No Other Woman (No Other Series) (11 page)

His father shot him a glance that was dagger sharp.

"Then there was Good Queen Bess!" Alistair continued. "Good God, she ruled forever!"

"And here," Aidan added dryly, "we had good Queen Mary, who nearly brought about the downfall of her people!"

"Ah, but good Queen Mary of Scots produced the future King James I of England, whose blood even now runs through the veins of royalty!" Shawna pointed out. "Besides, Mary might not have had quite so many problems if not for all the men conspiring behind her back."

Shawna was startled to feel a twinge of unease as she felt all her male kin staring at her.

Did they all resent her? It seemed a pleasantly joking conversation, but was it? Gawain did seem aggravated that she had inherited the title of Lady MacGinnis and was traditional titular head of the family. He'd never hidden that fact, but it had always seemed more an annoyance to him than anything else.

Certainly it would not drive him to...

Murder.

If she died, Gawain, as the oldest of her grandfather's surviving brothers, would inherit the title. After Gawain, Alaric, and then Alistair. And after them—unless someone was to have a child—Lowell would inherit, and after him, Aidan.

Was she a fool, believing in family, in blood? After all, there had been a man following her last night, a man who had drawn a sword...

Who had meant to kill her.

But no body had been found.

David had done away with the body. Obviously.

"Wonderful," she murmured aloud, looking around the table. "You all resent me."

"Nay, lass, 'tis not that," Gawain said with a weary sigh. "Men are more likely to deal with business well, and you should be part of our business—we should be acquiring a proper and fitting husband for you, and the like. What is, is, and we do well enough as a family. And we'd do well to acquire Douglas holdings. Aidan, look to our family resources and see what we could offer to buy out Douglas. Maybe he'll want money quickly to arm his heathen family; maybe we will have a chance. Alistair, take time to compose what we must tell him to convince him that he would be better off to leave this property and its problems to us. Alaric, take inventory of our property to see what we might sell for ready hard money."

"Aye, Father," Alaric agreed.

"Well," Shawna murmured, "at least we're planning to buy him out—rather than kill him off."

Dead silence met her words.

Then Gawain warned angrily, "You, my dear, will mind your manners!"

"And is that my assignment in all this?" Shawna inquired.

"Nay, lass," Gawain commanded, leaning toward her with his blue eyes bright with anger, "you will plan the homecoming for the Douglas and see to it that we offer all possible hospitality."

"Will I?" Shawna murmured.

Aidan suddenly covered her hand with his own and she found herself looking to this quieter, older cousin. Child of a quieter, more gentle, great-uncle. His eyes were a lighter blue and his hair was closer to auburn than the near black that graced most of the MacGinnises, as if even his coloring was of a more gentle nature. "Shawna, don't you think it a good idea that we seek to buy the Douglas property?"

"We run the property. We live and breathe and die by it. And truly, you know as well as I do, that Andrew Douglas wants to live out his days on his father's American property."

"Yes, I suppose that's true."

"Then?" her great-uncle Lowell prodded gently, lifting his wineglass to her.

They were never going to be able to buy the property because David Douglas was still alive.

"Shawna?" Aidan said, frowning.

"Yes," she said quickly. "I—I suppose we should try to buy the property."

"Pass the meat," Gawain said.

Irked by her great-uncle's peremptory manner, Shawna felt disinclined to obey even so simple a command as this one.

Aidan and Alistair, however, did not seem bothered by Gawain, for Aidan passed the platter of meat to Alistair, who then set it before Gawain. Shawna discovered that she wasn't particularly hungry.

But she did imbibe their dinner wine quite freely.

Alistair commented on how well the blessing went; Aidan asked him if he'd any idea what was causing the "haunting" noises in the mines. Gawain discussed the merits of cattle with Alaric. Shawna sat, feeling like screaming.

Sipping more and more wine on an empty stomach.

"Shawna, are you well?"

Aidan, at her side, softly asked the question. She glanced at him quickly to find his light eyes filled with concern. "You're quite flushed," he told her. "This morning, you were far too pale."

"I'm fine."

She stood suddenly. "Will you excuse me, please? I didn't sleep well last night."

Gawain looked at her, frowning. "You're well?"

"Aye, Uncle. Extremely healthy. Robust," she assured him dryly. "I'm just tired. Good night." She gave Lowell a quick kiss on the cheek; he patted her hand where it lay on his shoulder. She kissed Gawain as well, and he in turn caught her hand, staring at her. "You've been pale all day, lass."

She shrugged. "I'm fine, really."

Alistair was arching a brow at her, a quizzical curve to his lips.

Alistair knew her best. She was going to have to avoid him.

She hurried from the hall. Let them talk out their plans alone.

And talk about her.

And about what a pity it was that a lass held their property.

She intended to get some sleep.

But she wasn't going to get any sleep, she realized quickly.

Her room had been prepared for the night. Her fire blazed warmly. A nightgown had been left out on the quilted cover of the master's bed.

A soft glow of moonlight streamed in from the balcony window.

For hundreds of years, moonlight had come through that window just so. There had never been a way to close or lock it; in winter, a heavy tapestry hung over it to keep out the cold. The weather had not become so harsh yet that a cover was necessary. In ancient days, there was no danger from the window because the stone walls protected the castle. And, unless one knew of the existence of the secret stairway, there was no way to reach the balcony—other than to walk up sheer walls. The hidden stairway had been a secret passed on only to the Douglas heir....

