrow. If you will tell me what equipment and provisions you will need, we can start minting the MacLean gold again.”

  “It may well be verra dear,” Tam warned. “The distillation contraption was Da’s own design. All these year’s long gone, there’s nae much left of the auld to be saved.”

  “You shall have whatever you need,” Duncan promised, pouring again.

  “Save the bottles laddies,” Tam called merrily. “No use in wastin’ good glass or a fine evening.” He scooped up a sack from beside him and pulled out his pipes, inflating the bellows with a discordant whine.

  “Where will you get the money?” Kate whispered under cover of the noise.

  “The funds will be found, Kate. I keep my promises,” Duncan told her. “They trust me to do as I say, even though they have no reason to.”

  Do you trust me? The words were as clear as if spoken aloud, but Kate could find no answers within her, only endless choices, every one of them bad.

  A flute was pulled from an apron pocket. A fiddle yowled as it was tuned. Restless fingers tapped, seeking a beat upon taut leather. Then suddenly the instruments joined in unison and the night was filled with wild music.

  All at once, Kate knew that she had never heard a true reel. This was a pounding wave of sound, a potent force that beguiled her feet. But it was Mrs. Kirby who was the first to be charmed from her chair. The older matron began to dance, her pattens pounding the stone adding a peculiar music of their own. Although she had seemed utterly exhausted just moments before, the woman whirled, clicking her toes to the ground, before leaping with an agility that belied her years. With a smile, she beckoned to Duncan and the crowd sighed as he gave her a courtly bow. He raised his arms above his head, the folds of plaid draping with a ripple. Slowly, he began to move to the music, the brooch on his plaid flashing as the jewels caught the torchlight.

  The tempo increased, until Kate could barely follow the intricate pattern of steps and his trews became a dizzy riot of color. Mrs. Kirby stepped from the circle, and Duncan beckoned toward the shadows. “Will you dance with me, little lassie?” he asked, crouching at the knees.

  Kate gasped as Anne stepped into the torchlight, like some shy woodland creature under a spell. Duncan rose but bent over to take the child’s hands. The flute trilled gently and the pipes hushed as she skipped to his simple steps and tried to mimic what she had seen. The people watched, charmed, as he caught her up and whirled her round until she whooped, then held her until she was steady on her feet. With a bow and a dainty curtsy it ended and Anne wreathed in smiles, ran to her mother.

  Kate buried her face in her daughter’s hair to hide her tears. It would be hard on the child to take her from the only place where she had found a measure of happiness, a sense of security. But, as always, the decision had been wrenched from Kate’s hands.

  While she watched Duncan dancing amidst his people, she told herself that he truly did not need her any longer. The spell of solitude had been broken. Although it would take far more than a few superficial repairs to restore the rotten floors and the other results of years of neglect, the castle was becoming a home. Some of the younger women in the village had been eager to offer their services, claiming that it “was nae richt for milady to be workin’ like a drudge.” It would be a relief to end the deception, to get away from the disturbing Lord MacLean, she told herself. Just then, the rich mellow sound of his laughter mingled with the pipes and she caught a glimpse of his rare smile. A pity that she had never had much success as a liar, not even when she tried to deceive herself.

  Duncan could feel her gaze, almost like the touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder, but he refused to allow himself to be drawn. Once again, the pain flooded him. It had been folly to believe that Kate had come to care for him, to trust him. “A friend,” she had called him, but any lackwit knew that there were degrees of friendship. His feet pounded the floor, slapping against the stone, giving vent to the force of his frustration and bitterness. Thought was willingly suspended and Duncan gave himself to the pulse of the dance.

  He hardly noticed when the music stopped and the floor emptied. Duncan stood alone, waiting, drawing heavy breaths in anticipation. The drum began a solo staccato cadence, like rifle shots at first, hard and sudden, slowing as the pipes swelled to a martial clamor. The flute riffled with a sound that put him to mind of the flutter of a banner in the wind.

  Duncan looked at Tam and the old man dipped his hoary head in acknowledgement. It was “Eachainn’s March”, otherwise known as “The Laird’s Dance” that the old piper played, banned by the guilty MacLean Lords since that fateful day at Culloden.

  Tam himself had taught Duncan the forbidden steps long ago and the younger man prayed that his feet had not forgotten. But as the first notes echoed defiantly against the ramparts, Duncan forgot the watchers. A fierce joy possessed him and the music sang in his blood. His feet seemed to barely touch ground while his body moved with a lithe warrior’s grace. There was battle implicit in those steps, advance and retreat. The lunging, leaping mimicry of combat with an unseen enemy became a dance that was as old as warfare itself. The song ended abruptly, leaving Duncan standing at the center, his head thrown back, and a sheen of sweat beading his brow. A pledge had been made, a broken bond forged anew. He would fight, for himself and for them. He was their Laird. But there was someone else who deserved his pledge.

  “MacLean! MacLean!” The cheer began as a whisper and rose to a shout as Duncan walked purposefully towards Kate, who sat holding Anne. He extended his hand in an unmistakable gesture of demand.

  “Will you dance with me, milady?” he asked, when the clamor faded. “That is if the wee lassie can spare you?”

  Before Kate could stop her, Anne nodded and slid from her lap. The crowd’s gaze was upon MacLean’s lady. Other than the insult of outright refusal, there was little choice. “I fear that I am not the best of dancers. I could never quite learn the steps.” Kate said, her eyes pleading, hoping that he would allow her to cry off. But the hand was not withdrawn.

  “I hope you do not expect much of me,” she murmured, putting her fingers on his palm

  “No more than you are willing to give,” Duncan said, capturing her fingers between his hands. They were cold as ice, fluttering with nervous appeal. “Trust me to lead, Kate and let the music in to help guide you.”

  The pipes sighed once more as he led her to the center of the courtyard. As
she stood, he began to dance around her, his spine ramrod straight as he turned to regard her with sultry fixation. Swiftly she became a prisoner of those smoldering glances, holding him in the corners of her eyes as the violin hummed passionately, countering the gentle caress of the flute. Kate could feel his body, the undulation of air as he flew round her, moving with a sinuous style that stole her breath. With each beat, he drew nearer, until the heat of his exhalation warmed the back of her neck. Yet, even as she braced herself for his touch, he would move away, tantalizing her, wooing her without words.

  The world narrowed to a small spinning sphere with Duncan at its center. Somehow, all unaware, Kate’s feet had begun to move, seduced by the music and the man. All the rigid steps and patterns that she had thought of as dance were forgotten as the elemental rhythm took hold of her. The drum became a second heartbeat. Her hair flew loose from its moorings, to mingle molten with chestnut firelight against Duncan’s dark mane. Round and round they whirled, linked in the passion of the pipes until the sound waned into silence. Then suddenly motion ceased. Time stopped. Kate looked up at Duncan, waiting for the inevitable.

  He saw himself in the green shadows of her eyes. He knew that his deepest secrets, his worst fears were plainly writ in his face for her to see. He loved her. Heaven or hell help him, he loved this woman and he did not even know her real name. She did not fully trust him or believe in him, but as his thumb traced the outline of her lips, nothing else seemed to matter except the feel of her, the sensuous whisper of silken strands against his shoulder, the scent of heather and smoke. He felt her hands stealing across the nape of his neck, the gentle tug as her fingers twined in his hair. He took all the sweetness that she offered, pulling her close, as if she could somehow fill the gaping void inside of him.