The Sherbrooke Series Novels 1-5 (98 page)

“I don’t think so,” Sinjun said, and quick as a streak of lightning, she slashed his face with her riding crop.

He yowled. His stallion, startled, reared back, unseating his rider. He fell off, landing on his side, but he was up in an instant.

Sinjun didn’t wait to see what he would do. She forced Fanny to run straight at his stallion and, at the last moment, to swerve away. She grabbed the stallion’s reins and pulled them over his head. She felt her arm nearly pulled from its socket as the stallion balked at being led, but finally he broke into a run, coming neck to neck with Fanny.

She heard Robert MacPherson yelling curses behind her. Unlike Douglas’s stallion, Garth, this animal didn’t respond at all to his master’s voice. Thank God.

He was a very odd man, she thought.

S
INJUN SAID NOTHING
about her encounter with Robert MacPherson to anyone. Who was there to tell, anyway? She could just imagine what Aunt Arleth would say. Blessed hell, she would probably clap her hands and cheer Robert MacPherson on. She would probably drug her and have her delivered to MacPherson in a gunnysack.

She’d released his stallion close to the border of MacPherson land and slapped its rump. She hoped that MacPherson had a very long walk ahead of him.

Colin must be fetched immediately from Edinburgh. On the heels of that thought, she shook her head. What she needed to do was think, then act, quickly.

But, she thought, as she changed from her riding habit to a soft muslin gown of dark green, if Colin were here, what would he do? Hunt MacPherson down? Challenge him to a duel? MacPherson was a weasel, a very pretty weasel. He’d shown his true colors in Edinburgh, when he’d tried to shoot Colin and gotten Sinjun instead. She touched her cheek, remembering the shard of rock slicing into her. It had healed now with no scar, not that it mattered much. No, she couldn’t take chances with Colin’s life. She knew he would behave with honor; he was that
kind of man. She doubted MacPherson had much of that attribute in any significant quantity. She would simply have to do away with MacPherson herself. Yes, gentlemen were too nice in their notions; they were bound by concepts of behavior that had no practical use when it came to the sticking point. She had to do something, and she would do something. She wanted Colin safe and home with her and the children. It wasn’t likely that he could learn to care for her if he never came home.

She walked quickly up the stairs of the north tower to Colin’s chamber. She wanted a gun and he had an adequate collection kept there. She would not ride out again from Vere Castle without one. The door stood partially open. Puzzled, she quietly pushed the door open more widely.

Philip stood in front of his father’s gun collection, his hand lifted to pull free an old dueling pistol that Sinjun doubted could still be fired with safety.

“Philip,” she said very quietly.

He jumped and whirled about, his face deathly white.

“Oh, it’s just you,” he said, and his shoulders slumped in relief. “What are you doing here in my papa’s room?”

“I might ask you the same thing. Why do you want that dueling pistol, Philip?”

“It’s none of your affair! Besides, you’re a stupid girl and you wouldn’t understand!”

She arched an eyebrow at him and said, “You think so, do you? Well, if you wish to test your beliefs, why don’t the two of us go to the gardens and have a bit of a competition?”

“You can shoot a gun?”

“Naturally. I was raised by my brothers, you know. I am also a champion with a longbow. Are you?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“There is no reason for you not to. Once I shot a very bad man in his arm and quite saved the day.”

He turned away from her then and she saw that he was wringing his hands.

It hit her hard when she realized what was wrong. The Virgin Bride had scared him, truly scared him, and it was her fault. She’d never before played the ghost with a child. She hadn’t thought, hadn’t imagined that it would so terrify him. She drew a deep breath, feeling so guilty she bit her lip.

“What’s wrong, Philip?”

“Nothing.”

“Did I tell you that Pearlin’ Jane has visited me several times since I’ve been here?”

He started, his face flooding with color. “Silly ghost, she doesn’t exist. You made it up because you’re a girl and you get scared of anything.”

“Boys aren’t scared of ghosts?”

He looked on the verge of a faint. But his chin—his father’s chin—went up and he gave her an excellent sneer. “Certainly not!”