Except that David had told her about it. Years ago, when her father had died, and she had been so hurt and lost. He had come to the services for her father, and had sat with her after her father's body had been interred in the vault at Castle MacGinnis, and he'd distracted her with stories about the old days when so many of the Highlanders had been Jacobites and often, in their hearts, Catholics, and they had done their best to protect and hide both fleeing priests and Stuart aspirants to the throne.

She'd always admired David. Naturally. He was the overlord, he was older, he was tall, striking, handsome, everything a laird should be. Her fear that he did not appreciate her, the younger lass, had always kept her from revealing that she admired him.

That night, after her father had died, when he had been so gentle, was probably when she had begun to care much more deeply about him.

And just maybe, Alistair had been right. She had been more than glad to take on the task of seducing him from the castle. She had been glad of any opportunity to play the siren with him.

She had never imagined the consequences...

The nights, ever after, when the dreams plagued her and she wondered.

She walked out to the balcony. The night was quiet.

Yet he was out there. Somewhere.

"Where are you?" she murmured aloud.

There was no answer for her other than the whisper of the night wind.

She walked back down the steps.

Looked behind the screen, under the bed. Nervously, she shed her clothing and hurriedly slipped into a nightgown, waiting for him to pounce from the shadows at any moment.

He did not appear. She lay down to sleep. And stared at the balcony window.

She and David were the only ones who knew about the stairway and passage. Or so she thought. At least, she was fairly convinced it was so. Yet someone had chased her last night. Someone who'd wanted to hurt her... kill her.

She leapt out of bed, convinced there was a way to jam the secret doorway cut into the stone from the balcony.

If David needed her help, he could ask her by daylight. She wanted no more nocturnal visits from him. She dug into her drawer for a handkerchief, then sped up the steps to the balcony, and out into the night. She dropped down to find the stone that triggered the mechanism to open the passageway. She slid the handkerchief into the metal workings, and closed the stone with the edge of the handkerchief on her side. She was pleased then to discover that she had managed quite well. The mechanism was jammed by the fabric, which couldn't be seen from the inside, but which she could remove quite easily.

Incredibly pleased with herself, she curled back into her bed.

She closed her eyes.

But she leapt back to her feet, and hurried to her hallway door, then slid the ancient bolt.

No one would be coming into her room by either the chamber door or the secret entry. She could sleep in safety at last.

She lay down again and stared into the night for a very long time, thinking, not wanting to think, remembering, and praying not to remember. A soft fire still burned in her grate. The room was filled with shadows, yet the gentle flames cast an orange-and-gold glow over the room as well.

She was so tired.

Yet David lived. And her life was a tempest again.

Where was he?

Not in her room, she was safe!

Safe? Yet unnerved.

Still, eventually...

Her eyelids began to flutter.

She began to drift.

And fall asleep...

* * *

She awoke in sudden terror. The stairway had been jammed; the door had been bolted.

There had been no possible entry to her room. Yet she was not alone. A dark shadow hovered over her in the night. Then fell upon her.

Silencing the scream that so nearly tore from her lips.

Chapter 7

"Hush, it's me."

He was atop her, then the hand that had covered her mouth was lifted from it and David Douglas fell to her side.

She was shaking like a leaf caught in a fierce north wind, terrified and amazed. She came up on an elbow, creating all the distance between them she could manage on the bed.

"How did you get in here?" she demanded.

"I have my ways."

"How—"

"Ghosts can come right through walls, can't they?" he inquired then, rolling from her and rising.

He had changed from his Highland garb, she saw. Tonight, he was decked out in a black cotton shirt, form-hugging black breeches, boots, and hooded black cape.

Shivers shot along her spine.

He looked a great deal like the shadowy form that had chased her from the Druid Stones.

"What did you do with him—the dead man?" she demanded.

"Weighted him down."

"And?"

"Well, I'm sure he's joined the remains of many another man who perished by righteous or illegal means throughout the centuries. He lies at the bottom of the loch."

"Why?"

"Did you want it known that you're aware someone is after you? Do you think I want it known who rescued you?"

"My family can hardly take the proper steps for my safety if they are unaware that I am in danger."

"What if someone in your family is creating the danger? What if they all want you dead?"

She slipped out of bed, standing very tall and determined as she faced him. "They don't want me dead, and I refuse to listen to you."

"You will listen to me."

"I won't. You've no right to accost me in the middle of the night after all these years with no explanation—David, no!"

Despite her protest and her desperate determination to back away, he was upon her in a flash. Her words were lost as he caught her wrists, drawing her hard against him. "Listen!" he commanded.

She wished fervently that he had not chosen such a way to force her to do so. A hot weakness pervaded her. She was far too aware of his warmth, his touch, the feel of his body against her own.

Far too aware of what had been in the past, and of the feelings that tormented her now.

"David—"

He was angry; not ready to release her. "Don't speak, listen! I've every right to come here, and more, my dear."

"But where have you been all this time?" she cried.

"I've no intention of relating my past; I seek to forget it, and I do truly suggest you cease trying to make me remember! Pay me heed, my lady. You have to listen to me, Shawna, you've got no choice. For all that has been in the past, I am determined that I will be with you, and I will keep you safe as we discover the exact truth of what happened here!"

She was silent for a moment, trying not to shiver while she studied his eyes. Dear God, what had he gone through? She wanted to touch him. She desperately wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, smooth his brow. His anger with her would never allow it. He wanted no tenderness from her, and if he wanted her at all, it was with that same anger.