His reverie was interrupted by a tug at his elbow. Anne stared up at him solemnly, her thumb firmly ensconced in her mouth. At least she had come to bid him farewell.
“Is there anything you're wanting from Edinburgh lass?” Duncan asked. “A ribbon for your hair? A doll, perhaps?”
Anne shook her head and gestured toward the saddlebags
“She wants you to stay,” Kate said.
Duncan looked up to see her standing in the doorway. There were shadows beneath her eyes. It would seem that there had not been much sleep for her either.
“I have told her that you will return as soon as you may, but I do not think that she quite believes me. Her father never came back you see.”
“I am not going to the battlefield, Anne,” he told the child. “Just off to Edinburgh.” But when Kate’s eyes met his, he knew that it was a half-truth he told. Likely he would be facing the biggest battle of his life, and the most futile. “The question is,” Duncan addressed Kate, “will you be waiting for me when I return?”
“I do not think that I will have much choice but to wait for you, Duncan,” Kate said her expression somewhat sardonic. “Not after I give you this.” She held out a small, worn pouch. “I want you to take it and I will brook no protests.”
“A black velvet reticule? A bold fashion choice to be sure. Has Brummel dictated during my confinement that reticules are now de riguer with buckskins?” Duncan asked, masking his relief with humor. She would stay. “Will it be appropriate with evening wear, do you think? It does match my eye-patch rather well.”
“Silly wretch . . .” Kate faltered, not wishing to wound his pride. “I know that you are not a rich man, Duncan and your undertaking will require some funds.” She pulled the drawstring open and drew out an exquisite brooch. “This was my grandmother’s. Accept nothing less than a hundred pounds for it. It is worth far more.” She tugged his hand open and tucked it between his fingers. “And there are ten guineas in here as well.
He understood now what Kate had meant when she had commented that she would have no choice but to remain. This was the sum of her worldly possessions, all of her resources should she be required to flee. Yet, she was giving it to him in the mistaken belief that he had nothing. Touched beyond words, he searched for something to say, but before he could tell her just how much he loved her, she spoke again.
“This belongs to you as well,” she said, fishing around the bag. Her fist opened to reveal the glint of ruby and gold. At first Duncan thought that the light was playing tricks, but it was the MacLean ring. The signet had been in the family as long as there had been MacLeans on Eilean Kirk. It was the only bit of the MacLean heritage that his mother had taken with her, more for its proof of his birthright than its value, Duncan suspected.
“I know that it is an heirloom, but I suspect you could get a fair amount for it. Certainly, enough to hire the services of a canny man at law,” Kate continued, unaware of his shock.
“Wh . . . where? Where did you . . .?” was all that Duncan could stutter out
Kate smiled. “Get it? From your Mr. Dewey of course. It was your legacy to Marcus. Were I you, Duncan, I would retain myself another lawyer. It took better than a year after your supposed ‘death’ for him to send this on to the man you designated to inherit it, by way of Spain, I might add. Of course, by then, Marcus was already long gone. I suppose that I ought to be grateful that Dewey was both incompetent and indiscreet. Had I had not received his letter asking if I knew of any buyers for a ‘deserted Scot castle in a Gothic state of disrepair,’ as he put it, I would never have thought of hiding here. I really should have returned the ring to you sooner, knowing how your finances stand, but I could not without revealing my identity.”
“Was there not another part to the legacy?” Duncan asked.
“Nothing of monetary value,” Kate said, surprised at the intensity of the question. The man looked as if he was struck by a bolt from on high, yet he was totally disregarding the ring. “There was also a book of poetry that you left to Marcus, one of my favorites actually. I have always enjoyed Blake and Anne adored the pictures. She would beg me to read from it in the evenings. In fact, she once had many of the poems by heart.”
Tyger, tyger burning bright . . . his eye turned to Anne in a silent query. “Do you by any chance know where it is?” he asked, his voice raw with emotion.
“It was one of the few things that we brought along,” Kate said. “It was familiar, portable and a memento of happier times. I had intended to return it to you as well, but given the present circumstances, I thought that you might appreciate the ring more. Would you like the book back now?”
Duncan nodded, unable to trust his speech.
Without being bidden Anne ran inside.
“Duncan?” Kate tried and failed to interpret his odd expression. “I understand if you do not want to sell the ring. I do have some personal funds, but I have not dared to touch them for fear that John would be able to trace us.” She took a deep breath and made her decision. Eventually the final card had to be turned or the game would never end. “I am beginning to believe that you are right. We cannot hide from evil and hope that it will not find us. Perhaps with that money at your disposal you might find the help that you need?”
“You would risk that for me, Kate?” Duncan asked, startled from his watch on the kitchen door.
“Risk is unavoidable but it can sometimes be managed. Between the two of us, we might hope to hold him at bay,” Kate suggested
At that moment Duncan forgot the book, forgot Vesey, forgot everything but the woman standing before him. What she offered was no less than her all; for he knew full well that the contents of that tiny bag were the entire sum of her reserves. The fact that she had even suggested chancing access to her accounts was a gesture that bespoke complete trust.
