Angel of Skye (43 page)

“They do,” she admitted as they went up the steps.

“You shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “The two buildings on either side of this main building were added about ten years ago. After the fire. But wait until you see the interior.”

Fiona looked at him, startled. “Fire?” She glanced around, looking at Nanna.

“Aye, lass,” the old woman put in, stepping beside her. “Your grandfather, rest his soul, was in residence here when it happened.”

“Aye, and I give him credit,” Gray added. “He did a fine job renovating the place. Practically rebuilt the living areas from the ground up. You’ll like it. It’s quite elegant. Very comfortable.”

In a daze, Fiona walked into the Great Hall of a Drummond Castle unrecognizable to its new mistress. Into a Drummond Castle that she had never known.

And through the fog, Fiona knew that her quest was over. Whatever it was her mother had hidden away, whatever it was she had died for, it was gone.

It was gone forever.

Thy own fire, friend, though it be but a coal,

It warms the best, and is worth gold to thee.

—Robert Henryson “
The Two Mice
”

“Please don’t fuss, Nanna.”

“It’s my job, Fiona. And you’re not eating the way you should.” The old woman bustled toward the door at the far side of the sitting room. “You should listen more often to your husband, my dear.”

“You want me to weigh as much as a boar and never leave the bed?” She grinned at her own words. Hearing about eating was becoming tiresome. But staying in bed...well, that was heaven, as long as Alec stayed there with her.

“I know the cook has a fine stew brewing in the kitchen. It’ll be just about...” Nanna’s last words were lost as she disappeared out the open door.

Fiona smiled after her. Laying down the ledger of farm accounts on the table beside the chair she was sitting in, she sat back and looked about her contentedly. After initially learning of the fire at Drummond, she’d not thought it possible wanting to stay at the place. But once again her fate had dictated otherwise.

On their day of arrival, Alec had been summoned by the queen and the ruling nobles. All of them wanted him involved with the future guardianship of the infant king, Fiona’s half-brother. Queen Margaret was in a position of marrying again, so it was crucial that plans be cast in iron for the safekeeping of the throne.

So with the king little more than a day’s ride south at Sterling, Alec and Fiona had remained at Drummond Castle.

During the past two months, the queen and her entourage had even made a number of excursions back to Drummond, so Fiona had gotten many chances to visit with and hold little Kit, her brother. They called him His Majesty James V, King of Scotland and the Western Isles. She called him the happy little toddler, and he was quite content to be held and loved.

So she did just that. She’d even had Kit in here yesterday, running and playing happily in front of the fire. The queen had been extremely agreeable in allowing Fiona and her half-brother to strengthen the bonds between them. So all week long a constant line of messengers, courtiers, and nobles of the governing Council of Regents had been passing in and out of the castle’s gates.

The sitting room was large and spacious, furnished with enough chairs and benches for a clan gathering. Her grandfather’s odd idea of installing long rows of shelves for books along the wall on either side of the fireplace was a stroke of real genius, she thought. Books were valuable things, but having them right at hand showed marvelous insight. Letting her eyes wander to the small fire crackling in the open hearth at the end of the long room, Fiona thought of how cozy and cheerful it would be here this winter.

And then, to top everything off, this morning Alec had mentioned that he wanted Malcolm to spend the winter with them. Fiona had been so overjoyed by the news that she’d hardly felt her morning queasiness. Malcolm would be here.

These days, Fiona glowed with feelings of maternal love. First Kit, and now in a few weeks Malcolm. She sighed and ran her hands over her still flat belly. She was more than a third of the way through the pregnancy, but still nothing showed. All the same, she loved this feeling. And she knew Alec did, too. Each night, after making love, the two of them would lay in bed and take turns talking to their bairn. She envisioned him as a boy, with deep blue eyes, and addressed him as such. Alec was sure she was a girl with fiery red hair, and called to her that way.

Alec was due back soon. Her uncle, Lord Gray and the earl of Huntly were to arrive tonight for few days of discussions with Alec. Fiona had been pleased at her uncle’s attempt to befriend her husband. It seemed as though, in the absence of his daughter, the man had set his mind to capture the affection of his niece. Fiona respected her uncle for trying, but beyond that she still reserved her judgment. It was difficult to get used to family when you had never had any for most of your life.

