The Devil Wears Tartan (26 page)

She’d come to the same conclusion, so there was no sense in adopting a positive face about the situation. She sighed. “I do believe it is, Jim.”

“Then what are we to do?”

Davina didn’t answer him, only stood and walked some distance to the edge of the clearing where it dropped off into the air. Across the way was a misted hill. To her left was a craggy outcrop of shale, to her right, a meandering brook silver in the morning light.

This land was once defended by Kenneth I when it was still known as Dalriada. Beneath their feet were probably the bones of men who longed for freedom long before the English learned to stand upright.

A lesson they needed to remember, didn’t they? A reminder, perhaps, of the greatness beneath their boot heels. History was all around them, and history was the answer.

By afternoon, the coach returned, with Chambers stubbornly driving. He’d taken the precaution, though,
of installing one of the stable boys beside him on the seat.

Behind him came a phalanx of vehicles, all from Ambrose: three carriages, six wagons, and, incredibly, a pony cart. The wagons were filled with men, all from Ambrose, and none attired in his livery.

Her eyes widened when she recognized Jacobs in the first wagon.

“It’s every man from Ambrose,” Nora said when Chambers halted the coach and six men climbed out.

“The carpenter couldn’t come,” Chambers said, climbing down from the seat. “Fool injured his leg falling from the roof. So I put him in charge of protecting the place while we were gone.”

“Did you bring the other items I wanted, Chambers?” Davina asked.

The man nodded. “What you wanted from the Egypt House is in the carriage, Your Ladyship. I put what I could collect from the Great Hall in the second wagon. But I’ve a surprise as well, Your Ladyship,” he said, smiling. “I found bolts of the stuff in the attic.” He withdrew a length of tartan. “I’m thinking kilts.”

She smiled at him. “Very good, Chambers. Thank you, for everything.” She opened the carriage door and slipped inside.

Marshall awoke knowing exactly who he was. He didn’t bother to look to the left or to the right, realizing where he was immediately. The same little room he’d awakened in earlier.

He knew, without looking, that there were no signs
of a madman’s destruction the night before. He’d seen no specters, or ghosts. No hellish voices interrupted his rest.

The door suddenly opened and an enormous man appeared in the doorway. His jailer? When he asked the question, the man only smiled. “Your Lordship,” he said. But that was all.

When Marshall glanced at the other man, he was surprised to see the light of intelligence in his eyes.

“Where am I?”

The giant smiled again, but he wasn’t forthcoming with information. Instead he left the room, closing and locking the door behind him. A moment later he was back with a pitcher filled with hot water and a basin. After his second trip, he placed a tray at the end of Marshall’s cot.

Marshall sat up cautiously, but his equilibrium was perfect, and he wasn’t dizzy. He took a deep breath and realized that he didn’t hurt anywhere.

“How long have I been here?” he asked, not expecting the man to answer.

The giant smiled again. “Two days.”

“Two days?” He could remember only fragments of time, bits of consciousness. Two days? No wonder his body was making its needs known.

The man nodded and then stood with his back to the door surveying the room, as if questioning himself what was still needed. Evidently satisfied, he left, turning the key in the lock.

The sound grated on Marshall’s nerves, but thoughts of being imprisoned were soon dismissed for more
pressing needs. Those taken care of, he returned to the table beside the cot and washed his hands and face. Only then did he regard the tray the giant had brought him.

In China he’d not realized, until it was too late, that his food had been laced with opium. That fact made him a little wary of sampling this meal. But for once his stomach didn’t feel as if it had been turned inside out, and now he was actually hungry. He settled for taking a few bites and then pushing down his hunger.

He looked around the room. There were no furnishings other than his cot and a small table beside the bed, an earth closet, and a chamber pot.

The air didn’t waver, and there wasn’t a hint of a vision or a nightmare. Now if he could only determine exactly where he was and how he could get out of here, life would be almost perfect.

Davina held out the garment to Dominic Ahern. He eyed it suspiciously.

“A clean shirt. My husband is fastidious. He will want to change.”

“It will need to be inspected,” Ahern said.

