Legacy (26 page)

I lifted the kettle off the burner just before it whistled. Shaking out the loose tea, I spilled some on the counter, swept it into my hand, and dumped it into the teapot. The tea had steeped and I had poured the first hot, sustaining cup when I heard them.

Voices raised in argument, loud at first and then lowered in furious whispers. They came from the entry near the main stairs. My hand trembled as I placed the pot on the counter. There could be no mistake as to the identity of the two engaged in their private battle, but I had to see for myself to remove the last shred of doubt.

Slipping out of the kitchen, I flattened myself against the wall, inching my way slowly toward the entry. Pale fingers of moonlight lit the hall, illuminating Ian’s blond head. Kate’s hand was clenched on his arm, and the features of her face were twisted in desperation. The intimacy of their position shocked me. Obviously they knew each other much better than I had realized, and whatever their disagreement, it wasn’t a small misunderstanding.

He shook his head. “Don’t be absurd,” he said in an angry whisper. “It isn’t the same thing at all. I had no idea what you intended. You lied to me. What you’ve done is dangerous, not to mention illegal. You told me you only wanted to know her, to convince her of your claim. For Christ’s sake, she’s pregnant. If the child is damaged in any way, you’ll be responsible.”

“You knew from the beginning what the outcome would be,” Kate reminded him. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Your request sounded reasonable and harmless. Now I find that you’re playing with her mind. She actually believes in all this.”

“Don’t you?”

He was silent for a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was low and careful. “I don’t see what she sees and neither do you. We both know that everything has a logical explanation.”

She refused to answer and gave him a long, assessing look instead. Finally, she spoke. “What I believe is that you’re a fool, Ian Douglas.”

He swore softly. “Christina had nothing to do with Maxwell’s will and neither did her mother. Everything is perfectly legal. I’m serious about this, Kate. It must stop immediately.”

“I won’t give up now.” Kate’s fingers curled around his arm. “Traquair is mine. No one else has worked for it as I have. I won’t have it go to someone who didn’t know it existed until a few weeks ago.”

“Aren’t you forgetting her mother? Surely, you can’t dispute her rights.”

“It’s mine.” Her voice was almost a wail. “It belongs to me and to my heirs.”

“Kate.” Ian’s voice had gentled, as if speaking to a child. “You have no heirs. Christina would eventually inherit everything that belongs to you.”

The woman tilted her head, measuring him with her sharp dark eyes. “On the contrary, Ian. You are my nearest blood relative.”

My heart raced. What could their disjointed conversation possibly mean? How was Kate playing with my mind, and how were they related? I nearly strangled from the effort to control my breathing.

“It’s all the same now,” Ian continued patiently. “My child will inherit Traquair. My child and Christina’s.”

In the faint light, I could see her eyes narrow and a small gloating smile transform her face. “How do you think she would feel if she knew your involvement in this, Ian? Do you really believe she would marry you?”

His expression was grim. “Are you planning to tell her?”

“Should a marriage begin with deceit?” she countered.

“No.” He stepped back, away from the touch of her hands. “But I don’t want you telling her. I’ll do it the first thing tomorrow. I hope you realize what this means. You’ll be forced to leave Traquair. You could go to prison.” He sighed. “You’re ill, Kate. You may even be mad. I understand your disappointment that Maxwell didn’t do enough for you, but life has its share of disappointments. You’ll have to live with it. I suggest you go somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Start over again.” He walked out the door, leaving it ajar behind him.

For a moment that lasted a lifetime, Kate stared out the door. Finally, muttering under her breath, she closed and locked it and climbed the stairs.

I waited a full fifteen minutes before even thinking of moving. Tiptoeing upstairs, I sat down and wrote a quick note to my father. Then, gathering my keys and purse, I made my way downstairs, unlocked the door, and crossed the courtyard to the carport.

An hour later I checked into an inconspicuous hotel outside of Edinburgh, turned up the heat, and stretched out between unfamiliar sheets. There was no point in thinking any further than I already had. It was nearly two in the morning. Exhaustion claimed me, and I fell asleep.