He looked at that open hand and his heart filled with an uncanny wonder. It was true that he had known himself to be in love with her before, but this emotion unfolding within him was entirely new, infinitely deeper. With this gesture, she had claimed the last shadowy places of his heart. She had granted everything and asked for nothing in return. Slowly, he took her hand in his and closed her slender fingers around the ring. “‘Tis yours, Kate.”
“But you need . . .” she protested.
He shook his head. “There is but one thing that I need and that is you.”
He would have continued to explain, but just then, Anne appeared in the doorway, a familiar volume in her hand. Duncan held his breath not daring to believe until she actually placed it in his grasp. With a whoop of joy, he grasped Kate around the waist and whirled her in a spinning dance that was both an expression of elation and love. “Forgive me. . .Kate . . . forgot the . . . oath,” he said in a winded pant when he set her down at last. “But with this,” he waved the book like a banner, “we need not be content with keeping him at bay. He’s gallows-meat. Tyger, tiger burning bright!”
“Is that the book then, Sir?” Fred asked his smile stretching the full length of his face as he returned to the courtyard.
“Aye, the book,” Duncan said, “the one I feared lost forever.”
“I do not understand,” Kate said.
“Did you ever notice the markings?” Duncan asked. “Underlined parts of passages, numbers in the margins?”
“Yes, but?”
“Here, look,” he opened to a page at random. “See, this marked passage? W … a...l. .t… er... s and these numbers? September 18, 1803. Walters received a shipment of guns on that date, yet they were never distributed, vanished without a trace. And there is enough here to damn Vesey and his friends for eternity.”
At the mention of Vesey’s name, Anne shook her head and tugged at Duncan, her fears as plain as if she had spoken them aloud.
“Dinna trouble yourself, lassie,” Duncan told her squatting down to meet her eyes. “John Vesey hurt my soldiers and now, thanks to you and your mother, no one need fear him ever again. The men at Whi
tehall cannot ignore this, sweetheart and it’s on my way to London, I am, to wave it beneath Wellington’s long nose. There is no way that he can fail to smell the stench of it, now.”
“Not Edinburgh, then?” Fred asked.
“No, Fred,” Duncan declared with a slap on the man’s shoulders. “We are bound for Town, my friend. But I gave Tam my word that I would stop in the village and get the list of parts that he needs for his distilling apparatus. I’m certain that I can get whatever he requires in London.” He opened his saddlebag and wrapped the precious volume carefully in oilcloth. “The book of retribution, Kate,” he said as he tucked it in securely, envisioning Vesey before the dock, the crowds pelting him with offal as he stood at the gibbet. “He will suffer, but not enough for my taste. I would wring his neck with my own hands if I could. Vengeance is my right.”
Kate shook her head uneasily. Her yearning for Vesey’s downfall was no less than his, but the wild light in his eye was disturbing, touching her with a cold chill. “Vengeance is ultimately not ours, Duncan,” she said, “but is meted out by a higher justice than any at Whitehall or Windsor.”
“Do you not want to see him suffer, Kate?” Duncan asked, swinging himself onto his horse. “To make him pay for what he has done?”
“I just wish to be certain that John Vesey will never hurt anyone, ever again,” Kate told him. “That would suffice for me. As for suffering and ultimate payment, I will leave that in Divine hands.”
“I will do what I must,” Duncan said.
There was a harsh promise in those clipped words and no trace of mercy in an eye that was harsh as slate. For a moment, she almost pitied John Vesey.
. . .
It would be far easier than he had anticipated. Vesey watched as MacLean and his man rode across the causeway, noting their saddlebags with satisfaction. Excellent. He would have more than ample time to arrange matters according to his new strategy. By the time MacLean returned, the trap would be set.
His tongue darted out to lick his lips in anticipation. It could not have worked out better had he planned it so. He had not anticipated finding Katherine and the child here. With his two nemeses under one roof it was ridiculously easy to formulate a scenario that would produce the outcome that would give him both the explanations and the outcomes that he wanted. Now, all that remained was to set his campaign in motion.
The child had long disappeared from sight when Kate finally left her spot on the hill, but that was no matter. Anne would be easily dealt with. Vesey stole into the kitchen. The old besom of a maid did not even hear him as he came up behind her and hit her with the butt of his pistol. He deliberately avoided a fatal blow. The woman still had some value as a lever to bend Kate to his will. His sister-by-marriage was foolishly fond of the servant and that affection could be used. With quick economical movements, the woman was bound and gagged. Unfortunately, Vesey was forced to drag the weighty body from view himself. He had no assistance. He had determined that there would be no witnesses.
. . .
“Daisy?” Kate set her basket on the table and began to unload the produce. “The cucumbers are thriving again. We may yet have enough to pickle.”
“I have always despised cucumbers,” came a voice from the shadows.
Kate whirled knocking the basket to the floor as Vesey stepped into view.
“I would not flee, Katherine,” he said, levelling his pistol. “It would be tragic for Anne to lose her mother, would it not?”
Kate fought a rising sense of panic. “What have you done with Daisy?” she forced herself to ask with a semblance of calm.