“I expected no less, Mr. Ahern. I understand your position very well. Are you prepared to release my husband?”

“You said there were more necklaces?”

Was that to be the price of Marshall’s freedom? If so, she’d pay it gladly.

“Two of them to be precise. Shall I fetch them for your inspection as well?”

He gave a slight nod, squeezed the shirt between his hands, and then thrust a hand through each of the sleeves in turn. Finally he waved toward one of the men standing beside the stairs. “Take this to His Lordship,” he said, before turning to Davina. “Is that good enough?”

“When will my husband be released, Mr. Ahern?”

“Another day is necessary by law to examine him, Your Ladyship.”

“After that?”

“I haven’t decided whether or not he poses a threat, Your Ladyship. I will need a physician to examine him.”

“The same man who signed the first certificate? You and I both know that he would probably sign another for enough of a payment.”

Ahern only smiled.

She wondered if he would be smiling if he was aware of the preparations taking place just outside his door. Two more wagons had just arrived from Ambrose filled with supplies.

“Then you give me no choice,” Davina said. When had she become so bloodthirsty? She was actually looking forward to this.

“You’re returning to your home, Your Ladyship? A wise decision.”

“Actually, we’re not. Look outside your window, Mr. Ahern. We’re laying siege to Brannock Castle.”

She smiled brightly at him before turning and leaving.

The door opened, and the giant entered, placing something at the end of the bed.

“Clean clothes,” the man said.

Marshall looked at the shirt without interest.

“At least you keep your prisoners well fed and well clothed,” he said.

The giant didn’t respond.

“Tell them I changed,” Marshall said. “Tell them I refused. Or tell them anything you damn well please.”

The giant took a step toward him, and Marshall almost welcomed the confrontation. A punishing brawl might just be exactly what he needed. No, what he needed was to get out of this place, and drawing attention to himself would not be the best course of action.

He pushed down his temper and reached for the shirt, surprised to find that it was one of his own. He began to unbutton the one he wore, but just before he donned the clean shirt, he caught sight of something written on the inside seam.

He threw the dirty shirt at the other man and then dressed in the clean garment.

“There, you can tell your masters that I’ve dutifully changed.”

The giant studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment and then nodded once.

He finally left, giving Marshall the opportunity to take off the clean shirt and examine what he’d seen. There, in writing almost too small to be so precise, was a cartouche. He closed his eyes for a moment, and in that brief span of seconds, hope nearly overwhelmed him. Davina had sent him a message. His beautiful,
confusing, fascinating, intelligent, more-clever-than-all-the-females-in-the-world wife had crafted a hieroglyph to him. He studied the cartouche and read the symbols she’d written.

Freedom. She was planning on war, and the men of Ambrose would be her army.

He began to laugh.

“Your Ladyship?”

Davina turned at the portcullis to find that Ahern had followed her.

“Your Ladyship, are you not being precipitous? You cannot lay siege to Brannock Castle!”

“You cannot keep my husband here without my permission, Mr. Ahern.”

“I will have to summon the authorities,” he said, his voice rising.

“By all means, Mr. Ahern. If you can get them through my men.”

She stepped aside to give him a view of the courtyard. Yesterday there had been only a few sparse trees and scraggly bushes. Now the space was filled with a sea of men. Victoria had made tartans popular, and the kilt acceptable. But the men of Ambrose made it a garment of war.

At the lift of her hand, each man raised his right hand in salute. The Great Hall had been emptied of its claymores and dirks, and each man was equipped with some type of weapon.

She glanced over to find Mr. Ahern staring at the assembled men in wide-eyed horror.

“You cannot be serious, Your Ladyship.”

“As serious as war, Mr. Ahern.”

“This is not seemly, Your Ladyship.”

“Did you never hear of Lady Anne Macintosh, Lady Margaret Oglivy, Margaret Murray, or Lady Lude? Did you know that the Countess of Ross led her own troops in 1297? Or that the Countess of Buchan fought for Robert de Bruce? So did Lady Agnes Randolph, and she was known as Black Agnes. She held her castle against the Earl of Salisbury for five months. I am in good company, Mr. Ahern.”