“Do you remember me talking about the Virgin Bride—she is the ghost that lives at Northcliffe Hall?”

“Yes, but I didn’t believe you.”

“Well, you should. She is there, truly. However—” Sinjun drew a very deep breath. “However, she isn’t here at Vere Castle. As far as I know she’s never traveled, though I imagine she’d find Scotland charming.”

Philip made a grab for the dueling pistol, but Sinjun jerked his arm away. “No, Philip, she isn’t here. Come with me, I have something to show you.”

He followed her, wariness stiffening every line of his body.

“This is my papa’s bedchamber.”

“I know. Come in.”

Sinjun dismissed Emma, who was dusting the heavy armoire. She waited until Emma had left the room, then she opened the armoire doors and burrowed in one of the corners and opened a small bandbox.

“Here, Philip.”

She brought out the long wig and the white gown.

She thought he was going to collapse, but he just turned paler and backed away.

“No, it’s just a costume. I made the wig out of raw wool and goat hair. You and Dahling tried to frighten me with your Pearlin’ Jane performance, which, I must tell you, was quite excellent. You scared me half to death that first time. I decided to have a bit of revenge. I visited you during the night, after your last ghostly visit to me.”

He stared at her. “You were the ghost who patted me on the neck and told me to leave Sinjun alone?”

“Yes.” She wanted to tell him she was very sorry for having frightened him so desperately, but she could just imagine how a proud boy would take that.

“Why does Papa call you Joan?”

That made her blink, then chuckle. “He thinks Sinjun sounds too much like a man’s nickname, which it is, but it is also my name and I quite like it and am quite used to it. Would you like to call me Sinjun?”

“Yes, it doesn’t sound like a silly girl or an—”

“An evil stepmother?”

He nodded, his eyes still riveted on the wig and white gown.

“How did you know that it was Dahling and me and not Pearlin’ Jane?”

“The swamp ooze. By itself, it would have been quite terrifying, but with the chains and the moaning and the scurrying behind the wainscoting, it was overdone, if you know what I mean. Also, that next morning, just to be sure, I asked Dulcie and she told me that you’d gone out with Crocker and your direction was the Cowal Swamp.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t need that dueling pistol, Philip.”

“If I did, I could use it, and I could beat you at any competition.”

Little boys, she thought, marveling at him, were indeed splendid. Little boys became men who didn’t seem to change at all in this regard. “Do you fence?”

That took him aback. “No, Papa hasn’t yet taught me.”

“Well, there is something both of us could learn together, then. MacDuff said that he would be coming back soon for a visit. If your papa isn’t yet returned, perhaps he could give us a lesson.”

“You can really shoot a crossbow?”

“Yes.”

“There’s an old armory up in the south tower. There are all sorts of weapons there, including crossbows and swords. Crocker keeps them up. It’s his hobby.”

“Would you like to learn to shoot a crossbow?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes going to that white wig and floaty gown. “I think Sinjun is all right. Joan sounds like a cocker spaniel.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

MacDuff arrived the following afternoon to find Sinjun and Philip in the apple orchard with crossbows two hundred years old and in perfect
condition. Crocker was sitting on a fence whittling new arrows, his mongrel George II at his feet.

At the sight of the huge MacDuff, George II bounded up and barked maniacally.

“George, old boy, down!”

For a dog named after a king, he was singularly obedient. He sank back down at his master’s feet and rested his head on his paws, his tail wagging as frantically as a flag in a strong wind.

Sinjun heard the dog bark but she didn’t turn around. “Now, Philip, that’s excellent form. That’s right, right under your nose and keep your left arm perfectly straight and still. Yes, that’s it.”

The target was a straw-stuffed scarecrow that Sinjun had borrowed from the wheat field. It was only twenty paces distant.

“Now, very easy . . . that’s it, easy.”

He released the arrow and it sped toward the scarecrow, striking it squarely in the groin.

MacDuff yowled in feigned pain.

“Good shot,” Sinjun said, and turned to face her cousin-in-law. “MacDuff! Goodness, it’s about time you came back to visit. Your timing is quite perfect. Do you shoot?”

