Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (29 page)

For a long moment, Alanna’s eyes searched his. And then she paled.

Old Chinese took her by the elbow and pulled her from the room. Aiden followed. Wolf turned and walked onto the balcony. He pulled the small box from the pouch, opened it, and picked up the garnet earring matching the one in his ear. “Sweet Jesus.”

“
Ar n-athair ata ar neamh: gu naoemchear d’ainm
,” Mrs. Guthrie chanted behind him. “
Thigeadh do rioghachd
.”

A chill snaked along Wolf’s spine.

He turned. She stood with her back pressed tight to the wall, her eyes laced tightly shut.
“Tabhair dhuinn an ar fiachan, amuil mar a mhaitheas sinne d’ar luchd-fiach.”

He moved slowly forward, listening to her speak in Gaelic.

It was the Lord’s Prayer.

And Wolf understood every word, for Mrs. Guthrie had uttered them constantly as she’d held him tight that wretched morning after his mother’s death.
“Agus na leig am bueaire-adh sinn.”
Over and over, she’d prayed as she’d rocked him in the rocking chair and while Mr. Guthrie carried him rolled in a carpet to the garbage wagon. She’d still been praying when Wolf had been spirited away undetected.

“Ach saor sinn o olc,”
Wolf chanted along with her as he slowly moved to where she stood.
“Oir is leatsa an rioghachd agus an cumhachd agus a’ghoir gu siorruidh.”

Mrs. Guthrie opened her eyes.

“Amen,” he whispered. “Now, go.”

Alanna sat at one corner of the long table near a pot of tea, her eyes swollen from a night of weeping. Mrs. Guthrie sat beside her with bony fingers wrapped around a porcelain cup and with a mantle of reserve wrapped around much deeper things.

Wolf walked in. Alanna swallowed the lump in her throat. He looked worse than she felt. He walked past her and she caught a strong scent of whisky. “We need to talk, Wolf.”

He paused. “I’ll take complete financial responsibility for the child, but you need to leave here at once. Go back to Boston.”

Good Lord!
“What . . . what are you saying?”

He’d reached the door and still hadn’t glanced her way. “There’ll be a substantial trust set up for you to draw on. When the child is of age, he or she will have access as well.”

This can’t be—he can’t mean what he’s saying.
“Look at me, Wolf. At least have enough courage to look me in the eye when you say such awful things.”

He turned and regarded her, pain clearly visible on his countenance. “I told you,” he said in a nasty tone. “I intend to take complete financial responsibility for the babe. But don’t you, or anyone else,
ever
expect me to have to look at a child every day of my life and see the face of your murdering father while my mother lies in Dunlichity. Surely even you are wise enough to figure out that under the circumstances, it would be detrimental to have a father like me around.”

“You have to let all that go, Wolf. For our child’s sake—for everyone’s sake.” Her voice sounded as though it echoed from an empty tomb.

“I seem to recall aboard ship your father saying he enjoyed a cozy fire keeping him warm during the cold months.” Contempt spilled into each of Wolf’s carefully spaced words. “Do you have any inkling, Miss Malone, just how goddamn cold and wet the ground is in Dunlichity?”

“Oh, God.” Fear and anger knotted Alanna’s insides. This couldn’t be happening.

The muscles along Wolf’s jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed in lethal penetration. “Think of the child, and its well-being. Go back to Boston, where you’ll both live comfortably with Old Chinese to protect you. Purchase a home of your choice and I’ll pay for it so you won’t have to live with your murdering father. I’m offering you and your child a lifetime of financial care. How many men would see to the needs of the grandchild of his mother’s murderer?”

She’d had enough. She stood. “You . . . you . . . I need you and your money about as much as I need my father and his. The two of you . . .” Her sputtering came to an abrupt halt. Her spine straightened and she hauled in a breath. “I understand your feelings with regard to this child I carry, Wolf. I will return to Boston, and I pray that he or she carries not a hint of your looks. That way I won’t have to spend each day looking at my son or daughter and be reminded of its arrogant and self-absorbed father who spent his entire life serving no one but himself.”

Wolf walked out.

“Leave him be, and he’ll come around,” Mrs. Guthrie said. “He’s a good man, and good men take a wee bit longer to feel and say things.”

“And why is that?” Alanna’s chin tilted upward in defiance.

“Because it’s coming from his heart,” Mrs. Guthrie answered. “He thinks he’s been betrayed by the lot of us and that can add length to the time of things.”

 

 

The shot rang out in Wolf’s nightmare at the same time the scissors Malone had used to cut his mother’s hair fell out of the man’s grotesquely misshapen hand and tumbled down a hole in his dream, turning end over end into the black void of eternity.

