Elusive (14 page)

He watched it all registering on her face.
Oh, he really liked this girl. “When he left Scotland for France,
Sòlas took a lovely little amount of gold and silver with him—all
of it was his to take, mind you. He left a note for the family,
telling them that he was unhappy, and he intended to emigrate from
Scotland to one of the sugar producing islands south of the
American colonies.”

“So many Scots did emigrate over the last
two-hundred years...no one questioned it.” Angus reached over and
refreshed her tea and continued his story. “He was very vague about
his plans or destination, so they were unable to track him. All
their efforts to find and eliminate him or his heirs over the years
were to no avail.”

Angus let out a hearty laugh. “Of course, we
now know that he never went to the islands at all. He had gone
straight to France. It really was quite a smart little bit of
misdirection.”

“Once Macrath was dead, of course, the
family’s efforts increased, but they were never able to find Sòlas.
Settled in France under the cover of the French name of Delamare,
he invested what he had and lived modestly, as have his subsequent
generations. He was able to purchase art, more gold and silver,
and, with Caena’s wishes in mind, passed the accounts on to the
next generation.”

“Of course, Sòlas’s life there is much better
documented than his years in Scotland—he saw to it! He didn’t marry
until after he received word that Caena was dead. I think he always
hoped she would somehow break free of Macrath and join him in
France. It must have been a horrible blow to him to find out about
her death…so young!” he said sadly.

“Only Caena’s maid, Ròs, had known the entire
plan. She was faithful to her mistress to the very end. After
Caena’s death, she and her entire family disappeared from Scotland.
We know now that they went to Sòlas seeking their own freedom from
Macrath.”

“They managed, with Sòlas’s help, to buy a
little piece of land where they grew fantastic grapes. Their
descendents now have quite a nice little winery where some of the
best wine grapes grow. They have been very wealthy themselves for
several generations now.” He sat silently for a moment, then sighed
and continued.

“Each male guardian since Sòlas has held
these accounts on the female heir’s behalf. Two-hundred years,
Blair, these accounts have been growing to include land—here in
Scotland, in the United States, France, and England. All of these
are now in your name. And, of course, they do not include the
estate in Donnach, for obvious reasons!”

“Oh, my God!” Her face flushed, and he rushed
to her side fearing she would faint.

“There, there, lassie,” he said, as he patted
her on the hand and used his other hand to push her head down until
she could regain her strength. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I…it’s just so hard to take in.”

“Well, I’m sure a little champagne, a nice
bubble bath, a fine meal, and a good night’s sleep will help you
get a grasp on it,” he smiled. “Pamper yourself, my dear. Go
shopping tomorrow. Buy some pretty things to wear. You’ll feel
better right off!”

When he saw her color improve, he continued.
“As to the letters, my dear, I suggest that you purchase a safe
deposit box for their safekeeping.”

“Oh, that is a good idea!” she agreed.

“The Royal Bank is on the way to the hotel.
I’ll have Taog take your bags to the hotel while you stop at the
bank to deposit those letters into their safekeeping. Ask for Mr.
Dougall McPherson,” he said, as he wrote down the banker’s name for
her. “He’s my sister’s husband and is familiar with your accounts.
He will take good care of you.”

“Oh, yes…have him give you some cash, while
you’re at it. Taog will give the hotel the necessary information to
cover your bill there. Now go along, my dear. Stay at the hotel as
long as you wish.”

As she slowly made her way to the office
door, he stopped her. “My goodness, I almost forgot…your name at
the hotel will be Rachel Wallace. You should also use that name
when contacting the bank for funds once you leave Edinburgh.
Dougall will watch for such transactions and cover them from your
account under the name of Blair McDonnough. I contacted him as soon
as I heard of your uncle’s death, so he has taken care of
everything at the bank for you. Can you remember that?” he
asked.

“Yes, I can remember that. Thank you, Angus,”
she said, in a voice that told him that the shock of her finances
had not subsided. Well, he thought, it will take some time, I
suppose. He thought of his old friend and promised him, in his
mind, that he would look out for his lass as his own.