“Oh no, Sinjun, not me. I’ve never had to. I’m far too big and too ugly for any man or any three men to try to take me on.” He held up a meaty fist and shook it at her. “This is all the protection I need, at least bullies think so.”

“You’re right,” Sinjun said. “Did you see Philip’s shot?”

“I certainly did. Where did you learn, Philip?”

“Sinjun,” the boy said. “She’s quite good. Show him, Sinjun.”

She did, deftly targeting the scarecrow and releasing the arrow quickly, with no fuss. It struck the scarecrow right through the neck, the arrow coming
out six inches through the back.

“My God,” MacDuff said. “That was excellent. Your brothers taught you?”

“Oh yes, but they have no idea that I can now outshoot them. Perhaps they do, but it would never occur to them to admit it.”

“You’re wise not to tell them,” MacDuff advised. “They would be crushed, their male pride stomped underground.”

“Men,” Sinjun said. “What does it matter?”

“I don’t know, but it does.”

“Philip, why don’t you tell Aunt Arleth that MacDuff is here. You will stay some time with us?”

“A couple of days only. I’m on my way to Edinburgh and just wanted to see if there was anything you needed.”

Yes, I need my husband,
she wanted to say, but said instead, “You were staying here in the neighborhood?”

“I have friends, the Ashcrofts, who live near Kinross.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, for even so short a time.”

MacDuff merely nodded, watching Philip race back to the castle. He said, wearing a small smile, “I see you have quite won over Philip. How goes Dahling?”

“Ah, she’s a tough little nut, but I believe I’ve found her weakness.”

“She’s only four and a half years old, Sinjun, and she already has a weakness?”

“Oh yes, she’s quite horse mad. I took her out to see my mare, Fanny, and I thought she would burst the seams of her gown. It was love at first sight. I haven’t yet let her ride Fanny. But when I do, that should quite drop her into my net.”

“You’re dangerous, Sinjun. So all goes well, then.”

“I suppose all goes. How well or not is a matter of the time of day and the mood of the inmates here.”

They walked together to the castle, Sinjun stopping every so often and frowning.

“What is the matter?”

“Oh, I’m just making a mental list of things that still need to be done. It’s endless, really. The chickens need a new roof on their house, and the fencing there needs mending. I imagine we’ve lost many hens due to that. Ah, there’s so much. Let me show you the new garden. Cook is all atwitter about it and the scullery maid, Jillie, is sheer magic with plants. She is now only a scullery maid half of the time and a gardener the other half. Cook is happy, Jillie is radiant, and our meals are better by the day. All that remains is talking Cook into trying her hand at some English dishes.”

“Good luck to you,” MacDuff said, and laughed. He admired the garden, still stubby green sprouts just showing above rich dark earth. “Colin isn’t happy,” he said suddenly, coming to a halt near the cistern. He leaned his elbows on the worn stones and looked down.

“It’s very deep,” Sinjun said. “The water is sweet.”

“Yes, I remember that it is. I see that you’ve put a new chain and that’s a new bucket.”

“Yes. Why isn’t Colin happy?”

MacDuff lowered the bucket, letting it down slowly, listening closely until it finally hit the water. He raised it and took the wooden mug hanging from a hook and dipped it into the bucket. He drank.

“As good as I remember,” he said, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Why isn’t Colin happy?”

“I believe he feels guilty.”

“He should. I’m here and he’s not and there is another thing—Robert MacPherson . . .” She broke off, wanting to kick herself. Colin would come riding home
ventre à terre
to protect her. MacPherson wouldn’t care how he got to Colin and with Colin here, there were too many possibilities, including the safety of the children. No, she would have to deal with MacPherson. There was no other way as far as she could see, and she’d thought about it very hard, listing out pros and cons as Douglas had taught her to do when faced with any problem.

“What do you mean about MacPherson?”

She shrugged, looking guileless as a nun. “I just wondered what Colin was doing about the man.”

“Nothing. He’s gone to ground. Colin visits the old laird, and he’s learned that Robert’s been going behind his back with his people, trying to get the power. Distressing, but true. Colin’s in a bit of a bind because, truth be told, he likes the old laird, despite Robert and Fiona.”