The scream, long and horrifying, woke him. But the shriek was not in the dream after all. With a shake of his head to ward off the thickness in his whisky-laden brain, Wolf sat up in bed, his knife at the ready. He shook his head again, wondering if he’d heard right.

The noise on the stairs, like that in his horrific dream of childhood, was real and sent a chill along his flesh. He scrambled from the bed, slid into his trousers and boots, and struck out for the door, grabbing the brass-handled pistol that had been his father’s. He was sober now, the liquor completely drained from him. The blood-curdling scream belonged to Alanna, he was sure of it.

He pulled open the door and a cousin, Bean MacGillivray, stood before him, the butt of his pistol raised to pound on the wooden panel.

“Are ye all right, mon!” he boomed as Wolf shot into the corridor. “Bloody Christ, what the hell was that?”

“Alanna,” Wolf growled, starting for an open bedroom door when William, another MacGillivray cousin, stepped out.

“Aiden’s nae here.”

Wolf’s gaze flicked back and forth to both ends of the corridor. “Where’s Alanna’s room?”

Bean pointed to a door three down from Aiden’s and sprinted toward it. Yet another guard stepped from The Mor’s room, armed to the hilt.

William emerged from Old Chinese’s quarters. “His bed’s nae been slept in.”

In unison, Wolf and Bean kicked in Alanna’s locked door. Old Chinese lay on the floor in a pool of blood. Bear was at his side, his head on the man’s chest, his white fur crimson-soaked. The dog’s huge black eyes, filled with a look more heart-wrenching than any words, looked mournfully up at Wolf.

“Mother of God!” Wolf pushed past the two men and nearly gagged at seeing the hole in Old Chinese’s stomach. “Someone get a blanket.” Wolf scanned the room. “Where’s Alanna?”

At William’s approach, the dog gave a warning growl.

“It’s all right, Bear, it’s all right.” Wolf lifted the blood-soaked dog from Old Chinese.

Bean grabbed a blanket off Alanna’s bed and handed it to Wolf. He stanched the blood pumping from Old Chinese’s lower gut.

William moved to stand beside Wolf. “What’s this all aboot? We’ve nae left our stations, and Alanna’s nowhere to be found. Nor is Aiden. They couldn’t have got past us.”

A flicker of hope lit Wolf’s insides. He remembered the secret passageways Aiden had shown him. Of course, Aiden had her in one of them. Or someone did.

Wolf jerked his head toward William. “Send someone to fetch Mrs. Guthrie.”

“I’m here.” Mrs. Guthrie stepped into the room.

“He’s still breathing.” Bewilderment clouded William’s face. “And his heart’s pumping steady. How can that be?”

“
Ibuki
.” After he uttered this word, which meant holding energy steady while mortally wounded, Old Chinese’s eyelids opened. “They took Alanna.” His eyelids fluttered shut.

“Who took her?” Wolf shoved his hand through his hair. “Damn it, he’s passed out.”

Mrs. Guthrie stepped forward. “I’ve sent for the MacBeths of Aberchalder, who are physicians. Place the man on Alanna’s bed and I’ll see to him until then. Get yerselves where yer needing to be.”

The three men lifted Old Chinese onto the mattress. Wolf glanced around the room and turned to Mrs. Guthrie. “You’ve been with The Mor for years. Do you know if there’s a secret passageway in here and how to open it?”

“Aye.” She moved to the fireplace and pushed on a stone. A panel slid open.

The three men rushed forward. A sheen of lit lanterns, left by whoever had made their exit, flickered yellow against dark walls, casting living shadows as the men worked their way silently through the twisted corridors.

A soft moan caught their ears. In front of them lay Aiden, in a heap alongside Alanna’s cape.

“Aiden!” Wolf swept the cape from the dirt floor near the man’s head. Her
sgian dubh
lay underneath, its blade tipped red with blood. “One of you see to him, the other come with me.” He started down the corridor.

“Stop,” Aiden called out. “Ye’ll only make things worse if ye go looking for her. ’Twas the Farquhars of Cromarty who have her.”

William swore.

Wolf sprinted back to Aiden, who was on his feet and rubbing at the bloody knot on his head. “They’ll hide her in the Highlands and ye’ll not find her. Ye may be a fine tracker in America, Wolf, but here in the Highlands, ye’d never outsmart a man who knows his own land blindfolded. Those neighboring lads aren’t verra bright, and they’d do anything for coin, but it wasn’t they who shot Old Chinese and hit me. It was the Boston man who lagged behind them.”

A chill ran through Wolf. “What American?”