“Nothing . . . presently,” Vesey said. “However she is somewhat ... er... tied up.” He tittered. “So, I would not count on her help. It is just the two of us, my dear. And, of course, little Anne. Where is my charming niece? Why has she not come to greet her dear Uncle John? But then with you as a teacher, ‘tis no wonder that she is rag-mannered as well as dull-witted.”
Kate was silent.
“Call her, Katherine,” he commanded, waving his gun menacingly. “If you do not bring her, I vow the sound of a gunshot might.”
Kate inclined her head in the cowed manner she had learned long ago. Slowly, with a show of reluctance, she went to the window. “Anne! Uncle John is here! Hide! Run!” was all that she could say before he hauled her aside roughly and slapped her across the face.
“Stupid bitch!” he said. “What do you think that you have gained by that? She’ll come, I vow, when she hears her mother screaming.”
“I will not let her suffer at your hands again, John,” Kate said.
He scrutinized her coldly. “You are obviously mad.”
“Yes, you have gone to a good deal of trouble to paint me as weak-minded,” she said drawing herself upright in defiance. “I know what manner of worm you are. Well you will not trifle with me as you do with the servants.”
“Trifling with the servants?” Vesey asked. “Poor little Anne, telling stories. Why she must be suffering from the same madness as her dear mamma. But be assured Katherine, I do not mean to trifle with you. I sincerely hope that the Mad MacLean has enhanced those paltry skills that Marcus complained of, because I fully intend to make an honest woman of you. Alas, my poor Chloe is not long for this world.” he said, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back sharply.
“I will die first!”
Vesey laughed. “No, unless you agree to this marriage, you will die last, Katherine. Last and in suffering, watching them all go before you, your beloved Daisy, your Scots lover and I will be left with little Anne. It will be such a tragic tale; a lover’s quarrel, ending in gunshots, the servants dead and poor little Anne, silent and out of her mind with grief. I can just picture Prinny weeping as he laps up the gory details. There is nothing that the royal fat fool adores more than a lurid melodrama.”
“Well you can leave Lord MacLean from your fiction. He is gone,” Kate said, “I am certain you saw him go. We quarreled and I doubt that he will return any time soon.”
Vesey laughed softly. “You always were a poor liar, Katherine. Those eyes betray you every time. He will be back and we will be waiting. But while we wait, I have a few questions to ask. Where is Anne’s book of poetry?”
So, Vesey knew about the book. It was certain that he would never let any of them live to tell the tale.“Which book?” she asked vaguely. She had to stall for time, keep him talking. There was no way to know if Anne had heard her warning. And if she had? What could the silent child do?
. . .
“Be certain that the pipes be copper,” Tam admonished Duncan. “A cheaper metal willna do near as well.”
“I will remember, Tam,” Duncan said, impatient to be off. Duncan had sent the Cockney with his slower horse on ahead, hoping to save time. Tam had already spent well over an hour describing every detail of the distilling mechanism down to the last bloody bolt. Fred was likely to be halfway to London by the time the old man was finished. The sudden commotion outside was a welcome interruption. Perhaps Duncan could finally say his farewells without damaging Tam’s pride. A crowd was gathering outside the door, and a familiar bark drew Duncan to the center of the disturbance.
“Anne!” Duncan scooped the child up, ignoring Cur’s frenetic yips. She was gasping for breath and her dusty feet were bloody. “What happened, child?”
“Uncle John. . . the castle . . .” She fought to get the words out, but the terror in her face filled in more than enough detail.
“And the dumb shall speak,” Tam murmured in wonder.
“To hell with your blathering about the bloody curse,” Duncan roared. “My lady is in danger. Start for the castle with some men Tam.” He tried to hand Anne over to one of the women, but she would not release him.
“I shall get to her faster by myself, lassie,” he said quietly.
Reluctantly she let go. “She told me to run and hide,” she whispered. “He’ll hurt her.”
“I will not allow it,”
Duncan promised as he mounted Selkie. Try though he might, he could not keep the name “Canute” from his mind.
. . .
“Call her, Kate!” Vesey demanded.
Kate rested her cheek against the cold metal of the pump, unobtrusively flexing her wrists against the bonds that held her to the impromptu whipping post. The old bit of rope that Vesey had found in the kitchen was frayed and she had kept her arms limp when he had bound her. Given a few minutes more, she might be able to slip the ropes loose, but time was a commodity that seemed to be limited.
“Call your daughter!”
She pulled a deep breath, exhaling as she heard his riding whip whistling down toward her back. The trick of taking a flogging, an old infantryman had told her long ago, was to stay flexible, to avoid the tendency to go rigid. Unfortunately, although she yielded as much as possible to the impact, she felt the bite of the lash. The scream remained sealed in her throat as the blood trickled from the bite in her lip.
“Call her!”
“You know they would do something quite similar to this in India, when tigers would prey on the flocks,” Kate said when she caught her breath. “The natives would stake out a goat and make it bleat in the hopes of luring the predator into their trap. Well, I will be damned before I bleat for you, John.”
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