Fear Familiar Bundle (109 page)

"And what might that be?" Her interest was piqued, despite herself.

"He wants me to leave Mayfair."

"Why?" The information was so unexpected that Mary felt herself being pulled in, if just for the moment.

"He wants it for himself."

"But he's dead."

"Aye, Slaytor is dead." William pulled her down closer to him so that he could whisper. "He's dead and moldering in his grave."

"But…"

"The man who clotted my noggin was very much alive, though he wanted me to believe he was Slaytor."

Mary sank beside William to the rough stone. "Then you know he wasn't a ghost!"

"Hush, now. These passages carry noise very effectively. Just help me out of here and we'll talk."

The relief that touched Mary made her feel superhuman. Jumping to her feet in the cramped quarters, she gave William her hand. She didn't know how much she helped, but he did stagger to his feet, and in a few moments they were in his room. He cleared the tapestry from the entrance to the passage and allowed the panel to close. "We'll rehang that in a little while. We need to keep that passage a secret."

"How many more do you suppose there are?" Mary hesitated about broaching the subject of Slaytor. Even Familiar, who'd followed them out of the passage, gave William a questioning look.

William signaled her to keep her voice low. "There could be at least two or three more. I don't really know. I'm going to ask Erick if there are any old drawings of Mayfair. We might be able to figure it out."

"I doubt anyone would include a secret passage on a floor plan," Mary noted.

"You're right. And Erick didn't grow up in Mayfair. He's always lived in the village with his family. I doubt he'd know as much about the castle's past as I do." William sat down on the edge of his bed. "My head is pounding."

"Let's take a closer look," Mary said, stepping forward and turning on the bedside lamp. The gash was hidden in William's thick hair. After cleaning it, Mary decided it wasn't worthy of stitches, but the knot that was forming indicated that William had been struck with a great deal of force.

"Who do you think hit you?" she finally asked, dropping the antiseptic-soaked cotton into the trash.

"I don't know. He was bigger than me."

"There's no one at Mayfair bigger than you. Both Erick and Kevin are shorter, though Kevin is sturdy and Erick is strong."

"This man was big. Maybe two inches taller."

"Six-four?"

"At least." William looked directly at her. "Exactly as big as Slaytor was said to be. He was a giant for those days."

"Then it was no one from Mayfair. Could Madame Sianna have brought a sidekick?" Mary quickly filled William in on what she'd discovered about the medium's necklace and her penchant for hypnotizing her clients.

"It could be. But you've heard that voice before tonight."

"Yes." Mary had thought about that.

"And what would Madame Sianna have to gain by trying to drive me out of Mayfair?"

"That I don't know. Unless she's working for Clarissa. She'd love to get her hands on Mayfair. Is that a pipe dream, or could she afford it?"

William considered that question. "Possibly. She came into considerable money when her husband died. And her parents also left her an inheritance, and Darren, as well. Mayfair would be a feather in her cap, sort of a vindication of history, returning the original property and all."

"Would Darren go along with her?"

"Possibly. Not because he wanted to, but because he hasn't the backbone to deny Clarissa anything she demands from him. As a boy she dominated him, and now that he's an adult, she'll ruin the rest of his life for him."

"It's a pity."

"It is. And a man can take only so much twisting and mauling before he snaps."

Mary looked up, catching the pain on William's face. "You think it's Darren, don't you? You think he's behind this."

"It would please his mother to get Mayfair back. Perhaps it would please her enough to leave him alone. You know, Darren will never marry unless his mother dies. She can't find anyone good enough for him. But if he could divert her attention, he might be able to grab a little bit of life for himself. Or it's possible he'd want Mayfair for himself. To thwart her."

"How horrible to have to live like that."

"He isn't the same boy I knew growing up. I've met him several times, when I was out checking the estate. There's no spark, Mary. He had no interest in the things we once found so important. I believe Clarissa has stomped it out of him with her demands and nagging and ridicule." He paused, thinking. "He's taller than me, a little. But he was in the room, seated at the table. It couldn't have been him in the hallway."

