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

pride of a queen. Luckily his own discomfiture was more easily concealed beneath his kilt and he blessed the bushy thatch of beard that hid his own self-conscious flush. Shamed that they had discerned his naked emotions so plainly, Duncan hauled up the bucket of hot tar, the laughter breaking in waves about him.

He had forgotten how ribald and familiar his people could be. With the close ties of blood and history, the MacLean clan of Eilean Kirk had always treated their chieftains more as a first among equals than unreachable superiors. Above all, Duncan found himself wishing that what his people believed were the reality, that Kate was his in truth. Of late, he had found himself thinking of her, wanting her, until it would seem that the price of honor might well be madness.

Heeding Tam’s advice, Duncan gave himself over to the rhythm of work, letting the steady pounding beat set his pace, filling his mind with nothing more than the warm fingers of sun stroking his back or the caress of the gentle breezes off the water. Loch Maree glistened like a sapphire set amidst an emerald field as he moved carefully across the shingles.

There would be no rain tonight to test his roofing skill. The sky was a flawless blue, with nary a cloud to be seen except the perpetual coronet of white that hovered at the mountain peaks. He was nearly exhausted, but it was a form of fatigue that he had almost forgotten, the rewarding weariness that comes from work completed, and a job done well. The overlapping rows of shingles brought their own peculiar contentment. Perched on the ridge, Duncan stretched like a panther, easing the soreness in his muscles, but feeling better than he had ever felt in his life.

It began as no more than a faint feeling, touching his spine like a feather. More than once that vague uneasiness had saved his hide on the battlefield.

“She’s watching me, Fred,” Duncan said quietly, between taps on the nail head. “Can you spot her?”

“The little mite again?” Fred asked. “Midst all these people? Thought that she and that dog of ‘ers ‘ad taken themselves off when the folk started to come.”

“So did I,” Duncan said, pulling a broken slate loose and tossing it to the pile below. “But she is watching me again, I can feel it. Has she been following you about at all?” Duncan asked.

Fred shook his head. “Not so as I know of it,” he said. “No ‘arm in it as I see, though I can’t figure for the life of me why she’s been trailin’ you about.”

“‘Tis deuced uncomfortable,” Duncan complained, shading his eye against the afternoon sun as he surveyed the landscape, peering up towards the tower. There was a flutter of movement as a bird flew hastily from the ledge, but not before he had seen a glimpse of a face. “There now! Did you spy her up there?”

“The tower?” Fred clucked. “Yer seein’ things, Major. ‘You likely saw a pigeon. The door up is locked tight. Tried it myself, other day. Daisy keeps ‘er preserves in there.”

“And you were thinking to help yourself? Well, why don’t you check it again, Fred,” Duncan said, knowing full well that he was being foolish. Most likely it had been the bird that he had noticed, but if the child was climbing up in the towers, it would have to be stopped. Whether the deterioration was due to climate, careless workmanship, or Charlie’s curse, none could say. But Kate had the right of it. In this newer wing of the castle particularly, the rotting flooring was weak as cat’s ice, unable to bear much more than the weight of a small animal.

Fred climbed down the new ladder, grumbling as he went. Duncan went on working until his man returned.

“Bang on the mark, you was, Sir,” Fred called from the ground. “Must ‘ave seen me comin’ and just run out before I got there. Lock was open on the door. Poor Daisy is beside ‘erself, she is.”

“I think Anne’s mother and I are due for a talk,” Duncan said, checking the ground below for signs of the child, but she was nowhere in sight although he heard the faint bark of a dog in the distance.

“Air ye lookin’ for the wee one?” Tam asked, his eyes watering at the smoking pitch. “Saw her and the hound puttin’ out toward the garden. Up to some devilment your lassie, from the look on her face and the way she were titterin’”

Duncan was about to tell him that Anne was no child of his, but for some reason he did not wish to disabuse Tam of his ill-founded notion.

“Perhaps the little lass needs a dose of her own medicine?” Duncan speculated, climbing down to stand beside Fred.

“Fair play, it is, to turn the game about,” the Cockney agreed.

“Especially when it is a very dangerous game,” Duncan said, rinsing off his hands under the pump. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Fred. This cannot wait.”

“Go easy on her, Major,” Fred advised, starting back up toward the roof

“‘Going easy,’ seems to be the problem,” Duncan said, taking up his shirt. “The child has been pulling pranks on a daily basis, yet those women dinna do a thing. She manipulates them like puppets.”

“She’s a clever one she is,” Fred said, with a doting smile.

“You too?” Duncan asked in disgust. “Do you account the eel in my boot clever? You had the cleaning of it, I recall.”

“Cleaned worse things,” Fred said, shrugging his skinny shoulders. “Almost worth it, it was, seein’ you ‘oppin about, fit to burst with tryin’ to keep the curses twixt your teeth.”

“You are dismissed, Fred. Pack your bags.” Duncan slipped his shirt over his head only to find that his fingers were caught in the sleeve. “Damn!” he exploded.

“Need ‘elp, Major?” Fred asked diffidently. “I’d be glad, but seein’ as ‘ow I ain’t no longer in your employ. A pity, to