Emerald Embrace (32 page)

Peter looked up when she came in. “Ah, lass, and good mornin’ to ye! We heard ye had a bit of trouble last night, so it’s good to see that you seem well enough from the episode. ’Twas the forest ye were lost in, eh?”

“Yes, it was the forest,” she said, coming to the table.

“A dangerous place at night,” Peter said.

Ian chuckled and rose, pulling out a chair for Martise. She smiled and allowed him to seat her as he said, “Dangerous! For our Lady St. James? I think not! The beasties and goblins had best beware when she walks about! Shall I get you tea?” he inquired.

“Please.”

“I should have been quite terrified,” Elaina said. “I might well have died of fright. Like Mary.”

“Elaina!” a voice came sharply from the stairway. Martise twisted around to see that Bryan was joining them. His dark hair was smoothly combed back, and he was immaculate in black breeches and frock. His eyes were upon his sister, and they barely skimmed over Martise as he strode across the floor to her.

He set his hands upon Elaina’s shoulders. “Elaina, you must not think that.”

His sister’s lips trembled as she stared down at the table. “She died in the crypts. She fell in the crypts. She saw something down there.”

Ian reached across the table, his fingers curling around hers. “Elaina, come! You know that the dead don’t rise! The tales about the castle are for the village children. There are no ghosts that roam the halls.”

Elaina looked suddenly to Martise. She seemed stricken. “Martise! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to open the wounds. I don’t know anything, truly I don’t. I just miss her, you see, and I was so very worried about you last night.”

She smiled at Elaina. “You did not hurt me, Elaina, truly.” She cast a defiant glance to Bryan. “Usually, I am not frightened by forests.”

“Usually?” Ian said, eyes dancing. “Usually. What happened? Did you come upon an altar in the woods? A ghost, a creature, a fanged beast?”

Bryan’s eyes were narrowed sharply upon her. Martise tossed her head and smiled brilliantly at Ian. “More than that, Ian. I came upon a cult.”

“A cult!” Conar exclaimed. Martise thought that he looked down the table, at his brother, his cousin, and his father—with fear. But she couldn’t be sure.

“Come, tell us!” Ian urged her mischievously.

“She saw things in the darkness, nothing more,” Bryan stated, irritated.

“Aye, ’tis green out there, is it not? Why, the man with the very stoutest of hearts might well imagine things,” he said, and winked at Martise. “But do tell us, what did you see?”

“Martise …” Bryan began.

She pretended she did not hear him. He was not her keeper, no matter what he seemed to think.

And something was going on here. He wanted her to be the bait for the killer at Castle Creeghan. She might as well begin to play the game this way.

“I came upon a very strange grouping in the forest,” she told Ian earnestly. “They had formed a circle around a fire, and they were all dressed in dark capes.”

“Witchcraft!” Elaina whispered in horror.

“So one might think,” Martise agreed.

“Ah, but if it was a coven of witches and warlocks,” Ian said, “then there is devil worship hereabouts. We must thank God that they did not see you, for devil worshipers are known for extremely ghastly deeds.”

“Oh, but they did see me,” Martise announced simply, sitting back and sipping her tea. From the end of the table, she could almost feel the heat and strength of Bryan’s anger.

“They saw you?” Conar said, startled. “And then what?”

“They chased me, of course,” Martise said. “But I did manage to reach Desdemona, and gallop deep enough into the forest so that they could not find me.” “And then …?” Ian said.

“And then that rogue mare tripped and deposited me upon the ground and returned home without me,” she said with a smile, and Ian laughed.

“And the laird of Creeghan rode into the darkness and rescued you, his fair damsel in distress. ’Tis wonderful, the very stuff of legends.”

“’Tis not wonderful!” Conar exploded, rising. “Cults are dangerous. Witchcraft has risen its head in Scotland oft enough, and ’tis never anything but frightful.”

“Come, Conar!” Peter said. “We’ve not burned ourselves a witch here since the early 1700s.”

“Aye, Father, and that’s true.” He rose and looked around the table. “But the practice is dangerous, nonetheless. Down Glasgow way just a few years ago there were a group decided they were the devil’s own. You know of this, Bruce. Several lasses were slain on white stone altars given up to the demon god.”

