One With the Night (14 page)

CHAPTER
Nine

Jane and Callan sidled round a bend where the path was narrow and muddy, squeezed between a high rock on the right and the rush of water on the left. The Falls of Divach poured down a sheer side of bare rock thirty feet into a black, roiling pool. The air was heavy with water vapor. The pool in front of the falls edged up to old trees, broad leaved and immense. Under their shelter moss and fern in midnight-green spread for perhaps fifty feet before they met steep hills covered in bracken where trees jutted out in crazy angles. If there were
Amanita
mushrooms to be had,
phalloides
or
virosa,
they would be here, in the damp under these trees.

She looked up at the night sky. The stars had disappeared. The clouds had lowered. “All right!” she shouted. “We’re looking for mushrooms. One variety has a white umbrella cap about three inches across. Those are the
virosa.
The other has greenish caps about five inches across. Those are
phalloides
.” She didn’t tell him that one was called Destroying Angel and one Death Cap. “I’ll take the top of the meadow near the falls. You start over there. Sing out if you find them. They grow in clusters.”

She started toward the falls, poking under clumps of fern in the damp leaves with a stick she’d found. It took her an hour to work back down to the path. She’d found no trace of the deadly mushrooms. She straightened, putting a hand to the small of her back, and looked for Kilkenny. He had searched close to the hillside, but now he was coming out of the trees. She raised her palms in question. He shook his head.

She gripped her lip in her teeth. She hated to fail her father. She was failing herself and Kilkenny, too. She looked around. There! Across the pool. Wasn’t that a knobby clump of small umbrellas among the green, and there, another! The cursed mushrooms were growing in the open on the other side of the pool. She turned to motion to Mr. Kilkenny and found him by her side. She hadn’t heard him approaching in the noise from the falls. She pointed to the mushrooms.

He nodded, surveyed the problem, and began pulling off his boots.

“You don’t mean to swim the pool,” she shouted.

“If I dinnae swim, we dinnae ha’ mushrooms,” he shouted back, taking off his stockings.

“You’ll catch your death.”

First his eyes crinkled then a slow grin spread across his face. His teeth were white and even in the darkness. In that moment, she truly saw the charismatic rascal he’d once been. It was a revelation “Nae, ye canno’ believe that, lass!” he chided.

Oh. She suppressed a sheepish look. He pulled at his shirt. She was so fascinated by that anomalous grin, it took her several seconds to realize what was happening. She spun around. Did the man insist on being naked in her vicinity? She flushed.

“Dinnae worry, I’ll no’ take off my breeches.” Did he mock her? She wanted to see his eyes. “Hand me yer basket.”

She took a breath and turned. It wouldn’t do to let him know that even his bare torso did things to the part of her between her legs that made breathing difficult. In the moonlight his pale skin stood out against the dark of water, fern, and trees, his scars shining whiter still. The mist in the air made him gleam as though he was sweating lightly. She handed him the basket. He fixed the handle to his belt, then turned and walked into the pitch-black water. The scars on his back were like the spiderwebs they had been discussing. The bottom of the pool receded quickly, for he struck out to the other shore after only two steps. The water must be like ice. Jane shivered just to think about it. He was a strong swimmer. He stepped up the far shore, dripping as he went, and surveyed the meadow. He headed for the nearest clump of mushrooms. She watched the play of muscles over his back and shoulders as he bent. He went from clump to clump. It wasn’t long before he had the basket brimming full. He held it up for her inspection. She nodded. That was much more than enough. Her father couldn’t think to use very much of such a poisonous plant. This time Kilkenny paddled back with one arm, holding the basket out of the water.

He was shivering as he came out of the pool. His nipples were pinched with cold. She held up his shirt and he used it to wipe himself down.

“Thank you,” she said, as he sat to pull on stockings and boots. His breeches were doeskin and would hold the water. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Ye’d a been cold and wet from swimming or ye’d ha’ gone home empty-handed,” he agreed, that glint in his eyes. He pulled his shirt over his head. It was hardly dryer than his breeches at this point.

“What you need is a nice warm tartan,” she said, picking up the basket.

He rose and took it from her. “If ye lose yer footing and dump th’ mushrooms inta th’ river, th’ current’ll take them. And I’ll no’ ha’ my swim wasted.”