"Yes, he was in the room." She thought for several seconds. "He could have left his mother, you know."

"Aye, he could have made that choice. I did. But Darren was never like me. He tried to please her, where I was determined never to please my father." William laughed. "I could have lived abroad and been happy. Darren could not."

Mary patted the side of the bed for Familiar to jump up. The black cat was sitting not three feet away, taking in everything that was being said.

"By the way, Familiar found you."

"That cat must be part dog."

"Meow." There was an indignant tone in Familiar's voice.

"I don't think Familiar appreciates that comparison," Mary said. She cleared her throat. Now that she knew William was neither injured nor deluded, she had to broach the subject of the heir— and she had to tell him about the ring.

"What is it, Mary?" William sensed her difficulty. He watched as she bent her head and stroked Familiar's back.

Mary looked up at him. In her book, the omission of such a crucial bit of information was a lie. And she didn't want to bind herself to a liar. How was she to tell him that?

"William, I— "

Familiar sprang from the bed with such suddenness that Mary jumped. The black feline pulled open the door to the hall, which had been left slightly ajar. The sound of running footsteps came back into the room.

"It may be him," William said as he dashed after the cat.

It took Mary a few seconds longer to get to her feet, but she was right on William's heels as they tore into the hallway where the footsteps echoed louder.

"Hold!" William called after a fleeing figure. The man was running down the hallway toward the stairs. "Hold!" William didn't break his stride as he yelled.

"You there! Stop!" The fleeing man yelled, also, and he kept running.

"You! Stop!" William was gaining on the man as he made it to the stairs and ran down them, boots clattering. As the running figure passed a light mounted on the staircase, William caught a glimpse of a familiar profile. "Erick!" He called his cousin's name. "Erick."

Turning to confront William, Erick finally stopped halfway down the stairs. "William, he's getting away! We have to catch him." He looked down the stairs, the desire to pursue obvious on his features. "Damn!" He struck the stone wall with his fist. "He had too big a lead."

"Who?" William asked, slowing to a jog as he caught up with the manager of the estate.

"I didn't get a look at him, but he was standing outside your doorway. I'd come up to bring Miss Sophie her gloves. She'd left them down in the barn while talking with Kevin." He held out the gloves to Mary as she caught up with them. "When I knocked on her door, she didn't answer, so I was going up to the office. But when I turned the corner, there he was, listening at your door."

"What did he look like?" William's voice was eager.

"Tall. Very tall. A big man." Erick stared down the empty stairway as if he could make the intruder materialize. "For a split second, I thought he was going to stand his ground and fight, but when he ran, he had the speed of a stag. I've never seen a big man move so swiftly."

"I didn't hear any other footsteps," Mary said. She held Sophie's gloves just as Erick had given them to her.

"He was wearing those athletic shoes," Erick said. "He was quiet. Sneaking around outside your door, eavesdropping."

"Erick, why didn't Kevin return Sophie's gloves?" Mary stared at the black gloves as if they held some strange fascination.

Erick shrugged. "The truth is, Abby called me in town and told me about the troubles this evening. I was using the gloves as an excuse to look around the castle." Erick looked at his cousin. "There's strange business brewing here at Mayfair. I was worried about you, William. Abby said you'd taken off and that Mary was looking for you."

"As you can see, I'm fine. How's your friend's daughter?"

"Anna is fine. Asthma. It gave us quite a scare." Erick's smile was half apologetic. "We were sorry to miss the dinner, but there was little else we could do. She's a clever child, and she's dying to visit Mayfair. If you don't mind, I might ask Kevin to give her a riding lesson or two."

"That's a fine thing for a young child." William smiled. "I'm glad she's okay."

"And I'm glad you are," Erick said, clapping his cousin on the shoulder. "I'm going to talk to the staff. I want them to be on the alert for any strangers who might be on the estate." He frowned. "We'll catch this fellow. He has no right to be snooping about. For the moment, I'm going to check the garage and the barn. He might be hiding on the premises."

"I'll help you," William said.

"Take care, the two of you," Mary said as she watched them start down the stairs.

