Samantha James (21 page)

And later:

Alec closed the diary and got to his feet. Maura had been right all along. There
was
a family curse. A curse that touched both their families.

Where had James buried the Circle?

In the great hall, Alec hailed Mrs. Yates. “I believe she’s at the wishing well, your grace,” she told him.

His heart stood still. A chill ran through him.

The wishing well.

Where James McBride’s daughter had drowned.

Maura had long since abandoned the choice to wait until she was missed. She shouted. She screamed until her throat was raw.

Fright now verged on terror.

Water swirled around her waist, making a gurgling sound. It wasn’t rising at such an alarming rate, but it was still rising. And it was frigid. She shuddered. From cold. From fear. She fought to keep her wits about her, but a tiny little moan escaped. She could barely feel her toes. Her legs were starting to go numb. Though she fought it, another moan escaped her lips. Was this how she would die? No. No.

In desperation, she summoned all her strength. “Alec!” she screamed.

“Maura!”

Her face turned up. Was she losing her senses?

Alec’s face appeared over the top of the well. His expression was frantic.

She could have wept with joy. He was here!

“Maura! We’ll have a ladder in just a moment.” He turned away. “Hurry!” she heard him shout.

The ladder was lowered. Maura was shaking with cold so badly that she could scarcely grasp the rungs.

“Hold on, love! I’m coming down.”

Moments later a strong arm warm and hard about her waist, she held on tight as Alec ascended the ladder. At the top, several men helped her out of the well.

Someone dragged a blanket over her shoulders. Maura gripped the edges as Alec wrapped her in his arms. Above her head he raged and swore. “I’ll have this place bricked up again. Tomorrow, by God—”

“Alec! Alec!” She drew back so she could see him, her brow furrowed. “You knew, didn’t you? You knew I’d fallen into the well.” She shook her head in wonderment. “How? How did you know?”

“I will tell you, sweet, but first we must get you back to the hall and see you—”

“Alec, no. I am fine, truly. Just—tell me now!”

He pulled her to the bench. “You were right, Irish. You were right all along.”

“About what?” Maura had a very good idea what he was about to say. Precisely how she knew, she couldn’t say…

“The Black Scotsman,” Alec told her. “The Black Scotsman is—was—James McBride. And the Circle of Light—he stole it. From McDonough lands. Your lands.”

Her lips parted. “You believe me?” she whispered.

“Oh, aye. I believe you.” His features grim, he told her how he had stood beneath the portrait of James McBride. How, compelled by some strange force, he’d studied it, and how that same force lured him to the room depicted in the portrait.

How he’d found the diary—and what revelations it held.

How James wrote that the Circle had burned him, scarred his hand.

“So that’s why he wore the glove in the portrait,” she murmured.

“So it would seem. Within days of stealing the Circle, his wife died in a fall down the stairs. One of his sons was swept away in the cove, which is probably where James sailed from. And his daughter…she fell into the well and drowned. That’s how I knew where you were, Maura. I can’t
say why or how, but I knew.” Alec’s voice grew rough with emotion.

“James wrote that he buried the Circle within sight of Gleneden, in a place where neither he nor anyone else could lay hands on it again. He believed it held such power over him that he could never truly part with it.”

“So it’s not inside the hall,” she said slowly, “but within sight of it.”

“Yes. But the landscape has surely changed in two hundred years. It could be anywhere.” His eyes darkened. “And I will see that the wishing well is bricked up again. Why, this well is surely cursed! My mother always loved it, as did my grandmother—and you. But this place is damned. My mother planted roses here many times, but they always shriveled up and died. My father laughed at her. He told her his mother and grandmother had the very same notion—to plant roses here—but they always died. Nothing will grow here.”

Maura bit back a smile. She wasn’t about to admit that she, too, would have loved to plant roses here—

All at once her smile wavered.

Alec noticed the odd expression on her face. “What’s wrong?” he asked quickly.

She shook her head. Her mind was churning.

“Maura? Why do you look like that?” Alec’s expression changed. “You think the Circle is buried here near the well?”

“Not near the well.” She took a breath. “In the well.” She threw off the blanket and looked over at the wishing well, where two stable lads were pulling up the ladder. Her voice rang out clearly. “Leave it, please! And will one of you fetch a shovel?”

