Elaine Coffman - [Mackinnons 06] (29 page)

“When you said angel of mercy, it made me remember. That is
what my grandfather always called me.”

“Did they ever find out what happened to him?”

“No. Some speculated his horse was frightened. Others said
he must have guided the horse too close to the edge of the road. Fletcher seems
to think…” Cathleen’s voice drifted off to nothing.

Annora stared at her. “Fletcher seems to think what?”

“He…he feels a little responsible, that’s all.”

“Why? Surely he had nothing to do with it?”

“No, of course he didn’t. It’s just that my grandfather was
on his way back from St. Abb’s, where he had gone on an errand to check some
family matters for Fletcher. Naturally, Fletcher felt that my grandfather might
still be alive if he had not gone there. So you see…”

Cathleen went on, but Annora was no longer listening. Her
heart began to hammer. A loud, buzzing noise filled her ears. Suddenly she
remembered talking to Fletcher in the village that day. She also remembered
telling Adair Ramsay everything that Fletcher had told her.

Oh, dear God, it was my information that doomed David!

Panic beat at her throat like a frightened bird. Her heart
was racing so fast that she felt it might explode. Fighting to hold back her
tears, she blinked her eyes. “I am tired now. I would like to sleep.”

The dogs were howling again.

Annora watched as Cathleen turned to look out the window,
frowning.

“The dogs,” Annora said. “They are howling for me.”

“Nonsense. They are howling because I had them put outside.”

“No,” Annora said, “they are howling for me. Dogs howl, you
ken, when a member of the household is about to die.”

“You have just survived typhoid, Annora. If you were going
to die, it would have already happened.”

“Perhaps.” Annora turned her face away, knowing the truth.
She knew…in her heart she knew just why the dogs howled. How strange it was
that the moment she understood that, the fear seemed to flow out of her. She
lay there feeling relaxed, the hammering in her heart gone now. The fear had
gone, and in its place was a calmness she had never known before—a complete and
total peace.

“Are you all right?”

“Aye. Thank you for coming, Cathleen and for all you have
done.”

“Sleep then,” Cathleen said, patting her hand. “The rest
will do you good.”

Annora listened as Cathleen slipped from the room, closing
the door behind her. When she was gone, Annora opened her eyes and stared at
the ceiling, not mindful of the tears that slid from her eyes to soak the
pillow beneath her head. She tried once to get up but found she was too weak.
So she lay there listening to the dogs howl and knowing it was for her. How
odd, she thought, for even knowing that their howling was the herald of her
death, that was not the cause of her sorrow.

The thing that grieved her most was knowing that she was
responsible for David MacDonald’s death.

The next morning, Annora awoke shivering and covered with
perspiration. She had slept hardly at all, for thinking about David MacDonald’s
death and listening to the wailing of the dogs outside. Feeling very weak, she
forced herself to get up, calling upon a strength she did not know she had.
Once she was out of bed, she dressed herself and made her way to Glengarry
Castle.

She was trembling by the time she arrived, but nothing would
have stopped her. Nothing save her own death, which she knew was imminent.

As she rode to Glengarry, she had a premonition that the
Angel of Death had come for her during her bout with typhoid. Now it was clear
to her that her life had been spared for a purpose, which was to confront Adair
Ramsay. Once that was done, she would be dead…as dead as the mallows in the
garden.

As she was led to Adair’s library, she could not help
thinking that she could not bring David MacDonald back to life, but perhaps in
some way she could atone for causing his death.

“You look ghastly,” the duke said. Annora said nothing.

“It must be very important news indeed to draw you away from
your sickbed.”

“I came to tell you that I will no longer be a part of what
you are doing. I want out.”

“What are you talking about, Annora?”

“I’m through with all of this…the deceit, the spying. It is
over.”

“And the markers I hold on Dunston?”

“Call them in. Sell them. Eat them for breakfast. I don’t
care anymore.”

He was amused at her show of defiance. “Then perhaps I can
help you…give you a reason to care.”

