Elusive (8 page)

“I can tell you from my own family history,
that many Scots who came to France in the eighteenth century used
false French names so that their properties would not be seized by
the French. I, for example, am—perhaps I should say would have
been—a Campbell. Of course, some used French names for other
reasons,” he explained. Realizing he was getting too near to a
subject he should not discuss with the girl, he left it at
that.

“I see,” she answered. She really did not see
at all, but she supposed she would sort it all out later. Right now
she was still raw from her loss. She signed the papers he held out
for her and kept one copy for herself. She was slightly dazed by it
all and did not really read the details. She would realize later,
much later, that she should have done so.

He rose and reached for her hand, which he
raised to his lips for a polite kiss. “It has been my pleasure to
meet you at last, Mademoiselle. Your uncle had only the nicest
things to say about you. He loved you a great deal.”

“Yes, it was mutual,” she said, as her eyes
filled with tears once again.

Having the usual male response to a woman’s
tears, the poor man made the quickest exit possible, and left her
standing there holding both the large envelope in which, she
assumed, she would find the Will, and a package the size of a small
stack of books. Inspecting it, she found it wrapped in brown paper,
tied with a thin cord. It was not heavy, she thought.

She folded the envelope and stuck it into her
coat pocket. She’d look at the papers later, when she could do so
with more understanding.

Moving toward the kitchen, she sat at the
small wooden table where they had shared so many meals. She cut the
cord then slowly, almost reverently, removed the brown paper that
covered the package. Inside the wrapping she found an enameled box
in pastel blue with purple flowers of some sort spread across the
top. It was so lovely and, she thought as she lightly traced her
fingers over the ornate design, obviously very old.

She carefully opened the lid, and found it
was full of papers that looked like letters of various ages. Some
were simply folded. Some were in their own envelopes. There were
the slightest of scents of lavender and roses wafting from the box
as she lifted the contents. On top of the stack was an envelope
with “
Blair
” written in Roddy’s neat script.

What she didn’t realize was that this gift
from her uncle was about to change her future, as well as unsettle
everything she had thought she had known about her past—and
his.

***

Instead of sleeping, he was once again pacing
his apartment balcony. His hair was still damp from the cold shower
he’d had at what? Yes, 3:30 AM. He’d been having some rather
disturbing dreams…involving a tiny blonde with big gray eyes.
They—no, he would be honest with himself,
she
—had him
awakening, his body first…then his mind, at all hours of the night
for three nights in a row. This had to stop!

He had followed his instincts and had gone to
the man’s funeral to check her out. Damn the woman. What kind of
game was she playing? Whatever it was, he was not about to let her
get by with it. His sources had told him of her treachery, and he
had to stop her somehow. He would protect what was his—his
father’s—his family’s—if it took his last breath. God knew he had
the resources to have her followed and to look into her
background.

She had put on a good show—had seemed
earnestly distressed by the man’s death. He knew the real pain of
loss. How it gouged out your heart and left you an empty shell!
Then, just as suddenly it filled you with anger unreasonably ready
to pick a fight with the dead. Yes, he knew grief…after all he had
buried his own beloved father just days ago. But this charlatan,
no, she didn’t know the real pain. Perhaps she was just upset that
their plans had been interrupted. She and the old man had been
playing the part of a loving family, but he had been told
otherwise.

Oh, she was a pretty enough little thing,
with all that pale hair, those huge gray eyes, and God, that pouty
mouth of hers. Her figure was exquisite, even draped in somber
black. She was a picture all right, standing there in her mourning
clothes, weeping into her lace handkerchief, the two women beside
her practically holding her up—as if she really felt the pain of
grief. It might all work on some, but he wasn’t going to let her
get to him. He would do whatever it took to protect what was his
from a thieving fraud, no matter how stunning she was.

He walked to his study, wrote a quick note to
the man he would trust to find out what he needed. Then he would
just have to be patient until he heard back. Patience was not
something for which he was well-known.

