The Return of Black Douglas (34 page)

“I was saving it for a special occasion.”

“And is this a special occasion?”

“Aye, a very special occasion.”

“There was a time when I hoped you would come and a time when I knew you would not. I am surprised to see ye now, for I had given up on finding ye willing to reconcile.”

Oh, you have no idea just how reconciled we are going to be…

He picked up a decanter and poured wine into two goblets. He crossed the room, never taking his gaze away from her. He handed her a goblet.

She took it, her gaze savoring his face. “Some things come when you least expect them.”

He saluted her with his goblet. “To an unexpected spark that has kindled a blaze from smoldering ash. To see ye thus.” His voice broke. “’Tis difficult to keep my distance and my hands off ye. It takes a frightful amount o’ restraint, and I am no’ certain I am in possession of it at the moment.” He drank deeply and placed his goblet on the long table that ran along the wall behind them.

She did the same. “And if I did not wish you to exercise this frightful restraint?” She asked.

He did not know for certain why she was here, dressed as she was, but he would not make the first move. He had done that too many times in the past. Wherever they went from here, it was all up to her.

“Why are ye here, Isobella?”

“I bring you a peace offering.”

“And what is this peace offering ye speak of?”

She stepped closer. “Me.”

She was close enough that he could see the pale, white flesh of her breasts caressed by candlelight. He did not, could not stop looking at her as he waited to hear what she would say.

“I have had a revelation tonight.”

He said nothing. She went on. “I have learned that one does not always win by being the victor in battle. That sometimes you win by surrender. Being separate from you these past weeks, I died a little with each day that passed.”

He heard the small, whimpering moan that she tried to hold back and saw the tracks of tears on her face. He had never wanted to reach out and pull her against him more than he did now, but he would not make it easy for her. Not this time.

“I love you, Alysandir Mackinnon. So much that I have come here to accept your offer to become your mistress. If that option is still mine to accept. I surrender to you.”

He closed his eyes, pacing himself and praying for the right words. One wrong move and he would lose her forever. “I dinna want ye as a prize I have won in battle. Come to me as my equal. Canna ye no’ see ’tis yer fire and yer spirit that I love the most?”

His arms went around her, and he drew her against him, his chin resting upon her head. He held her for some time, feeling the warmth of her and knowing this was not a dream. She was here. And here she would stay. Neither at his head nor at his feet, but by his side.

“It has been agony for me to lie in my bed at night and to remember what it was like with you and to have felt your passion. I felt yer absence draining the life from me as would a hole in my heart. I kept seeing yer gown lying on the floor and you in my bed. Lying in my bed after ye are gone… ’tis agony. Yer scent remains, for a bit of fragrance always clings to the hand that has held the rose. I could waste my heart upon one last kiss.”

He tilted her face up to his, and his gaze wandered over her lovely features, to her slightly parted lips, then lower past the wild fluttering in her throat to the swell of her breasts.

“Aye, I have missed ye beyond compare,” he whispered hoarsely, as his mouth covered hers with a wide slanting kiss that left little doubt as to what he felt. Then suddenly, his mouth left hers with trembling reluctance and he rested his forehead against hers.

“I want to love ye for all time, Isobella. As my wife.”

She turned to him. “I have traveled back through time five hundred years to find you, and from this moment on, I hope never to be separate from you again. I love you, Alysandir.” And in case he did not understand it, she said it again. “I love you. And once more, just to be certain. I love you.”

She thought of all the men she dated in Texas and how they had all seemed to slip through her fingers. And as she listened to the beautiful sound of Alysandir’s beating heart, an ancient song of courage and determination, she thanked God for the one that did not get away.

And she owed it all to a beloved ghost…

Epilogue

How you’d exult if I could put you back

Six hundred years, blot out cosmogony,

Geology, ethnology, what not…

And set you square with Genesis again.

—“Bishop Blougram’s Apology,” 1855
Robert Browning (1812–1889)
British poet

Beloyn Castle

Scottish Lowlands

Present Time

Robert and Victoria Douglas were a long way from their Texas ranch when they arrived at Beloyn Castle. As they walked inside, Victoria was filled with apprehension. Would they find the answers to their questions? Would they learn anything about the disappearance of their daughters almost a year ago?

Since the day the twins vanished, an agonizing sense of loss had penetrated her memory. How does one get over the loss of a child, especially when the loss is doubled? There had to be answers here. She wanted to see the place where the girls were last seen. She and her husband had to realize a sense of finality, a way to come to terms with the sudden disappearance of the twins. They needed closure.