“’Twas one she spat on and called Jonathan,” Aiden said. “Bloodied his leg with her
sgian dubh
when he said he was under her father’s orders to return her to Boston.”

Wolf kicked at the stone wall. “I’ll kill the son of a bitch!”

William rested a hand on Wolf’s shoulder. “Ye need to see to Old Chinese. Yer kin will find Miss Malone.”

Wolf glanced at Aiden, who held a cloth to his head.

“We take care of our own,” Bean said quietly. “The man needs ye.”

Wolf slipped back into the room where Old Chinese lay silent on the bed, his face looking pink and serene as though he merely napped. When Wolf approached, the old man opened his eyes.

“
Ibuki
?” Wolf asked.
Please don’t tell me you’re dying
.

“Yes,” Old Chinese answered. “I have taught you much, Wolf of the Highlands. And in the next few days I shall teach you how to leave this world with honor.”

Wolf buried his face in his hands.

 

 

Farquhar of Cromarty reached down in the flickering candlelight and gently untied the scarf from around Alanna’s mouth along with the ropes around her wrists and ankles that secured her to the ship’s bunk. She rubbed her wrists, swung her legs over the side, and sneered at Jonathan, who stood in the shadows just outside the doorway. “Why don’t you learn to use that pistol of yours? You could have injured someone back there.”

“Beggin’ yer pardon,” Farquhar said. “Mr. Hemenway was well behind us. We didna know he brandished a firearm until we heard the shots. He’s assured us they were aimed over Aiden’s head to keep him at bay.”

She regarded one brother and then the other. “If you had seen fit to merely knock on my door instead of barging in like a pack of barbarians, you would have seen my trunks already packed. I was returning to Boston on my own, you stupid fools.”

Farquhar chewed on his lower lip. “We shouldna have taken Hemenway’s coin or run off with ye. Is it yer wish to return to Boston or should we see ye safely back to Dunmaglass?”

She rubbed at her chafed wrists “Since the ship is at the ready, I won’t have to secure another. I’ll need to send a note back to Old Chinese.” She’d be damned if she’d write one to Wolf.

“I’ll send my youngest brother back to Dunmaglass with yer message and word that you’re being well cared for. If ye’ve a mind to, Miss Malone, could ye send along a proper note to The Mor, as well? Tell him you’re in good health and it’s yer desire to return to Boston with us acting as yer proper escorts.”

Farquhar reached out in a vain attempt to smooth Alanna’s shorn locks. She pulled away and his hand knocked the bruise on her cheek. She hissed.

“Beg yer pardon. Mr. Hemenway shouldna have done that to ye,” he said softly. “’Twas nae a thing to do to any woman, let alone one he’s to wed. I’m thinking we made the right choice in deciding to set sail with ye to America, since yer father made a bad choice in the man he sent to fetch ye.”

Farquhar turned to the open door and called out. “Did my brother Donald talk with ye, Mr. Hemenway, about how ye treat the gentler sex?”

Donald shoved Jonathan into the shadowy cabin, his knuckles as raw as the side of Hemenway’s face. “Aye,” he said. “Mr. Hemenway is now of the understandin’ that he’ll nae touch the lass again; nor will he set foot in this cabin alone with her.”

Farquhar handed a pencil and piece of paper to Alanna. “If things don’t sit right with you in Boston, after we’ve had our chance to explain to yer father how things went bad, we’ll get ye back to Dunmaglass.”

With a heavy heart and confused mind, Alanna started writing.

 

Watching Old Chinese die inch by inch was hard enough on Wolf, but to leave his bedside before he took his last breath? “For God’s sake, don’t ask me to leave.”

“Please, do as I wish,” Old Chinese barely whispered. “It is time for me to remove myself from the clutches of what you call reality. You have served me well these past few days, but I must be alone when my ancestors come for me, and the time draws near. Until then, wait by the pond.”

Christ.
“How will I know when . . . when it’s over?”

“My spirit will come to you in a way that you will know me. And then you may serve me one last time.”

Wolf shuddered at the idea of what he’d agreed to do. He struggled to find words. “I . . . I don’t want to lose you.”

Old Chinese stretched out his hand to Wolf. He covered it with his own trembling fingers and squeezed—the squeeze wrenching his heart. A small groan tore loose from his throat, his mind and emotions saturated. He’d only this day learned Old Chinese had been the one who’d transported his mother’s body to Scotland. A very small gesture, Old Chinese had called it, for what he believed was his own grievous failure to save her.

“I failed you.” His dark eyes never left Wolf’s. “But I suppose every parent feels that way in the core of their being.”

“You thought of me as your child?”