“I … I can carry a basket,” she sputtered, but he had already started down the path.

She was silent on the way back. The wind had come up and was pulling at her hair. And he took all her attention. His every movement had a weary grace she had not recognized before. When they got to the horses, he tied the basket to Missy’s saddle while she pulled out one of Lachlan Dulnan’s clean shirts, a vest, the Black Watch plaid, the warm green woolen stockings, and the boots that laced up the calf from the bundle he’d made. She laid them out on a rock and went to nuzzle Missy, her back to him. He could just take off his clothes and be done with it. She was not going to imagine the ribs of muscle over his flanks or the white curve of buttock as he bent to pick up the shirt. She needed a distraction. “Do you know how to wrap a plaid?” she called. She pulled herself up into her saddle and tucked her knee over the horn of the sidesaddle.

“I’ve seen it done a time or two.”

She waited, arranging her skirts and careful not to look in his direction as Missy sidled.

“Ouch!” he exclaimed. “Damned pins.”

She smiled and looked at her hands. She felt him come up beside her and swing up into his saddle. Now she could not help but stare. The green and blue of the tartan looked well on him, over the white of the shirt and a hunter-green waistcoat. The thick leather belt kept the pleats of the plaid secure around his loins. He’d pulled up the excess cloth over his back and fixed it with the pin of twining, stylized animals to his waistcoat over one shoulder. His collar was open at his throat. The twin, circular scars up and down both sides of his neck were usually covered by his cravat. She wondered again what could have made them. The glimpse of strong bare knees and the curve of muscled calf under his stockings might make the ride home long. “You look well in it,” she said, just to be saying something. “The green goes with your eyes.”

He looked at her sharply but said nothing. He took up the reins and gave Faust his office to start. Missy turned naturally in behind him.

It must be close on midnight. The clouds boiled above them and the wind was rising. She hoped they got home without a soaking—not that she was not already wet in certain places. What was she becoming, that just knowing Kilkenny was naked fifteen feet away could set her into a lather? Was she becoming one of her father’s nymphomaniac patients? If he did not find a cure soon she might well lose herself, and not find her way back.

“Penny for yer thoughts,” the man whose bare knees were riveting her attention said. The horses were walking side by side again now.

“They aren’t worth a penny.” They were coming down into the village. But their night’s work was not done. “Turn right up ahead, Mr. Kilkenny.”

He looked his question at her.

She did not answer directly, but only said shortly, “We’ve another stop to make.”

*   *   *

Their destination soon became apparent. Ahead Callan saw the outline of ruined castle walls. He’d seen them the night he arrived as he turned up the glen toward Muir Farm. A tower of some five stories had its roots in the loch. Half-ruined walls, and the outlines of other towers, clung to the rock. Why would she want to go there?

“What is it?” he asked.

“Urquhart Castle,” she said. “It’s the reason for the village.”

“Is there anythin’ up there?”

“A fine specimen of nightshade as I recall and an excellent view of the loch.”

They wended their way upward through the trees, losing sight of the castle several times. When at last they burst out of the woods the vast extent of the ruins was fully visible. Mist rose from the dark trees on the far shore of the loch, and nearer, the icy black waters spread small ripples ahead of the rising wind. Callan pulled up Faust beside a grassy ditch that must once have created a barrier to invasion by land. All that was left was a small stone bridge across it now. Beyond lay stone walls no higher than a man in some places and roofless outlines of the many outbuildings it took to house garrisons of soldiers; smokehouses, root cellars, armories, and kitchens. The only building left intact seemed to be the tower.

“Looks like there’s no’ much left.”

She climbed down and surveyed it. “Well, it’s old. Built in the early twelve hundreds so they say.”

“Sa was th’ castle at Edinburgh, and it still stands.” He hopped down. She started across the little bridge and he followed.

“This one changed hands about a hundred times, from Scot to Scot and English to Scot and back again. It commands the water passage to the Highlands. The last garrison was starved out but they blew it up as they left to prevent it being used against them. That was two hundred years ago, I think.” She pointed to a bush growing along the outer wall. “There’s our quarry.
Atropa belladonna
. Quite poisonous. It grows in lime. Hmm. I wonder if it grows just here because that’s where they used to douse the soldiers with lime to kill their lice?”