“But in Creeghan, the laird is akin to the god—be he heavenly or sent straight from hell,” Peter commented. He shrugged. “I think ye should look into it, Bruce.”

“Indeed, I intend to,” Bryan replied, and Martise felt his eyes upon her, hot with the fury he leashed in his voice.

Peter swung around to Martise, wagging a finger. “And ye, lassie, ye must take greater care. There are them what believe in the supernatural, and so forth. Why, Jemie, that poor daft stable boy of ours, believes that the dead of Creeghan rise every night! He slips in to assure himself at times that the gates in the crypts are locked, lest the dead rise and escape their ghostly boundaries. There’s just no telling what goes on in the minds of men. No more excursions into the forest, lass!”

“She won’t be riding out, I can guarantee it,” Bryan said softly. Then he rose. “I’m into the village. I should-na be late for supper.” He stepped by Martise, then his hands touched her shoulders and he bent down behind her. His kiss brushed her neck. “Take care, my love. Elaina will be with you through the day.”

And then he was gone. Conar announced that they had to get to work, and Ian grudgingly agreed, smiling at Martise. “’Tis interesting ye’ve made things, since ye’ve come, Martise St. James. The ghosts had best beware.” He winked to her and followed his brother from the hall. Martise felt Peter watching her, and she looked up to see that his eyes were, indeed, intently upon her. She smiled and rose, and Elaina, too, got to her feet.

“I thought we might spend the morning in the library,” she told Martise.

“Pardon?” Martise said.

“Well, I’m not to leave you, my brother’s orders.” A look of dismay and anger must have crossed Martise’s features for Elaina quickly continued, “I am sorry, but I do promise to be entertaining. Oh, please, Martise, spending the day with me cannot be that bad a fate!”

“Elaina, I did not say that it was a bad fate at all!” Martise assured her. It is Bryan who seems to be my sorry fate! she thought.

She had no plans. Not today. She had cast out her story about the coven in the woods, and there was nothing to do but wait.

Wait…

For what?

Someone within the castle was in on the secrets. And she would not allow herself to believe that it was Bryan. And if it was not, then it had to be Peter or Ian or Conar …

Or Elaina.

No. She refused to believe it of Elaina, too. “I’d like to fetch a shawl, then I’ll meet you there. You do mean Bry—the laird’s library by my room?”

“Aye,” Elaina told her.

She smiled at Peter and turned toward the stairs. She started up, still feeling his eyes upon her. When she reached her room, she was shivering and opened the armoire to search for a shawl As she did so, there was a rapping upon her door.

Without thinking she called, “Come in!”

She expected Holly or Elaina, but was surprised to turn around and see that Peter stood in her doorway. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. And then he strode toward her and gripped her by the shoulders.

“Lass, ye must take very grave care!” he said intently.

“Peter, what—?”

“I don’t know what, lass, only that the wind blows very cold, and that ships wreck in from the sea, and that strange lights and haunts do roam this castle. Ye canna be safe, not with the laird, not with anyone. When the wind blows, and the moon rides high, ye must bolt yer doors, and close yer eyes, and bring the covers close to yer throat. Ye must do this, and forget all else.”

“Peter, what are you telling me?” she demanded, frustrated.

“Stay far from the crypt, Martise St. James. Perhaps Jemie has the truth of it. Perhaps the dead of Castle Creeghan do walk the halls at the night. Perhaps they seek souls to bear down to hell along with them, I know not. I only know what I’m telling ye—when the moon rises, stay safe within yer room. Do you ken, girl?”

“I understand that you’re worried, but you have to tell me more, Peter, please! I—”

He lifted a finger to his lips, and she fell silent. They could both hear footsteps beyond the door.

He bowed to her suddenly. “I’ve work meself. Have a pleasant day, milady.”

“Peter, wait!” she cried, but he was gone. Her door closed, and when she followed after him and opened it, he was halfway down the hall, almost to the stairs.

She moved back into her room, found her shawl, and curled her fingers around it. Peter knew something. He had come to warn her. And he would not say all that he knew. Because, she thought, to do so would be to condemn someone that he loved. Ian or Conar, his sons.

Or the laird of the castle himself.

The shawl did not help. She was still shivering when she hurried from her room to the one beside it. Elaina was already there, sitting before a new and crackling fire, her fingers busy with embroidery.

