Lana and the Laird (42 page)

Fuck
.

“And then you would kill me.”

“If you dinna cooperate by killing yourself. That was Stafford's original plan. I was to impel you to return to Scotland, go slowly mad, and, like your father before you, fling yourself from the ramparts.”

“Sorry to disoblige.”

Dougal shrugged. “Apparently Dunphy wasn't horrifying enough.”

Lachlan disagreed.

“I should probably have had him haunt you more often.”

“Oh, I think you were diligent enough in that. How challenging was it, having him follow me about the countryside?”

“That was annoying. It made things much more difficult to arrange.”

“Again, my apologies.” His tone was laced with sarcasm. The depth of Dougal's treachery boggled the mind. With all these layers of duplicity, it did beg the question, “Why am I still alive?”

Dougal snorted a laugh. “I was willing to take Stafford's money to assure you ordered the Clearances and to orchestrate your untimely demise, but frankly, I was in no hurry. McKinney and I needed more time, and we had until your thirtieth birthday, after all.”

His gut tightened. “More time for what?”

“To find the treasure, of course. McKinney spent the past thirty years ripping this castle apart looking for it.”

“What of the map?” The map for which his parents had given their lives.

Dougal grunted. “Your father was more devious than we gave him credit for. Apparently, he hadna shown my father
all
of the map. Only a portion of it. So we needed to keep you alive while we looked.” Of course. Upon Lachlan's death, the castle would revert to the Crown, and they wouldn't be so free with their searches. “But when you discovered the truth about Dunphy … When you started suspecting me … When you fucked that witch and took a chance of creating an heir…” He shrugged. “Well, you have to die now.”

“So this is all about money?”

“Money is verra important … to those who doona have it. Besides which, I feel I deserve some recompense for my years of loyal service.” This, a sneer. “For all the MacBains, who have served the Sinclair dukes like loyal dogs—”

“Until they murdered them.” Fury riffled him at the thought of all his ancestors, dead by the hands of their trusted men. No wonder they haunted the castle. Lachlan forbore mentioning he could have done without such loyalty.

“Curses are ever so convenient.”

“I can only imagine. So, McKinney was in this with you?” Another betrayal, but it hardly even stung. His soul had become used to it.

“Naturally. The hauntings were his idea.”

Charming. “And where is he now?”

“Looking after your friends.” Dougal shot him a dark look. “I told you to come alone.”

A ribbon of alarm trickled through Lachlan; he'd
brought
Alexander and Andrew here. He would never forgive himself if they were harmed because of him. His fingers closed to fists and he opened his mouth to respond, but his thoughts scattered as a moan rose from the oubliette, echoing off the stony walls and sending a bolt of dread though his bowels. He recognized the moan. Knew that tone.

“Lana!”

“Lachlan?” Her cry was thin and rose like a wraith.

“Och. The tide is coming in,” Dougal wailed in a pitying tone. “How long can your lady swim, I wonder? If only you were down there to help her.”

Something in Dougal's tone warned him, and Lachlan whirled on him, just as the pistol discharged. Pain sliced through his arm, stunning him, even as his cousin gave him a sharp shove.

And he tumbled into the well, down and down, certain this would be his last moment alive.

He landed, not with the dull, bone-breaking thud he expected, but with a splash. The shock of the cold water stunned him. He floundered for a moment before he found his balance.

“Lana?” he cried into the darkness.

“Here.”

He swam toward her voice, surprised to find the bottom of the well wasn't a narrow pit, as he'd suspected, but a cavern. No doubt it had been hollowed out over the ages. To his surprise, his feet hit ground. He stood and walked toward Lana's voice, fumbling for and finding her in the dark.

He pulled her into his arms, alarmed by the strength of her shivers. “Darling. Are you all right?”

“I'm f-f-fine.” Her teeth chattered. He held her closer. Her shivers were concerning. “Oh, L-L-Lachlan. I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?”

