Cathy Maxwell - [Chattan Curse 03] (11 page)

Because she had wanted something more, they had labeled her the Unattainable, a mocking term that appealed to their competitive natures. She was a challenge, a game, a mountain to be climbed. And then, from what Margaret could observe of other women’s marriages, she would be tucked into a stall like a prize mare to be trotted out or ignored depending on her husband’s whims.

Her most courageous act had been to sit Harry and Neal down after their father’s funeral and explain to them that they must all let the curse end now, with them. They should not fall in love or ever marry where children could be created.

What she’d really been doing was giving herself the rationale to never marry. Her decision had removed her from the marriage game.

Now, leaning against the door, Margaret realized a secret truth: She still believed in love.

She
wanted
to believe. She also knew that she was spoiled goods for any worthy man, the sort of man she could love. He would not want a wife who had foolishly tumbled with a stable lad. He would not trust her.

Margaret pushed the weight of her hair back from her face. Her life was so confusing. She could not rely on anyone other than herself . . . with, perhaps, the exception of Heath Macnachtan.

Had he betrayed her by not telling her about the island?

She thought not. He’d been protecting his family and her story was outlandish.

But she’d also witnessed how this man would step forward for what he believed.

And she was starting to notice other things about him as well. The small things, the details women cherished.

She liked the way his eyes laughed and had noticed how well shaped his hands were. He had calluses on them. He was not afraid of work, but his hands moved with the grace of ability.

Then there was the broadness of his shoulders and the leanness of his jaw. The haphazard way he tied his neck cloth. The interest and respect he showed for his sisters.

And there was the way she was beginning to feel when she was around him. She caught herself watching him, depending on his judgment.

Trusting him.

There lay danger. This man was the sworn enemy of her family and yet he had treated her with nothing but deference.

And she no longer knew herself.

She had not meant to kiss him. It had just happened.

Margaret pressed her index finger to her lips, savoring that brief contact—and knowing she must not let the passion in her nature betray her again.

For a second, she could swear she sensed him on the other side of the door. She sat still.

The rapid beat of her heart measured off the minutes.

And then she felt him withdraw.

A moment later, she heard a bedroom door shut.
He had been there.

She brought her hands down around her legs, uncertain, reminding herself that a witch waited. Like an actress in a play, Fenella was in the wings, biding her time.

Margaret could imagine the air in the room breathing, pulsing with the presence of that which they did not understand.

Fenella was here . . . but so was the laird. A certainty fell upon her. She was
meant
to be here, in this moment.

The witch had tried to destroy her once and had failed. Who was to say she would not fail again?

And Margaret thought of little Owl, the cat who had saved her and then disappeared.

Exhaustion fell over her. It had been a day of tumultuous emotions. She needed sleep.

Margaret rose from the floor and undressed, letting her clothes drop where she took them off, too overwhelmed to pick them up. She climbed into bed and was soon dreaming. She dreamed of pine forest and a fire, but it wasn’t Fenella’s book that was burning.

It was she.

Chapter Ten

L
aren, Anice and Dara did not accompany Heath and Lady Margaret to Innis Craggah, the island with the ruins of Macnachtan Keep.

Anice informed him that venturing out on Loch Awe in winter was not their idea of an adventure. “And we doubt if she will find anything, Heath,” she confessed. “The island is deserted. There is nothing but rock left of the keep from that time.”

He agreed, but another part of him was curious. There was a mystery surrounding Lady Margaret and he found himself anxious to solve it.

Instead of the women, Rowlly and two of the stable lads rode with them. Cook had prepared a basket of bread and smoked fish, and they were in good spirits when they set out.

Frost covered the ground, but the sky was clear and blue—a rare day, indeed, and Heath took it as a good omen.

Because of the cold, he wore several layers of clothes beneath his coat. Lady Margaret wore a red cape trimmed in fur over her riding habit. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

He’d had trouble sleeping because of her. She’d wandered in and out of his dreams. No woman had done that before.

Last night, after she’d given that brief peck—he wouldn’t dignify it by calling it a kiss—he’d stood outside her bedroom door, a part of him wanting to knock. He imagined drawing her out, talking to her about nothing, or everything. He was keen to push the tenuous connection between them. He wanted more.

But he’d held back. He’d not knocked on her door. She was accustomed to being chased. Men threw themselves at her feet.

He, and his pride, needed to be a bit more rational. After all, why would a Venus ever value a Scottish lout like him? He could think of no reason.

She was very quiet as they traveled.

He attributed her silence to concern over where they were going. Innis Craggah was the place where it had all begun.

They rode along Loch Awe’s shoreline. A fine mist covered the water, and the wind was cold.

At last, they came close to their destination. Heath reined Admiral around to ride beside Margaret. “Do you see the island closest to us in the loch? You can make out its shape in the mist. That is Innis Craggah, Island of Rock. It is about a mile long and a half a mile wide.”

As he spoke, the mist decided to lift and revealed an island covered with winter brown undergrowth mingled with the deep green of firs and the gray barks of trees.