She looked at Martise anxiously. “I was just beginning to worry about you.”

Martise walked over to Elaina and knelt down before her. “Elaina, why would you worry about me in broad daylight, right here, in the castle?”

Elaina’s beautiful eyes seemed to cloud. “There is no reason, Martise. None at all. I must still be thinking of last night.” She smiled. “Isn’t it beautiful here today? Feel the sun coming through the windows?”

Martise nodded and rose. She would get nothing from Elaina. Elaina only saw what she wanted to see.

And, aye, the day was beautiful. The sun was strong, coming through the glass panes of the balcony doors.

But even then, even with the warmth of the sun upon her face, she could hear the wind. The wind that always ripped and tore through the castle.

Moaning, crying out. Whimpering … screaming.

She chose an American novel and sat down with it, near Elaina. As the hours ticked away, she wondered who in the castle Peter was trying to protect.

Or was it any of them? She closed her eyes and leaned into the upholstered chair back.

Perhaps she needn’t fear any of the family. Not when there was Robert McCloud. The huge groom with his scarred cheek and insolent eyes. He had seen her ride away yesterday, and he had warned her to keep from the forests. He had to have been one of them. He was dangerous. She could feel it every time she was near him.

And then there was the greatest danger of all.

Bryan …

Whether guilty or innocent, he was still the greatest danger she faced. He held more than her life in his hands. He held both her heart and her soul.

    Later in the afternoon, Hogarth brought them tea and light sandwiches. With delight he handed Elaina a bundle of beautiful wildflowers and told her he had picked them on the moor. When Hogarth had removed the trays, Elaina glanced at Martise and flushed. “I haven’t been able to gather many flowers lately. Winter comes quickly here. There’s little of a true autumn. I’d like these for Mary’s grave. Will you come with me?”

“Of course!” Martise agreed.

They went to the crypts by way of the great hall, passing the chapel and coming to the most modem vault. As soon as they stepped into it, Martise saw where the wall had been opened and then resealed with fresh bricks and plaster. No hint remained of the girl who had been buried within the wall, nor was the remotest trace left of the passage that led to the torture chamber.

Elaina noticed the direction of her gaze. “That was so upsetting,” she said.

“But ancient history, Elaina,” Martise told her gently.

Elaina shrugged, kneeling before Mary’s coffin to arrange the fresh flowers upon it. “I suppose. But Bruce is so easily annoyed by the legends that surround the castle. And he is the laird. The rumors fall back upon him, you see? The laird is born to be the ‘beast’ of legend. I suppose our harsh and cruel ancestor brought that about. Or perhaps the dragon beast came into our history with the Welsh princess. I don’t know.” She actually grinned. “Women don’t carry the stigma, though, only the Creeghan males. But I am glad that he sent those instruments away, and that he has sent the poor girl’s body down to Edinburgh for proper care and disposal.”

“Yes,” Martise murmured. The poor girl … alas, she was not ancient history.

She leaned against the wall, waiting with Elaina, and wondered if Dr. MacTeague had told anyone but her that the girl had been murdered recently.

Had he told Bryan?

Her eyes wandered beyond the gate as she waited for Elaina to finish with the flowers. There had been a walled-up passage here. And the night she ran from Bryan’s bedroom to discover that his twin lay in a coffin, she had surely seen another such passage. Perhaps the crypts were riddled with them. If so, they must lead somewhere.

Suddenly, she wanted only to escape the crypts. Martise moved forward and gently set her hands on Elaina’s shoulders. “Shall we go up?” she asked softly.

Elaina glanced at her, then nodded.

As they left the crypt behind, Martise thought that even Elaina seemed nervous. She paused on the stairway to the great hall and shuddered, then offered Martise a tremulous smile. “I’m so glad that Bruce has had the wall closed.”

“Yes,” Martise agreed.

But again she wondered how many passages lay within the shivery cold walls of the crypts.

    Elaina planned to lie down before dinner. Martise told her she would probably lie down, too, but the moment Elaina left her, she changed into riding attire and headed for the stables. She had determined to go see Dr. MacTeague.

As she approached the stables, she called for Jemie. A shadow moved out into the silence, and she stood still. It was not the lad who appeared, but Robert McCloud. He blocked the entrance.