“This is all my fault.”

He nearly snorted a laugh. “How can it be your fault? I was the one Dougal wanted to kill. You, my darling, were blameless in all this. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I should never have kissed you.” Had he not done so, that first night on the seawall, none of this would have happened.

“Never say it.” She placed her hand on his cheek, so she could find his lips, and then she kissed him. She tasted of salt. Or perhaps it was him. “Never say it. I canna imagine a life without you in it.”

“Had I never touched you, you would be safe this very moment. Not trapped in this infernal hole, with no way to escape.”

“It will be all right, Lachlan.” Her hand eased to his shoulder and then to his arm, as though she was reassuring herself of his solidity. When she reached the spot where the bullet had scored him, he winced. “Did he shoot you?”

“'Tis only a scrape.”

“That fiend.”

Something lapped at his toes. Something cold and wet. “Lana, the tide is coming in.”

The walls of the well were smooth. There were occasional juts of stone, but not enough to grab hold of. Certainly not enough to allow them to climb out. As the waters rose, their haven would be submerged and then two of them would have to swim to survive. He didn't know how long she could swim, as weakened as she was. And with his wounded arm, he doubted he would be able to carry her for long.

Though he hated to admit it to himself, it looked as though Dougal had succeeded in his plot to do him in after all.

His biggest regret was that Lana would die with him. Because of him.

He folded her in his embrace, desperately trying to warm her as much as he could before the frigid waters rose to consume them.

This was it, he realized. The core of his nightmare. Both he and Lana would drown. And there was no one to save them.

*   *   *

This is where I died.

Lana blinked as Lileas's voice resounded in her head.

The vision Lileas had given her before, in the Lochlannach library, rose once more in her mind. Two men and a boy, standing in the chamber above. Though he was much younger, Lana recognized Dougal's spirit in the boy. One of the men was his father, Colin, and the other McKinney, a trusted servant. Although he wasn't so trusted; Lileas knew this now. William, her husband, stood before her, tall and strong and brave, shielding her from the villains.

He could not protect her for long. Colin lifted the pistol and pulled the trigger. William lurched. A red rose blossomed on his chest. He turned to her, eyes wide, lips working, and then he tumbled into the pit.

Heart aching, soul screaming, she stared at the dark hole.

She did not have long to grieve.

“Die with him,” the boy sneered. Hard hands gave her a shove, and she fell into the darkness as well.

Lana felt the terror of her plummet. The shock of the cold as she fell into the icy waters. The agonizing wrench as her leg struck the stony wall of the well.

Madly, ignoring her own pain, her own terror at seeing her husband shot, Lileas searched for William in the icy waters, and found him. He was silent. Still.

She swam, towing him with her, until she came to the wall of the well and felt her way around it. She found a small ledge and pulled him up on it. It took every ounce of her energy, but she wouldn't give up.

Finally, they were both out of the water, perched on the rocky ledge.

Though Lileas expected the water to rise, it did not.

She lay there, holding William, as the life drained from him, helpless and unable to save him.

As the vision faded, Lana thanked Lileas for sharing, for reliving such a horrific moment.

Because now she knew what she had to do.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The water crept up, higher and higher, enclosing them in a chilly grip. Lachlan was determined to keep Lana afloat for as long as he could.

“Doona be afraid,” he said.

“I'm not afraid.” God love her, she was brave.

“Perhaps it will rise to the top.” If it lifted them high enough, they could crawl out. He knew this would likely not be the case, but he felt the need to offer something.

“It will rise high enough.”

He didn't understand what she meant by that, but saw little reason to ask for clarification. That she was calm, in such a horrifying situation—especially for a woman afraid of drowning—was blessing enough.

As the waters rose, they slipped out of the cavern and into the well. Lachlan gasped as he was once again enrobed in an icy grip. “Hold on to me,” he said. If they were going to die, he wanted to do so in her arms.

