Fear Familiar Bundle (90 page)

Before Patrick could protest, Catherine put the papers in his left hand and Mick gave him the reins in his right. The flash exploded and Limerick turned to blow hot air in Patrick's ear.

"Good luck, Patrick." Catherine stepped forward and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I'll help you any way I can. You know that. If there's any way possible, I want you to consider staying at Beltene as head trainer."

Patrick signaled Mick over. He took a moment to rub Limerick's head, whispering a few words into the stallion's ear before giving him over to Mick. "I'll be back in a minute." Once again he took Catherine's hand, but this time he led her carefully through the people and back to the stables.

"I can't accept the horse," he said. "He's yours. You bought him fairly, and without him Beltene will fail."

"I'll have King's Quest, or at least the use of him. I intend to return him to David Trussell with an agreement for some breedings."

Patrick grinned. "So, you're giving it all away, everything you've fought so hard to hold."

"I think I'm doing what's fair. If you'll agree to race Limerick and allow me to buy some breedings from you, then perhaps it won't be as terrible as you think."

"There is a way you could have me as trainer and the stallion." Patrick's voice was thoughtful. "It would require more than a little sacrifice on your part, though."

"What?" Catherine waited.

"You could marry me."

Catherine stopped dead still. The noise of the crowd faded slowly away. She stared into Patrick's blue eyes and saw the future. Together they could make Beltene a great horse breeding and racing farm. She might do it alone, but that wasn't what she wanted. She couldn't imagine Beltene without Patrick. No matter where she went, she'd see him in the pastures, in the barn.

"Catherine?" Patrick held out his hand.

Ignoring it, she ran the two steps into his arms. "Yes," she agreed. "Yes."

"I always knew Limerick was a valuable animal. Little did I know he'd get me the woman I wanted from the first day I saw her."

Catherine pulled back. "You acted as if you hated me," she said.

"I wanted you, and I knew I'd never stand a chance of having you."

"Dreams can sometimes come true," she whispered.

"Ah," Patrick said, "indeed. But we have someone else to thank for all of this."

Catherine looked down. The sleek black cat stood at her feet. With a quick slap of his front paw he sent a rose scuttling against her left foot. It had fallen from the garland that was now draped around Limerick's neck.

Patrick's laugh was rich and deep. "Look, he wants to be the first to congratulate us," Patrick said.

"I do believe we may have to kidnap that cat."

Patrick shook his head. "No, Peter and Eleanor will be at Beltene to get him Monday. Mick spoke with them. They're headed to Scotland, and they want to take him along."

"There's no way they'd let us keep him? Even for a few more weeks?"

"Familiar is a very special cat. I'm afraid he means as much to them as he does to us. It was Familiar who brought Peter and Eleanor together."

"As well as us," Catherine said. Her green eyes were dancing with mischief. "It was the way you stroked him that made me think you might be human."

"Wait until tonight. I'll show you exactly how human I can be."

Catherine laughed as she bent down to pick up the rose. She stroked Familiar's fur. "Perhaps you did put a witch's spell on him— on both of us. You saved our lives, Familiar. And I thank you."

E
LEANOR AND
P
ETER
should be here in the next ten minutes. I think Patrick got the idea that I'm not going back in that "kitty carrier." Jeez. Even the name is an insult.

I hear Scotland is the next stop on my travel agenda. Something about Eleanor's relatives. The dame is tall enough to have a little Scottish blood in her. Tall and striking.

I'm giving fair warning now though, no matter what they say, I'm not eating any of that haggis stuff. Sheep's belly! Whoever heard of such? I do understand that there's some perfectly lovely salmon, and if we're only visiting, I'm certain I won't go into a decline. It's a strange thing, though. I've been having a real attack for the sight of some golden arches. Just a good ol' American burger.

Here comes Catherine. You know, she even walks a little like a cat. Sort of a slinky, stalking kind of walk. Ah…I see what she's getting ready to pounce on. There's Patrick in the pasture with Limerick. Isn't that sweet? Just the three of them. One big happy family.

