Fear Familiar Bundle (110 page)

"Familiar!" Mary backed away from him. The transformation had been so complete, so total, and without any warning. He was acting exactly as he had the night he'd attacked William.

Familiar circled the pestle, the hair on his back rising to stand straight on end. Ignoring Mary, he hissed at the container.

The implication of what the cat was doing struck Mary with a force that made her sit down abruptly in the kitchen chair. She looked at the cat, who now sat on the counter staring amiably back at her.

"It's poison, isn't it?" she asked.

"Meow."

"You got the same thing in your food that someone has been grinding up and putting in William's food."

"Meow." Familiar waited.

"I'm going to take this up to William," Mary said. She approached the counter and gingerly stuck out her hand to pick up the pestle. Familiar, purring, brushed against her hand and allowed her to take it.

"Let's go, cat. We've finally unraveled what's going on. Or at least, a portion of it."

I
T'S ABOUT TIME
I got some assistance from the tall, vertical people around here. There was no way I could get into that shelf, even if I could have somehow sensed that bitter stuff was up there. Truth be told, I hadn't a clue it was there. Once Mary brought down that old container, I recognized it. It was that little tang I remembered when I woke up at the vet's office. Bitter, but not really. Undetectable, except as an aftertaste, and then it's too late. That's why it blended so perfectly into the egg custard. Same color. No taste, no smell— except to my highly developed feline olfactory system. It was almost a perfect crime. Bold even, with the implements of destruction left hidden in the kitchen cabinets. Maybe too bold, or at least that's what my feline intuition tells me. We'll see what William makes of it. And, oh, yes, Pixie lady, while you're hauling poison up to the love nest, don't forget that glass of port in the parlor. Methinks that will be the final coup.

"O
KAY
,
OKAY
," Mary said as she allowed Familiar to edge her into the parlor. "I'll get it." As she started across the room, she noticed the first pink light of dawn. Mayfair would be awakening within the next half hour. It was a place where daylight ruled the comings and goings of all, even William, to a great extent. Since the economy centered around farming and the land, the sun was the best of friends or the worst of foes. No matter what part it was playing at the time, it was always the starring role. As winter drew nigh and the days shortened, the moments of daylight were even more precious.

The glass of port was just where she'd left it, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she lifted it in her right hand. Her left held the pestle with the yellowish residue.

"If this isn't what I think it is, we're going to feel awfully stupid," she said to the cat. "You'll take your fair share of the blame, believe me, Familiar. Though folks will think I'm a half-wit if I try to convince them I was led down this path of logic by a cat."

Her rubber-soled hiking boots made little noise as she ascended the stairs. Her heart was racing with the thrill of her discovery when she heard something that made her stop. She was outside Sophie's door, which was open a tiny crack. It was the sound of voices raised in anger that had caught her ear.

"I will not have it, Kevin." Sophie's normally timid voice was full of emotion.

"I thought I could rely on you." Kevin's voice was flat. "I should have known you'd stick with her. I thought…I thought there was something between us."

"I thought you were the kind of man who stood up for his beliefs." Anger sharpened Sophie's tone.

Mary clutched the glass of port. She'd never heard such passion in Sophie's voice.

"I have my beliefs, but I have no rights. I'm just a horse trainer."

"Feeling sorry for yourself won't solve anything, Kevin. If you don't tell William the truth, you have no right to complain." Sophie's voice was completely unsympathetic.

"Exactly my point. I have no rights." The anger had dissipated from Kevin's voice. "Except what I take."

"Why don't you just come out with it and state your demands, Kevin? Why lurk in the shadows? You've no reason to be ashamed of your birthright. You had nothing to do with it. But if you are William's half-brother, you should tell him. You both have a right to that information."

Mary thought her heart would burst.

"Aye, William's rights. That's my concern now. And thanks for your support. I'll be getting back to my
job
at the barn." Kevin's voice was filled with pain. "I can see I'm going to have to take care of this situation on my own."