Traquair House

1286

“David.” Mairi’s eyes glowed with pleasure. Quickly, she hid the honey-coated
criachan
behind her back. “Why have you returned so soon from London?”

“I came to witness the wedding of Alexander and Jolande of Dreux,” he explained. “Edinburgh is so close. I’d not miss an opportunity to see you, lass.” Casually he reached behind her, his hand closing over the sweet clutched in her fist. He removed it from her hand and frowned. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this. Is your word worthless, Mairi?”

“The batch was made fresh this morning, and I’ve only had one. ’Tis my first in a very long time. Truly, David.”

He relented. “I suppose one will do you no harm. But ’tis dangerous to indulge yourself.” The lines around his mouth deepened with worry. He would never forget the first time he’d witnessed one of Mairi’s spells. They were children, and it was the first warm day of spring. Armed with a basket of food from the kitchen, they’d spend the afternoon in the marshes. Generously, David had offered Mairi the additional sweet bun the cook had packed and more than half of the
criachan
. She’d hesitated only a moment and then greedily consumed it all. Less than an hour later, her skin had paled and around her lips was a frightening blue shadow. He’d carried her halfway to the house before her father found them. Taking one look at his nearly unconscious daughter, the laird had lifted her to the back of his stallion and galloped back to Traquair, leaving David on the moor, a forlorn heap of misery, praying more desperately than he’d ever prayed before in his life. It had never happened again, but the experience had terrified him to such an extent that he’d never forgotten it.

She touched his cheek. “If it upsets you that much, I won’t eat it.”

“Please don’t.”

Looking up at him through her lashes, she tactfully changed the subject. “I’ve heard the women are lovely at the English court.”

David caught his breath. This was a new, flirtatious Mairi. Perhaps she had grown up at last. Hope flooded through him. “There is no one for me but you, Mairi. You should know that by now.”

She laughed with the crystalline purity of a choirboy. “What I know is that you’ve mastered the art of flattery, my friend. Tell me of Jolande of Dreux. Is she as beautiful as they say?”

David looked down at the face he was sure had been sculpted by God Himself and swallowed. “Aye. I’ve heard that she’s lovely enough, but it matters little. Alexander needs an heir of his own body. Jolande is young. There is a chance now.”

“What does the English king think of Alexander taking another bride?”

“Edward is no fool. He knows that ten years is long enough for a man to mourn his wife, especially if that man is a king.”

“Still,” Mairi reflected, “Alexander has an heir.”

“A child hidden away in Norway is hardly an heir,” David protested. “Besides, Scotland has never been ruled by a woman.”

She tilted her head to one side, a pose she adopted whenever her thoughts ran deep. David knew better than to interrupt her. “Until the matter is settled, Edward is overlord of Scotland,” she said at last. “What manner of man is the English king?”

“He is a warrior,” David replied promptly. “No one mistakes Edward for anyone other than he is. I would such a man could be found for Scotland.”

Mairi shook her head. “I didn’t ask if you admired him, David. What is he like?”

David frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Is he tall and well favored? Are his teeth straight? Does he laugh often?”

“Only a woman would notice those things,” David protested, laughing, “although I’m sure the lassies find him well favored enough. I’ve heard he keeps a mistress in every castle in England and finds time to satisfy his wife as well.”

“’Tis possible his rank keeps him well supplied with women,” Mairi suggested.

David shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Mairi sighed and slipped her arm through David’s. “How long can you stay?”

“Only the night.” He hesitated and pressed her hand. “I’m sorry about your father, lass.”

The winged brows drew together, and her chest constricted. Her father’s death was still very new. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Will you stay here, at Traquair?”

She nodded. “My father’s holdings belongs to the crown, but Shiels and Traquair belonged to my mother. They are mine.”

David lifted a lock of silken hair and wound it around his finger. “I’ll always think of you as Mairi of Shiels. Do you remember when we first met?”

Mairi smiled her generous, heart-wrenching smile, and David was reminded of the bard who sang of her beauty in the great hall in the Tower of London. King Edward had smiled indulgently, but even he was intrigued. There were beauties to spare in Londontown, but none could rival Mairi of Shiels.