“Whatever reason you chose, it would not matter. I am beyond
that now. I know you killed David MacDonald, and I want you to know that if
anything—I mean
anything
— happens to Cathleen Lindsay or Fletcher
Ramsay, I will confess everything I know about you.”

“That would be a big mistake.” He saw the fear on her face.
It was so strong that he could almost smell it. It was like an aphrodisiac, and
he was filled with a feeling of power.

“You killed him,” she said. “A man of God! How could you?”

He rose and came around the desk, stopping beside her. He
gave her that cold, confident smile, the one he knew worked so well. “I did not
kill him. I had him killed.”

Annora sprang to her feet, going wild. Nails as sharp as
eagle claws lashed at his face, cutting a deep groove across his forehead.
Already he felt the blood in his right eye, blurring his vision. He drew back
his hand and slapped her hard, knocking her against a table.

She looked up at him through her long, dark hair, which had
fallen down about her face like a black veil. “Murderer! Bloody murderer! I
would kill you myself if I could. You killed him and you tried to kill
Cathleen! I hope you rot in hell for what you’ve done!”

He drew back his hand to hit her again, but stopped, seeing
she was no longer a threat to him. Her energy was gone.

Weak, trembling, and looking like she might faint, Annora
buried her face in her hands and sobbed uncontrollably.

He turned away and walked to the cupboard where he kept his
spirits. He made her a drink and brought it to her.

“Annora,” he said.

She looked up at him, her hair wild about her face. He saw
the red print of his hand on her cheek and the tears in her eyes. How strange.
Nowhere on her face did he see fear. “Here,” he said, “drink this.”

She looked at the glass, then at him. With a trembling hand
Annora took the glass, and for a brief moment he thought he saw her smile. Then
she raised the glass as if giving a toast, as if she knew. For a moment Adair
thought she would hurl it into his face. And then she seemed to grow calm and
relaxed before his very eyes. “I never knew you were the Angel of Death,
Adair.”

Without another word, Annora lifted the glass to her lips
and drank the wine.

When she finished, she looked at him. “I want to go home
now.”

“I’ll call for your carriage,” he said, taking her elbow to
help her out.

“I rode my horse. I can show myself out. Get your murdering
hand off me.” She snatched her arm from his grip.

He stood aside and watched her weave her way toward the
door.

A moment later she was gone.

Annora reached the stables, intending to get her horse and
ride home, but she did not have the strength to climb into the saddle.

Suddenly, Angus appeared out of the shadows. How appropriate
it was that the last man she would see was the one she had loved first.
“Angus,” she said weakly. “Help me up.”

Angus came to her, taking her in his arms. “You shouldn’t be
out,” he said. “You are as weak and trembling as a newborn lamb.”

“I must get home, quickly.”

“There is no rush. Rest a moment. I’ll get the carriage and
drive you home.”

“No,” she said, seeing the love for her on his great ruddy
face. She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. “You were always there,
whenever I needed you. I should have married you, you know. We would have a
dozen beautiful horses by now, and just as many children. I did love you,
Angus.”

“Aye. I know. Don’t try to talk.”

She groaned, doubling over with pain.

“Annora, what is wrong?”

She shook her head. “No time,” she whispered. “Angus, I’ve
been poisoned.”

“Poisoned? What are you saying?”

“Adair…I know he poisoned me.”

“No!” he said, his voice laced with anguish. “Not this! Not
you, Annora! I won’t let you die!”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I have made my peace with God.”
She groaned again, the pain cutting into her, twisting, burning. “Promise me
you will help them.”

“Who?”

“Fletcher,” she whispered, “and the girl. He killed her grandfather,
you know…Adair had him murdered, just as he murdered Fletcher’s father…and now
he has murdered me.” Darkness began to close in upon her and she called his
name again. “Angus…”

“I am here.” Still holding her, he put his face next to hers
and whispered, “I am here, Annora. I will always be here. Don’t leave me.”