Mary bolted away from the door and into her own room. She'd barely had time to close her door when she heard Kevin's footsteps. His stride was long and angry as he disappeared down the stairs.

"Sophie." Mary spoke the name to herself. She held the pestle to her chest with one arm and she could feel her heart beating against the hard, marblelike substance. The one question that popped into her head was when had Kevin and Sophie become close enough to be confidants? They'd only really begun to speak to one another with any kind of interest in the last day or so. In twenty-four hours or less, Kevin had revealed to Sophie that he was possibly William's half-brother? That was preposterous. Kevin wasn't loose with his lips. So how had they become so close so fast? Or had they been hiding it?

Mary put her burdens on the bedside table and sank down onto the bed. What should she do? The implications that could be drawn from the conversation between Kevin and Sophie were very clear. Kevin might stand to gain a lot if William didn't marry her.
And
produce an heir, as she'd learned from Chancey the night before. That was something she was going to have to take up with William. She still could not understand why he hadn't told her about that himself.

Unable to sit up any longer, Mary flopped back onto the bed. It was more than she could bear. Someone— and this she no longer doubted— had been tampering with William's food. But everyone around her was a suspect, even those who lived down the road. If this was the benefit of wealth, power and prestige, she wasn't certain it was worth the price. Maybe it would be better if William didn't inherit. Then they could go back to Edinburgh and resume the old life they'd built together.

Music, pubs with good food and entertainment, the casual ease of her friends around her. William had enjoyed that life. Was it too much to ask to live someplace where people weren't trying to poison, frighten or maim one or both of them? She didn't think so. Coming to Mayfair had been a terrible mistake. It had nearly cost her William and, very possibly, Sophie.

She closed her eyes for a moment to ease the pounding in her head. She would clear her mind of everything and relax for five minutes, and then she'd get up and go talk with William.

Mary's chest rose in a shallow rhythm as she drifted into a light sleep. She did not awaken when a portion of the stone wall beside the fireplace eased open. Lips slightly parted, she slept as the tall, strongly built man moved beside her bed and stopped.

He held a sword in his hand, the hilt splotched by a small patch of dried blood. Dark hair curled around his face.

Very carefully, he picked up the pestle and the glass of port. "The past is never dead at Mayfair, lassie," he said in a voice rippling with brogue. "You'll learn you're never done with it. 'Tis a pity, the lesson may be costly. Especially for you."

"Mary! Mary, wake up. It's Eleanor on the phone!"

Mary felt as if a steel rod had been welded to her spine. She tried to sit, but her back was stiff and unyielding. To her horror, she discovered sunlight was streaming into her bedroom window. Bright sunlight— as in noon. She'd fallen sound asleep, legs dangling off the side of the bed.

William was standing over her, his face flushed with excitement. "Eleanor has some news. She said we'd want to hear it together. Take the phone in the library, and I'll pick up an extension in the hall."

"Okay." Mary struggled to sit up.

"Here." William gave her a hand and then rubbed the small of her back, loosening the muscles that had tightened from her unnatural sleeping position.

Moving as fast as she could, she stood and hurried down the hall, down the stairs and into the library.

As soon as she picked up the receiver, she could sense the tension on the line. "What is it, Eleanor?"

"Good, we're here," William said. "What news, Eleanor?"

"It's taken me forever to find the right musty old stack of records to dig into, but I've found something that may well throw an entirely differently light on your situation."

"What?" Mary hummed with the sense of excitement, too.

"Well, it would seem that the legends about old Slaytor aren't exactly on the up-and-up."

"What legends?" William asked.

"The ones about him and his wife, Lisette."

"You can't mean that they weren't married?" Mary heard the distress in her voice. Another complication of parentage would only add to the mess, especially with Kevin's claim hanging in the wind.

"Oh, no, quite the contrary." Eleanor's voice bubbled. "You see, Lisette was never really kidnapped. The entire kidnapping was staged by Lisette and Slaytor because Lisette's father would never have consented to his fair, English daughter marrying a savage Scotsman."

