ON DEVIL'S BRAE (A Psychological Suspense Thriller) (Dark Minds Mystery Suspense) (7 page)

Cassandra stayed where she was, willing the stranger to reappear, hoping for a chance to call him back and discover his identity. After a few minutes and feeling foolish, she stood up, brushed the slush from her coat, and turned towards home. Moving down the hill, Cassandra sensed the same feeling as before. It was like something, someone, was reaching out and touching her back, a faint tapping tempo against her spine. Unwilling to look back and completely unnerved, she gave a frightened scream, broke in to a run, and fled. This time, she took the shorter route through the woods. Except it seemed to go on and on, the path trailing round the trees, bushes slapping her in the face, tree roots threatening to trip her up and send her flying. She must have taken a wrong path, but Cassandra didn’t stop until she reached Inverdarroch, where she paused and leant sobbing and panting for breath against a stone wall.

“Good God, are you all right?”

Cassandra jumped, jerking her head up at his words and giving a squeak.

“You flew out of those woods at a fair old pace, as if you were being chased by Black Donald himself.”

Cassandra gulped, pushing her hair back from her hot face as she fought to get her breath under control. “Is it you, Angus? Black Donald?”

He took her arm. “Of course it’s me, lassie. Look, my place is nearest, why not come inside and rest for a minute. Then you can tell me what all that was about.”

Disorientated and her heart still thudding madly in her chest, Cassandra felt her legs go wobbly as the clean-shaven man led her down the lane and into his house. She heard the front
door slam behind them, and fresh prickles of alarm leapt through her. She twisted round, eyes wide and nostrils flared.

“Hey, steady. It’s okay. Calm down. Look, if you prefer, I’ll leave the front door open.” He stood back from her, arms held out in front of him, palms outwards. “Or we can sit by a very nice log fire. It’s up to you.” Angus gestured towards a door off the small hall. He stood back as she stepped forward and glanced inside the room.

“Go and get comfortable while I put the kettle on,” he said, shrugging his dark-bottle-green coat off and hanging it on a hook behind the door. His boots soon followed, and he stood before her in thick socks. “Would you like tea, or do you city folk prefer coffee?” He smiled, and Cassandra remembered how his look would melt any woman’s heart.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you,” she replied in a soft voice, at the same time wondering why he looked so different and should she remove her boots, too.

Cassandra watched Angus cross the hall to another doorway, then took off her boots before walking into the sitting room. The smell of burning pine logs filled the area, and with legs shaking like jelly, she sank into an armchair. No matter how hard she tried, it was impossible to forget the feeling she experienced on the hill. Cassandra could hear Angus clattering around in his kitchen; it was a reassuring sound, and she wondered what he was thinking of his foolish new neighbour. Her actions must have appeared ridiculous. She made up her mind that as soon as she apologised for her erratic behaviour, she would go.

Feeling calmer, Cassandra shuffled back in the chair and after crossing her ankles, looked round the room. The cottage was similar to Susan’s, but like the Blackmore sisters’ home, it was much larger. Angus had furnished the place with antique furniture, and whereas Cassandra placed rugs on the floor, he had wall-to-wall, thick, honey-coloured carpeting. It made a difference. She couldn’t feel any cold from the stone floor creeping into her socks, like in her draughty cottage. Apart from Angus’s obvious love of fine furniture, he possessed an eye for good paintings. On each wall there was a grouped collection of oils; many, judging from the costumes, seemed to depict scenes from operas. He had added splashes of bright colour here and there from the curtains, scatter cushions, and leaded-glass lamps. One lamp was in a locked glass case. She crossed the room and leaned forward to get a closer look at the nearest. She was certain the lamps were Tiffany style; she had always admired the beautiful and often intricate designs. Seeing Angus’s handsome furniture made Cassandra think of Sotheby’s. Her attention was caught by a photograph on a small table. It was of a young, red-haired woman, dressed in a long white dress with a tartan shawl draped around her shoulders. She bore no resemblance to Angus, and Cassandra assumed she was a friend—or worse—his wife! There was a definite Scottish feel to the room, and Cassandra guessed the crossed claymore swords on the wall above the fireplace had a lot to do with it.