“Be careful,
Rachel!
These are very
dangerous people indeed,” he added as she walked away.

**************************

Chapter 18: Macrath Moves On

Donnach – 1729

Macrath didn’t wait to put his plan into
action. He didn’t need time to mourn Caena, and he took none.

The week after Caena’s
fall,
the
castle was full of friends and family who had come to mourn her
loss. Macrath never missed an opportunity to have Seonaid close
enough to romp in his bed. So, he went along with the farce of
mourning his good wife.

He had enjoyed Seonaid before but now his
time with her had new…depth. Despising any weakness, he staunchly
refused to permit himself to actually love her. His interest in
Seonaid had always been very practical. She was comely to look at,
did anything he could imagine in his bed, and never made demands.
Now there were other possibilities…she had proven herself not to be
barren.

As he rolled off of the comely Seonaid,
instead of dropping off into sleep he weighed his options. He did
want
her, and what Macrath McDonnough wanted, he would
damned well have.

“What has your mind so occupied so soon after
we have pleasured ourselves?” she asked him.

“Matters of business…nothing to worry that
pretty head of yours about, Seonaid,” he said, dismissing her
concerns.

After sending Seonaid on her way, he sent for
William Aitkin. His family was linked to Macrath’s by marriage, and
the two had grown up together in the castle. Since William did not
have the advantage of having the Laird as his uncle, he had
calculated early in their youth that Macrath was the dark horse on
which he would place his bets. He never turned down an offer from
Macrath to line his purse with some extra coin.

“You called for me, Macrath?” William said,
as he entered Macrath’s parlor. He wasn’t as handsome as Macrath by
a long shot. But he had a way with the ladies and was often paired
up with Macrath on a night of debauchery.

“Yes, William. I have a little something I
need taken care of, and I would prefer that it be resolved within a
fortnight,” Macrath told him.

“Certainly! I’m always at your service, you
know that, Macrath! Who…what do you need done?” he asked, as he
smiled and took the pewter goblet Macrath handed him.

“I want you to arrange a little hunting trip.
You will need to invite young Allan MacDiarmid to join you,”
Macrath advised him. “You’ll want to be careful though, William. I
understand Allan has a rather poor seat and has been known to fall
from that sweet little row-jumper of his,” Macrath smiled.

“Too bad! Allan and Seonaid have a small son.
He really should be careful not to leave a pretty young widow and
child without a protector, don’t you think?” William all but licked
his lips in anticipation of what this would earn for him.

Macrath looked William in the eye, smiled and
answered, “I think she would need a new, stronger protector…don’t
you?”

A week later, Allan MacDiarmid was dead. It
was rumored that he fell from his horse during a hunt and smashed
his head open like a ripe melon. His widow and young son, Donald,
were now under the protection of the Laird.

The next month, Macrath married the comely
Seonaid—who seemed a little too pleased for a mourning young
widow—and looked forward to a fruitful marriage.

***

Winter came and it was a harsh one, bringing
with it a sickness that took its toll on the McDonnough estate.
Mordag’s wife, Meadhbh, who had deeply mourned the loss of her
youngest son, and later the death of Caena, fell ill shortly after
the Yule celebration.

Macrath made certain that his bride kept a
close eye on his mother during her illness. Seonaid tenderly cared
for her husband’s mother but, despite her efforts, Meadhbh died
before spring. Some said she no longer had the desire to live.
Others said Mordag had set his eyes elsewhere. No one would ever
know the truth of it.

By that summer, Mordag had married again and
his bride, a young noblewoman, promptly produced a fine healthy son
they named Fergus.

A drunken Macrath was heard screaming in his
rooms the night of his new brother’s birth, damning the fates that
brought a son to his father before himself.

**************************

Chapter 19: Dark Stranger in Edinburgh

Brest, France - July 1912

He arrived in Brest early in the morning and
went straight to the docks. He strolled onboard the liner, Le
Avignon. There was no need for him to identify himself to anyone.
The crew all knew him by sight. His suite was always kept ready for
him, as he frequently traveled between Brest and Edinburgh.