“I must protest, Your Ladyship.”

“Protest all you will, Mr. Ahern, but the fact remains, we are here until you release my husband.”

She smiled as she left him, feeling absurdly like laughing.

T
wo more days passed. Two more endless days during which Ahern did not relent. Two more horrible days in which Davina worried about Marshall endlessly.

She slept because exhaustion took away her choice. She ate because she didn’t want to faint. But she rarely spoke to her companions, and her attention was directed to the windows of the Black Castle as if she could see Marshall there.

On the morning of the fifth day, she was sitting where she normally did, on the outcropping of rock near the courtyard, Jim and Nora beside her. The men were staging mock battles, lunging at one another with spears and knives. If she’d any concern to spare for anyone other than Marshall, it would have been for the more zealous of them, too ready for warfare but lacking in training.

She herself was sorely lacking in patience as the hours creaked by, and when the coachman came to her, an uncharacteristic smile on his face, she felt the first stirrings of hope.

“Your Ladyship, it has arrived.”

Davina began to smile. “Thank God,” she said.

“What are your orders, Your Ladyship?”

“Intercept it,” she told the coachman.

Both Jim and Nora looked at her in surprise.

“We’ve well and truly gone to war,” she said. “With Ahern’s supply wagon.” Her smile grew broader. “And now I shall let Mr. Ahern know exactly how serious I am.”

Without another word, she left them and strode toward the Black Castle.

A few minutes later she was standing in front of Ahern and he was looking nearly apoplectic.

“Your supply wagon for my husband,” she said calmly.

“You imperil your own husband, madam, if you engage in such recklessness.”

“My husband would rather die than be a prisoner again, Mr. Ahern,” she said. “Can the families of your other patients say the same?”

“These men are ill. They need care.”

“Then give it to them,” she said. “Their families are not here to care for them. I am. I will care for my husband. Give him to me, and I’ll give you your supply wagon.”

He looked at her, his little rat face squinched up. “You are not going away, are you, Your Ladyship?”

She only smiled.

Ahern turned and walked away, leaving her standing in what must have once been the Great Hall of Brannock Castle. After a moment, she realized he wasn’t
coming back. Disappointed, she began to walk toward the portcullis.

A footstep on the stairs made her turn. She looked up at the head of the stairs where a shadowy figure stood. He descended a few steps, coming into the light streaming in through an archer’s slit.

“Davina?”

Even if she couldn’t see him, she’d know that voice anywhere. She blinked again, but the vision didn’t disappear. In fact, he solidified behind a waterfall of tears.

“Marshall?”

He was dressed in the shirt she’d bribed Ahern to give him, but it was now wrinkled. His trousers, too, looked as if he’d slept in them. He was unshaven, his hair was unkempt, and he was barefoot. He’d never looked so disreputable and so utterly wonderful.

But the greatest blessing was evident when she grew closer. His eyes were clear, and there was no confusion in their depths. There was no uncertainty in his glance, and a small smile played around his mouth.

When he reached the base of the steps, she flung herself into his arms. She held tight, her arms linked around his neck. She kept shaking her head as if to negate all that had happened from the last time she’d seen him until this moment.

“Davina.” Had his voice ever sounded so deep or so warm? “Davina.” Her name was no more than a breath, a gentle summons, a wisp of sound.

She buried her face against his chest, allowing herself to feel for the first time since she’d come to Bran
nock Castle. When he tightened his arms around her, she took another step closer, the fabric of her skirt mating with the cloth of his trousers.

One of her hands fluttered to his neck, trailed around it. A thumb brushed his skin while four fingers danced along his nape, feeling the growth of his hair.

She was used to reserving herself, but no longer. She wanted to know him, in the way that friends truly knew and accepted each other. She wanted to be able to sense his presence in a crowded room, speak to him of her wishes and wants, and share herself with him in a way that she could finish his sentences, anticipate his thoughts, and empathize in a wordless communication.

Instead of telling him this, instead of explaining that she’d never be parted from him again, she kissed him.

