Reckoning (Book 4 of Lost Highlander series) (6 page)

“Have you learned anything new about Lachlan?” he asked.

Her smile died on her lips. She saw him jump and knew that Evie had probably kicked him under the table. “Nothing definitive,” she said.

She had to get out of there. If Sam asked more questions, if Evie looked sad, she would dissolve into tears, or turn to stone, or shrivel up and blow away. She simply couldn’t face the truth about Lachlan just yet.

She rubbed the back of her neck. “I think I’ll get a bath,” she said, already heading for the door.

Evie stared at her. “Are you coming back down?”

Her voice was as unnatural as Piper’s as she gave Sam a telling look. Good, let Evie fill him in on everything while she wasn’t around. It would be easier that way, then they could all just avoid the subject later, which was exactly what she wanted.

“I might do some reading up there,” she said meaningfully.

“Oh, okay,” Evie said, perking up. She wanted to know what was in the diary as much as she wanted to find out if there really was a reference to Rose in the old papers. “Let me know if you need anything.” Evie checked the video baby monitor for the hundredth time that evening. “Hey, check in on Mags, will you?”

Piper smiled and nodded, a slight bit of the weight lifting off her. It was one thing for Evie to put on a brave face when it was just her, but she wouldn’t ask her to check on Magnus if she had any deep down fears of her snapping.

With her sour mood the way it was, she decided to forgo the hot bath, itchy to see what was in the newest addition to her accursed library. After she put on her voluminous flannel nightgown, she got under the covers and pulled the bedside lamp closer, casting a cozy circle of light around her.

She looked down at the pretty blue diary with a mixture of curiosity and distaste, and to stall a little longer, she pulled out Lachlan’s ring box and slid on her ruby ring.

For the thousandth time she wondered what he’d meant by it, how he would have given it to her, the sweet words he might have said. The grief that was lurking around behind her layer of disbelief threatened to poke through and strangle her, so with a sigh, she opened the diary.

Her grandmother’s handwriting was round and girlish, alternating in blue pen or thick pencil strokes. By doing the math from the dates at the top of each page, she figured Rose was about sixteen when she got the diary.

The first few entries were standard fare, excitement to have a journal, and promises to write every day. There was indeed a list of boys’ names with a funny ranking system of smiley faces next to them. She was shocked to see a name she recognized from the village as having the highest mark of four smileys. He was a kind old gentleman with a full head of silver hair now. Maybe he’d been the resident hottie back in the day.

Piper found herself charmed by her grandma’s entries, learning of a new blouse or bracelet, how irritating Fenella could be, how she was worried about an exam, which the next entry told she aced. After reading through three months of standard teenage girl life, the diary came to an abrupt halt. Rose wanted to go to Edinburgh for a new dance dress and then nothing.

Piper turned the page to find the next one blank. What in the hell? Had she been tormented by dreams about this diary only to find out that her grandmother never got a new dress for her end of year dance?

A whining at her door made her jump, and she shook herself back to the present to let Hoover in. She absently scratched him behind the ears and got resettled with him lightly thumping his tail on the mattress next to her.

“Okay, Rose, why did you stop writing?” She turned a few more blank pages. “Ah, here we go.” One of the many reasons she liked having Hoover around was so she could speak out loud and not feel strange about it.

After half a dozen blank pages, the entries began again, but shorter, cryptic and completely different from the lighthearted tone of Rose’s earlier writings. According to the dates, a three month time period had passed and Rose seemed almost frantic. Piper’s stomach turned over as she read the new entries.

10 October 1966
-  
By the trees.

14 October 1966
 -
I didn’t want to. In the woods, close to the river. I walked all day.

18 October 1966
 - I can’t believe I got back, thought I was dead. He was there again but didn’t see me this time.

Another blank page, then undated:
No no no no
 written in splotchy ink as if she’d cried on the page while writing.

Piper had to stop, her heart was beating so frantically. She closed the book around her thumb to mark the page and sat staring at herself in her darkened window. Hating her haunted reflection, she got up and yanked the curtains shut, returning shakily to the bed. She stroked Hoover’s shaggy fur until she got a sense of equilibrium back, but still unwilling to open the diary again, not wanting to watch her grandmother’s terror unfold on each subsequent page.

24 October 1966
-
Got the letters ready.

28 October 1966
 - S
till nothing, nightmares. Walked for six hours.

29 October 1966
 - It h
appened again. A month this time. Do not know why I came back. Next time? When??? God help me, please.

Piper caught her breath, which felt frozen in her chest. Her grandmother’s fear and sadness exuded from the diary as if the feelings were her own, even though she didn’t fully understand. Something must have scared her.

Had she tried to run away, but then come back? Perhaps this part of her diary was leading up to when she left for America for good. The next few pages were blank, then when the writing started up again, Piper dropped the diary at what she saw, her hands gone cold and stiff.

The new entries were written in sloppy, splattered ink. The dates jumped from October of 1966 to July. Of 1770.

Lachlan was alive, but he was in hell, surrounded by Glens.

He sat in the center of the pretentious long table, actually raised above the rest of the dining hall, so he had to look down upon everyone as if he were some mad king. His drink came to him in a ridiculous silver goblet that was actually crusted with small jewels. He’d already cut his lip once on the damn thing.

At home he sat amongst his men and their families, or with his brother. He looked down the row of people sitting at the table to see Quinn scowling at a fancily trussed game bird that lay before him in roasted and sauced glory.

He turned to his own plate, which had just been set before him with the customary and annoying flourish, only to be swept away by Bella.

