Fear Familiar Bundle (115 page)

"At least let me cook," Abby said. "This must be an important occasion. It wouldn't do to have strangers prepare the meal."

Her choice of words startled William. That was exactly what he was after— strangers preparing his food. The idea was wounding. To both of them.

"You've worked too hard. This is a party, Abby. Mary and I have an announcement to make. I want you and John to be my guests. And Kevin, of course. Mayfair wouldn't be Mayfair without Kevin."

Abby looked up at him, her light eyes clear and questioning. "What are you saying?"

"Only that Kevin is part of Mayfair. A large part."

Abby's indrawn breath gave her away. William saw she knew that he was alluding to Kevin's parentage.

"It wouldn't be proper." She tried to rise, but William was standing so close that she couldn't do so without creating even more awkwardness. She resumed her seat, but looked away from William.

"It's proper if I say so, Abby. You and John and Kevin will be my guests, just like the other members of the community. Erick will be there. And Chancey."

Abby's smile was tremulous. "I suppose someone should be in the room to keep that snake cornered."

William chuckled. "There's no love lost on Chancey, is there?"

"None." Abby's smile was stronger. "If she can't have you as a husband, she'll be after Erick. Or my Kevin. She's determined to get as close to you and Mayfair as she can."

Abby's observation was interesting, and William was also growing more and more certain of one thing— if Abby was involved, it was through ignorance. If she was somehow putting something in his food, and she did have the easiest access, then it was done without knowledge of what she was doing.

"What shall we cook for the occasion?" Abby was already concentrating on the menu.

"I know. For the dinner, do you think you might be able to provide the caterers with that wonderful egg custard you made last week?"

"Egg custard?" Abby was taken aback. "I would think you'd want something a little…fancier."

"It was wonderful, Abby. Even Familiar thought so."

"Where is that rascal?" Abby asked. "He hasn't been in the kitchen but once. Devoured an entire pan of chicken livers I broiled for him." She shook her head. "I swear, it does a body good to watch that cat enjoy his food."

"He's up in Mary's room, I believe. Don't worry. In about another hour, when his stomach alerts him, he'll be back down here to con you out of some other delicacy."

"He will at that. He's a charmer, that one. Now, about that custard." She frowned. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Then I could make it ahead of time and leave it for the caterers."

"No, you'll have the whole day tomorrow to relax so you can be fresh for the party. Just tell me what's in it."

When Abby started to rise this time, William stepped back, giving her room. She went to the shelves and drew down a large cookbook stuffed with recipes old and new.

"I've collected these things for years, and my mother before me. She cooked here, though I know you don't remember her. She was retired by the time you were born."

"I remember stories about her." William watched the cook riffle through the pages of the book, looking up the recipe he'd requested. Her eyes traveled over the battered cookbook with genuine love. He wanted to tell her that he would look into Kevin's birth claim, but he couldn't. If Abby was someone's foil, he needed her to remain that. If it was Kevin, then better to learn it now than later.

"Here it is." She took the book to the table and began to copy the recipe on a card for him.

"Do you have any exotic recipes?"

"You should know the answer to that." Her handwriting was slow and proper.

"I mean, something that requires unusual spices."

"Sure, Scotland isn't the tropics. Any of the Caribbean dishes call for spices some might consider exotic. There's that lime and cayenne fish you like so much."

"Wonderful. How do you go about getting the correct herbs?"

"I can buy them now. There was a time when I had to special order and then grind my own. Everything is so much easier to come by."

"It seems I remember you standing at the counter, mixing up something like a powder. Crushing it, I suppose."

"Plenty was the time when I did that, but almost everything comes crushed or chopped. I still grate a few of my own spices, but not like I used to." She snapped her fingers. "Everything is instant now. Truth is, I miss some of the old ways. But that's progress for you. I have little enough time for my work as it is. I can't see me crushing peppers or grinding ginger into powder. Those days are gone."