“Here we are. I hope a mug is okay with you? I’ve added a little milk.”

Cassandra hadn’t heard his footsteps on the deep-pile carpet. Starting with surprise, she moved back into her chair. “Yes, thank you, it’s perfect. I was admiring your swords. They’re copies of the real thing, are they?”

He followed her gaze towards the hearth and smiled. “No, they’re original basket-hilted claymores.” He paused as if he was going to add something else but changed his mind. “So, I hope you’re feeling better now?”

Cassandra sipped her tea and nodded. “Yes, thank you. Outside you mentioned Black Donald. Who’s that?”

“Black Donald? Old Clootie.” When Cassandra frowned he explained further. “The devil himself. Clootie means cloven hoof.”

“Ah. I didn’t know. You gave me such a shock when you first spoke. I didn’t notice you in the road.”

Angus didn’t answer. Instead, he took a mouthful of tea and got up to throw another log on the fire. Sparks flew up the chimney as he gave the log a poke.

“So are you going to tell me what spooked you?” he asked, before settling down on the settee in front of her. He appeared relaxed, one ankle resting across his knee, an arm along the back of his seat.

Cassandra felt a flush rise from her neck to her face and looked down at the mug in her hands. “You’ll think I’m stupid. The whole thing is absurd, nonsensical.”

“Try me, mo guradh milis,” he said in a soft voice, shifting his weight and stretching his long legs towards the fire. “I’m a very good listener.”

Forgetting her fright, Cassandra stared properly at her host, and various thoughts passed through her mind. Had she ever seen eyes so blue before? And his face. If he was twenty years younger, he would have been gracing the covers of a glossy magazine. But why did he—? Of course! He looked so different because when they met before, he sported stubble and almost a moustache. Cassandra saw a tiny intriguing crease appear between his dark eyebrows. She let her gaze travel down his face and body. His legs were slim and rangy, encased in black jeans, and before she realised it, she found herself staring at his feet. Cassandra wondered if he knew how very good-looking he was, and she found herself wishing she was dressed in something a lot more flattering.

Angus changed position in the chair as he placed his mug onto a side table, causing Cassandra to suddenly come to her senses. She realised she had been blatantly appraising a man in his own house. She took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and as her gaze returned to his face, felt her cheeks flame with heat. When he moved forward, one eyebrow slightly raised, she almost squirmed with embarrassment. For one awful moment she thought he could read her mind.

“I…you’ll think me completely mad,” she said eventually, in a squeaky little voice. She cleared her throat. “That is, it really was nothing. I just gave myself a fright. Mother always said I had an over-imaginative mind.” When he didn’t answer, she sighed. “Okay. I was out walking near the top of the hill, and I…I thought I saw someone.”

He let his gaze linger on her mouth, and she felt as if he was caressing her. “That’s not so very remarkable. We do get walkers in these parts, even in winter.” He stopped and gave her a strange look. “I presume this someone…scared you in some way. Can I ask what happened?”

Cassandra bit her lip before looking away. She brushed her hair off her forehead and then faced him. “That’s the stupid part. This person didn’t do anything. Just stood there, watching me. I began to walk over and tripped. When I sat up, there was no one there.”

“I see.”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice went up a note. “There was nowhere for the stranger to go. The rocks lying around were too small to hide behind.”

“You didn’t knock yourself out by any chance when you fell over, and then when you came to, the stranger walked away…perhaps down the other side of the hill?”

Cassandra shook her head, feeling thoroughly despondent. “No, I didn’t, and there wasn’t time. Besides, I haven’t told you everything.”

Angus raised his eyebrows while he waited.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened to me.”

“No?”

“No. The first time I stayed here, back in the autumn, the same thing happened. Not only that, I felt kind of strange. At first I had the feeling I was being watched, and then I saw him.”