“Where is the tower?” she asked.

“You can’t see what is left of it from here. When we go ashore, there is a path that leads right to where the keep once was.”

“How will we reach the island?” she asked.

“We have friends,” Heath answered, and kicked his horse forward. To his pleasure, she did the same.

They rode along the road at a fast clip, their mounts breathing heavy in the chilled air, until they came upon John Gibson’s cottage. The fisherman was bundled against the cold while he went about his tasks among his boats lined up and turned over on the shore.

“Laird Macnachtan,” he hailed Heath as they rode up, “imagine seeing one such as yourself out here today. And you look hale and well. My clansman Augie swore his knuckles had sent you to a bed for a week.”

“Och
, man, are you believing Augie?” Heath said, letting his brogue deepen as he jumped down from his horse and approached the fisherman. He held out his hand.

“Not for a moment,” Gibson answered, a smile splitting his face. He was a burly man with a mass of red hair on his head and chin and smelled of fresh air and dead fish. “You look a sight better than Augie does. Of course, as long as you keep popping him in the head, no harm will be done.” He laughed at his own joke and then greeted Rowlly, mentioning something about his role in the fight at the Goldeneye. His eyes strayed to Lady Margaret.

Of course, as would any man, he had been aware of her since the moment they had ridden up.

He bowed, recognizing Quality when he met one.

“John, this is Lady Margaret Chattan,” Heath said.

The man’s reaction was almost humorous. “Chattan?” For a second, Heath feared the man would spit. Instead, he swallowed and said, “There is one of them here? With you?” He added in almost a whisper, “A
female
one?”

“Aye, and she is with me. We want to pay a visit to the ruins of the keep. Will you take us across?”

For a second, John eyed Heath as if he had just suggested he wanted to cut out his tongue.

“Will you or won’t you?” Heath prodded.

“I will,” John answered, as if still uncertain Heath jested. However, he recovered enough to negotiate the cost of rowing them over.

That done, the stable lads and Rowlly helped John right two of his skiffs into the water. The boats had sails but John said the water was calm and the distance not far. “We could row in less time than it takes to mount the masts.”

Heath helped Lady Margaret dismount. One of the lads would stay with the horses.

Mrs. Gibson, John’s wife, came out of the house, her arms crossed. “You are going out, John?” she asked.

“Yes, Mary. Send out Donald. We need young arms to help row.” She went inside and a moment later John’s oldest son, a scruffy lad of about twelve, came out. He’d bundled himself warmly. Gibson placed a step by the boat for Lady Margaret and the rest of them to use to climb aboard.

In short order, they were on the water. The current was with them.

If his sisters had been here, they would have been huddled in the boat against the weather. In contrast, Lady Margaret sat at the prow of the boat. She’d thrown the hood of her cloak back and appeared as if she relished being on the water. The wind caught her hair, loosening a few strands from the pins.

Heath manned the oars closest to her. John was also in their boat, while Rowlly, the stable lad and Donald were in the other.

One end of Innis Craggah was a rocky beach. The other end had a blunt shape formed by a rock cliff as if a portion of the island had been parsed away by the hand of God. Lady Margaret pointed at it and said, “Could that be the cliff that Fenella jumped from when she threw herself on her daughter’s funeral pyre?”

“I don’t know,” he told her. “They say there once was more shoreline beneath that cliff. The water there is very shallow. My brother and I would row out here when we were lads. I have swum the perimeter of this island at least a dozen times. The water below the cliff is not as deep as my knees.”

Lady Margaret nodded. The small worry line had reappeared between her brows. Heath hated seeing it, especially since he believed she would be disappointed in what she would find on the island. There was very little left of the old keep.

They were approaching the shore. John used his oar to guide the boat as close to land as possible. Heath jumped ashore and pulled the prow of the boat in. He reached for Lady Margaret, who was already standing. She offered her hand but he knew she could not jump the distance and would find her shoes wet for the effort. He placed his hands on her waist, swinging her up into the air to settle her on the rocky shore. Her weight felt good in his arms.

He tried not to think of it. Instead, he focused on helping John secure the boat.

Rowlly’s boat reached the shore. Heath helped drag it up on land. “We want to look at the ruins,” Heath informed the others. “It should not take us long.”

“There isn’t much to see,” John agreed. “We’ll be here.”

“What do you want us to do while we wait, Laird?” Rowlly asked. He’d thought to bring Cook’s basket with them.

“Whatever you wish. We should be ready to leave within the hour,” he answered.

He turned to Lady Margaret but she had already discovered the path overgrown with spiny brown heather and hawthorn’s sharp-needled branches and was pushing her way through it.

He hurried to catch up with her.

M
argaret had expected to feel something upon setting foot on the island.

If there had been clouds with thunderbolts around it, she would have felt better than seeing it as an ordinary piece of land like so many other small islands in Loch Awe’s waters.

When her feet had touched shore, she’d not felt a tingle, not even a twinge.