A week earlier, when they had announced the sad demise of her father due to the failing of his old heart, they’d been met with some shouts and murmurs that Lachlan was to be the new laird. Not many, to be sure, and some had merely whispered to each other and cast him sullen looks. These were the ones that worried him most, and Bella had stood up at their first meal with him as laird and hollered at everyone that she would be tasting her husband’s food, in case any lowly coward thought to poison him. That so distressed Gordon, who apparently thought it was a real threat, that he in turn tasted everything before Bella did. By the time Lachlan got his plate back, it was picked over and cold.

He spent that first week in meetings, trying to win the favor of the ones who didn’t trust him, trying to assure everyone that he wasn’t a power hungry fiend, but that they shouldn’t try anything untoward with him either.

He’d had to put two people in the tower, knocked the heads of another two men who thought they might physically challenge his leadership from him, and bribed, threatened and cajoled a host of others. Of the three people besides Bella and Pietro who knew the true cause of Tavish’s death, he didn’t trust any of them.

The young guard who was smitten with Bella could turn at any time, and Lachlan planned to send him on a nice long campaign as soon as he could, with the promise of some land or other reward at the end of it to keep his mouth good and shut.

The physician who had to convince everyone Tavish had died of natural causes was now a very rich man, and in a month or so, when things calmed down a bit, would find he’d only ever wanted to retire with his wealth in Edinburgh.

And Gordon. Though Bella swore Gordon could be trusted, Lachlan just didn’t. All he wanted was to figure out a way to leave these godforsaken Glens and get back to Piper. So many times he’d set out for the woods with his vial of herbs in his hand, ready to leave them all to the devil, but he needed to find a way to settle it so Bella could legally marry Pietro.

He also needed to make sure his brother and his men could go home with no fear of reprisal against the Fergusons.
 They were still here, treated as a mixture of pariahs and honored guests, little more than well fed prisoners.

His stomach growled and he took his plate back from Bella.

“I havena had the carrots yet,” she said. “And we must wait a bit to make sure.”

“No one is going to poison me,” he said in a much more surly voice than he meant.

Bella was being brave and surprisingly good natured through all this. He saw her sending soulful looks to Pietro, who’d been given a post as a groom in the stables and had to sit on the lower level of the dining hall.

Pietro was being as good a sport as he could, what with his true love having to sleep with another man every night. Not that she slept much. Lachlan had set up a pallet for himself on the floor, as far from the bed as he could get it, and she cried a good deal of each night, calling out Pietro’s name when she did fall asleep.

She insisted on a daily ride for exercise, and made the new groom accompany her so she could at least get an hour or two with him every day. It wasn’t ideal and Lachlan was terrified they would get caught doing something indiscreet, but he couldn’t begrudge her.

“Well, when ye’re dead, I shall say I told ye so,” she said tartly, staring down at Pietro and taking a bite of bread.

“Ye would be better off if I was dead.”

“Och, dinna be a fool,” she replied, but her voice sounded strained now, not the usual teasing tone she took with him to try to get him out of his dark moods.

He turned to see her clutch her stomach and lean into the table, her face growing pale. He grabbed her wrist. “Good God, lass, have they really poisoned ye?” He stood to find the physician, and she pushed him back into his seat.

“No,” she said, straightening. The color returned slowly to her cheeks, but she had a thin film of sweat on her brow. “I’ve been feeling a bit off the last few days is all. I’ll be fine in a bit.” He patted her shoulder and watched her tear up, knowing she wished it was Pietro consoling her.

“I shall ride after the meal,” he announced loudly, feeling foolish as many eyes turned to him. “Will ye join me, wife?” She furrowed her brow in confusion and he refrained from rolling his eyes, but just barely. “Connor, ready our horses,” he boomed, then floundered for an excuse to bring him along. For whatever reason, Bella had gotten under his skin. He felt sorry for her and wanted a chance to put a smile on her face. “Ye shall accompany us in case my lady wants to pick some flowers.”

He closed his eyes when he heard Quinn snort at the end of the table. He turned to Bella expectantly.

She realized what he was doing and smiled at him gratefully. “I’d love to ride, milaird. And the groom should bring several baskets. Our chamber could use some flowers.” She looked down at Pietro, who was already scurrying off to do his bidding, and the look on her face made Lachlan’s heart sink. Only a blind man wouldn’t be able to see who it was that she loved.

They rode out innocently enough, Lachlan and Bella in the lead with Pietro trailing behind them, laden down with baskets and a put upon expression on his face. As they rode out of the yard, Lachlan made a point to lean over and catch Bella’s hand in his. He couldn’t believe his fears were completely paranoid. He knew at least some of the suspicious side glances they got were real.

When they were well enough into the woods, he fell back so Pietro could take his place by Bella, but instead he rode beside him and peppered him with questions.

What were they going to do? When were they leaving? What in the hell had happened and why was everything so terrible? It was the same thing he got every day from Quinn or one of his men.

He asked the same questions of Gordon, whenever he could corner the man alone, which was rare. The mastermind of the plan never had any answers, so neither did Lachlan. He shooed Pietro away with an irritated flick of his hand.

“Spend some time with your woman while ye have the chance,” he said gruffly, kicking his horse into a trot to get away from them.

He wanted to stew alone, get a few moments of silence, try and hear Piper’s voice in his memory. At a rocky outcropping far enough from the lovebirds that he could keep an eye on them but not have to listen to their inane chatter, he dismounted and let his horse graze on whatever it could find.

He watched them cavorting in the clearing, filling a basket with wild roses, never going more than a few seconds without touching each other’s hand or grabbing a quick kiss. As much as he wanted to wallow and hold onto his bitterness, their stolen happiness was infectious and he found himself relaxing in the last rays of the late afternoon sun.