Dusk was descending, and the room was beginning to get dark. She hoped desperately for Alec to arrive before their guests. For try as she might, Fiona could not get over her discomfort with having the earl of Huntly as their guest. She could not put the past behind her. Ever.

Fiona stood and moved to the open window. Though the day had turned out dry and fairly warm, the autumn had brought with it cold and wet weather. But it was nothing compared to the harsh autumn weather of Skye. She closed her eyes and breathed in the gentle evening air. The breeze carried with it a hint of dampness as it swept through her unbound locks. She turned away and again sat, closing her eyes and idly thinking of how she could tell Nanna she would wait for Alec to arrive before eating.

The cold arm stole caressingly around her shoulders. Fiona’s body became rigid, frozen, and she could not so much as open her eyes when she felt the smooth skin of the icy cheek pressing tenderly against her forehead.

And then she was gone.

Stunned, Fiona sat, too shocked even to call out. But then the sound of horses’ hooves thundering across the open drawbridge made her blood run cold as her mother’s spirit never could.

Fiona’s eyes snapped open, a terrible fear racing through her as her eyes swept the room. Gripping the carved wooden arms of the chair, she vaulted out of her seat and ran to the window. It was no longer the unglazed slit it had been in her childhood, but looking out the opening, she could see the horses stamping as the group of men hurriedly dismounted in the courtyard below. It was the same view.

It happened here, she thought, a strange panic burning in her veins as she whirled and looked about the chamber.

“Mother!” she cried out in the empty room. But she was alone.

It’s here, she thought.

Fiona pressed her fingers to her temples to ease the pounding in her head, but as her eyes scanned the room, clearly nothing was the same as she remembered. These rooms had been rebuilt. This sitting room was much larger than it had been so long ago, when it was her nursery. It was all different now.

And then her glance fell on the fireplace. Surrounded by the long shelves of books, it looked so different. But it wasn’t different. Could it be? she thought. In her mind, she could see her mother counting over...pulling the stone...

Scrambling to the open hearth, she began to pull the books from the shelves to the right of the fireplace. Feeling behind the books, Fiona’s fingers grazed the rough stone of the wall. Her haste turned nearly to frenzy, and the volumes fairly flew, dropping to the floor around her.

With one shelf cleared from the fireplace over, Fiona hurriedly counted the stones. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Is this the right height? she wondered. Prying with her fingers, Fiona hurriedly pulled at one corner of the stone.

It moved.

Yanking the stone from the wall, she dropped it with a thud into an empty space among the books on the floor.

Fiona’s heart was pounding as she stood, transfixed, before the open gap in the wall. All these years. All that had happened. To her mother. To her. To Scotland. To Drummond Castle itself. Here, buried behind a stone, lay the end of Fiona’s quest. Whether the leather pouch was there or not, Fiona knew her search was over.

With a deep breath, she reached into the gloom of the wall.

Andrew stood in the open doorway, watching her reach carefully into the hiding place. He’d known it was here. God knows, he’d looked. But the bitch had hidden it away well. There was no finding it then, no matter how hard he looked. After the fire and the rebuilding, he thought it was gone forever. But no, here she was, and she had known all along where it lay hidden.

I had the right idea, he thought, paying Neil and those seagoing jackals to kill her. If they weren’t so inept... Well, the time had come to take care of this himself. The time had come to get what was his.

And I will have my final revenge, he thought, his pale blue eyes glimmering with hate.

Fiona twisted her body to gain better access to the opening. The space was deep, but she could just barely feel something with the tip of her fingers. She took a deep breath and pushed her hand in as far as she could, and then her fingers closed around it. The pouch.

And then she saw him watching her.

“I didn’t hear you come in!” she gasped with surprise.

“I saw the door was open.” He took a leisurely step inside and closed the door behind him. “You could catch a chill standing in drafts. Your husband should do a better job taking care of you. Especially considering your condition.”