Noticing the faint trace of a path from the shore into what was a surprisingly dense, overgrown forest, Margaret knew she should wait for Laird Macnachtan and yet now she was here, she wasn’t just impatient, she felt compelled to go forward. So many had sacrificed so much for her to reach this place. She didn’t want to delay in beginning her search.

She heard Laird Macnachtan as he came up behind her. He leaned around her and pushed branches blocking her path away. It was a gallant gesture for which she was grateful, just as she’d appreciated his helping her from the boat. It was good to not be alone in this venture and she valued his many strengths.

“How far are the ruins?” she asked. The air was not so cold in the forest.

“We are almost upon them. At least half of this island was once Macnachtan Keep. They built it here to protect themselves from raiders. The Campbells had a bigger fortress up the loch. There are also ruins on a few of the other islands. This forest wasn’t here back in the day. It’s grown up over the years since we’ve been gone.”

“Why did your family abandon the keep?”

“Our family’s interests were on the shore. We no longer needed to protect ourselves from raiders. I find it interesting that they didn’t even build on the shore across from the Innis Craggah. My father said that was because of our alliance with the Campbells. With that clan, you’d best secure your borders and watch everything you own or it will be gone in a blink.”

“Even now?” she asked.

“No, generations ago. They
buy
property now. Owen Campbell has made a bid for mine.” He now walked ahead of her, clearing the way.

She gathered her cape around her. The thing was cumbersome in the woods. “Would you sell?”

He ducked under a low-hanging limb. “I’ll not lie, I’ve thought about it. We need the money and there have been times when I’d rather do anything other than chasing pigs and worrying about petty squabbles and empty bellies.”

“I imagine after the scene with Swepston yesterday, there will be much less arguing,” she said.

He shrugged. They had been hiking uphill. He wasn’t winded but she was feeling the exertion of the climb. She unfastened her cloak and took it off, folding it over her arm. She could use a walking stick.

As if reading her mind, he held out his hand. “Here.”

For a second, she debated refusing. He already claimed too much of her mind.

Then again, they both wore gloves . . . and she appreciated his assistance so she accepted his offer, and just in time. They had to climb a small ledge of rock. In her heavy, long riding skirt, she would have been clumsy and undignified without his help.

This point of the island was higher and steeper than she had anticipated, and provided a good vantage point for surveying all activity on shore and up and down the loch.

They took a moment to catch their breath.

“Would you go back to the sea if you sold Marybone?” she asked.

“I miss the sea,” he admitted. “However, this is my birthright. My home. Then again, I think about my sisters. Dara has pointed out they should be finding husbands and they would if everyone didn’t know the Macnachtans were so bloody poor.”

“Your sisters are lovely girls. Is a dowry that important? Even here?”

“It is not important to old men with motherless children, or the equally poor,” he answered. “Granted, we’ve just emerged from mourning. Perhaps Laren and Anice would each find someone worthy of them. Dara has her doubts, and it is true our debts weigh against my sisters. They should have marriages that add to their prestige, not detract from it.”

She could not argue. He was right.

“Where do you believe your fortunes would be if Charles Chattan had not left Rose?” she asked.

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You said it yesterday. When you confronted Swepston, you claimed that the Macnachtans were the ones who were truly cursed. That Fenella’s actions weighed upon you as well.”

“It’s true when one considers the matter. The Chattan have fared far better than we have.”

“The curse has caused us death,” she pointed out.

“And you believe there is nothing worse than death?”

Startled, she said, “Is there?”

He held up a placating hand. “I’m not belittling the costs to your family. I do not mean to mock those deaths you say the curse has claimed—”

“I don’t ‘say.’
It has
,” she said, bristling under his continued doubt.

“Yes, as it is,” he returned in concession, but continued, “However, superstition has kept us isolated. When I was growing up, we lived and farmed the way my father’s father did and his before him. Even the stones of Marybone came from the keep although they say it was a time-consuming, ridiculous endeavor to ferry them across. Even building Marybone was one of the foolishnesses that broke us. We didn’t have the money then. And one of our problems now is that the young and the able leave and those left behind listen to the likes of Swepston or those who expect me to answer all of their problems.
Me
. The one who can’t solve his own brother’s death.”

“Perhaps there was no reason for his murder,” she suggested with sympathy. “A random act such as robbery.”

“His money was still in his pocket, although he didn’t have that much.”

“Was there a vendetta?”

“I thought of Swepston, but you saw him yesterday. I believe he was genuinely shocked when I accused him of the murder.”

“Could he be a good actor?”

The laird considered her words a moment and then shook his head. “No. He has strong opinions and eccentric habits, but at heart the man is simple. I can’t see him in the role of murderer.”

“Whom do you see then?” she asked.

He looked up to the cloudless sky that was the deep blue that was only seen in winter. “I believe his attacker was someone he trusted. Someone who could lead him to that place. But I don’t know how it was done and there has been no sign or clue of why.” He shook his head, his manner changing. “Enough of that. This day is about you and your welcome to Macnachtan Keep.” He bowed as he said the last, a mocking gesture, and indicated with a wave of his hand the top of the knoll where she now stood.