The Devil’s Due by Boucher, Rita (free reads txt) 📗

about this? He wondered. He had never before divulged the contents of that last note, forwarded by his grandfather without so much as a phrase of condolence to accompany it. But somehow, the words kept tumbling out. “It was me that was the coward for leaving her. I should have stayed,” he murmured.

“It was what she wanted, Duncan,” Kate said, but he went on as if he did not hear her.

“I was so desperate to get away,” he said. “I did not realize how by shielding me, she had put herself in the line of fire. Once I was gone . . .”

“It is a parent’s sacred obligation to protect a child.” Kate cut him off before he could blame himself any further.

The vehemence in her voice roused him from his recollections. Her green eyes glittered, fierce and feral as those of an angered tigress.

“Your mother did what she had to in order to preserve you against evil. As a child, it was not your duty to protect her, but the other way round.” She could not stop the tears from forming and she focused her attention on the distant hills. “I apologize, milord, for I had no right to name her a coward. She likely thought that her job was done once you were out in the world. She had succeeded in her goal and I envy her that.”

“Why?” Came the soft question from behind her.

“Because she was able to protect her child and I could not,” Kate whispered, slowly turning round to face him again.

Her misery roused a long-dormant emotion, something that he had not felt since his mother had died all those years before. He wanted to wipe away that sorrow, to ease that terrible hurt and erase the fear. “Kate, if I can help-” he began.

“There is nothing that either of us can do to unravel the tangle of the past,” Kate said, with an air of finality. “‘We must deal with today and, if we have the strength, tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Duncan agreed. “Today, then I must take myself to the village, Kate. My people have just grievances, I know, but I cannot allow poor Fred to take abuse on my behalf.”

“I will go with you,” Kate said.

“Dressed like that?” His dark brow arched in question. “Or are they already accustomed to a Lady MacLean who wears the breeches?”

“No more than a Lord who appears a shirtless tatterdemalion,” Kate retorted. “Unless . . .” A hint of a smile appeared. “I believe that I may have a solution to both our problems, Duncan. However, if it suits, you must agree to allow me to accompany you.”

“Kate. . .” His tone was a warning.

But she was not to be put off. “Do we have a bargain?” she insisted.

“Aye, a bargain,” Duncan agreed warily, “probably as good a one as the last deal that we MacLeans struck with the English. That one led to a curse. I wonder what this will lead to.”

“I shall show you,” Kate said. In her excitement, she grabbed him by the hand, towing him along behind her like a dinghy hauling a ship of line.

Bemused by her sudden touch, Duncan allowed himself to be dragged through the kitchen. He noted in passing that Fred and Daisy were nowhere in sight, licking wounds in private no doubt. But before he had time to speculate further, Kate had moved on to the servant’s hall, pausing only long enough to pull a key from the ring at her waist. The great brass lock on the rotting tower door turned with a rusty clatter and Duncan found himself in the cool stone heart of the well room. A battered oak lid at the center of the chamber marked the ancient cistern, one of the primary reasons that the castle of Eilean Kirk had proven well-nigh unconquerable. That source of clear, spring-fed water also provided the unique ingredient that made MacLean’s Gold smooth as liquid silk.

“Take care where you step,” Kate warned. “The middle floor is somewhat unstable, but largely safe. Do not even attempt to venture to the uppermost story. It appears sound but is extremely dangerous. Daisy nearly went through the floor chasing after Anne before we found the key to lock the door.”

“A worthless barrier. It should be replaced,” Duncan remarked, pulling a splinter off a board.

“As should many things, but it suffices to keep Anne out in the meantime,” she said, extending her hand. “Come along and try to follow directly behind me.”

It was quite disconcerting, those fingers twined with his and he could barely keep from stumbling at that insistent pressure as she climbed up the stone staircase. Light spilled from the south-facing window, illuminating the room. Motes of dust stirred as Kate bustled him along to a darkened corner.

“There it is,” she said, pointing toward an old leather trunk. Abruptly, she realized that she was still grasping Duncan’s hand. She had never realized how very large it was. As she let his fingers slip from hers, she turned hastily towards the trunk and knelt beside it. “I had meant to keep this till winter, when I had time to ply my needle, but we can make do,” Kate said, talking rapidly to cover her confusion. The warmth of his hand lingered, filling her with an aching regret that she had let that comfort go. Kate opened the chest with the panache of a magician. “Viola!”

“No moths, at least,” Duncan ventured, his nose wrinkling at the strong scent of camphor, but as Kate moved aside, he saw a verdant green field of fabric. Duncan pulled out the carefully folded tartan. He stood, shaking away dust and time as he released the folds and let the cloth billow. Draping it over his shoulder, Duncan walked to the window, letting the sun highlight the interwoven black and white stripes that distinguished the plaid of the MacLean clan. The faint red lines that designated the Eilean Kirk sept were faded but discernable.

“I had