"I suppose they are," William answered, but his tone was absent as his eyes roved the shelves. "You haven't noticed anything amiss in your kitchen, have you?"

"Why do you ask?" Abby was suddenly very still. She put her pen down and pushed the recipe toward him.

"Mary thought someone was prowling around the kitchen one night when she came down for some tea. She was badly frightened, so she didn't investigate. I was just wondering if anything has gone amiss."

"Strange, but I am missing one thing, an old pestle and mortar that I used to grind spices. I don't have much call for it, but it is very old. Probably very valuable. I was hoping maybe you'd removed it."

William held her gaze. "No, I didn't. It's a strange item for someone to take, isn't it?"

"Very strange," Abby said.

"It would take a thief who knew the value of antiques. Or one who had a use for such a device."

Abby closed the cookbook. "I hadn't thought of it before, but Kevin has used it in the past to grind up some medicines for the horses. Those big tablets, for their aches. He puts it in their feed, all crushed. Maybe he's borrowed it and taken it to the barn. If that's the case, I'm sure it's safe and sound and will be returned."

William turned away from the sudden concern in the cook's face.

Mary's knees were throbbing from her position on the cold stone floor. She pressed again and again at the stones that Familiar indicated, but the exit to the passage would not open. She'd found the end— to no avail. She'd been unable to open the door. Now she was back at the point where she'd begun, and she could not manage to force that door open, either.

Familiar circled her feet, his anxiety showing in his restless pacing.

"We'll get it open," Mary assured him. They had to. No one knew where she'd gone— or even where to begin looking. William had no inkling that there was a passage in her room.

Panic bloomed like a deadly flower, and Mary forced her thoughts back to the moment. The air in the passage was dank, musty and unpleasant, but she did not feel as if she would suffocate.

"Let's try the other opening again," she said to the cat. Her fingers were sore and bleeding from pulling, tugging and clawing at the stones near the base of the opening to her room.

Step-by-step, they traveled the passage again. At times Mary felt as if they were definitely going up an incline, but there was no way to really tell. In the dark and twisting passage, she'd lost all sense of direction.

Finally reaching the end, she felt her heart pound. It was a solid stone wall. As far as she could tell by shining the light up and down the length of it, there might never have been another opening.

Familiar flopped on his side and began frantically digging near the base. It was the same area that triggered the door in her room, Mary knew. But no matter how she pressed and pushed, it seemed to have no effect. Not on either end of the tunnel. Why hadn't she been smart enough to block the opening with something? Or even left William a note saying where she'd gone? Why hadn't she taken a few simple precautions? Now it was too late. She and Familiar could figure a way out of the tunnel, or they could die in there of dehydration.

A terrible thought winged through her brain. What if someone had deliberately rigged the door? What if it had all been a trick to lure her into a dead-end passage with no escape? That would resolve the problem of William's marriage.

"Easy now," she said, bending to stroke the cat. But the words were for herself.

The flashlight beam bounced back at her from the dead end, flickered once and died.

"Great," she said, the darkness complete. "Now we can't even see."

Creeping forward on her hands and knees, she found Familiar. The cat's rough tongue licked comfort along her forearm, and Mary snuggled him against her. He was the one thing she could count on at this time.

Despair chased all rational thoughts from her brain, and Mary curled against the stone wall and held the cat to her chest. She felt very small, and very alone. The thought of crying came to her, but she knew it would do no good. She could only rest her fingers for a little while and then try again to trigger the mechanism that opened the doors. And wait for William to start hunting for her.

Without the flashlight, she couldn't even tell how long she'd been in the passage. It seemed like hours, but she knew it hadn't been that long. Maybe an hour. So William would miss her soon. Maybe she'd hear them searching.

She stretched out on the stone floor with Familiar against her. With her ear to the wall, she hoped to hear something, some sign that someone was searching for her.

The darkness was so total that she shut her eyes against it. Trying to see only made it seem that much worse. She felt Familiar's paw on her cheek, and she heard his kitty motor kick into overdrive as his purr echoed off the stone walls.