“A shovel?” Alec was on his feet. “Sweet, that will have to wait. The water in the well—”

He broke off. Standing at the well, Maura glanced at him, her brows upraised, a finger pointing down.

He sighed, prepared to indulge her, given her ordeal. He moved to her side, glanced over the side of the well—

And froze.

The well was bone dry.

“It’s there,” Maura whispered. “James said he buried it. And he did. He buried it in the well. Don’t you see? That’s why nothing will grow here. That’s why the well mysteriously fills with water, then disappears just mysteriously.”

Alec was still shocked. Disbelieving. “How is it possible? The water…the Circle. It would surely be ruined.”

“No.” Maura was adamant. “No. It’s the Circle
of Light, Alec. It doesn’t belong here. The Circle…it wants to be home. Home in Ireland. Back at the church of St. Patrick on McDonough lands. Home.”

The lad was back with the shovel. Maura reached for it, but Alec’s long arm stretched out before she could grip it. He dismissed the boys and turned to her.

Blue eyes flashed. “You are not going down there,” he growled.

“Then be about it, man!” Maura was impatient. She was soaked to the skin, but she didn’t care.

She watched him descend the ladder and begin to dig.

“Have you found it?” she called after a while. “Do you see it?”

Alec cursed. “No! There’s too many bloody stones!” Indeed, he was about to give up when the shovel struck something hard.

He climbed the ladder with a small metal box tucked under his arm. Maura’s body was almost pulsing.

On the bench, with the box between them, Maura opened it.

Inside was a small silver circlet. She started to reach for it.

“Maura, no! Don’t touch it! Remember how it burned James’s hand?”

“No, Alec, it’s all right. Look,” she breathed.

She’d already picked it up and now cradled it carefully in both hands. Warmth spread throughout her, a curious sort of energy.

The Circle began to glow then. Slowly, it rose, suspended above her palms. It seemed as if every color in the world shimmered in its depths, shifting and swirling, ever changing.

“My word,” Alec whispered, “it’s a miracle.”

“Aye, Scotsman.” She smiled up at him. “So it is.”

Back at the hall, Alec saw his lovely Irish bathed and fed. She was exhausted, but glowing, almost as much as her Circle of Light, tucked snugly in its box near the window.

Maura finished the last of her tea, setting the dainty china cup in its saucer. Rising, she joined him at the window.

Her arms slid around his waist. Drawing back, he traced the shape of her mouth with the tips of his fingers. “You haven’t stopped smiling since we left the wishing well.”

His arms linked loosely around her form, he rested his chin on the top of her head. He didn’t see the shadow that flitted across her features, the waver of that very smile he praised.

Catching his hand, she tugged him toward the
bed. Slender fingers unknotted the sash of his robe, then pushed it from his shoulders.

Alec sucked in a breath. “Maura, no! You’ve been—”

Her finger against his lips, she stifled his protest. Then, with a finger to his chest, she pushed him so that he sat on the edge.

In one sinuous move she shrugged from her robe—and onto his lap. Alec’s eyes went dark. “Irish—”

“Are you unwilling, Scotsman?” A finger already swirled an idle pattern through the dense mat of hair on his chest. His belly. Clear to—

Words eluded him. But from deep in his belly came a faint sound.

A small, feminine hand pushed him down upon the bed. “I shall take that to mean that you are not. Are you unable, then?”

Small hands came down on his shoulders. She straddled his form. The proof that he was indeed able—and aye, quite willing—was caught snug between her slender white thighs.

She squeezed them ever so slightly, shaped them around his breadth and length. An erotic caress, it stole his breath.

Strong hands molded her hips. “My lady pirate has returned, I see.” A shift, and he slid deep
inside. His eyes began to smolder. “This pirate has missed her.”

Oh, aye, she had returned, his pirate seductress from Ireland. Her hair was all around them, a silken black curtain, teasing his chest, his belly.

It was indescribable. She tempted him, seduced him, possessed him body and soul, until he was on fire. Their lovemaking was wanton and wild, shatteringly intense. A ragged groan tore from Alec’s chest. He erupted inside her again and again, while the night shimmered and the Circle glowed.