Annora jerked suddenly, pulling away from him, trying to sit
up. He helped her into a sitting position. “Light,” she said. “So much
beautiful light. Angel light. Take me. Take me away from this pain. I am
ready.”

“Annora, don’t go…don’t leave me.”

She looked upward. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
Into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”

“Annora!” Angus cried, staring down at her.

She slumped over. Her spirit was gone.

Adair walked into the stables and found Angus holding
Annora. “Is she dead?” he asked.

Angus did not speak.

“I asked you a question. Is she dead?”

Angus raised his head slowly. He looked at Adair for a long
time. “Aye.”

Cool, aloof, detached, Adair looked down at her body. “She
was a beautiful woman. It is a pity she never learned to use her beauty in the
right way. Beauty and compassion do not mix.”

A muscle in Angus’ jaw flexed. “She is dead now,” he said,
looking away. “Let her rest in peace.”

“Peace? Nothing would please me more. She has caused me
nothing but trouble. She didn’t even die the way I had planned. The poison I
gave her was slow-acting. I had hoped she would reach home before she died. It
must have been her weakness from the typhoid. Take her close to home, then
leave her on the road with her horse. When they find her, they will think she
simply went out riding before she was well. Typhoid has killed many of late.
They will suspect nothing. She will simply be one more victim.”

Angus did not move.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Aye.”

“Then get a move on. Get her out of here, and when you do,
find Gavin MacPhail and send him to me.”

It was ten o’clock that night when Gavin MacPhail slipped
into Adair’s library.

Annora’s body had been found hours ago.

“What took you so long?” Adair asked. “I sent for you a long
time ago.”

“I didn’t get the message until two hours ago,” he said. “I
came as soon as I could. Did you hear about Annora Fraser? They found her body
on the road, not far from Dunston.”

“I know that, you fool! I had to kill her.”

“She got in the way?”

“Aye. She wanted out.”

“And the Earl of Caithness?” Gavin asked. “Is he
suspicious?”

“Not of Annora’s death, if that’s what you mean. At least
not yet. He and David MacDonald’s granddaughter have been snooping around
Glengarry. They found the old graves behind the fence in the grove.”

“It won’t do them any good. There isn’t anything there to
help him.”

“Still, too much has happened,” Adair said. “He is too
determined. I don’t want to wait until it’s too late. Find them.”

“Who?”

“Fletcher Ramsay and Cathleen Lindsay, you idiot!”

“And when I find them?”

“Kill them. Kill them both.”

Fletcher looked down at Cathleen. “You are taking Annora’s
death too hard.”

“‘
Weep ye not for the dead
’,” she said, wiping her
eyes. “Jeremiah.” And still the tears came.

“It hurts me to see you cry, Cathleen.”

“I can’t help it. I worked so hard…for weeks I worked to
save her life, only to lose her, just when I thought she had recovered.”

“Sometimes death is like that,” he said. “It comes unexpectedly.”

“It wasn’t unexpected,” Cathleen said. “Annora knew she was
going to die.”

“What do you mean she knew?”

“She was acting strange the last few days, all during that
time the dogs were howling. She heard them, Fletcher. She heard them and she
knew.”

Fletcher gave her a puzzled look. “She heard the dogs howl
and that made her know she was dying?”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” she said. “If you had
been raised here, you would believe in such omens.”

“That howling dogs mean death?”

“Aye. It is an old superstition that the household dogs will
howl whenever someone in the family is about to die.”

“Cathleen, it was a coincidence, nothing more,” he said with
a dismissive air.

“No,” Cathleen said flatly. “You were not there. You did not
see Annora before she died. You did not see the resigned look on her face when
she spoke of death.”

Fletcher looked down at Cathleen. She was standing next to
him at Annora’s funeral, her Bible clutched tightly against her breast. Tears
rolled down her face as she stared at Annora’s coffin, listening to Robert
Cameron’s words of comfort as he buried yet another victim of typhoid.