“There is no need to be critical of Alec,” Fiona responded, drawing the packet gently from the wall. She held it out in front of her and watched his pale blue eyes focus on it. “I want peace between you two.”

“Your husband is a fool to leave you alone like this.” His eyes roamed the room. The open windows drew his attention. The hard stone of the cobbled courtyard would provide a suitable landing for her broken body. “In fact, he reminds me of another fool whom I knew a long time ago. Your father.”

Fiona gazed in shock at the ring and the broach sitting in her open palm. For a moment the world stopped turning and silence reigned in the universe, but the room was whirling in Fiona’s vision, and the pounding in her head thundered.

“It was you!” she whispered, holding up the jeweled broach. The circle of red stones that enclosed the double-headed eagle still glinted in the light of the room. And they were identical to those on the broach adorning Lord Gray’s tartan as he stood before her.

“Aye, Fiona. It was I,” her uncle sneered, moving toward where she stood, rather unsteadily, among the books. Leaning down, he picked up one of the books that lay strewn at her feet. Glancing at the title with affected indifference, he turned his cold gaze on the young woman, eyeing her every move.

“But why?”

Andrew threw the book to the floor and laughed, but without amusement. “She asks me why. Don’t bother yourself with the ways of men. After all, you’re just a fool as well, my dear.”

Fiona took a step back toward the window. She would not let him have what she held. This was proof of a crime.

“How?” She needed to buy time. If she moved to the window, perhaps she could call for help. “How could you do that? Your own niece. What evil could possess you that you could kill your own kin? That you could kill my mother?”

The aging warrior pushed back his cloak, uncovering the hilt of his sword. “She had something that belonged to me.” Andrew held out his hand where he stood. He could already feel the snap of her neck between his fingers. His cold eyes locked on Fiona’s. They were like ice. And he used them as weapons of fear and intimidation. “You have it in your hand. Give it to me.”

Fiona looked down at the ring as she stepped backward, away from him. The ring was ornate, even for a sealing ring. On it was a rampant lion over a cross. Above the lion was a crown.

“Aye,” he rasped. “It is the ring of Robert the Bruce. The symbol of royal power. Only to be worn by the king of Scotland. Your mother stole it from me.”

“My mother knew you were evil. She did the right thing.”

“Evil is a necessary part of the universe, my dear. It is the source of power. It is what separates the rulers from the ruled, the great from the lowly, the strong from the weak. The predator from the prey.” Andrew dropped his gloves onto the account ledger. He wanted her to feel his strength when his fingers crushed the last vestige of life from her body.

“Evil robs humans of happiness. True power emanates from goodness and decency. You talk about predators? It is the power of God that holds the falcon aloft. The predator does not take pleasure in killing. The falcon does not kill her own.”

“You know nothing about these things, woman. Like your mother, who would not listen to anything I had to say. She just wanted to run away. To pour out my secrets for love,” he sneered. “That ring is mine. These Stuart cowards never deserved to have it. I took it away from your grandfather, James III. Did you know it was I who convinced your father—ah, he was such a gullible child—to ride with my army against his own father? To demand the throne for himself? For the good of Scotland? He made us promise not to lay a hand on his old man. Fifteen and already he was such a fool.”

Fiona shook her head as she felt the edge of the window seat at her back.

“Your grandfather was so weak a king, it made me ill. So I took the ring from him...while he was running away from the troops of his son. Aye, in a miserable hut, the day I murdered him. Your father never knew how his father died, but he felt responsible. So the boy-king wore a chain under his shirt. He even added a link to that chain every year thereafter.”

Fiona remembered the feel of the hard metal. Now she knew his constant reminder of his own guilt.

“And it was I who introduced your mother to him. And as I expected, the morons fell in love. I had him where I wanted him. At my mercy. In the palm of my hand. Under my control. Then the bitch, your mother, spied on me. She found the ring. I offered her a deal. She would have a home and a way to keep her miserable bastard, but she was a stubborn fool. She spoke in dead and empty terms like honor and truth. And then she betrayed me. Margaret stole what was mine, and I made her pay for her crime.”