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

Chapter 8: Dark Family Secret Revealed

Paris, France – April 1912

The stack of letters ranged from the very old
to the one left for her by Roddy. While she was anxious to read her
uncle’s letter, she found she could not resist the temptation of
the older ones. She decided to start with the oldest and work her
way toward the present. The letter was yellowed, badly faded, and
bordered on being brittle, but she could still read the beautiful,
flowing script, although it took her some time to decipher the old
Scottish spellings.

12 Dae Aprill 1726

Ma oan wee bairn,

First ah wunt yu ti ken that ah, yur muther,
luve yu maire tha lyfe, an wunt the best fer yu That is the singil
reison in ma sendin yu a far waer yu ar saef, in kin grow bonnie an
well caird fer.

“12
^th
April 1726” she read aloud
to herself.

“My own small child,

First I want you to understand that I, your
mother, love you more than life, and want the best for you. That is
the single reason in my sending you afar where you are safe, and
can grow happy and well cared for.”

It braeks ma heart to lose yu so nae aftir
yur first cry, neer to see yur fais, na yur first smyl, first step,
first luve, but yur welfaer, aye yur vaery lyfe is the ane best
gift ah kin give yu, in tis best givin soon aftir yur burth.

“It breaks my heart to lose you so near after
your first cry, never to see your face, not your first smile, first
step, first love, but your welfare, yes your very life is the one
best gift I can give you, and it is best given soon after your
birth.”

Sòlas is a gude man, an the luv of ma lyfe,
in I dinna kin any wun tha wad caer fer yu with maire luve tither
myne oan self. Guhen ye ar olde enuf, Sòlas wul tell yu guhy we hae
bin parted.

“Sòlas is a good man, and the love of my
life, and I do not know anyone that would care for you with more
love other than mine own self. When you are old enough, Sòlas will
tell you why we have been parted.”

I prae that yu grow strawng of mynde, bonnie
of heart, in luvely of faes. I wul think of yu this wae to the end
of ma days.

Yur luving muther,

Caena, Dawter of Finnean Nic a’ Donnoch

“I pray that you grow strong of mind, happy
of heart, and lovely of face. I will think of you this way to the
end of my days.

Your loving mother,

Caena, Daughter of Finnean McDonnough”

She found tears were streaming down her face
once more. After everything that had happened in the last two
weeks, she marveled that she had any tears left. How sad, she
thought, that a baby would be separated from its mother immediately
after birth. What, she wondered, could have driven a woman who so
obviously loved her child to send her away from her? Reaching for
the next letter, she hoped for more information.

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

Chapter 9: Caena Makes Her Decision

Castle Donnach, Scotland - 1725

Caena and Sòlas were to meet at the cliff.
She had to tell him her decision, and she knew she would break his
heart—just as hers was already. Once she was alone, she went to her
private chapel behind her room. She closed the door between her
room and the chapel, knowing that no one would dare to interrupt
her during her prayers. She exited using the door hidden by the
tapestry that hung on the wall behind the little alter. Quickly
moving down the steep stone stairway to the exit that left her in
the private garden, she made her way through the thick hedge and up
the hidden path to the cliff.

As she approached the end of the path, she
was able to see him standing there, his back to her, looking out
over the loch. Her heart was nothing more than a thick lump in her
throat as she soaked in the look of him. His fair hair, long and
flowing, was blowing about him in the breeze. He was a vision
standing there against the bright blue sky. The long, loose sleeves
of his white homespun shirt, the scarf pinned to it at the
shoulder, and his solid black kilt touched by the breeze. He seemed
to sense her. Turning slowly toward her, she saw his pale blue eyes
light up when he caught sight of her.

Holding that eye contact with the girl he
loved more than life, he walked to her.

“Well, lass, I’ve missed you,” he whispered
in her ear as he pulled her so very close that she could feel the
fullness of the man she knew she would love for the rest of her
days. He was her own age in years, but had the old soul of a poet,
and the body any man of more years would envy, and for which every
maiden behind the castle walls lusted.