“Well, that’s an attractive thought,” he muttered.

“Duncan is rumored to have killed a whole Danish army with it.”

He looked around then glanced down toward the village on their left, dark now, its God-fearing people asleep. “Blowin’ the place up was just th’ first step in its demise. They took th’ stones ta make their cottages.”

“Much easier than quarrying more.”

They dismounted. Jane was thankful she knew exactly where the specimen grew, for the clouds were really quite lowering, and there was an eerie, almost green light to the blackness.

“Leaves or roots?” he asked, untying the second basket from Faust’s saddle.

“Both.” She retrieved her trowel. Kilkenny walked over to where the bush grew against the ragged stones of the ruined wall, Faust trailing in his wake, and got out his pocket knife.

“Wait!” she called. “Let me.” She hurried over, pulling on some gardening gloves. “We shouldn’t touch it with our bare hands.”

“That bad?” Kilkenny asked, his lips pressed together grimly.

“Not a pleasant plant.”

“Yer father seems ta have a penchant for th’ poisons.”

“Daunting, isn’t it—that we might have to take something made with these ingredients?” She took his knife and began cutting leaf clusters.

“A wee bit.” His tone was ironic. Was he laughing at her? He held out the basket.

It began to sprinkle. Jane cut faster. The sky split with lightning. The flash made Jane squint. Each stone of the wall, each leaf of the nightshade, stood out in relief. This was as close to daylight as she and Kilkenny were likely to get until her father found the cure. She counted two before the thunder thudded in her chest. Kilkenny took the trowel and dug until he got up a section of gnarly root. The basket was almost full when the sky opened up and the deluge began in earnest. The drops were so large and so close together that they sent up a haze of water as they bounced off the turf. Lightning forked again, followed almost immediately by thunder. It was getting dangerous out here in the open as well as wet.

“Does that tower still ha’ a roof?” Kilkenny shouted over the clatter of the rain.

“Yes!” she yelled back.

“Come on, then!” He pulled Faust into a trot as he ran across what was once the open castle yard. Missy needed no encouragement to follow.

By the time they reached the tower, the rain had soaked through her cloak. Kilkenny’s kilt and shirt clung wetly to his body. Their hair was streaming rivulets down their necks. The wooden door to the arched stone entry hung askew. They ducked inside to relative dryness. Jane clucked to Missy. After a hesitation, the mare walked into the darkness.

“Come on, Faust.” Kilkenny’s horse hung back at the end of his reins. “It’s in or out, boy.” Faust wasn’t sure he liked the looks of the darkness. The rain on his croup made a halo of water. Kilkenny clucked and Faust used that as an excuse to surrender to dry stabling.

The tower only looked to be two stories high from where they had entered, but that was because three floors were below them, stretching down to where the stone rose from the loch. The room they were in was about twenty-five feet in diameter and roughly octagonal. The floor of thick timbered beams still stood firmly after centuries. The crash of the rain against the stones seemed comfortingly futile from inside these thick walls.

Jane went to one of three narrow slits that served for windows and looked out onto the loch. Kilkenny prowled the space behind her, peering out of each narrow slit. Then he went to the mare and began uncinching her saddle.

“What are you doing?” Jane asked.

“This looks ta last a while. They might as well be comfortable.” He tossed the reins over Missy’s head and tied a knot, so she couldn’t tangle her feet in them, then moved to Faust.

Jane watched him in the darkness, feeling his body move and the animal energy that pulsed just beneath his surface. The tower seemed much too small, not because of the horses, but because of Kilkenny. He smelled of wet wool and wet hair.

Gusts of wind blew sprays of rain across the floor. Freed of their saddles, the horses moved together, nose to tail for comfort and warmth against the wall farthest from the open arch of the door. Missy didn’t even squeal at the gelding. Kilkenny’s boot heel thunked once as he moved the saddles out of reach of the rain. He put down her sidesaddle, then went back and stomped over the place again. He lifted his brows and leaned over to examine the timbers. “Aye, here it is,” he muttered, grasping a ring set in the floor. He pulled. A section of floor creaked up, apparently on hinges, revealing a ladder.