Here comes the car. Hello, Eleanor. Goodbye Ireland. 'Tis a fair and green land filled with fast horses and magic. But this black cat is ready to start the next leg of this journey. Scotland— and then my own Clotilde.

So this is the borderland of Scotland. Rolling hills, hardwood forests. Almost as beautiful as my dark-haired Eleanor. The only trouble is that Eleanor is worried. And Peter, too. They've hardly spoken a word since we crossed the Irish Sea, but the sense of impending doom is thick enough to cut with a knife. Even though I have incredibly sharp ears, I could detect only so much from that one frantic phone call Eleanor received from a Mary Muir in Kelso, Scotland, and here we are, flying along these narrow, winding roads at breakneck speed.

Apparently something is terribly wrong with someone named William MacEachern. He must be important. The dame is fighting back tears, and Peter is driving straight through to Kelso without a wink of sleep or even a decent meal. If only they'd talk, whisper, anything! This pent-up emotion is killing me.

I've racked my fertile brain, and the best I can remember is some wild talk about a man named MacEachern who was a Scottish warlord. Compared to my ancestors, this Slaytor was a real pussycat. But humans tend to glorify the past. It seems this Slaytor was a master of horses and the broadsword, and he started the family from which my Eleanor, with a few sidetracks, descended. But I've never heard of William MacEachern.

Hey, there's a castle in the distance. I mean, an honest-to-goodness, storybook, Sleeping Beauty, wicked witch castle. Check out those ramparts, those turrets, those battlements. Not to mention the neat slots for bows and arrows. Ah, but there isn't a moat. Too bad. If we weren't in such a blistering hurry, I'd like to stop and poke around in that old creaky joint. No telling what I might uncover.

But wait, Peter is taking a turn into the old castle drive. He's driving right up to the open gates and into the courtyard. I hope these people don't have guard dogs. I mean, this place looks like the Hound of the Baskervilles could be hiding around a cold stone corner.

Check out that door. It must be six inches thick and bound with metal bands. The bell is positively frightening. I'm expecting to see the ghost of E. A. Poe, or possibly a relative of the Ushers. Uh-oh, the door is opening.

Oh, my, the little lass who's answered the bell is all eyes and elbows. A pretty pixie, a vision of delight. And she's drawing Eleanor and Peter into the house. So this is Mayfair Castle, home of Lord William MacEachern and the source of our sudden departure from Ireland.

What a lovely woman this Mary Muir is. So delicate and dreamy. Whatever has this William done to frighten her so? Or maybe it's this place. Mayfair Castle is a bit much. Ghosts could literally walk in here and it wouldn't seem out of place. Not a bit. Whatever is troubling her, the poor young woman looks distraught.

"D
R
.
AND
M
RS
. C
URRY
." Mary looked behind her as if someone might be spying on her, then shook her head. "Forgive me. I'm Mary Muir, William's fiancée. I'm so sorry to have called you here like this."

"What's wrong with William?" Eleanor stepped forward and took Mary's slender but strong hand. "What's wrong here, Mary?"

"I wish I knew," Mary said, biting her lip to hold back sudden tears. "I know how much William thinks of you. If you can't help him, I don't know what I'm going to do." Suddenly realizing that they were standing in the foyer, she urged Peter to leave their bags.

"Come and sit down. Have a glass of port." Impulsively, Mary turned back to Eleanor. "We have to find out what's happening to William." She tried for a smile but failed; her bravado melted. "As incredible as it sounds, I'm beginning to believe Mayfair Castle is haunted." Before Eleanor or Peter could respond, Mary led them down the long, stone corridor where their footsteps echoed all around them.

By the time they were seated in a large formal parlor, Mary had composed herself. Back erect, she sat in a beautifully carved chair and met Eleanor's direct gaze.

"This is going to be hard to explain. But first, let me tell you that I love William unconditionally."