“Aye, my love,” she responded as she softly
kissed those full lips that brought her so much pleasure. “Let’s
sit down. There is something I must tell you.”

They strode hand-in-hand to the fallen tree
they had so often used as a bench. It was the same old tree that
had stood tall when they first kissed and stood still when they’d
exchanged their oaths to each other. They had, since childhood,
secretly come here to talk, to be together. This was
their
place.

He held her close, “What is bothering you, my
love? You know you can tell me anything.” He felt her shudder and
fear gripped his heart. Something was terribly wrong. She seemed
frightened. If it was anticipation of his reaction that had placed
this burden on her heart, he was determined to stay calm no matter
what she had to say.

“My father has told me that I must make a
decision about a marriage partner.” She felt his hand jerk in hers.
She did not have to tell him, of course, that the choice would be
between himself and his brother, Macrath.

He had feared this was what had been causing
her pain. He too had heard the rumors throughout the castle. He had
given her time to think things through—to make her decision without
interference from him. She knew all too well how he felt about
her.

“You know you have my heart, my love,” she
told him as tears filled her eyes.

“Aye, and you know you have mine,” he
answered. She didn’t have to say it. He knew her decision, but he
would let her have her say, even if it killed him.

“I must choose Macrath, even though he is
Mahoun himself. You know that. There is no other way to protect all
that belongs to us. Not for myself, Sòlas, but for my father’s line
and for generations to come. I have no real choice. You and I would
lose everything, which means nothing to me, but so would our
children and their children.”

My father has taught me that family and
responsibility to family are more important than personal feelings.
The welfare of future generations is a consideration over and above
our own. We would never be able to give them what they deserve. Add
to that, your father and Macrath would undoubtedly have my father
and you killed if we wed.”

He watched her closely and saw the shudder as
she spoke. She stood and faced the cliff. “I will never love him,
Sòlas. He will never have my heart or my mind, only my body.”

Fury shook him down to his bones. “Only your
body?” He spun her around to face him and saw that she was
shattered, as shattered as he. He leaned his forehead down to rest
on hers. “He may have you after you are wed, Caena, but please tell
me you will be mine now. Here! Now! Only mine, Caena!”

The kiss was borne of fear, frustration, and
fury at the fate that had put them in this position. Understanding
that he must have her agreement, he pulled back from her mouth,
despite what it cost him to do so. He watched her eyes—saw the love
and agreement there. Crushing his mouth to hers again, he began the
seduction that would mean their deaths, were they ever found
out.

The sun was pink and purple in the sky when
they returned to the castle. They both knew that it had been not
only the first, but would be the last time they would be together
this way. Macrath may take her as his wife, but the two of them
knew that in every way that counted, she would always belong to
Sòlas.

***

Fuming, Macrath had waited as long as he was
willing to wait. He paced his rooms, ready to loose his temper. The
knock at his door caused him to jump—his concentration on his
thoughts had been so great.

“Come in, damn it all!” he shouted.

The servant slowly opened the door. Having
been struck by flying objects when entering this room in the past,
he had learned to be extremely cautious! Once he was certain the
way was clear, he stepped into the room. “My Lord, The McDonnough
has asked that you join him in the Laird’s Parlor.” Keeping his
head bowed, he waited and prayed for his own safety.

Macrath’s heart jumped in his chest. At last!
Keeping his voice as calm as he could, he responded with the grin
of the winner of some secret game, “Tell the Laird I will join him
in a few minutes.” Summoned like a servant! Well, he sneered at the
thought, we’ll soon see who has the upper hand,
my Lord!

When the servant left him, he swallowed
another goblet of wine, slammed the empty pewter tankard down on
the heavy wooden table, and went to the dressing mirror. Assuring
he looked his best, he left his rooms—in his own damned sweet
time—to get the Laird’s answer.