When his lips touched hers, hers pillowed them in a comforting, gentle way of long standing. There was no hesitation when she opened her lips, no reservation. It was a kiss of longtime lovers, companionable in their passion, well acquainted with each nook and crevice, curve and angle of body. It was a gesture of welcoming, of satisfaction, of bodies remembering rapture.

Her left hand brushed against his chest, felt the cloth encasing his skin, envied it. His two hands were pressed against her back. She felt him, hard and angled where she was smooth and curved.

It was such perfect joining, even clothed, that Davina felt the spiking of tears in her eyes.

She pulled back and stared at him, placing her palms on either side of his face, feeling the abrasiveness of his
beard against her skin. Proof that he was there, that she was touching him.

“Are you well?” she asked tremulously, nearly desperate for the affirmation of his answer.

“I am well,” he answered, extending his arms around her waist once more.

“They didn’t harm you?”

“They did not.”

His voice was the most soothing thing she’d known, calming her as if she were a fractious cat. As she stood so close to him now, with her hands pressed against his face, it was inconceivable to her that she’d not been as close to him for endless days and weeks. He should have known her as a child, would know her as an old woman, and would be by her side for all the events of her life from this moment onward.

Slowly, tenderly, she placed her fingers against his temples, her thumbs brushing his cheeks.

“And your visions?” She held her breath for his answer.

“Gone,” he said, still smiling.

That word encapsulated all that was right and wonderful about the world.

“Vanished,” he said, “as if they’d never been.”

“Which is a state of affairs I dearly wish, Your Ladyship. Now will you retreat from Brannock Castle?” Mr. Ahern stepped out from the shadows, his rat face twisted into an expression of annoyance.

“Yes,” she said simply, smiling at the little man. How very tolerable he appeared at the moment. But then the world was a wondrous place, was it not?

Marshall was beside her.

They walked out into the courtyard, and every single one of the men from Ambrose began to cheer.

Marshall stopped, stunned.

“Is it the number of men that amazes you?” she asked, putting her hand on his sleeve. “Or is it their loyalty?”

He turned to her. “You
were
prepared to go to war, weren’t you?”

“I still am.”

He frowned. “Against whom?”

“First, Dominic Ahern. Now you, I think,” she said agreeably.

She turned and placed both her hands flat against his chest.

He looked intently at her face, as if he wanted to memorize it, keep it in his mind for all time. She was so beautiful and so fierce. Her loyalty made him feel humble in a way he’d never before felt.

“Why me?”

“I’m a very intelligent woman, Marshall, one blessed with a questioning mind. I knew that there were secrets that shamed you. You are, after all, not a god but a human man. A human man,” she repeated. “But does that mean that you’re unworthy to love?”

He didn’t answer.

“There may come a time in the future when I shame myself again, when I harm someone else, when I commit an act of extreme stupidity. I would hope that you’d forgive me, knowing that I’m fallible. Isn’t that what love is all about? Seeing the flaws of others and discounting them?”

She was oblivious to the men of Ambrose watching them.

“Do you love me?”

He silently saluted her bravery. He didn’t know if he would have had the courage to ask that question.

“I once thought love was for foolish boys. Those who think themselves immortal. Or those who have no sins for which to atone. I’ve believed that I’ve had too many sins to be worthy of love.”

She grabbed his hands, holding them imprisoned between hers.

“Why do you punish yourself so much? Why are you, of all people, subject to a different set of rules? Why do you have to be better than anyone else? Stronger? Braver?”

He looked out at the landscape, focusing on it rather than her. Words came so much more easily when the object of them wasn’t standing right beside him.

He didn’t care for the ache that resided somewhere in his chest, an indication that emotions too long buried had been reluctantly jarred open like a trunk with a rusty hinge.

Davina didn’t move, but he could feel her tension, as if she drew herself up in a small ball to be less of a target.

“I said that I once thought myself unworthy of love. But since you came into my life with your stubbornness—may I call it obstinacy?—I’ve become accustomed to the idea of it.”