“You’ve changed, David,” she said, looking up at him with solemn eyes.

Her words startled him. He’d forgotten what he asked her. “How so?”

“You aren’t listening to me.”

“I’ll warrant there’s not a man who would.”

She drew herself up to her full height and lifted her chin. “Why not?”

“Faith, Mairi. You are lovely enough to take a man’s breath away. I no longer know what to say to you.”

Her eyes widened. “Why not?”

He grinned. “When a man dallies with a beautiful woman, ’tis not conversation that comes to mind.”

“What does?”

He reddened. “I’ll tell you later.”

“When?”

“Enough,” he exploded. “’Tis not the time.”

Her outraged expression shamed him. One did not shout at Mairi of Shiels. Mutely, he appealed for peace. She ignored his outstretched hand.

He cleared his throat. “I apologize, lass. I did not come to argue with you.”

“Why did you come?”

“To spend the day with my most loyal friend.”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “You can be very disagreeable, you know.”

“I know.”

She forgave him completely. “Well then, what shall we do?”

“Do you still like to fish?”

Her eyes glowed with anticipation. “Above all things.”

He slipped his arm around her waist. “Let us delay no longer.”

Once again, in perfect accord, they made their way to the stables to fashion their poles and dig for bait.

Hours later, they lay on the bank, faces tilted to absorb the last rays of setting sunlight. Their hands were linked, their baskets filled with brown-speckled trout. Mairi broke the silence. “Isolde thinks I should marry.”

David tensed. “Since when do your stepmother’s wishes weigh with you?”

Mairi sat up. “Isolde is my dearest friend, next to you,” she protested.

“Aye,” agreed David, “but she hasn’t the sense of a peahen. When have you ever been ruled by her?”

“Never before,” Mairi admitted. “Still, this time she speaks the truth. Traquair and Shiels cannot be managed by a woman alone. They are too near the borders for safety.” She bit her lip. “I am fifteen, David. At my age, most women are already mothers.”

“Have you decided then?”

She hesitated. “I’ve had several offers.”

“Your dowry is large.”

Her eyes flashed like hammered silver. “How dare you?”

David saw his error immediately. “I spoke without thinking, lass,” he apologized. “Your glass should tell you what every man sees when he looks upon you. What I meant was your lands alone would make you desirable even were you anyone other than you are.”

“I do not wish to be married for my land.”

“Why not?” he demanded reasonably. “If your heart is not involved, ’tis as good a reason as any. You say you wish to marry to protect your land. Why not marry a man who desires it as much as you do?”

She stared down at him, an arrested expression on her face. Coming from his lips, it sounded more reasonable than mercenary. “I had hoped for a man who desires me as much as my property,” she admitted at last.

David crossed his arms behind his head and opened one eye to look at her. “There should be a few of those as well.”

“Aye,” Mairi nodded.

“Well?”

She bit her lip. “I cannot like any of them,” she confessed. “Marriage is so…so—”

“Permanent?” he finished for her.

“Aye,” she sighed with relief. David always understood.

He sat up and took her hands. His heart slammed painfully against his ribs. “Do you care for me, Mairi?”

“Of course,” she said impatiently. “You are my dearest friend. I would rather be with you than anyone.”

“Then why not marry me?”

She sucked in her breath. “You cannot mean it.”

“I do.”

Her eyes widened. “Why? You have no need for land.”

He laughed. “What I need, what I’ve always needed, is you.”

Shyly, she met his eyes. “Truly, David?”

The expression on her face was too much for him. He flushed and spoke more earnestly than ever before in his life. “I’ve loved you since we were children. Do you… Can you care for me, Mairi?”

“Oh, I do,” she hurried to reassure him. “’Tis just that I’ve never thought of you as a husband.”

“Will you now?”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “You are my dearest friend, but is that enough to be wed?”

David frowned. With every breath in his being, he wanted Mairi for his bride but not without love. Tugging at her hands, he pulled her close to him and kissed her. At first she stiffened, but as his kiss deepened, her lips parted and moved against his. Relieved, he ended the kiss and pulled away. Mairi had responded.