He took great pride in the ship with her
long, sleek lines, and her two stacks reaching into the sky above
her. She was a delight to him—a reminder of his dear father. She
had been the last ship commissioned by his father before he left to
assume his duties as Earl of Donnoch.

She was a good ship but likely to be retired
a few years from now. The thought saddened him but business was
business. Big changes were taking place in shipping and their line
would have to keep up once the dust settled.

White Star had built gargantuan ships like
Olympic and their lost Titanic. Money was being spent in huge
amounts on their sister ship, the Britannic. With their four stacks
and enormous tonnage, ships like these would soon make Le Avignon
and her sisters nothing more than quaint little day cruisers. Le
Avignon would soon be unable to pull in the first-class customers
she was accustomed to now, reduced to being not much more than a
large and luxurious ferry.

But with the Titanic disaster in April, he
was in no hurry to try to build one of these monsters-of-the-sea.
Too many had been lost. White Star was under the worst publicity
any line could suffer. It was a shipping line’s worst nightmare.
There was talk of replacing Ismay who, as their managing director,
was being held responsible for Titanic’s loss. No, he had no desire
to get caught up in the rush for the bigger ships. He had stuck to
the decision he had made several years earlier—best to wait and
see.

“Well, old girl…” he spoke to her quietly, as
he moved to her rail. Looking out over the Atlantic, he continued,
“…for now you are still a queen.” He’d see to it that she served
her passengers as one of the best of the Black Swan line until she
was retired. She would go out proudly. In the meanwhile, Black Swan
Lines would not start building her replacement until he was certain
he could build a ship that was safe.

All the propaganda White Star had spit out
and all the money they spent on the first two would likely come
down to a battle for the line to even survive. Oh, he didn’t doubt
they
would
survive. He wasn’t entirely sure he thought they
should.
All their efforts to compete with Cunard’s
Mauretania and Lusitania had come to naught. Cunard had been the
line that managed to win back the Blue Riband from Germany’s
clutches, and theirs were still the safest of the leviathans of the
sea.

While White Star was being very closely
watched by the Maritime Commission, he’d decided not to spend the
money on unproven designs. His engineers were currently looking at
designs that would improve on the Le Avignon—much larger but not as
big as Britannic—but without what he saw as the flaws in the White
Star plans. Time would tell, and he was in no hurry. He might not
display a great deal of patience in his private affairs but, when
it came to business, he didn’t gamble.

He looked up at the sky and saw the storm
clouds gathering. It was going to be a rough trip. Dreading rough
seas, he went to his suite for a nap before sailing. As he lay
there trying to get to sleep, his thoughts took him back to his
father—back to the time when, as a young graduate of the university
he had taken over the shipping business for his father who had gone
to Donnach a few years earlier.

His father had continued to run the business
until he was satisfied that Alexandre could handle it on his own,
and it had only taken three years for him to prove himself. He was
so glad that his father had lived long enough to see his business
grow into a highly respected cruise line—slightly larger than the
White Star line—with a freight business that serviced Europe and
the Americas.

His mother would never have a financial
worry. He had assured her financial security with accounts in
Scotland, France, and Switzerland, as well as properties in
America, Canada, Australia, and several other countries with good
stable governments. She was a
very
wealthy woman; and he was
a
very
wealthy man at age thirty-five.

He didn’t need the Scottish estate or the
Earldom that went with it. But, he would, by God, honor his family
and assume the responsibility. As for his business, he could make
do with a once-a-month trip to Brest to oversee the Black Swan Line
and his estate in Bretagne. It would take a lot of work, but it was
doable.

There would have to be an occasional pleasure
trip to Paris, of course. He would need the respite of Paris,
especially in the spring when everything was so fresh and the air
filled with fragrance. As he lay there thinking of Paris, the
steady, soft sway of the ship finally lulled him to sleep. He
didn’t awake when, an hour later, Le Avignon left Brest headed for
Edinburgh.