“Him?” His voice was sharp and he narrowed his eyes with his frown.

“Yes. He was tall and slim, wearing dark clothes. I felt him watching me, and when I looked up, there he was. Only the first time, he was right on the top and could have gone over, except I don’t see how he could have got away so fast. The distance to cover was too far. There’s more.”

“More? Tell me.”

“The first time I heard a faint noise, like a…like a drumming. This time it was softer, just a vibration in the air, and when I started to go down the hills, I felt as if someone was beating a tattoo on my back,” she whispered and shuddered.

Angus looked away and stared into the flames of the fire. “Did you sleep well last night? Have you anything on your mind? Look, I’m sorry, and I don’t mean to question your explanation, but it might be you’re over-tired or worrying about something.”

Cassandra felt like screaming. Yes, she was damn worried about everything. A child had died, been murdered. She was afraid of being alone in her flat after seeing those ghastly letters sent to her sister. What madman would have sent them? Her sister, whom she never knew, had recently died, and… she was terrified she was going mad. Everything had got on top of her, and it was too much. If she were to be perfectly honest, she would have admitted to being ill and needing help.

Should she tell him anything? Or should she leave well alone? From his suggestions, he must have already thought she was heading for the funny farm.

“No, I haven’t slept well for weeks, and I’ve recently been feeling strung up and under pressure at work. It’s one of the reasons I’ve come up here. I thought the remoteness and tranquillity would do me good.”

“And so it should. Look, I’m no expert, but it sounds like you’re suffering from stress. Common symptoms are what you’ve just described, as well as feeling anti-social, depression, and changes in appetite. Give it some time, and I’m sure you’ll soon start to relax.”

Cassandra felt a mix of emotions on hearing his words. She knew he was only being kind, having found her in a near state of collapse outside his house. What else could he have done except invite her in for that enduring English habit of a beneficial cup of tea? He was almost certainly as embarrassed as hell having her drop in on him like this. She then saw the funny side, and a small grin hovered at the corner of her mouth.

“What have I said that you find so funny?”

She laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s everything…you inviting me in, like a perfect Englishman gentleman, for tea and talking about stress and relaxing. I
have
been under some strain just lately, and I know I’m edgy, but thank you for your concern. I’m determined to get over my problems.”

“It’s me who should apologise. You must think I’m a right know-it-all, but the truth is I once knew someone who suffered badly. It was an awful time watching them being eaten away.” Angus gave a ghost of a smile, and Cassandra wondered who it was who had hurt him so badly. A relative, perhaps, or a close friend?

“If you remember, I’ve also just lost my sister,” she said in a soft voice.

“Yes, of course, it must have come as a great shock. She wasn’t that old.”

“No, fifty-seven. But what you don’t know is that I never really knew her.” Cassandra swallowed as she felt a lump begin in her throat. She stared into the fire. “Susan left home when I was a baby. She was seventeen, and I only met her for the first time last year. We were virtual strangers.”

When Angus looked surprised, Cassandra continued. “The awful thing is I never bothered to try to find out about her. I meant to, but my parents always put me off. There was something bad between them. I know it’s no excuse, and I should have had the bottle to ignore their wishes and make enquiries. It surely wouldn’t have been difficult, since she was a sculptor, and I could easily have looked up her work earlier on. Now she’s dead, and we never got to really know each other. What a waste,” she said, blinking back her tears and sniffing.

“But you did get to meet her in the end?” Angus asked in a soft voice.

“Yes.”

He produced a snowy-white linen handkerchief and held it out. “Would you like to see some of her work? I don’t mean the bits and pieces she left you in the cottage…her more important efforts. Susan’s proper work.”

Surprised, Cassandra lifted her head and nodded. “Really?”

“Yes. There’s an exhibition being held in Edinburgh at the moment. They often feature local artists, and this time it’s your sister’s turn. It’s only a short drive away. I’ve been meaning to visit, and I’d be delighted to have you accompany me, if you’d like to.”