Old Chinese managed a small nod. “For years. Though I didn’t save your mother, I could help keep you alive. So when Malone sent me looking for you, I searched relentlessly. I located you with the Guthries, but told Malone nothing. Instead, I pushed you deeper into the countryside. Then I presented myself to your father. We devised a plan to ship you to England and from there to India, where your father had gone to live three years after yer mum died. But before your arrival in Liverpool, word came that your father had died in Bombay. We couldn’t risk sending you to the Highlands with Malone’s spies everywhere, so you were sent to boarding school instead.”

Wolf rubbed at his temples, his head throbbing at the news. “You actually knew me and my situation all those years?”

“Every move you made. It was my attempt to redeem my own soul. I lost track of you a few times.” Even close to death, Old Chinese managed to look like he could get up and walk away at any moment. “Once, when you ran away from school. That wasn’t in my well-laid plans. Your ending up in St. Joseph threw me. It took awhile to track you down.”

“How did you find me?”

“I didn’t.” An enigmatic smile touched Old Chinese’s mouth. “Winston did.”

Wolf came out of the chair. “Winston was familiar with me, as well?”

The old man nodded. “Locating you was Winston’s graduation exercise. It only took him four months.”

A vague memory of an elusive watcher, one Wolf could never nail down, crept from the recesses of his mind. So that was Winston. “Any other times?”

“When you left St. Joseph for San Francisco. But then, to my surprise, Alanna took me to you. That night in the Tremont House Hotel in Boston, if you recall.”

Wolf nodded. How could he ever forget?

“Quite a surprise for me when Alanna returned from San Francisco with details of the man she’d fallen in love with while aboard ship. To think I might have lost track of you for good and here my little Alanna took me right to you. When I stepped into your hotel room and faced the man I saw last as a boy, that was one of the finest nights of my life.”

Old Chinese paused to take in a couple of labored breaths before continuing. “You must forgive Alanna’s father for what he did.”

Wolf cursed. “My mother is in a grave, and I’m supposed to forgive her killer and dance a jig? I’ve listened to you and respected your teachings, but this one doesn’t work for me.”

“You do not have to like Malone, or be around him. But if you forgive him, he loses his hold on you.”

“And never seek retribution for my mother’s death? Just let him walk free?”

Old Chinese looked deep into Wolf’s eyes. “He’ll never be free. Cain was not imprisoned or executed for the death of Abel. He was condemned to walk endlessly over the earth, shunned and despised. It is time to release all the anger and hatred inside you and move on with your life.”

Old Chinese waited quietly until Wolf returned to the bedside. “Try always to love, Wolf. And love Alanna without expecting anything in return. Love because you live, and you’ll catch glimpses of yourself in ways you never expected.”

“Did you want Alanna and me together?”

Old Chinese nodded. “Odd as it seems after what took place between your parents. I would like to see you together again.” He paused and gathered a breath. “Only this time I’ll see it from the other side.”

Wolf’s heart clenched in his chest. He struggled to find the right words. “It wouldn’t be fair to the child to have a father who constantly sees the reflection of a murderer in his or her eyes. What pain would I cause the child? Alanna would end up hating me. So would her child.” Dear God
, his child.
“I can’t give either one what they need.”

Old Chinese raised his feeble hand in protest. “You
can
. You must.” He began to cough. “Help me to sit.”

Wolf eased pillows behind Old Chinese. God, Wolf didn’t know if he could take much more of this. “You speak of love between Alanna and me, but have you ever loved a woman?”

“Yes.” Old Chinese opened his eyes. “Maire Macintosh and I loved one another.”

“Winston’s mother?”

“The very one,” Old Chinese answered.

“Why did it come to an end?”

“We had to put Winston first. We feared Malone would harm the boy if he found out about us. He is jealous and selfish. Then, after Alanna came along . . .” Old Chinese’s voice drifted off, leaving the thought to finish in Wolf’s mind.

“Then surely you understand my concerns about being around a child who carries Malone’s blood. And after everything that’s happened, I don’t want any part of love.”

“Yes, you do,” Old Chinese answered. “You’re simply afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable to Alanna again, and to a child who will love you unconditionally. What if you gave your heart to them and they left you for one reason or another? Betrayal is your greatest fear. You feel betrayed by everyone, even by your mother for having died and left you. And you already feel betrayed by your child because he or she carries the blood of your mother’s murderer and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”

Wolf’s thoughts shot to the night his mother died and merged with memories of Malone aboard ship in all his finery, and of Alanna standing before Wolf here in Scotland—lying. His despondency grew even grimmer.