"If she wasn't kidnapped, what about the turret room and all of the moaning and hand wringing?" William asked. "That's the major portion of Mayfair's legendary past."

"It was all staged, for the benefit of the servants. So the tales of mistreatment would get back to Lisette's father. Then when she became pregnant, and Slaytor made her his wife, it was a much better fate than any her father could envision for her if she were simply a captive. Lisette's father didn't want the marriage, but it was better than a pregnant daughter held as little more than a slave. He accepted the marriage, with apparently some degree of grace. Voila`, a happy-ever-after ending MacEachern style."

"She was never a prisoner in the turret room?" Mary asked, but she knew the answer.

"Never. In fact, the records I've discovered, some ancient, crumpling letters, indicate that the entire kidnapping scheme was Lisette's plan. She even rode over to Scotland by herself so that Slaytor could more easily kidnap her."

The night of the wild ride she'd taken with William came back to Mary. He'd gone to meet someone. A woman who'd crossed the border alone. A woman willing to risk everything for her man.

Mary clutched the telephone to her ear. "You're sure of this, Eleanor?"

"Positive. The legends about Slaytor— the savage kidnapper of women who kept them locked in a turret until they yielded to his carnal desires— it's all pure fabrication. Just another example of how a story can supercede historical fact. Slaytor and Lisette were so effective in creating the tale, and spreading it, that it is now regarded as the true history of Mayfair."

"Amazing," William said. "But how does that relate to my problems here?"

"Don't you see? You're being possessed by this brutal, angry, savage ghost of Slaytor. But he was never that man. Whoever is setting you up, however they're doing it, they don't know the real history of Mayfair at all. If you were really being possessed by Slaytor MacEachern, he would be a firm but gentle man."

"Who loves Lisette." Mary had whispered the words.

"What?" Eleanor asked. Her voice crackled again. "This line isn't the best. You'll have to speak up."

"How's Peter faring?" Mary asked instead. She had to think about this wrinkle. About the kiss that "Slaytor" had given "Lisette" in the cold moonlight. Possessed. They had been, indeed, by a powerful passion.

"So far, the MacEachern family medical history is boring stuff. There's no heritage of lunacy, delusions of grandeur or of any other kind. No brain tumors, religious fanatics, or even heart disease. Other than a fondness for the bottle and a tendency to work too hard, a very uninteresting bunch."

"That's good," Mary said automatically.

"Mary, are you okay?" Eleanor, even at such a distance, was quick to pick up on Mary's tone.

"Fine. Just a lot to think about. Eleanor, will you and Peter be coming back here soon? I have something I need tested. Dr. Sloan said he could do it, but he'd have to send it away to a lab. He doesn't have the equipment at his office."

"Peter would face the same problem," Eleanor reminded her. "What is it?"

"Two things. I think both of them contain some kind of poison. Something that has made William, and Familiar, act out of character. It could explain a lot of things that have been happening here."

"Yes, it certainly could. If we can identify the substance. Why don't you express them to us here? We have the lab facilities, and we could test them right away."

"Excellent idea." Mary felt a great relief.

"What did you find?" William asked.

"I'll show you when we're finished. In my room," Mary said. "Thanks, Eleanor. I may send them up with Sophie." She felt her voice thicken at the mention of her friend. One thing she'd decided was to get Sophie out of Mayfair. The sooner the better. Her "friend" could hardly refuse to run this errand. It would be the perfect excuse to put her on a train.

"Send her on. Just call and let us know when to expect her."

"First thing in the morning," Mary said. "I'll see she gets on the seven o'clock train out."

"Well, goodbye for now. Give my cat a hug for me."

"Familiar is fine," William reassured her. "In fact, we don't know if we can do without him."

"None of that talk," Eleanor warned. "He's going back to the States with me, as soon as we get to the bottom of the haunting of Mayfair Castle, and my cousin."

"Goodbye," they said in unison as they replaced the receivers.

Mary met William at the head of the stairs. Neither spoke at first as they tried to gauge the other's reaction to the news they'd just learned.

"Who?" William finally asked.