“I love you,” he said, his face flushed and humble. “I’ve always loved you. I can make you love me.”

Mairi pulled her hands away and looked up at the sky. “It would be a relief to know ’tis settled,” she said. “Still, I am in mourning for Father. Will you wait for my answer, David?”

His dark eyes glowed with pleasure. “If I must, I shall wait forever.”

She laughed, and once again, her eyes met his. “I don’t deserve you,” she admitted. “I promise it won’t be that long. Come. The fish will spoil.”

Feeling as if he’d weathered a crisis, David took her hand and led her back to the house.

Edinburgh

1993

I awoke before dawn. It wasn’t my normal type of awakening, where consciousness is welcomed and immediate, where the very idea of a new day, a new beginning, bursts upon the senses like fireworks on New Year’s Eve. This time my awakening came slowly, miserably, my body reluctantly bracing itself for the memory of the previous night. It was happening all over again, the inevitable bone-weary dawns following my separation from Stephen. The feeling that if I could only hold on to that tenuous time between waking and sleeping when the mind knows that something is wrong but hasn’t yet identified what that something is, if I could only prevent my sated body from waking completely, I could hold at bay the ache of betrayal.

Of course, it never worked. I was no more capable of stopping time than the next person. In the past two years I’d learned that pain can’t be outdistanced. It must be faced head-on like all other seemingly impossible challenges. After the pain comes rage and after rage a kind of balancing as if the entire world shifts a bit and resettles to accommodate a new perspective. Only then, after pain and rage and acceptance, does the healing begin.

I was thirty-seven years old. If Ian Douglas wasn’t the man I thought he was, weeping into a hotel pillow wouldn’t help. Determined to get on with it, I showered, dressed, injected myself with insulin, and ordered breakfast. By eight o’clock I was on my way.

By American standards, the Hall of Records was old. In a city where time is measured in centuries, it is a large, modern building equipped with comfortable furniture, spacious rooms, and state-of-the-art computers. The clerk, a friendly woman seated behind a beautifully carved oak desk an American antique dealer would pay a fortune for, smiled at me.

“I’ve located the files you asked me about, Miss Murray. There are quite a few of them, I’m afraid.”

“Thank you,” I said, gathering the mountain of paperwork she’d collected. The desks were small, semiprivate cubicles with just enough space to stack books on one side. I selected a file from the top of the stack and pushed the others away.

Three hours later, I found what I was looking for. The baptismal records from a small church in Selkirk showed the baptism of a girl, Katherine Douglas, born in the year 1946 to Miss Morag Douglas and the laird of Traquair. The birth certificate from the hospital listed only the child’s birth and the mother’s name but not the father. Morag Douglas had kept the father’s identity a secret from the hospital, but she could not lie to her God. There, in black and white, was the evidence that Kate Douglas Ferguson was the daughter of James Maxwell, laird of Traquair—my grandfather. Kate was my aunt, my mother’s half-sister. She was also, it seemed, related to Ian, but how closely I didn’t know.

Rifling through the newspaper clippings, I almost missed it. If the man hadn’t looked so much like Ian, I would have skipped over it completely. The headline read, “Local Landowner Indicted.” Skimming the page, I read the grim details of the evidence leading to the arrest of Ian’s father, his subsequent suicide, and the return of his son. My eyes moved quickly over the page, discounting most of it, looking for something, anything, that would give me a clue as to why Kate and Ian had allied themselves against me. I almost gave up and moved on when a name in the last paragraph jumped out at me. I stopped, reread it, and moaned. It was worse, much worse, than I thought.

Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against the wooden divider and cursed. I was a fool, and my judgment was terrible. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was face Ian Douglas, but there was no helping it. I needed answers and only he had them.

Traffic was unusually heavy on the 703, and the drive to Peebles took over an hour. Located at the junction of Innerleithen and the 7062, Ian’s home was a comfortable, stately manor house with straight, lichen-covered walls and a gabled roof. I parked the car in the graveled lot and walked to the door. Taking a deep breath, I lifted the knocker and let it fall. He opened the door immediately, and his face lit up with delight.