She'd lost her chance to speak with William, but she would find the time. Later. When she'd prepared what she was going to say. When she was certain she could face the consequences.

M
ARY SAT
on the side of the bed and watched William as he slept. It was early morning, not yet six o'clock. He'd come in from the search, tired and distressed that they'd found no clue. She'd waited for him, wanting the comfort of his arms as much as she wanted to comfort him. After making love, they'd gone to sleep, tangled together. But something had awakened her, and she felt a compulsion to return to her own room. Familiar had left hours before, to forage in the kitchen, no doubt. That cat could eat twenty-four hours a day. It seemed all he did was eat and sleep, yet whenever there was a crisis, he always showed up to help. He was some kind of cat.

And William was some kind of man. She watched the way his fingers curled softly in his sleep, a gentle motion. He looked younger at rest, the tension gone from his face. Somehow vulnerable. At that thought she felt a fierce desire to protect him, as she knew he would protect her. "You're not the only Scot with a heritage of loyal blood," she whispered. Leaning over to kiss him, she was careful not to awaken him. Deep sleeps had been few and far between for him, and she wanted him to rest as much as possible. There was much to be done.

Now that she knew Slaytor MacEachern was an intruder, she intended to come up with some foolproof plan to capture him, and that would require all of her resources.

Too restless to stay still, Mary rose and picked up her jeans from the floor. There was the tinkle of something on the stone. Groping in the darkness next to the bed, she found the necklace and the ring. Damn! Didn't she have her own secrets to tell? And she would, as soon as William awakened. But the ring brought up another train of thought.

Who would know enough to find and leave the MacEachern wedding ring, if it wasn't William? Where had they found it? Goose bumps soldiered over her arms. William had not mentioned the ring, was completely unaware that she had it. She slipped the chain around her neck.

Mary padded down to her room. The stone floor was freezing, and she couldn't suppress a shudder as she hurried into her room and to the thick pile carpet beside the bed. The old castle had modern heating, but nothing could really remove the chill in the enormous corridors or in the rooms once the fires had burned out.

The idea of a fire appealed to Mary, but it occurred to her that now would be a perfect time to snoop around the pantry. Abby was certainly asleep and could take no offense at Mary's nosiness. She might not have another chance.

Another thought followed closely on the heels of her plan— in the confusion following the séance, she'd forgotten to give Dr. Sloan the portion of port she'd wanted tested. For the safety of everyone, she needed to remove the glass from the bar. Even though it was tucked out of the way, it could be poured out or inadvertently drunk.

After pulling on thick socks, she laced her shoes, added a turtleneck under her sweater and tiptoed downstairs.

Mayfair slumbered around her, all except for a black cat. Familiar was perched on the kitchen table, a testimony to the fact that cats can open doors.

Mary patted his head. She thought of a cup of tea, but coffee was what she wanted. A pot of it while she went through the extensive pantry. She set up the coffeemaker, turned it on and decided that it wouldn't hurt matters to turn the oven on and open the door for a little heat. The kitchen was always warm and toasty whenever Abby was around, but the predawn hours were chilly.

Although tea was easily found, the coffee was another matter. It wasn't often consumed at Mayfair. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Mary opened cabinets and began pushing cans, tins, jars and bags, all filled with the wonderful ingredients Abby used to cook, out of her way.

The pestle and mortar caught her by surprise. It was such an ancient-looking piece of crockery that she pulled it out of the back corner of the third shelf and bent to examine it. It reeked of antiquity— another of Mayfair's priceless heirlooms that was used or displayed with little thought by the people who knew them so well. Never before had Mary lived where history was so revered, yet so much a part of day-to-day life.

A tiny residue of yellowish powder remained in the container. She sniffed it curiously, interested in the lack of odor. Or maybe there wasn't enough of the substance left to smell. "It isn't curry. What could it be?" she asked the black cat who'd come up on the counter to investigate what she was doing.

Familiar bristled. A tiny bit of foamy saliva collected at his lips as he glared at the container and then at Mary. A loud hiss, like a nest of thoroughly angry snakes, erupted from his throat.