She stared down at her clenched hands, and if he could have, without revealing that his own hand trembled, he would have tilted her chin up so that he could stare into those luminous eyes of hers.

“Come back to Ambrose with me. Come and live there and keep me sane. Come and love me, and I will love you with all the power and the strength of which I’m capable. To refuse you, to refuse love would be the true definition of madness, I think.”

She stepped closer, lifted both his hands to her lips, cupping the backs of his hands within her palms as if in offering. Then she bent her head and kissed the center of his scarred palm, a kiss so soft and sweet that it speared his heart. It was not an act of passion as much as one of benediction.

If they were in a different place, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. But the men of Ambrose surrounded him, dressed in kilts and holding spears, claymores, and dirks.

“It’s a stirring sight to see us all outfitted for war. You’ve stripped Ambrose of its weapons.”

She smiled and nodded.

“I confess there’s a great deal missing from Ambrose. As well as Mrs. Murray,” she added. “She seems to have departed with some alacrity. Not that I mind. I’m rather happy about the event.”

He stared down at her, a dozen pictures flashing into his mind. Mrs. Murray with the ubiquitous decanter of wine. Mrs. Murray with her soft-eyed glances, reminding him of earlier days. Mrs. Murray with her excessive servility.

“It was the wine,” he said, all the pieces suddenly fitting into place.

“The wine?”

“Something was in the wine. I haven’t had any
since I’ve been here, and I’ve no hallucinations of any kind.”

The thought struck him as loud as thunder.

Before his marriage, he’d taken to sitting in his library, musing upon his inability to sleep. A glass or two of wine was his habit. He’d never associated the wine with the visions he’d experienced, but then he’d never read his mother’s journal, either.

“She used to give my mother her medicine. It would have been easy enough to do the same to me.”

“Mrs. Murray? She’s Leanne?” Her eyebrow arched upward. “She was your mother’s companion?”

He nodded.

“Why did she become the housekeeper at Ambrose, Marshall? Because you felt guilty about seducing her?”

There was enough truth in the accusation that he felt uncomfortable.

“She didn’t want to go back to Edinburgh.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Davina said. “She was in love with you.”

He glanced at her. “I doubt that was the case.”

“For a well-respected diplomat, you’re incredibly obtuse, Marshall.”

He would have taken umbrage at that comment but for the fact that she had just brought an army to rescue him.

“I never experienced the hallucinations around you,” he said slowly. “Only once, when I went back to my room and had a glass of wine. But I’d eaten prior to that, which is probably why the visions weren’t as bad.”

Once he’d been married, he’d spent fewer nights in his library dreading sleep. Instead he’d been with Davina, allowing himself to be thoroughly charmed by her wit, mind, and passion. When Davina had returned to Edinburgh, he’d resorted to his previous habits. Only then had the ghosts returned in earnest, exhorting him to join them.

He bloody well wasn’t going mad.

She stared at him in wonder. “Why did we never think of that before?”

“But you did,” he said, gently reminding her.

“I think I would have said anything at the time,” she admitted. “I was desperate for answers. I didn’t want you to be mad.”

“But why would Leanne do that?” At her look, he said, “So she poisoned me out of love? That hardly makes sense.”

“What better way to keep you dependent on her than to render you insane?” She eyed him with an irritated glance. “Or she could have been poisoning you from spite. Did you ruin her, Marshall?”

He hadn’t the slightest idea, but he wasn’t about to make that remark.

“Why did she send me off to an asylum? Or was it her decision?”

They shared a look.

“I think it’s time to have a talk with my uncle as well,” he said.

“Well, I sincerely hope that Mrs. Murray has gone a very long distance,” Davina said.

“Or else you would be tempted to go after her?”

“I’ve been deprived of a war,” she said. “But surely a small battle would not be amiss. And I would very much like to engage in battle with Mrs. Murray. Was she ever truly married, or did she simply take the title to become more respectable?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said.

He held out his hand, and she took it without comment. But she was smiling, and her eyes were sparkling.

He wanted to kiss her softly and tuck her under his arm and keep her there for the next millennium or so, just until he grew accustomed to her presence.