And when it was over, he dragged her against him and held her tight, his beloved lady pirate. He captured her, bringing her fast against his side, reluctant to release her. Long into the night he held her, until exhaustion claimed him and he slept.

And in the morning when he woke…

She was gone.

On the pillow was a note…and the family wedding ring he’d placed on her finger. Disbelieving, his jaw tight, Alec read:

He was steaming when he bolted into the carriage house. Maura, he discovered, had requested a coach and driver at dawn. He had a very good idea where the chit had gone—to Stranraer, to take a ship back to Ireland. And bloody hell, she was a good three hours ahead of him.

If he was lucky, he’d catch her before she boarded.

Unfortunately, it seemed luck was not on his side. On the way to Stranraer his horse lost a shoe and he was forced to stop at a ferrier. To make matters worse, the skies opened up and he was soaked to the bone by the time he arrived at the port.

Someone hailed him then. Turning, he saw Thomas Gates.

Alec ducked under the eaves of a building.

“What luck!” Thomas said. “I was just on my way to see you, your grace! I’ve just returned from Ireland with news of your wife.” Before Alec could stop him, he continued, “She is certainly who she says she is. I visited her home and prowled about the McDonough lands, and spoke with a few of
the tenants. I confess, I’ve never seen anything quite like it. The lands are quite—”

“Barren?” Alec supplied.

“Aye!” said Thomas. “And the tenants I spoke with said it was because of a curse, and an ancient relic—”

“The Circle of Light.”

The older man eyed him. “You certainly don’t seem to have needed my services.”

Alec smiled grimly. “Let’s just say my wife decided to enlighten me. And, if you don’t mind, Thomas, may I settle your fee when I return? Odd as it may seem, I’m hoping to catch the next ship to Ireland to fetch my wife.”

Thomas shook his head. “You may have a wee bit of a wait, then. I overheard someone say the last boat just departed, and it’s expected none will be bound for Ireland for at least the next two days.” He gestured heavenward. “It’s a devil of a storm that’s blown in.”

Alec cursed, long and loud, so loud it might surely have been heard across the sea in Ireland.

Indeed, he hoped it was.

It was home.

Home, on the very tip of the peninsula, in this place where the wind met sea and sky, and the sky the earth, where the Circle of Light floated on an
altar of stone—floated with a power of its own.

All who came out stared in wonder at the shimmering light that glowed in the church of St. Patrick, lighting the night. They exclaimed in joy and wonder, and called it a miracle.

Among those who came out were Toothless Nan. Patrick the Woolly. On the steps of Castle McDonough stood Maura, Murdoch, and Jen.

Jen beamed, her hands clasped before her. Murdoch shook his head in awe.

Jen turned and threw her arms around Maura. “Ye’ve done it, child. Ye’ve done it!”

Murdoch laid his hand on her shoulder. “Yer father would be so proud of ye, lass.”

“Aye. He would.” It was all she could manage. Maura was smiling, but her throat was tight.

She hadn’t cried from the moment she arrived in the village near Gleneden. At the inn, she’d flung herself into Murdoch’s arms.

She did not speak of Alec. Murdoch did not ask. When they boarded the ship that took them back to Ireland, Maura stood at the stern for long, long minutes. She stood until Scotland was no longer in view.

As she had once stood watching Ireland disappear from view. Oh, how things had changed since then!

Everything had changed.

Three days later, inside her room at Castle McDonough, Maura glanced out the window. She had to shield her eyes from the sun’s glare.

A faint smile rimmed her lips. Three days, she thought. The Circle had been home but three days—and already there were miracles. The fields were green, brilliantly green in every direction.

She’d fulfilled her vow to her father. She’d brought home the Circle.

Oh, but her heart…she was very much afraid she’d left her heart in Scotland.

The door to her room flew open then. It was Jen, her eyes huge.

Maura cried out. “Oh, Jen, no! What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s him, Lady Maura. It’s him.”

“Who?”

“The Black Scotsman. He’s downstairs. Oh, and he’s not at all what I expected, Lady Maura! Should you ask me, the Black Scotsman is not so very black-hearted at all! He’s quite charming.”

Maura’s heart tripped, then began to thud.

“Hurry, love, and change your gown. Let me dress your hair.” Jen was as excited as a school-girl.