"I've gotten us into a mess, Familiar, and you aren't even mad at me, are you?"

He lightly nipped her nose, still purring.

"What?" she asked. She knew the cat wanted something. She could tell by the way he was patting her face with his paw. Slapping it would be a more accurate term. He was actually slapping her firmly in the face with his paw, claws carefully sheathed.

"Okay," she said, sitting up and reaching into the darkness for him.

The supporting wall behind her swung back and light flooded the tunnel.

Mary gave an exclamation of surprise and threw her hands up to ward off the light. It was so bright after the blackness of the tunnel that she couldn't see at all.

"Hey!" There was a startled exclamation from a large man who towered over her. He stood at the entrance, ready to dart inside.

"William?" She couldn't see at all.

"You're a meddling lass, and one who deserves the consequences of her actions." His big hand clasped on her hair, and he began dragging her back into the tunnel. She braced her feet and fought.

The man wasn't William. It wasn't anyone she knew. Though her eyes were still blinded by the sudden light, she was able to tell that the man was enormous and clad in kilt and furs. A sword broad enough to cleave an oxen's— or a man's— neck in two hung at his side.

She focused her gaze up to his face, and a cry escaped her. His face was painted red and black, a curious and extremely pagan pattern of war. He was completely terrifying.

"Damn ye for an interfering wench!" he cried as he shifted his grip to her arms and drew her into the black maw of the tunnel.

Her glimpse was brief, and Mary still didn't believe what her own eyes had seen. Flattened against the wall where he'd flung her, she dropped to her hands and knees and began to crawl toward the opening. The door slid shut when she was still a good six feet away.

"Familiar! Get William!" Mary cried through the wall to the cat. "Get him! Quick!"

Mary sank back against the wall. The darkness in the tunnel enveloped her, and her heart was pounding so loudly she couldn't tell if anyone was near her or not. It was evident she'd seen Slaytor MacEachern, or the man masquerading as him. And he was no one she could identify. He bore no resemblance to anyone at Mayfair. He was far too tall for Kevin, or even Erick. He was, as William had said, a good two inches taller even than he, with dark hair wild and tangled around his shoulders.

Who was he? Where was he?

At first she didn't hear the rasp of angry breathing. It wasn't until she heard the clank of the broadsword on the stones that she knew the terrible figure of Slaytor MacEachern was standing over her.

"You've done enough damage here, Mary Muir. I tried my best to frighten you away, but you wouldn't heed me. It's in the wind that you're to marry William very soon. I can't let that happen."

One hand closed in her hair as his second hand covered her mouth. With almost no effort, he pulled her against his chest and disappeared down the passage.

W
ILLIAM WAS PANTING
as he topped the third floor landing and ran behind the black cat. Familiar was in a wide-open run. He skidded around a corner, then stopped in the open doorway of the turret room.

Even in the natural light, William could see the room was empty.

Familiar's hair rose in a line down his back, and a low growl escaped his throat.

"Where is she?" William asked.

Familiar's answer was a deeper growl. Very slowly, he entered the room. In a moment he was digging at the wall.

"A passage." William knew what the cat was trying to show him. "She's in the passage."

He felt along the wall, his fingers encountering the loose mortar that indicated that stones had been shifting. "It's here. I can almost feel it." Just as he spoke, the panel began to slide open.

William started into the darkness, but Familiar hooked a claw into the cuff of his pants. With a great tug, the cat held him.

Pausing for a moment, William heard the sound of muffled sobbing in the distance.

"Mary!" he cried, shaking loose of the cat and running into the darkness without a light or a weapon. "Mary! I'm coming!"

I
WONDER
if playwright Sam Shepard had these two in mind when he penned
Fool for Love.
Now it's up to me to find something to block this door. I tried to warn the big galoot, but would he listen? No. And he almost tore my left claw out by its roots. All because Miss Pixie is whimpering.