“Hold on to
me
,” she said on a chuckle, though there was hardly a call for humor.

The tide surged in and lifted them in an incessant upwelling. As they were buoyed up, higher and higher, Lana felt along the wall, searching for something.

“Darling, what are you doing?” he asked.

“Your mother is here.”

He stilled. Something warmed in his chest. He didn't want to die, not here in this dark, wet, frigid hole, but it was nice to know his mother was waiting to meet him.

“And your father.”

Both of them. Together. A lovely thought. “Dougal told me they died here.”

“Aye. They did. Although, when Dougal's father pushed them into the well, the tide was at its highest … Ah! There it is.”

“What…?”

Lana took his hand and placed it on a rocky ledge, another small cavern etched out over the centuries. “If we can climb up there, we will be dry.”

Ah. Lana. Bless her heart. They would be dry, but they would still be stranded. And without food and water, drenched and cold as they were, there was no telling how long they would last. Not long.

Still, he did as she asked and clambered up onto the ledge, and then reached down for her. It was difficult lifting her up with one arm, but he managed. Once they were both on the ledge, they collapsed, chests heaving.

Lachlan expected Lana to stay there by his side, but she did not. She began riffling about their cave. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Looking for something. Ah. Here it is.”

More riffling. Scraping. And then a snap.

To Lachlan's surprise, light flared, nearly blinding him. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and then it was to realize that—somehow—Lana had started a fire. He gaped at her in astonishment. “What … How?”

She gestured at a pile of clothing. “Your father had a tinderbox in his pocket.” She quirked a smile. “Apparently he was fond of the occasional cheroot.”

Lachlan narrowed his focus on the rags. His heart stopped for a second or two, and dismay possessed him as he realized it wasn't a pile of clothing as much as the remains of a man. “My … father?”

“Aye.” Lana set her hand on his arm. “He was shot. By Dougal's father. He died quickly. He dinna suffer.”

Another skeleton lay by his side, this one enrobed in a dress. “And my mother?”

Lana pressed her lips together and looked away. “She is at peace now. Or she will be, when you are safe. She doesna want you to die here.”

Something sprouted, blossomed in his chest. Something that quickly overpowered years of anger and pain. His mother was here. She wanted to help him. Save him.

She had not abandoned him at all. Not ever.

A smile born of a sense of belonging quirked his lips. “I doona want to die here, either.”

“She says there is a tunnel leading to a cave, but her leg was hurt and she couldna explore any farther, so she came back to be with William.” To die in his arms.

“Shall we give it a try?”

“I think we should. After a rest. And Lachlan?”

“Aye, Lana?”

“If we find our way out, we should give your parents a proper burial, I think.”

“Aye. We should.”

She shifted back and Lachlan stared at his father and his mother, entwined in an eternal embrace. Something glinted in the flicker of the firelight. Something clutched in his mother's bony hand.

Lachlan swallowed as he leaned closer; a certitude filled him. He gently picked up the piece and barked a laugh.

It was, indeed, the final piece of the cross.

What irony that he should find it now, when all was utterly lost.

But at least they had fire: heat and light. Lana kept it burning with scraps of wood she found. He had no idea why there should be scraps of wood in a cave in a well—though it was an ancient well, and who knew what it had been used for in times past—and he had no idea how she found them, but he didn't care. It was warm enough to keep them from shivering, and after a while their clothing dried, which was rather blissful.

All the while, Lachlan held Lana in his arms. He couldn't miss the chance. God only knew how long they had left together. Though they were no longer at risk of expiring from the cold, they were trapped in a well with no food and water. His wound hurt like the very devil and he knew he'd lost a lot of blood.

But at least they were together now.

He should
tell
her.

Really. He should.

This was probably his last chance.

It took him a moment to rally his courage. Not that he was worried about any rejection from her; it was simply a collection of words he'd never said before, and they frightened him a little.

It was probably best to simply say them.