"I love him, too," Eleanor replied. "We don't see each other often now, but we were very close when he was younger. Even when his parents were alive, he was so alone."

"I know." Mary glanced at Peter and felt warmed by the encouraging smile he gave her. "You see, since we've come here to Mayfair to plan our wedding, William has been…has become…strange." She tried to swallow the emotion that almost choked her. "And it's getting worse. He's risking life and limb with wild midnight rides, and he's…Well, it's as if he assumes a different personality. A personality for his past."

"Like a split personality?" Eleanor couldn't believe it. Not William. Not the cousin who'd spent summers at her home, his blue eyes dancing with mischief and fun.

"Not exactly like that. More like he's been invaded bya…ghost." She hurried on. "A specific ghost. That of Slaytor MacEachern, Lord of the MacEachern clan." Mary felt the tingle of fear that came with speaking her worst fears aloud.

W
HAT IS SHE SAYING
— a ghost! Here at Mayfair! One that invades her fiancé and forces him to prowl the halls and ride horses at night! This is crazy. But judging from my Eleanor's face, she's taking this very seriously. This beautiful redhead believes her fiancé is possessed by a ghost. And not just any ghost, but the shade of his late, centuries-dead antecedent, one Slaytor MacEachern. I remember the story now. This Slaytor was the horse lord for the Clan MacDonald. A legend, of sorts.

This is, indeed, a fascinating situation. If any set of circumstances ever called for the unique talents and abilities of one very observant black cat, this is it. Ghosts! Castles! Ancestors haunting the living! Perfect for me. And I'll stay. Just as long as they don't try to make me eat any of those haggis things.

"S
URELY YOU CAN HELP
him?" Mary Muir pushed a tangle of soft red hair away from her face. "He spoke so highly of you, of the summers you spent together, and I didn't know who else to call." She cast a glance over her shoulder as she stood.

"He honestly believes he's possessed by a ghost?" Eleanor Curry looked at her husband. Her brown eyes were pinched with worry. When they'd gotten the emergency message to hurry to Kelso to assist William, they'd had no idea of the nature of the emergency. A haunting had never crossed her mind. Now William's bride-to-be was standing before them with a tale that was hard to swallow— and disturbing in a number of ways. For all of her enormous green eyes and gentle manner, Mary didn't seem to be the kind of woman who frightened easily. But was she the kind to imagine a haunting of her betrothed?

"William believes it, sure enough." Mary looked behind her again, obviously waiting for something to happen. "He'll be down for dinner in a moment."

"I see." Peter stood, also, giving his wife a sideways look. "Have you seen that blasted cat?" He could tell by the way Eleanor was sitting rigidly in her chair that she was uncomfortable. A change of subject would be good for everyone. It would also give him a chance to evaluate the woman who seemed to be the source of so much turmoil.

"He's over beside the suits of armor," Mary said, indicating with a flutter of her fingers the black cat tail peeking out from behind a metallic leg. She turned back to Eleanor. "You have to help William. Someone has to help him. He's…at the breaking point."

"Mary, maybe it isn't a good idea for you to be here alone with William if he isn't well. Mayfair is an…impressive place. More than a little intimidating." Eleanor felt as if she were walking on very thin ice. She hadn't seen her cousin William in five years, and she had no idea what his relationship with this beautiful young woman might be. She only knew that Mary Muir was obviously beside herself with concern— real or imagined. "If you're worried, maybe it would be best if you went back to Edinburgh for a week or so. It would— "

"I'll not leave him." The fiery disposition that her red hair promised flared into life. "He's tried to get me to leave, that afraid he is of doing something crazy in the dead of night. But I won't go. I've loved William since I was a child, and I'll not abandon him now when he needs me most." She cleared her throat, softening her voice. "Besides, I have my best friend here with me. I've known Sophie Emerson since I joined the symphony five years ago. She's in the horn section, and she's staying with me until the wedding."