In spite of his efforts to convince Cathleen that there was
nothing suspicious about Annora’s death, Fletcher was not so certain.
Outwardly, he accepted the official cause of death, because he did not want to
raise Cathleen’s concerns. But inwardly, he was not so sure.

What is the connection between Annora and Adair?

He could not ignore the feeling that there was a connection
between his search for his past, Adair Ramsay and Annora, and David’s death. He
wouldn’t upset Cathleen by mentioning his suspicions to her, but they had
prompted him to reach a decision—a decision based upon one simple fact.

Too many people were dead. People who, in one way or
another, were connected with his search. No matter how important it was to him,
he could not in all conscience continue, for there was little doubt in his mind
that if Adair killed again, it would be Cathleen.

“I have decided to call things off,” he said as they left
the funeral. Giving the reins a slap, he urged the gelding into a faster pace.

Cathleen, sitting on the seat beside him, clamped her hand
on top of her bonnet. “Call what off?”

“My search.”

She stared at him, aghast. “You are giving up? Quitting? You
are going to let Adair win?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” she asked, grabbing hold of the seat to keep from
falling off. “Will you slow this thing down and tell me one good reason why?”

He pulled back on the reins. “It isn’t worth it,” he said.

“Not worth it? My grandfather’s death is not worth it? How
dare you say that!”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

She grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare let that wonderful old
man’s death be for nothing. Don’t let him have died in vain.”

Fletcher stopped the carriage, turned to her, and took her
hands in his. “Cathleen.”

“Don’t try to explain. I don’t want to hear anything except
that you are
not
giving up.”

He took her in his arms. “I’m doing this because of you.”

“Don’t use
me
for an excuse. You aren’t doing it for
me, Fletcher, because I don’t want you to. Never would I ask this. Never, do
you hear?”

“Cathleen… If you would only listen to reason, you would see
that I am doing it for you.”

“Well,
undo
it for me, then.”

He sighed, frustrated because he could not express his
thoughts in a manner that she would understand. “I don’t want anything to
happen to you. I’m not afraid for myself, Cathleen, but for you. I love you.
Can’t you understand that?”

Cathleen pulled away and scooted across the seat. She gave
him a direct look. “No, I canna. A month ago you were living with Annora. Now
she is dead, so you suddenly love me. A finer duck never wet a feather. I don’t
think you know what you want.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do,” he said.

“Understand this, Fletcher Ramsay. I want no part of you if
you are going to let Adair keep what he has stolen from you.” Her eyes flashed
with anger. “If you don’t prove he’s a liar, a fraud, and a murderer, I will.”
She started to climb from the carriage.

He grabbed her arm. “Where in the hell are you going?”

“I’m going to walk home.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to find the proof that you’re too afraid to look
for.”

He snorted. “You couldn’t find your head with both hands.”

“Perhaps not, but I’m beginning to doubt that you even have
a head.”

He seemed amused. “All right. Just answer me one thing. How
do you plan to prove anything, since I haven’t been able to?”

“I don’t know, as yet,” she said, “but I will find a way,
even if I have to dig up… Oh, fie! What was her name?” Cathleen picked up her
Bible from where it lay on the seat next to her, and opening it up, she read
the first name she had written inside. “If I have to dig up the remains of
Madeline de Compiegne Ramsay to do it.”

The moment the words left her lips, Fletcher must have felt
his head snap, so fast did he turn toward her. “What did you say?”

Her face wore an odd expression. “What?”

“Say that again.”

She closed the Bible and gave him a suspicious look. “Say
what again?”

“The name,” he said. “The name of the woman you want to
unearth.”

“Madeline de Compiegne Ramsay,” she said. “Don’t try to tell
me that it’s wrong, because I know it’s not. I wrote it down, just so I
wouldn’t forget.” She opened the Bible again and, turning to the proper page,
pointed her finger at the name. “You see? It’s right here in my Bible. Madeline
de Compiegne Ramsay.”