She knew the story of the ghost of the Black Douglas. She read about Douglas having disappeared more than once from the portrait. The last time it had happened was the day her daughters had vanished.

The painting was far larger than she had expected. The Douglases paused before it, each with their own thoughts as they studied the portrait intently. The Black Douglas was rather splendid looking, standing with his legs planted far apart and his arms crossed in front of him, his great black cape swirling, a glimmer in his deep blue eyes, and a smile upon his lips.

I believe you know what happened to my daughters, just as I feel you had something to do with it,
Victoria thought, as tears slid down her cheeks. Robert put his arm around her.

“I wish he would leave that painting,” she said. She looked at Robert. “I know you don’t believe the legend of the painting, but I do.”

Having heard this many times before, Robert hugged her, but he remained quiet, allowing her to ease her pain in whatever way she could.

Victoria was still studying the face of the Black Douglas
. I know they were in this castle. They probably stood right here, as I am doing now, looking at this magnificent painting of you. I know you know their story and what happened to them that day. Can you give us some knowledge of what happened to them?

A cloud passed over the sun. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Then all was quiet, save for the faint drone of a bagpipe. She glanced at Robert, but he seemed not to notice. Then she saw the sun was shining through the window, and there was not a cloud in sight. She noticed, too, that most of the tourists had already left.

Robert took her by the arm. “Come on, we should go now. We’ve seen about all there is to see here.”

They turned away and walked back the way they had come. They passed a quaint alcove with a stone bench, where a small painting hung. Robert passed on by, but something about it snagged Victoria’s attention. She stopped to give it a closer inspection. After a few more steps, Robert turned around.

In the painting, a group of people stood in front of a castle, but it wasn’t Beloyn. It appeared to be a family, for there were two adults and several children around them, along with a couple of dogs. Victoria leaned closer and gasped.

“Robert, come here!”

He joined her. “What?”

“That is Isobella in this picture.”

“Victoria, I know you…”

“I know it’s Isobella. Put on your damn glasses!”

Robert put them on and leaned closer. “It does look like Izzy, but it’s just a resemblance. It cannot be her. Look at the clothes. That painting must be several hundred years old,” he said, but he realized she had already walked away. “Wait.”

“I’m going to find someone who knows about this painting.”

Siobhán McGill was the castle’s administrative director and the woman with all the answers. The moment they introduced themselves as parents of the missing twins, Siobhán said, “And you are here to see the place where they disappeared.”

Victoria nodded. “Yes, and we are here to find answers.”

“You were here before, I believe, right after they disappeared.”

“Yes, we were,” Robert said, “but the investigation had just begun and it was too soon to get answers.”

Siobhán smiled sympathetically, her eyes warm and kind. “And now you are back for those answers.”

“Yes,” Victoria said. “But first, I want to know one thing. Do you believe in ghosts?”

Siobhán’s eyes brightened, and she smiled. “I am afraid not to.”

“Do you think it possible that the Black Douglas had something to do with their disappearance?”

Siobhán did not take long to reply, “Scots, especially Highlanders, which I am, have always been superstitious. A study showed that a third of Britons considered themselves to be superstitious, but Scots topped the list with forty-four percent. I was reared on the legend of the Black Douglas. Intellectually, I did not believe such a legend was possible, but after what happened here, my intellect was severely challenged.

“It is hard to argue with cold, hard facts. And the facts are: The figure of the Black Douglas was in the painting the day your daughters visited here. The housekeeper saw your daughters standing before it. She stepped away for not more than two minutes to take a call. When she returned your daughters had simply vanished, along with the image of the Black Douglas.

“Your daughters’ belongings were at the hotel, and their rental car was in the car park. The video cameras located around the castle showed them entering, but none showed them leaving. Hard to argue with that, my mind tells me, so, yes, I suppose I do believe it.”

“Do you happen to recall when the Black Douglas returned to the painting?” Robert asked.

“I was not working here at that time, but I remember hearing it was about four months later, on Christmas Day,” Siobhán replied.

Victoria had been listening carefully, but she turned and pointed to the painting in the alcove. “What do you know about this particular painting?”

“The one you see here is only a small copy. I believe the wife of the chief was a Douglas, and that is why a copy of it hangs here.”

“Do you know where the original is?” Victoria asked.

Siobhán nodded. “I will check on it for you. I’ll be right back.”

She returned a short while later with a folder. As she sorted through it, she said, “These documents are quite old, so they may no longer be accurate, but it is noted here that the original painting hangs in Màrrach Castle on the Isle of Mull. That is the ancient seat of the Mackinnon clan.”

“Does it identify any of the others in the painting by name?” Robert asked.