“Don’t, Wolf—” Old Chinese tried to speak, but he paused, unable to complete his sentence.
Go
, he mouthed, dismissing Wolf from the room.

Jesus, he was about to lose Old Chinese. “What were you going to say?” As if the question would prolong a life.

Go,
Old Chinese mouthed again.

Wolf kissed the back of Old Chinese’s hand, placed it gently on the bed, and stood. “Good-bye, sir.” His voice broke. “I’m going to miss the hell out of you.” He walked to the doorway, paused, and turned, waiting for the faint chance Old Chinese might finish what he’d been about to say. But Old Chinese only grew still and his lips stopped moving.

Wolf raised his hands in a prayerful position and bowed his head. He turned and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and out to the pond.

At his approach, the pair of swans glided away from him and to the covering of reeds at the pond’s edge. Graceful and elegant, they disappeared from sight, the weeds joining together in their wake, a nut-brown curtain silently drawn.

Wolf sat with his back against a tree near the water and contemplated his final meeting with Old Chinese. No wonder he’d not defended his actions to Wolf regarding the night of the murder. No wonder he’d let Aiden do the defending—Old Chinese loved Wolf like a son. Something caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard. He reached into his jacket and retrieved the dark green box Alanna had given him along with the note she’d sent to his grandfather.

Moment by moment, the pain of waiting for Old Chinese to die found new places to lance his heart. He rested his head against the tree’s trunk and struggled for breath. “Ah, hell.” A glance at the second-story window to the room where Old Chinese lay caused another pain to shoot through his chest. Damn, he hated not being there, but he’d honor Old Chinese’s wishes no matter how much he himself suffered.

He opened the box and picked up the earring that matched the one he wore. He turned it until light from the gray sky glanced off its crimson face. With a resigned sigh, he set it back onto the black velvet and picked up the brooch made of human hair—from his mother’s shorn locks.

A sting of rage hit his gut. An urge to throw the box and its contents into the pond rushed through him. But he couldn’t move. It was as though something unearthly held him paralyzed against the tree. The same mysterious
something
that prevented him from taking even one step back to Old Chinese. In quiet desperation, he waited.

Suddenly, something split Wolf’s thinking. A chill ran the length of his spine. It was as though the wind swirling around him echoed the voice of Old Chinese, speaking the very words the man had been trying to say before he’d dismissed him. “While it is a hardened heart that throws it all away, it is a soft heart that simply lets it all go.”

Wolf’s head snapped to the window. At that moment, he knew without doubt that for Old Chinese, human life had come to an end.

 

 

Wolf struggled with Old Chinese’s linen-clad body, trying to get it atop the stacked wood he’d built as a funeral pyre.

Aiden Fraser stepped from the shadows. “How long are ye going to try to do things all on yer own?”

Wolf paused in his efforts long enough to look steadily at Aiden and speak through gritted teeth. “I told Old Chinese I’d do exactly as he wished.” He wiped at his sweaty brow.

Aiden groaned. “Ye can’t keep to yerself with this, lad. How long are ye going to try to live life alone afore ye figure out it does nae work that way? Ye’ve got to let someone into yer life sooner or later or you might as well climb on up there with the old man.”

Wolf turned his face from Aiden, his insides splitting in two, his breath laboring.

“Don’t be standing here all alone when ye strike the match, fer Christ Almighty.”

A gush of air left Wolf’s lungs, followed by a low moan. He turned his face to the sky and shut his eyes tight, felt his face turn into a grimace as he fought tears. A choked noise left his lips.

Aiden jumped forward. Wordlessly, and with tears streaking Wolf’s face, they eased Old Chinese’s body atop the pyre.

“Burning is a hellish way to go.” Wolf wiped moisture and grime from his face with his shirtsleeve and sniffed. “Doesn’t sit right with me, somehow.”

“Then rest for a while ’til you’re ready to carry out the man’s wishes,” Aiden said softly and rolled an uncut log over to where Wolf stood. They sat in the rawness of the cold air until dark. “This cremation, lad, ’tis not only his kind who wishes a suchlike funeral. ’Tis said the firing of a body leaves no bad spirits behind to wander the earth or cause trouble to the living. Feel proud of what ye can do fer yer friend.”

Wolf lit the match.

A brittle snap of wood, as it caught and burst into flame, cut a pain so deep, it went clear to the marrow. The flames leapt to fire the night sky.

Silently, Wolf’s fellow clansmen gathered around him, their arms held tight to their loved ones. Wolf stood with them as the flames arced high against the night sky, on a ridge not far from Dunmaglass, one that could be seen from The Mor’s window. Wolf’s family sent up a prayer for Old Chinese—and for Wolf.