Siobhán nodded. “Yes, they are listed here: Alysandir Mackinnon, Chief of Clan Mackinnon, his wife Isobella Catriona Douglas Mackinnon, and…”

Robert jerked his head around. He and Victoria exchanged looks. Victoria started crying. Robert, although stunned, managed to say, “One of our daughters was named Isobella Catriona. As you can see, this is quite a profound discovery for us. We have been praying for a break.”

“Oh, my!” Siobhán exclaimed before she composed herself. “I will copy everything for you.”

A short while later, she returned with a folder and handed it to Robert. “I’ve made photocopies of several documents. There is a small map included. I also took the liberty of calling ahead for you. Màrrach is a popular setting for weddings, so they have an events coordinator. Her name is Morvern Fairbairn.

“She is expecting you and has scheduled for you to visit there tomorrow. She did mention that you might also be interested to know that Isobella Mackinnon had a sister who was married to the Earl of Kinloss and there is a portrait of her also.”

***

Morvern Fairbairn met them upon their arrival. She greeted them warmly and said, “Please let me begin by saying I’m very sorry about your daughters. Siobhán McGill told me your daughters were the ones who disappeared at Beloyn. I do apologize for the noise. We are setting up for a wedding.”

They were anticipating a miracle that day when they walked into the Great Hall, and they were not disappointed. Two huge, full-length family portraits hung side by side. Beautifully displayed in ornate gilt frames, each one bore an inscription.

A
LYSANDIR
M
ACKINNON,
C
HIEF OF
C
LAN
M
ACKINNON,
I
SLE OF
M
ULL,
S
COTLAND AND HIS BELOVED WIFE,
I
SOBELLA
C
ATRIONA
D
OUGLAS
M
ACKINNON.

D
AVID
M
URRAY,
E
ARL OF
K
INLOSS,
M
ORAY,
S
COTLAND AND HIS BELOVED WIFE,
E
LISABETH
R
HIANNON
D
OUGLAS
M
URRAY,
C
OUNTESS OF
K
INLOSS.

Gathered around Isobella and Alysandir were ten children, seven sons and three daughters, while David and Elisabeth had five sons and three daughters, including one set of twins.

Morvern said, “I’ve requested the paintings be taken down. There is something on the back you should see.”

They talked for a while until the workmen had the paintings down. On the back of each was a more complete listing, which included the names of the children. Robert was the first to notice that Isobella and Elisabeth both had children named Victoria and Robert.

Beneath the names were the words of a poem:

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less travelled by,

And that has made all the difference.

“Robert Frost,” Victoria said. “That is from his poem, ‘The Road Not Taken.’ Robert Frost died in the early ’60s. This painting was done centuries before he was born. Don’t you see? This was their way of telling us to believe what our eyes see and not what our logic tells us.”

She turned to her husband and put her hand on his arm. “They loved us, Robert, and they left this where we would find it because they did not want us to grieve. Look at our beautiful grandchildren. It is strange to think that we must trace the Mackinnons and the Murrays to find our descendants among our ancestors.”

Morvern handed them a few papers. “The originals of these are in Edinburgh. This is a copy of the names and birth dates of their children. It also has the date of the marriage of Isobella and Alysandir.”

Victoria leaned closer to read the document, and gasped. “Oh, my God!” She turned to Robert. “Look at the date of their marriage, Robert. It was December 25, 1515. Christmas Day.”

“The day the Black Douglas returned to the painting,” he said.

“We have quite an extensive collection of rare and extremely well preserved artifacts and historical documents that were discovered and catalogued by Isobella Mackinnon. She was quite an impressive archaeologist for her time. So many antiquities of this nature never made it to modern times. Scotland owes her a great debt for her devotion to preserving history. Many of her findings are in Edinburgh and a few in London.

“I wish I knew as much about Elisabeth Murray as I do Isobella. However, I can tell you that she was quite skilled and made many advances in medical science in a time when women did not excel in such.

“And now, I have a big surprise for you,” Morvern said. She guided them down a long hall to a large room. “Many of these items were discovered by Isobella in the cave you will visit later,” she said, as she put her key in the door and turned on the light. “These are kept under low-light conditions, “she said, “to keep out UV light and to minimize visible light. Many of the documents are hermetically sealed and put it in an atmosphere of nitrogen or helium to prevent oxidation. But what I really wanted to show you is over here.”

She led the way, talking as she went. “The castle underwent some renovations recently, and a secret compartment was discovered behind a wall that had been added centuries later. Inside that compartment was something you may recognize.”

She removed a covering from the glass case, and Victoria burst into tears. “It’s Izzy’s Prada backpack.”